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romionesecretsanta · 7 years

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in the dawning light i found you breathless

Happy happy holidays and happy new year Asmaa ( @rupelover )! You asked for angst with a happy ending, and I ended up writing a very long Canon Divergence AU: nonetheless, I hope you enjoy! XOXO, your secret santa :)

Warning: some language

Ron Weasley was expecting to stumble into few people in the National Wizarding Library, and Hermione “Nightmare” Granger was sadly most certainly one of them. He found her in the shelves dedicated to Time Study, sitting cross-legged on the black-and-white marble floor.

“Chairs too passé for you, Granger?” he asked, hovering over her, staring at the titles.

So consumed in her reading was she that she looked up to the young man practically towering right above her with a start.

“Ron? What are you—” and she shot away swiftly, dropping her book on the floor, as if afraid he might have something contagious.

He scoffed and resumed searching for something to read.

“You read on your own subject even on your days off?” he rolled his eyes. “You Unspeakables are proper weird.”

She crossed her arms and frowned at him.

“I’m surprised you read at all, Ron. What are you doing here?”

Ron shot her a side glance, then returned to the books.

“I’m doing my research. If I’m to be stuck with you weirdos for the rest of the year, might as well know what the hell you’re up to.”

“Oh, you won’t find that written in a book,” she snorted, in a manner greatly resembling their old Transfiguration Professor.

“Obviously because what we do is secret,” she added immediately, as if unsure whether he had understood her initial implication.

“That might be news to you, Granger, but the secret nature of your profession tends to be apparent to most people who know you as…”

“For your information, none of us have ever been too fond of the term… And none of us have ever called you Aurors by any of your nicknames!”

Ron rolled his eyes. Sure, being called Grims wasn’t much fun, but it’s not like the Unspeakables were doing him and his fellow Aurors any favours by not calling them that.

“Besides,” Hermione was still going, “there’s little to no point in you doing any research on us. It’s none of your business what’s going on in our Department, you’re just supposed to stand guard!”

She did have a point. Being transferred to guard the Department of Mysteries was supposed to be an easy job, usually coming as a reward from Kingsley to Aurors who had previously delivered on particularly straining or dangerous cases, giving them a few months to slack off in the safety of the Ministry. And he was bound by oath to keep every last bit of the Unspeakables’ doing a secret, (which wasn’t much), and not to attempt to find out further. Sensing a possible cornering coming, Ron changed tactics with a shrug.

“I just got interested on the whole thing, y’know? Besides,” (he mimicked her own voice), “there’s nothing you can do from keeping people from reading, Granger.”

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Ron had already grabbed a book (the one she had left on the floor, the one she had been reading so intently) and was walking away, back turned on her. He had no energy for bickering, and she was a proper nightmare when she got started (well, she was a nightmare always. But when she got started…). He would much rather leave having the last word, although he knew her retort wasn’t going to be long, she would just shout at him as he was walking down between the shelves, now, or maybe now, in a second…

Ron turned back confused. Hermione Granger, outspoken? Hermione Granger, backing down from even the tiniest fight? Had he just won a verbal battle of theirs?

Apparently, but not because Hermione was at a loss of words, or if she was, he was deprived of seeing the look of defeat on her face (though he could already think of ten possible retorts to his last statement). Hermione was simply not there anymore, the spot where she just stood vacant. Instead there were just shelves going on for miles on sight, without a single break on them. She couldn’t have just turned a corner without first walking on and on to either direction. But there was Ron, the only person standing there, and Hermione Granger had vanished.

Muttering something about Unspeakables being weird, and ignoring the raised hair on the back of his neck, Ron walked off to a table, where he threw down his book and sat to read, but had no heart for it. Hermione, how did she…

Looking up, there she was. Sitting on a table on the side, all alone, as always, a pile of books next to her, absolutely lost in a book.

Ron went to the librarian to check the book to his name and got the fuck out of that place.

***

“Ron! Wait up!”

He did, but not without taking a minute to himself to roll his eyes before turning to face a particularly wild-haired Hermione rushing up to him. The plain black door on the end of the corridor behind her still send shivers down his spine, despite seeing it every day.

“What’s wrong, Granger?”

“I-uh-nothing! Nothing, really!” she said, and gave a very awkward smile.

Ron nodded back, but didn’t have it in himself to smile if he wanted (though he really didn’t). He had been falling back on sleep, eating poorly, struggling to keep up with his paperwork and his current position in Department Ten was eating him up alive from the inside, not to mention how lonely he was. Chatting up with Hermione Granger was not high up on the things he felt like doing, now more than ever before.

Not that she looked any better. The thin light in that goddamned Department wasn’t particularly flattening, but she sure looked… bad. Worse than usual, anyway. There were violet eye bags under her eyes and her cheekbones seemed sucked in.

“So, uh, you know, just… uh, shall we?” she nodded towards the elevators, shivering.

“Oh, sure,” said Ron and started to lead the way. The fact that even Unspeakables were beyond willing to leave their own workplace was strangely comforting and at the same disturbing. It meant his job there wasn’t going to get any easier by time, but he wasn’t the only feeling like that. Odd. He missed the environment in the Auror Office, and Kingsley and his workmates, and working his brains out trying to figure out a case. And, of course, Harry.

The elevator started going up, and Hermione stood with her back against the wall, looking alternatively down at her shoes and then at the doors. She really did look all worn out.

“So…” she started. Ron, overwhelmingly busy with staring anywhere but her, only gave a hum to let her know she was listening.

“About the other day in the library…”

“Yeah?” Ron looked at her full in the face now, eager to find out an explanation for her disappearance. Or was she about to apologize for that day? Not that it would be her at all to do so, but damnit, he was so desperate for a positive interaction he’d take what he could get, even if it was Hermione Fucking Granger.

“I mean, that book I was reading, you really did borrow it after all, did you?”

“Er… yeah… yeah, I did.” And then, to make up for the disappointment in his voice:

“Like I said, Granger, there’s little you can do to stop people from reading. I’m not interested in your bloody research or anything, so leave me alone.”

“Your return is overdue by two days as of today.”

“What?”

“I checked in with the librarian. Of course I would never stop someone else from reading, as long as they respect the rules. But now you’re two days overdue, and I want this book.”

Ron opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. The way she had spoken wasn’t aggressive, or bossy, or sarcastic, or anything he was used to Hermione Granger sounding like. She just sounded… tired and strangely gentle, like the calm before a storm. And she very much looked it, too, and unkempt also: she’d never been one to tame that wild bushy mane of hers, but she never turned up with bad skin and oily hair and smelling a bit, either. She kept blinking rapidly and shivering violently, hands wrapped tightly around herself. The Auror work had gotten Ron to work with people on the verge of a breakdown many times and if anything, Hermione Granger was exhibiting a few of the signs.

He was the one outspoken now. He wanted to apologize, and say he’ll return the book tomorrow morning, and wish her a good night, but instead he just cleared his throat and said:

“Merlin, you look like shit.”

Had he been less tired, hadn’t just come out of working in the Departure of Mysteries for the past ten hours, and maybe if the world had been a bit gentler with him in general, he’d have laughed at how her jaw dropped in shock. And then, right when she had assumed the most “Excuse me?” Hermione Granger expression, she just laughed bitterly a little and said,

“Yeah, I guess I do,” and began to caress her hair self-consciously. Then she pushed her lips together (they were badly chapped) and smiled sadly. “It’s been a rough week.”

Ron laughed and leaned against the wall opposite from hers.

“Tell me about it,” he said and Hermione laughed a little. A rough week. Rough month. Rough few months. Rough year. Rough few years.

And right then, he wanted to say something. Something nice. Tell her to go make herself a huge cup of tea, and to take care, and maybe firmly shake hands goodbye before each going to different fireplaces, because he would kill for a little physical contact right now, and he knew it would be comforting to her, too, and then the doors opened to the empty Atrium and he took a deep breath as he stared at the golden statue in the fountain, illuminated only by the light coming from the few fireplaces that were still burning.

“Right,” he said, and turned to make an attempt at brining a civil end to the only civil conversation he’s had with Hermione Granger since… well, ever.

And she wasn’t there.

Of course.

He should’ve realized it was her thing by now. She’d just Apparated home like that.

It should come to no surprise that she’d mastered soundless Apparition, because of course she has, she’s Hermione-Freaking-Granger.

And of course she wouldn’t stop to wish him good night, because why should she? Because they’d had half a decent conversation for once? She had only just admitted how tired she was, of course she wanted to go home. And people were so accustomed to treating the Weasleys like shit, even fellow Ministry workers.

He should’ve been much more used to it by now.

So he just went home, kicked his wand and his boots away, and collapsed on the sofa.

His eye caught The Book, an old dusty thing, left open on the sitting room table (also the only table in his crappy studio). It was Regarding Clocks and Time Magic: On Time-Turning Machines, Wizarding Law and How Wizards Love to Break It, by Professor Constantinus Dashwood. Despite not looking much (though Ron was no judge on the matter), it was supposed to be a particularly controversial work for its time that had truly revolutionized how wizards studied and worked with Time. And, although it was not particularly long, Ron had made very little progress with it. Never being particularly fond of books, they always tended to tire him, and the one in particular was overly complicated and used too many expert terms and words that required expertise on the subject for someone to form the big picture.

And yet, during his sleepless, lonely nights, the book had been strangely comforting. Reading wasn’t going to leave him: all the words meant something to him separately, and he kept reading for the promise of making some sense, of finding something simple and familiar in them. And in some sense he did. There were quite a few examples of wizards and witches meddling with time magic, more often than not with disastrous results. In-between those, Professor Dashwood provided his conclusions, which were too mind-boggling for Ron, but he wanted to make some sense of them, because if he had to admit it, he wanted to see what made Hermione so keen on the book, the book he had gotten just to spite her.

Expect now he didn’t feel like spiting her at all.

He opened the book again, knowing there was no way he was finishing it tonight, and let his eyes run over the words while his mind travelled all the way back, to Hogwarts, and to a particular bushy-haired girl always reading in some corner or another, always alone.

He flicked the lights off with his wand and threw the book back on the table in frustration.

There was an endless itching sensation within him, like he should be doing something, something more, and although he didn’t know what, he knew why. It wasn’t just the Department of Mysteries eating him alive. It wasn’t just the loneliness and the emptiness and missing Harry and his job. It was the gut feeling that he and Hermione Granger could’ve, should’ve been good friends, coming back to hit him full in the face seven years later.

***

The Unspeakables had an impromptu lunch break for the first time since he started working in their Department, and Ron rushed up to the Auror Office to hang with Harry, only to find him gone out working on a case.

Figuring he might as well go say hi to Dad, or even Percy (yes, he was that desperate), he turned to leave and stopped dead on his tracks at the sight of Hermione, sitting on the waiting chairs outside Kingsley’s office, reading, of course.

She looked so… strangely belonging to that place, bathed in sunlight, surrounded by paperwork and people working on helping other people. And yet, he’d only ever seen her up here once before, and it was a memory he’d worked hard on burying.

Upon closer inspection, he realized it was fucking Dashwood’s book, and regretted ever getting closer.

“How the fuck are you so far in already?”

She looked up in polite surprise.

“Hello, Ron,” she said, pleasant enough. She seemed to have had quite enough rest, and looked better groomed than she had been in weeks— since Ron had started working for the Unspeakables, actually.

“The book,” he said, too impressed to exchange pleasantries. “You can’t’ve progressed that far in with it, you just can’t. I only returned it to the library the other day!”

“Oh, that? I’m on my second reading, actually.”

“You- what?”

“Did you find it interesting?” she beamed, eyes shining, hands gripping on the tables in excitement.

“What? No, I, uh, sure, but I didn’t finish it—”

“You didn’t?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t have enough time…”

“You didn’t have enough time?”

“Oh, yeah, I guess, I see what you did here…” Ron laughed, but Hermione looked confused, before realizing the joke and laughing herself.

It was a stupid pun, made without meaning to, but they both laughed a lot more than they should have. It was a first in days for Ron, and it felt cleansing, reliving, like having a huge weight lifted off of him.

“No, I mean, I thought you would have enough time, I mean, evidently it’s enough for me…” Hermione said, attempting to return to seriousness.

“Oh, yeah, sure you’d figure I’d have enough time, why wouldn’t you…”

And they were off again, killing themselves laughing. Hermione bent over her knees, holding her belly in laughter, and it was only the fear of his boss barging out of his office any moment that held Ron back from crouching by her and punching the floor repeatedly as he roared in laughter.

And yet, he was glad for that one restriction. Now he could study Hermione so much better, how eye wrinkles formed all around her eyes, how her teeth showed, so white and straight (she had gotten the two front shrunk at some point during Hogwarts), how she kept shaking her head to keep her hair from falling into her face.

And then both froze because the door was open, the door had been open for Merlin knows how long, and at the opening was standing not only Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head of Auror Office, but also Professor Minerva McGonagall.

Hermione immediately shot to her feet with a “Professor McGonagall! So good to see you again!” and reached out her hand. Behind them, Kingsley gave a pleasant nod at Ron.

“Granger, Weasley,” Professor McGonagall took Hermione’s hand and nodded at Ron, a controlled smile playing on her lips, “it’s good to see you two getting along.”

What should’ve been simply a pleasant comment immediately shot an arrow straight through Ron’s stomach that was equally guilt and butterflies.

And then, looking back at Hermione with a fondness Ron had never before witnessed being so openly expressed to any of her students, McGonagall said “How are you, my dearest child?”

Ron gaped at it all, the tenderness in his Professor’s voice and expression, the way Hermione nodded instead of replying, the way McGonagall was holding her hand, as if she didn’t want to let go of her, and how Hermione seemed to be getting comfort from it, and then Ron realized Hermione had teared up, and he averted his gaze from the two of them immediately, his gut feeling telling him that had it not been for his and Kingsley’s presence, Hermione might as well have dissolved in sobs in McGongall’s arms.

“It’s good to see you too, Weasley. Doing good?”

“I- uh, yes, Professor,” he said, then looking at Kingsley, “exceptionally good.”

McGonagall smiled. “Good. Always said you had it in you.” And then, to Kingsley, “He was always a favorite, him and Potter. You should be very proud.”

Ron gaped openly. Not only was it the first time McGonagall was complimenting him, and confessing having a never acted upon soft spot for him, the whole situation was absurd enough. And to top it off, Kingsley nodded firmly and smiled at him.

Ron found himself exchanging looks with Hermione, much like he would’ve done if Harry was there instead of her, expect that her expression was affirming instead of equally bewildered.

“Miss Granger and I would be going out for tea now, Weasley. Care to join us? And for heaven’s sake boy, close your mouth, you look like a Stunned baboon!”

Ron found himself stuttering instead, looking from the one witch to the other in a patter, until he caught Kingsley’s stare from behind McGongall.

So they ended up at the “quite lovely” wizarding café that had just opened next to the Ministry. It was not the place he and Harry would’ve hanged out during their own lunch breaks (they had historically been perfectly content with Muggle canteen food), but it looked like the kind of place his mother would have enjoyed. His gaping for the day was long from over, because the moment he thought things might turn from awkward to boring real soon, both witches took out their knitting work and had a pleasant enough chat about Hermione’s aspirations with SPEW (yes, she was still going strong with that thing she had almost terrorized Harry and Ron into joining, seven years and a completely irrelevant day job later).

“What have you been up to, Weasley?”

“I, uh, me?”

“Yes, boy, you! About time you do less gaping and a bit of talking, would you not think so?”

“Sorry for that, Professor, I…” again, he looked from the one to the other. Hermione nodded encouragingly.

“I was… I am doing good, really.”

McGonagall nodded in approval.

“Bravo! I hear very good things from Shacklebolt about you and Mr Potter. Always good to see a Weasley kid doing good!” she smiled. And then she grew grim.

“Tell me, Ronald, how is your family?”

“We’re…” good died in his throat before he could utter it. Even if it were true, which he knew it wasn’t, he couldn’t attest to it: Merlin knows when was the last time that he had seen a Weasley outside of the Ministry, and still the glimpses he got of Dad or Percy were not encouraging. They both seemed to have aged violently, grown thin and solemn. And Ginny kept making headlines in the Quidditch magazines and the gossip magazines kept giggling about her relationship with Katie, but he knew she was miserable, taking it all out on the sport, and yet he couldn’t owl her. And he had to admit to himself, just like in the case of Bill, the reason for his silence was partly out of spite, because at least they had someone to talk to, someone waiting home for them, someone to hold. And Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes was doing better than ever before and he felt like drowning in the irony of it, and his mother wouldn’t stop sending him letters and sweets and they kept piling up, not one of them answered.

“We’re holding up, ma’am, really.”

She shook her head and sniffed her nose. Ron had only seen her cry once before, at Fred’s funeral: with a rush, he realized it was the last time he’d seen her before today.

“Such a horrible thing, your brother, so young, so…” McGonagall looked away, burying her face in her handerchief.

Ron looked down at his knees, only to see Hermione’s hand quickly withdrawing, having reached out inches away from his own.

“I am sorry, Ron,” she whispered. He closed his eyes.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, too…”

She sniffed her nose, and he realized she must’ve thought he was talking about his brother’s loss.

“I mean, I’m sorry about how… I reacted. That day. I was a proper arse.”

“I understand,” she said, so softly. “You had just lost your brother. A bit of an arse might be in due.”

And they both laughed, bitterly this time.

“No, it’s… it’s not an excuse. You were immediately there to give me your condolences, and I just…”

Her hand covered his with no hesitation this time, and he held it with both of his own.

Later, McGonagall insisted on treating them both and left them on the Atrium. Hours later, Ron and Hermione found themselves alone in the same place again. He was aching to ask how in the name of Merlin’s pants did she end up best friends with McGonagall, but instead he just told her to take care, make herself a cup of tea and have a good night, and firmly shook hands right before using the Floo Powder home.

And so began an awkward friendship with Hermione Granger, a kind girl who sometimes filled her plate with too much and tended to disappear at random, without warning and, when confronted about, apparently without meaning to.

***

“Is there a problem with the Department of Mysteries, Ronald?” Kingsley asked in his deep voice from behind a stack of paperwork.

“No, sir,” Ron promptly answered.

“Then may I ask what are you doing up here during your shift?”

“There is not one problem, sir, there are a lot of problems.”

Kingsley looked up, arched up an eyebrow.

“Is that so? And what problems, exactly, give you the liberty of sheer cheek?”

Both men laughed. Kingsley had shown pretty early on that he didn’t mind humour, at least when coming from Aurors as hard-working as Ron or Harry. But Ron was not in the mood to continue joking.

“It’s the job sir, it’s… wearing me down. I know you feel like you’re giving us an easy one, like it’s some sort of rest for us or something, but… I can’t do it anymore sir, I just can’t. All the time I keep wishing I were here, helping people out instead.”

Kingsley considered him for a second.

“You seem to be listening to your co-workers too much lately, Weasley. Believe me, I am not one to give my best Aurors easy ones. If anything, it’s quite the contrary. The reason I sent you to work down there, and the reason I must insist you follow orders to work there until the end of the year, is less evident than what your fellow Aurors might have you believe.”

“Which is, sir…?”

“Miss Granger, Ronald. I want you keeping an eye out for her.”

“Hermione? But… you think she’s done something?”

Kingsley shook his head.

“No. I want you looking out for her, Weasley. She’s up against greater odds than you know, or she estimates. Just… stay vigilant and have her back, should anything happen.”

“I…”

“I can’t say more, Weasley, it seems everything is confidential,” Kingsley cut him off with an eyeroll intended for the Deputies of Department Ten.

“Sir. Yes sir. But sir, if Hermione is the reason I’m down there, why didn’t you tell me before?”

Kingsley raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, I thought it was apparent? She’s your friend, is she not? Well, maybe you two didn’t use to be particularly close, but I couldn’t help but notice, Weasley, you both always seemed to be rather fond of each other. Should anything happen that requires her protection, I trust you will deliver.”

“Sir!”

“Dismissed, Weasley.”

***

And then the day came when Ron hugged her.

They were both alone in the elevator at night again, talking about their parents, and after Ron mentioned how he hadn’t seen his folks in a long time, how there was something always keeping him from writing home or dropping by despite how much he ached to, Hermione teared up and hugged herself, looked away and said ‘I know how that feels like.’

And so Ron reached out, wrapped her arms around her, held her tight in his arms, and the world around began to spin and the floor beneath their feet vanished.

When it stopped, when it all stopped, Ron was still holding Hermione tighter than ever, and they were outdoors on a hot summer night, on a beach by the sea.

***

When the sun began to dawn that day, twelve years ago, painting the beach in hues of purples and blues it found Ron Weasley sitting on the sand, fingers digging into it, his thick travelling cloak lying forgotten next to him. Hermione had taken off her shoes and rolled up the end of her robes and was pacing up and down by the water, still overtaken by the adrenaline of the night, all the times she’d cried and cried and held onto him as she told him everything, everything, all the things that had happened to her, let it all out.

As for Ron, he was trying to take it all in. Emphasis on trying.

“So you’re a time-traveller.”

“I’m a patient, Ron. It happens without my will, without the need of a time-turner or another wizarding device, and it’s out of my control.”

“Because you had an accident with your time-turner because you just had to sign up for every elective on the list.”

“On our third year, yes.”

“Why?” he shouted out, pulling back his hair, practically pulling his hair.

“Why do you think? I was thirteen, Ron, and I was lonely, in a completely new word I knew nothing of and wanted to know everything about!”

“Muggle studies was a bit too much, though.”

She laughed.

“Yeah, I guess it was.”

“So, this is your life now.”

“Yes, I guess this is my life now.”

“And I thought I had it bad.”

“Oh, don’t say that! It doesn’t mean anything, my condition— of course you have your own problems- you just lost your brother, Merlin’s pants, it’s not like it pales in comparison to—”

“Just randomly travelling back in time and space?”

“Yeah, I guess. But that shouldn’t downplay your own struggles! Anyone’s, really…”

“I mean, it is peculiar, I give you that.”

She laughed again.

“And there’s no cure?”

“No Ron, I told you, there isn’t! It’s never happened before, how can there be? Dashwood had some pretty interesting things to say, as you know, but… at the end of the day, it’s all about something I need to learn to control. I’ve made great progress already, it’s just that, when I get emotional…”

“So that means…”

A soft silence fell between them. A summer breeze was blowing, and although the air was cool, it all looked like it would be a hot day.

“When you hugged me, earlier tonight… tonight, that is, in a manner of speaking… I was emotional, because I was thinking about my parents, and your parents, and well, I thought I could stop it from happening that time, but then you hugged me and I was so… surprised. In a good sense, of course.”

“So you just time-travelled us twelve years into the past?”

“For the thousandth time, yes, that’s the gist of what happened.”

“And that other time, in the elevator? That first time?”

“Yeah. I was a wreck that night. We keep experimenting in the Ministry, but it didn’t work. That day it was particularly bad. And that day on the library, too, I—”

“Wait. They’re experimenting on you?”

“They… not exactly. Not always, anyway. We use inanimate objects, animals, fantastic beasts. Try to notice any patterns, grasp on details and try to figure something out. It’s straining, and very, very complicated, and we, I mean, the wizarding community as a whole, we know so little on it. Inventing time-travel was hard enough, but reversing it seems impossible.”

“Can’t you just… do what you did but on the reverse?”

“You think we haven’t thought about it? It’s just… there’s so many factors at work. And meanwhile whenever this shit happens to me I have to abide by the law and not intervene and stay hidden, and try to keep anyone from noticing and—ugh!”

“Don’t worry. I won’t say a thing,” he whispered. Another silence fell between them, gentle like the wind that made her hair float.

“So where are you now? I mean, the past you?” Ron asked at last.

She pointed at the white holiday house on the sore, about half a mile from where they were.

“It’s where my parents and I spent summer that year.”

“In the south of France…”

“In the south of France.”

“Cool. I’ve never been abroad.”

Hermione shook her head in exasperation.

“I mean, it might sound a bit cruel, but it’s also… fucking bloody brilliant, innit?” Ron grinned. “Especially if you can control it, just, bam! Travelling into the past like that!” and he snapped his fingers.

“No, it’s not! I mean, I see where you come from, I guess, but if I ever reach a state where I have full control over it, there’s no way I’m ever willingly doing this shit.”

Ron smiled, at how many times she’d cursed that night, at the absurdity of this all, at how beautiful she looked in the dawning light that painted the scenery pink and yellow.

She had taken them twelve years in the past, and spent the last eight hours talking about the craziest paradox in human form Ron had ever heard of, and yet, in the dawning light, all he could be was mesmerized by her. With her dark skin, her bushy hair, her white teeth and thick lashes, there was a sort of quiet elegance about her, and her eyes, Merlin, her eyes were the dark brown that warmed you right up. They were the most expressive eyes Ron had ever seen. The way she looked, it made her look like she was somewhere far off, yet overwhelmingly real. Distant, yet earthy. She was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

“When.”

“Pardon me?”

“When you reach a state when you can control it. Bloody hell, Hermione, you’re the most brilliant person I know. Fuck, you’re the most brilliant person any of us know. Ask Harry. Or anyone from our year, really. Ask McGonagall. And none of us knew that you were going through all this while you kicked ass at schoo—”

“McGonagall knows. Sometimes, when I travel back in time at Hogwarts, I just stop by her office and we have tea until I’m ready to travel back. But it’s a huge violation and you should just forget I ever mentioned it.

Ron gaped again.

“I— you… Wow. Merlin’s pants, wow. Well, the point is, you can do it. You most certainly can do it. It’ll take time, and patience, and a lot of work, but you can’t fail. You’re Hermione,” he said simply. Then, filling his cheeks and ears burn red at his own words, he rushed to add, “Besides, you’re already halfway there, aren’t you? The way you said it, you’re…”

“I’ve made progress, sure, but I still have so much to g—” she stopped sort in a sob.

Ron got up and hugged her again, held tight onto her, and she hugged him back.

“Shh. Quiet now. I know, I know,” he whispered.

“No, it’s just…” Hermione mumbled against his chest. “Thank you. For what you just said. Thank you, Ron.”

He saw little else left to do than leave a kiss on the top of her head and then bury his head on her, hoping against hope she wouldn’t let go or mention it, ever, and instead exploded internally as she held onto him even tighter.

“And Hermione, there’s something else,” he said into her hair ten minutes later.

“Hmm?”

“I’m by you. I mean, I’m with you on that. If you ever need anything, huge or small. I’m your person. That is, as long as you can get us back home, I’m your person.”

Her grip on him lessened and then she let go completely, took a step back, smiled up to him with tears still in her eyes.

“Oh.”

He looked around, taking in the tidy apartment, bathed in morning light, the shelves of books on the walls, the London scenery out the windows and the curled orange cat sleeping on the sofa, the way her hair captured the light.

“Well. Good morning, I guess.”

“Good morning. Care for a cup of coffee? We just need to make it fast, or we’ll be late. We still have to go to work, unfortunately.”

And she was off to the kitchen, making them coffee with magic, and she was laughing and joking with him, tired and still shaking from all of last night, but not alone anymore.

***

And so began a very strange friendship with Hermione Granger, time-travelling human disaster and Unspeakable by condition, not by choice. There were times where she would disappear twice a day and then there were times where she wouldn’t have an episode for weeks.

“Generally I’ve noticed that there is a connection to what is triggering the time lapse with the time of the past that I travel to. For example, on the night we travelled to the south of France, I’d been thinking of my parents. So I travelled to a place and time where we made good memories. It happened unconsciously, but I believe that’s the secret to controlling it,” she said, cuddled up in Ron’s only armchair, cupping a warm drink in her hands. Harry nodded at the offhand mention of that night, but said nothing.

In what was perhaps the greatest violation of confidentiality in Hermione’s life, she had opened up not only to Ron, but to Harry also. She had initially no such intentions concerning either, but some situations, such as staying up all night on a beach in the south of France talking about a bizarre wizarding condition, twelve years ago, are the kind of situations that bond people together for a lifetime.

So after that night Hermione and Ron wouldn’t stop spending time together, spending their work breaks hanging out and evenings at the house of the one or the other. And it was impossible to talk about anything but That Night. At first, at least. So Hermione spilled out everything she had come to discover about herself.

And although that topic of conversation was never abandoned (how could it, after all?) Hermione and Ron started to talk about other things, too. Reminiscing of Hogwarts, for once, although that was a subject prone to many an awkward silence. And then there were their families, their love lives, their pets and their remaining friendships.

And so came Harry.

Ron had never thought Harry and Hermione would click so well. Or more like it, that Hermione would instantly take Harry under her wing as if he were a little brother, and that he would let her. Ron loved Harry very much, and silently prided himself for knowing him better than anyone, but sometimes he felt closed off of him, as if Harry was pushing him out. Hermione saw no need to respect such unspoken boundaries and barged right in, preparing weekly schedules for the three of them, pestering them to do their paperwork and rolling her eyes every time they talked about Quidditch, but nonetheless stayed. Even when she could not participate in the conversation, she would read a book or ponder over her next move at wizard’s chess (which she was rubbish at, a fact that secretly amused Ron to end).

And so it began. Harry, Ron and Hermione, unlikely best friends. Two Aurors and Hermione, the way she was, was a sure recipe for disaster.

Ron would come home and find her curled up sleeping in his bed, catching up on sleep by turning time back a few hours (it did have its perks). Hermione’s once-tidy sitting room was now a battlefield of papers and rolled-out parchments, Harry and Ron’s Auror paperwork due tomorrow morning. There was a bag of cat food for Crookshanks in Harry’s apartment now. And so on.

The three of them ended up hanging in Diagon Alley more and more often, buying ice cream from Fortescue’s and hanging out with George at the shop.

Harry had always gotten along with the twins spectacularly, but Ron was surprised to see Hermione approving of his wild prankster of a brother, too. Sure, George would get scolded more than Harry or Ron, but the environment of the trick shop revealed Hermione’s more relaxed, funny side, and the four of them would spend entire evenings laughing their heads off at the back. Sometimes some of Ron’s siblings would drop by too, Ginny more often than the rest: exhausted from practice but never too tired to joke about, she and Hermione quickly became friends.

And Hermione’s time episodes lessened significantly. And she kept saying they were making progress with a gleam in her eyes, oh that gleam in her eyes, and they were all starting to eat better, sleep better, live better. And yet.

And yet there was Harry and Hermione, and Harry and Ron, and then there was Ron and Hermione. And Ron and Hermione kept locking eyes because they kept looking at each other and their glances lingered for just a moment too long. And Hermione would turn up at Ron’s house and tell him to scoot over in the middle of the night and then fall asleep immediately, leaving him cornered up against the cold wall with no blankets. And Hermione kept asking Ron to stay over once it got late, hanging out at her place, and she and him would lie in bed talking until they fell asleep. But most of the times when they spent the night together, Hermione would fall asleep on Ron in the sitting room, and he would let her, and cover them up in blankets and make them more comfortable, and Hermione would wake up for just a second, cuddle him tighter, and fall back asleep. And the next day they would both be sore and never talk about it, but they would rinse and repeat still.

Until Ron said what he’d been aching to say.

***

They were almost asleep, cramped up in his bed, almost cuddling but not quite, and talking about Hogwarts. How brilliant of a Seeker Harry had been, and how brilliant Ron was as Keeper (“I was OK sometimes, I suppose,”) and how Hermione always brought a book to the Qudditch matches she did attend. Cause she missed out a lot. And then, at long last, Ron said it.

“I reckon we should’ve been friends. At Hogwarts. All this time.”

He felt her tense and stay still beside him. He’d swear she was holding her breath.

“Hermione?”

“It’s just…”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I think so too.”

“I know. I just… I’m sorry. For what happened back then. In our first year. What I said about you. I know you heard it. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, Ron. You were just a kid. Besides, I was a bit of a nightmare, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, but I should’ve done something about it. Apologized or whatever.”

“You did. Later on, you did. I’m sorry, Ron. I was the one who snubbed you and turned you down the next time,” she sniffed her nose and with a start, Ron realized she was crying.

“It’s alright, love—”

“It really isn’t! We were older, too! I should’ve known better than to turn down the only person reaching out to me!”

“No, Hermione, please don’t go so hard on yourself. You had enough on your plate already. We both made mistakes. And yet—”

“And yet you kept looking out for me! And I was so, so ungrateful and blind…”

“Shh. I was going to say, and yet we’ve found each other. Again. Now.”

She reached out her hand to grab his by the wrist and pull it over her. With a smile, Ron hugged her by the waist and held onto her as she calmed down.

“We really did find each other. Took our sweet time, but we found each other,” she hummed, almost to herself, as she fell asleep.

***

Later that night, Ron woke up covered in sweat and terribly nauseous and shot out of bed, only to stumble into a just awoken Hermione beside him.

On the Gryffindor common room floor.

“Oh Merlin! Oh no, not again! Ron, quick, come here, we must hide, we must—”

“Hermione? It—what happened?”

She grabbed his wrist, nails digging into his skin, and dragged them on a corner by the barely burning fireplace, where they threw a Gryffindor banner over them and curled into each other.

“What—is this…? Where are we? Hermione? Did it happen again?” Ron asked in hushed tones, Hermione’s hair getting in his mouth.

“Shh! I think it’s because… I dreamt it,” she hissed, elbowing him to keep quiet.

“What? It happens in your sleep too? Oh, can’t you just take us back?”

“No Ron I’ve told you I can’t do it immediately!”

“Let’s Apparate then!”

She was quiet for one second, the kind of pregnant pause that made Ron realize he had just said something incredibly stupid.

“You can’t… Apparate… in Hogwarts… Ron, sometimes, I swear…! Hush! Someone’s coming!”

Sure enough, the door that lead to the boys’ dormitories opened and out came a teenage Ron, lanky and bed-headed, no facial hair yet and an abundance of freckles and acne instead, looking all the more skinny and awkward in his too-short maroon pyjamas.

The adult Ron held his breath and Hermione squeezed his hand as they watched.

Teenage Ron looked around the common room as if searching for something. Then he walked toward a table, picked up screwed rolls of parchment, revealing tiny little knit hats hidden beneath, and proceeded to throw the parchment into the fire. The room lit up as the paper burned, and adult Ron and Hermione stood more still than ever, praying against all odds that the teenager wouldn’t notice them.

Luckily enough, teenage Ron was sleepy and seemed to be heading back to the dormitories, when…

“Password?” the all-too familiar voice of the Portrait Lady came from outside the common room.

“Tapeworm,” answered a tired little voice from outside.

The teenager froze on the spot. He gave a quick look toward the dormitory stairs, as if considering running for it, but the portrait moved just then and in climbed teenage Hermione, Prefect badge shining on her chest. She still had some baby fat on her face, and her hair and eyebrows were even bushier than her adult self, but she demonstrated all the signs that the adult Hermione had on the first time she and Ron shared the elevator: exhausted, with bags under her eyes and so, so cold. Her entire posture was hunched over and miserable, burdened by all the books she was carrying.

The two teenagers froze and considered each other. From where they were hidden, their adult selves could observe both, and both sensed the room filling with some sort of electricity.

“Weasley,” teenage Hermione said, voice now loud and bossy, nothing like the tired murmur that had spoken the password. “What are you doing up?”

The ginger boy shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pyjama pockets.

“I just… it’s gotten so late and y… I was up studying.”

Hermione snorted in a very McGonagall way.

“Oh, please. You— are those my knit hats?”

She rushed over to the table with the knitting Ron had just revealed, threw her books down and stared at the hats, tears already forming in her eyes. When she looked up at Ron again, red-eyed and wild-haired, she was sobbing with rage.

“What are you—will you ever leave me alone? What’s so wrong with this?” she pointed to the hats, her movements sharp. “Why do you care? Just leave!” she threw a hat at him. It missed by a lot and would have done no damage had it found its target, but the fury with which she threw it was enough to make the boy take several rushed steps back. “Leave me alone! Leave me!”

And the girl collapsed on a sofa by the table, collapsed over her books and dissolved in sobs.

Young Ron made to go for the stairs, hesitated, looked back at the crying girl.

“You’re all messed up, Hermione,” he said, harsh voice echoed off the walls. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but it’s—” his expression softened at the sight of her, defeated and responseless, and he never finished his sentence. Instead, he climbed up the stairs to his bed. A moment later, the adult Ron and Hermione heard the dormitory door shut behind him.

Letting go of a breath he’d been holding, Ron finally swallowed. He could feel Hermione shaking against his chest, still holding onto his hand for dear life.

“Hermione…”

“Shh!”

They stayed there, watching young Hermione cry onto her books, until she grew quiet and her breathing even.

The dormitory door opened again, just a hinge, and Ron’s ginger hair peeped through the opening.

Slowly, the lanky boy got through the opening and stood and watched Hermione sleeping. There was remorse and guilt in his face, and adult Ron knew exactly how he was feeling: like he wanted to apologize and make things right, and yet his pride was in the way. Cowardly as it might be, he had been relieved to find her passed out, not having to face her tonight.

The teenager made a motion as if to climb up again, but hesitated, and turned back toward the sleeping girl. Taking a deep breath, he walked slowly to her, grabbed a quilt someone had forgotten on the back of an armchair, and quietly wrapped sleeping Hermione up in it. Then, with slow motions, he directed her sleeping form to lie on the sofa she was sitting on and, placing a throw pillow under her head, he tiptoed away back to the dormitory room.

Adult Hermione curled her fingers around adult Ron’s and he closed his eyes, buried his head on her hair, took in her scent.

When he opened them again, his back was against the cold wall of his own bedroom instead of the Hogwarts stone. Hermione was sobbing in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” said one of them, and the other said it again, and again and again and again, over and over.

“Hermione,” Ron said at last. “I remember now.”

She let out a shaky breath and laughed.

“I knew you had forgotten. But I was awake then, I just said nothing. I didn’t want it to be true. For years I kept telling myself it was a dream. It was easier than thinking you were there, looking out for me.”

Ron laughed into her hair.

“Well, are you thinking about it now? Because I’m not going to stop caring for you anytime soon. Might as well get used to it.”

Hermione laughed and then turned to face him, to hold his face in her hands and look into his eyes. The streetlight outside provided just enough light for him to see her eyes gleaming behind all the tears, gleaming with determination and love.

“I want to get used to it. To you. Thank you, Ron.”

Ron laughed despite his own tears.

“I’d like that. Getting used to, that, that would be… I love you, Hermione.”

“I know. I’ve known awhile now. I love you too, Ron, I love you.”

That was another night they spent awake together, holding each other and talking. But this time, it was not about the past anymore. They talked of the future.

***

“Resigning. Well, I had not seen that one coming. Right when your time in the Department of Mysteries is over, Weasley?”

“Sir, I realized it was not just the Department. It’s just… the Auror job is not for me. Lately, I’ve been hoping to bring some joy to the world.”

“Well then, Ronald, it’s been an honor,” said Kingsley, getting up from behind his desk to shake Ron’s hand warmly. “I can’t hold you back, though it’s costing me a great Auror. But I’m sure the Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes is a good place for you, son.”

Ron grinned.

“It’s home,” he shrugged.

Harry helped him pack his things. He couldn’t help smiling, despite claims that work would become boring without Ron. As the two were heading toward the elevators, Hermione rushed out of one, beaming and holding something behind her back.

“Oh hi, love—that is, Miss Granger. How’s things in Department Four?” Ron greeted. Hermione beamed.

“All good, but I’m here for you, actually! I’m sorry I can’t see you off, Ron, but, here: a little going-away present.”

“What is… oh, Merlin!”

The tiniest owl cage was placed on top of the paper box Ron was carrying. Inside, a miniscule brown owl was flapping its wings in excitement, eager to be let out. Ron and Harry roared with laughter.

“Thank you, Hermione,”

“Tell George I said hi.”

“You tell him hi! You two will be over for lunch break, won’t ya?”

Harry nodded.

“Tell him hi anyway,” he shrugged.

Ron rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and closed his eyes, trying to fix it in his memory, the three of them laughing, well on their ways to better lives, together.

#romione #romionesecretsanta #gifts17 #fic #rupelover

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romionesecretsanta · 7 years

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Happy holidays @hermadnessmac! I hope you’ve had a lovely December so far and may the new year bring you only the best of times <3

#romionesecretsanta #romione #gifts17 #edit #hermadnessmac

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romionesecretsanta · 7 years

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Knowing

Merry Christmas, @like-a-whisper !! I hope you have a lovely holiday and enjoy your gift. :)

###

“When did you know?”

“Know what?” Ron asked his brother as he motioned to the bartender for another round.

George traced the rim of his empty glass. “When did you know you were going to marry Hermione?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just making conversation.”

Ron shot him an incredulous look.

“What?”

“Really, George?”

“Can you just answer the question instead of making this a bigger to-do than it needs to be?” George snapped irritably as the barkeep slid new glasses toward them. “Cheers,” he added shortly.

“Well, I dunno how to answer,” Ron retorted.

“I’m not asking for the gory details,” George replied. “I’m just asking when.”

“Well, I don’t know when,” Ron said. “Long before I actually asked, I s’pose.”

“This isn’t helpful,” George sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I assume you’re asking because of Ange?” Ron guessed, eyeing his brother warily. “‘Cause I think she’d be a great sister-in-law, obviously, but it’s your decision.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So what do you want me to say, then?”

George rested his elbow on the bar and used his hand to prop his head up, tilting toward Ron. “Dunno. I just…I want to know what’s going to happen if we do it, I reckon.”

“Well, you’ll get married,” Ron reasoned. “Which is nice, there’s a big party and all. You’ll have to see a few of our less pleasant relatives, but they do come bearing gifts.”

“Can you be serious for a second?”

“I am. I’m telling you that you’re seriously out of your mind, mate,” Ron said. “There’s no way to know what’s going to happen. And if that’s all that’s holding you back-”

“Then how do you know it’s not going to fall apart?” George retorted.

“Do you think it would with Angelina?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Just that I don’t know that it won’t.”

Ron softened a bit as he watched his brother’s shoulders slump. When he’d first asked the question, he’d assumed George was going to take the mickey out of him something fierce - but there was sincerity there he hadn’t expected, though perhaps he should have. They weren’t teenagers anymore; they trusted each other, and it had taken a long time to get to this point. It wouldn’t help matters if he got preemptively defensive every time George toed the line toward a sensitive subject. He hesitated a moment, choosing his next words more carefully.

“Marrying somebody isn’t saying you know what’s going to happen, though,” Ron reasoned. “It’s saying whatever happens, you’re in it together.”

“S’pose,” George allowed. “I’ve just been waiting for…a realization, I guess? A sign? I dunno. Merlin, this sounds ridiculous.”

“Doesn’t sound like you, honestly,” Ron agreed.

“Yeah, I know,” George admitted. “Maybe it’s just the time of year, you know? The holidays and all that, makes you look for that sort of thing.”

“Well, there wasn’t one big moment for me,” Ron told him honestly. “It was a lot of little moments.”

“Well, yeah, I’ve got loads of those,” George replied. “I could come up with three, just today.”

“Trust those.” Ron finished his drink with one long sip. “Those moments are when life happens. I mean, yeah, you’ll go through a lot of big stuff together, just look at me and Hermione. But those big moments weren’t when I fell in love with her. That happened along the way, every time she believed in me when I thought I was too useless to write an essay or take a test, every time she laughed at one of my jokes while we were playing chess. So I guess I knew, yeah, but I knew because we’d already built something worth fighting for, just being ourselves every day. So it wasn’t just something we felt; we chose each other.”

George whistled. “Right, then.”

“What?” Ron snapped, suddenly self-conscious again.

“No, I’m not criticizing, or whatever,” George said quickly. “Really, I’m not.”

“What then?”

“I…I do feel that way, about Ange,” George sighed. “It’s just not easy, the not knowing how things will play out. Hasn’t been, not since…”

“I know,” Ron said, his voice lower now. “But not knowing what’ll happen a decade from now shouldn’t keep you from taking the leap.”

“Yeah,” George agreed. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not like I have doubts, you know? Not about her, anyway.”

“I know what you mean,” Ron replied. “Just don’t stand in your own way, yeah?”

“Alright.” George finished his drink and slid his jacket on. “Not a word of this to the others, got it?”

Ron smirked. “Wouldn’t want them to know you’ve got feelings, would we?”

“Oh, shut it.”

“Not a word. Promise.”

###

The small bar where he had met his brother was only three blocks away from the flat he and Hermione shared, and Ron was happy to walk. The air wasn’t too cold, despite the thin layer of snow that covered the grass from a small storm that had blown through the previous evening. The trees on the other side had been adorned with strings of lights, and the whole world felt like Christmas.

He’d told George the truth - he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he’d known he wanted to marry Hermione. He could hardly remember a time he hadn’t known, really. From the time they got together, honestly, even if he hadn’t exactly admitted to himself at first. It felt like a lifetime ago, though he supposed it had only been six years - time was funny that way. Some days he could close his eyes and be seventeen again, as though no time had passed at all; others, he could hardly believe it had only been a year and a half since their wedding day - it felt like they’d always been like this.

When he arrived at last to the door of their flat, Ron was greeted by the seasonal scent of gingerbread wafting from the kitchen. It was, if he was being totally honest, the only thing Hermione was very good at baking, but she wasn’t just good at it. Her gingerbread was excellent, and she took the time to painstakingly decorate each little figure as if they were a real person, with details on their clothing and a unique face. Sure enough, when he glanced at the table, he saw row upon row of neatly organized gingerbread men (and women) - but no Hermione.

“Hermione? I’m home!” he called out as he swiped the nearest treat - this one had blue sprinkles for hair and a purple frosted bow tie. He took a bite and instantly felt as though he had transcended several universes - perhaps it had been the first time he’d tasted her gingerbread that he’d decided to marry her, after all!

“I’m in bed,” he heard her voice call back.

“Already?”

“It’s past midnight,” came her response, but he heard no annoyance in her voice. “You’re not eating my gingerbread men, are you?”

“Course not.”

“Liar.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

“After you finish chewing, I expect.”

Ron couldn’t help but chuckle; she knew him too well. He scarfed down the rest in two bites, wiped the crumbs from his face and sauntered to their bedroom where he found his wife reading a newspaper by lamplight. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Hermione folded the paper and stretched out her arms. Ron quickly slipped out of his jeans, crawled into bed next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she laid her head on his chest and snuggled into him. He grinned as her soft curls tickled his chin. “What did George want?”

“Oh, just a bit of business with the shop,” he dismissed, keeping his promise to his brother. “I was thinking of something earlier, though.”

“What’s that?”

“When did you decide to marry me?”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked. She was tracing circles on his chest.

“Was there a moment you just knew?”

“Hmm. I…I don’t suppose I’ve ever thought of it like that,” she said slowly. “It was a lot of moments, really.

Ron’s smile grew, and he squeezed her shoulders affectionately. “Me, too.”

“Now that I think of it, though, I suppose the first one was that summer after the war. Do you remember?”

“Love, there were about forty thousand moments for me that summer,” Ron said honestly.

“Well, yes, but do you remember the first time I told you that I loved you?”

“Course. I thought I was dreaming.”

“You did seem a bit dazed,” Hermione recalled warmly. “You said it back, though.”

“We were just about to go to Australia, weren’t we?”

“Well, I was about to go. Then you made it clear it would be actually be ‘we.’”

“Wasn’t going to let you go alone, was I?”

“I just remember feeling so unsure about everything,” Hermione said, tilting her head so her chin was resting on his chest and he could peer down into her eyes. “I felt like I was drowning. And then I came to talk to you about it, and it just felt…simple. Like everything was going to be okay, even though it wasn’t.”

“Well, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, either,” Ron admitted bashfully, feeling the tips of his ears burn. “I just knew we ought to face whatever was coming together.”

“But that’s all that mattered, in the end,” Hermione replied. “And that’s what I realized, too. That even if everything else felt like it was falling apart, I wanted you with me through all of it. I might not have been thinking about marriage, specifically, but…”

“Well, no, but that’s what it is, isn’t it?” Ron agreed. “It’s choosing each other, every day.”

“Absolutely.” Hermione raised herself up and kissed his lips gently. “Now, what brought this on?”

“Oh, just thinking about the whole idea of knowing you’ll end up with someone,” Ron replied. “I’ve never really gotten it, I suppose. I mean, yeah, I knew with you, but that’s because we built us, you know?”

“Well, I’ve never bought into the idea that any relationship is written in the stars,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “But I do think there’s a bit of that, with us.”

“You do?”

“Well, don’t you?” Hermione asked. “I’ve always felt like things played out the way they were supposed to, if there’s any such thing.”

“I don’t think I’d be the person I am if I hadn’t known you since I was eleven,” Ron offered.

“Same goes vice versa,” Hermione confirmed. “And I think there’s something to be said for that, for meeting the right person at the right time. I think there’s a lot of poetry in the way things happened with us. Whether that’s a happy accident or not, I don’t know, but I like to think it’s part of something bigger, I suppose.”

“Hermione Granger, the girl who walked out of third year Divination,” Ron remarked with a chuckle.

“Yes, well,” she said primly. “Love makes you believe all kinds of crazy things.”

Ron smiled again and drew her in to his chest with both arms, engulfing her in a bear hug and pressing a kiss to the top of her curls. The truth was that he didn’t care - destiny, fate, coincidence, what have you - so long as he got to fall asleep with her in his arms every night, kiss her every morning before he left for work, listen to laugh and feel like the sun was shining from her face. It didn’t matter when he knew or why it happened, so long as he got to love her for the rest of his life.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione,” he murmured into her hair, cherishing the feeling of her pressed against him - and smiling again when her sleepy, contented voice murmured a reply.

“Happy Christmas, Ron.”

#romione #romionesecretsanta #gifts17 #fic #like a whisper

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romionesecretsanta · 7 years

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Merry Christmas, Michaela! Clearly my Photoshop skills have gotten a little crusty over time, but I hope you enjoy this little gift anyway. Happy holidays and a happy new year - your Secret Santa ❄❄❄

#romione #romionesecretsanta #gifts17 #edit #feminist bookworm

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romionesecretsanta · 7 years

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Two Golden Rings

Merry Christmas, Anna! I hope you have a wonderful holiday, and enjoy this little story.

xx your secret santa

( @lilhex )

“I still can’t believe you came out here in this mess of a storm. And they let you?”

“Surprisingly,” said Ron as he plucked yet another peanut from the basket at the center of the table, “things have slowed down a bit at work now that You-Know-You’s, y’know, dead.” Hermione showed her appreciation for the explanation with a light whack of her mittens against his arm. “I’m just saying—”

“One afternoon’s nothing we can’t make up,” Harry interrupted, his finger circling the rim of his most recently emptied glass. “Anyway, it looks like everyone else had the same idea.” Getting to King’s Cross to pick up Ginny and Hermione hadn’t been the challenge, according to Ron, who had found it much more difficult to secure the four of them a booth at the Hopping Pot that evening. The trio glanced around the pub for but a moment; it was overwhelming to look too long at the bustling crowd as they fought for counter space at the bar.

Luckily, Ginny emerged from between them less than a minute later with another round of very full mugs.

“Don’t get too excited,” warned the ginger. “It’s only hot chocolate this time. Figured we could use it if we want to get home in one piece.”

“Last round then?” Ron asked, and everyone nodded. After draining his mug with a few swift sips, he stood. “Best grab the tab then. I’ll meet you lot up there.” Hermione watched as he went, taking note of the pride in Ron’s step that came from being able to pay for them. It was a habit that he’d begun forcing upon them on Hogsmeade weekends, one that no one had planned to make permanent. All the same, no one wanted to take the opportunity from Ron until it stopped putting that extra pep in his step, either.

In the midst of her own proud thoughts, Hermione turned back to Harry and Ginny, who were conspicuously close. Rather than feel embarrassed, she remembered how little time they had together before it was back to Hogwarts for herself and Ginny—how cruel it was that their holiday break was so short, and that she was wasting precious minutes there while Ron was on the other side of the room.

Clearing her throat a little too loudly, Hermione picked up both hers and Ron’s cloaks. “I’ll just— We’ll see you up there.”

Hermione’s polite pleas to be allowed through the crowd were met with indignant huffs, if they were even acknowledged at all. And just when Hermione gave an indignant huff of her own—

“Oomph— No!”

Hermione watched as something small and difficult to distinguish tumbled from the pocket of Ron’s cloak and onto the floor. With no preparation but a hesitant glance at the crowd around her, she dove at the floor, carefully working her way around ankles and toes, narrowly avoiding the stomp of pointed heels and thickly padded boots. At last, she rescued it, though at the expense of her neatly combed hair that she’d put a little extra effort into taming that morning.

But as she walked through the crowd, with the small box clutched in the palm of her hand, Hermione felt funny. She realized that she didn’t know what it was, exactly, that she had dropped, or how important (or not) it actually was. What if she was holding the key to one of his assignments in the Auror department out in the open? No, that was silly, it couldn’t be that important, but—

“Oh, fudge flies,” Hermione sighed in surrender. Peeling off to the side of the room, she stopped and shifted the cloaks in order to hold the box properly. Once it was secure in her hand, she opened it—

“Oh, no.”

“Where the hell’d you get that?”

The box snapped shut as Hermione gasped. “Nothing. Nowhere.” She blinked furiously at Ron, her expression vacant until she realized the predicament she was in. Standing there, in the middle of the pub, with one of his personal effects in her hand. Blushing, she thrust the box into his chest. “It fell out of your pocket.”

“Oh.” The whole of Ron must have been red, because every inch that Hermione could see was glowing vibrantly, even in the subtle lighting of the pub. He took the box gently from Hermione’s hand and turned it over in his fingers. “Well,” he said, a sheepish smile on his face, “there goes Christmas.”

Christmas. A big holiday, for which, by the looks of it, Ron had planned a big gift. There was no time for Hermione to filter her thoughts before they came rushing out of their own accord.

“Ron, I’m not ready to get married.”

As Ron looked up, Hermione braced herself for the pained look she (regrettably) knew well. Instead, there was a smirk, one that cracked into a full smile, and then soft laughter. As much as Hermione wanted to feel relieved, all she felt instead was confused.

“Bloody hell, Hermione, don’t you think I know that? Here—” He motioned for his cloak, which Hermione happily handed over.

“Well, I thought I knew that you knew that, but then—”

She trailed off when Ron reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a second box. He opened them both and held them out for Hermione to see two identical gold rings, the only difference being that one was slightly larger than the other. She narrowed her eyes at the boxes, and then shifted her gaze to Ron for explanation.

“Just got ‘em last night from Bill. One of his Curse-Breaker friends – well, she used to be, but she does stuff like this now – anyway, she charmed ‘em for us. They’ve got that thing you put on all the Dumbledore’s Army coins.”

“The Protean charm?” Hermione offered automatically.

“Yeah, that,” Ron nodded. “Anyway— I thought they’d be a cool way to, er, y’know, keep in touch. Since owls are kind of a pain in the arse, ‘specially in this weather.” It was Hermione’s turn to nod. There was a pause then, during which Hermione stared at the rings in awe and Ron tried to gauge her reaction. “If you don’t like ‘em, I can—”

“I love them.” Hermione finally met Ron’s eyes. The tension that had gathered so quickly rushed away just as fast. With wide grins and joined hands, they headed for the door.

“Just try to act surprised when I actually give it to you, yeah?”

#romione #romionesecretsanta #gifts17 #fic #lilhex

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romionesecretsanta · 7 years

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For @ashleopardd, hope you like it, Crookshanks doesn’t approve of Ron as Hermione’s boyfriend but Ron can not complain since he is so happy, and Harry… is being Harry. The playlist has songs that I like and relate to romione (in different languages) Happy Holidays! https://open.spotify.com/user/luns_dashwood/playlist/1aSDdKrahGvgX6iG3oTVn8?si=4a-KOQ4dTv2R8WWH44qsfA

#romione #romionesecretsanta #gifts17 #ashleopardd #fanart #fanmix

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romionesecretsanta · 7 years

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Not the Christmas He Expected

This one’s for you, @vondrakenhof. It was my first time writing these two, but I had a fun time doing it. Hope you enjoy!

—x—

This wasn’t how Ron imagined his Christmas break going.

For starters, Ron hadn’t thought he would get a Christmas break at all. As a trainee in the Auror Academy, he knew was just about as low as you could go on the totem poll. He would have been happy to get Christmas dinner off–would have considered himself lucky if he got all of Christmas Day off. Instead, Kingsley had insisted that all of the trainees fresh from Hogwarts get the week from Christmas Day to New Year’s Day off. Something about paying back a little of the innocence was stolen from them.

Normally, Ron would turn up his freckled nose at such blatant special treatment. But this was special treatment that he deserved. He had actually earned this privilege, and the scars that wound across his pale skin proved it. This wasn’t some consolation prize or a “bonus” of being a friend of Harry Potter.

In the end, neither Harry nor Ron had protested much. Their classmates deserved this break, too, and they didn’t want to ruin it for them. And, as the duo reminded Kingsley on their way out, should any of the remaining Death Eaters show their ugly faces, he knew where to reach them.

So, by all rights, Ron should have been ecstatic.

It was a certain wild-maned brunette in his life that had thrown him off kilter.

Everyone had been gathered in the living room, sipping on tea and hot chocolate and just enjoying having the whole family gathered. It was late that Christmas evening. Presents had been long since opened and dinner had been put away. But it had also been years since the last all the Weasley siblings had made it to Christmas. Both Bill and Charlie had been abroad while Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George had been in Hogwarts. Then Percy had to go be an absolute arse. And then last year…well. It was good to have everyone here now.

Then, without warning, Hermione had appeared, trunk and Crookshanks in tow, in the fireplace. There were a tense few seconds where everyone’s hands went to their wands, but it passed soon enough as everyone recognized their late night guest.

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” she greeted them. Crookshanks leapt out of her arms and vanished to wherever it was the blasted beast liked to go when he was here. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I really did mean to get here sooner, but I just couldn’t find a good opening to leave my family.”

Ron and Harry immediately shared a glance. Translation: her parents didn’t want her to leave at all, and she had only just won the argument. The Grangers had been more reluctant than ever to let their daughter slip back into the magical world since their return from Australia. It had been a constant source of tension in their relationship lately, but Ron had thought that everything had been settled when Hermione left for Hogwarts this year.

Apparently not.

“Anyway, I know it’s late, but I have all of your Christmas gifts!” With a swish of her wand, said pile of book-shaped gifts sailed out of Hermione’s trunk and towards their expected recipients.

“Wonder what this could be,” Harry drawled, having been the first to catch his. “Hey, Ron, wanna bet we’ve all gotten a copy of Hogwarts: A History?”

“Nah, mate. It’s a new hat for sure. Hermione had so much fun knitting during her fourth year that she decided she wanted to join Mum in the yearly tradition,” Ron shot back. He set his mug of cocoa down on the mantel so he could hold his present and draw Hermione in for a hug. She immediately tucked herself under his chin and squeezed him hard. “Your presents are under the tree, too. Mum and Dad headed up to bed a couple hours ago, but we were all planning to be down here for a while yet. Yeah, guys?”

Varying levels of agreement rang out, and everybody settled down once more to open presents. Of course, everyone had gotten books, but they were–thankfully–not copies Hogwarts: A History, signed or otherwise. Both Bill and Fleur had gotten curse-breaking themed books, for example. Ginny had grinned when she peeled off her wrapping to reveal Women in Quidditch with Gwenog Jones and a woman he suspected had been the Irish keeper at one point decorating the cover. Ron himself was now a proud owner of a The Semi-Closed Openings in Action, a muggle chess book. A large bag of Honeyduke’s finest milk chocolate had also found its way into his lap while everyone was busy opening their presents–another form of special attention that Ron was perfectly okay with.

With presents opened once more, no one made any indication of leaving. Instead warming charms were cast on abandoned drinks, and the discussion of everyone’s first interaction with a Weasley Wizard Wheezes’ product picked back up again. Very few people had heard Hermione’s story about the punching telescope, it turned out, and even Percy chuckled at the retelling.

After a while, it became clear that Hermione’s mind was elsewhere. For one, she had pretty much stopped participating in the conversation. She was even silent when everyone was describing their first impressions of Trelawney. When everyone else laughed Hermione would follow along, but that’s all it was. As if she was reacting to the sound of laughter itself instead of the cause. The most tell-tale sign that something was wrong, however, was that she was she was running her fingers up and down the vine-like patterns on her wand. It was a habit that had started after her wand was finally returned to her–one that only surfaced when she was particularly anxious.

Harry had started sending worried glances to him sometime earlier, but by now even Ginny looked concerned. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

“I never got you a drink, ‘Mione!” Ron interjected the moment there was a break in the conversation. He stood and helped a slightly bewildered Hermione to her feet. “Blimey, I’m so sorry. Why don’t you come look at Mum’s tea collection with me, and I’ll get you taken care of.”

He knew Hermione would have asked for a simple black tea with one sugar and a splash of milk. More importantly, Hermione knew that Ron knew. The confusion lifted from her brow, and she followed him towards the kitchen, saying, “Actually that sounds delightful, Ron, thank you.”

Once they were safely tucked out of sight, Ron cast a Muffliato in the general direction of the living room. He leaned up against counter, still holding one of Hermione’s hands, and began to stroke the back of it with his thumb.

“All right, Hermione, spill. What’s going on?”

“I haven’t done any of my extra assignments!” she wailed immediately. Ron blinked, and she pulled her hand from his grasp so she could begin stroking the sides of her wand once more, “I promised Professor Flitwick and Professor Tiananmen and Prof-Headmistress McGonagall are giving me extra lessons, and I had revision work that I was to complete over the break, and now we’ve only a week left and I haven’t even started!”

“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying your break, Hermione,” Ron began. Merlin’s left sock, a Hermione that was worked up about her studies was not going to be easy to calm down. “Harry and I put our homework off every summer, and we always got it done in time.”

“No, Ronald, I haven’t been procrastinating, I haven’t been allowed to do my revisions!” Hermione snapped. Sparks shot from the tip of her wand, mirroring her agitation. “I thought if I just didn’t do any magic in front of them, they would relax, but anytime I so much as picked up one of my textbooks Mum would leave the room and Dad would just shake his head at me like he was disappointed and I-I just..oh Ron is it going to be like this forever?”

Ron’s stomach dropped. Wordlessly he opened his arms, and Hermione didn’t hesitate before collapsing on his chest. This was much worse than he thought it was. This was almost at a Dursley level of problematic. He rubbed circles on her back as he considered the best way to help. The Grangers probably wouldn’t take well to another eighteen year old telling them how to live their lives, but perhaps if his parents had lunch with them of something? He suggested this to Hermione who shrugged.

Well, there wasn’t much they could do on that front right now, anyway.

“How about I take you to Harry and I’s apartment so you can work in peace and quiet?” Ron suggested, still rubbing comforting circles up and down Hermione’s back. “I think this lot will be up for a while yet.”

Hermione pulled back from Ron’s chest and swiped at her eyes. She took a couple of calming breaths and then nodded. “That would be good. I think I’ll feel better if I could at least outline them all.”

“That’s settled then,” Ron said, “Let’s get your trunk and head over.”

—x—

It hadn’t taken Hermione long to set to work. She summoned the books she needed, grabbed her quill, ink, and parchment, and then plopped down on the loveseat. Since he had no homework to do–a fact he was forever thankful for–Ron had cracked open his new book to read beside Hermione instead. It was pretty good. There were definitely a couple of suggestions that he would be using in his next match.

And while Ron might have imagined a more romantic Christmas evening with Hermione, there was something enjoyable about this, too. It was probably the familiarity of it. More evenings than he could count had passed with he, Harry, and Hermione quietly pouring over books together. Whether they were looking for a forbidden potion, the description of the philosopher’s stone, or Hermione had actually convinced them to drag out their textbooks for a change, it didn’t matter. So his evening might have passed without any enchanted mistletoe, but Hermione was snuggled up under his arm as he read which was a win in his book.

He took the moment to observe his girlfriend out of the corner of his eye. There was a perfectly good coffee table in front of them, but Hermione had pulled her essay into her lap to write instead. She’d pulled her feet up under her instead of letting them dangle over the edge, which he found cute for a reason he couldn’t identify. An ink pot hung in the air just to her right, ready for use at a moment’s notice. Her usually wild mane was pulled up into a messy bun atop her head, and she worried her lip as she wrote.

None of it was a particularly rare sight, but it still…Ron’s chest just felt too full looking at her. Like his lungs simply wouldn’t expand enough, couldn’t draw in enough air. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling by any means. He just felt content.

Ron peaked over Hermione’s shoulder to the essay she was scribbling frantically to see how she was doing. She had quickly moved from “outlining” her essays to full out writing them, and her first page was almost full. He scanned it quickly, recognizing enough spells and names to realize that it was a Defense Against the Dark Arts paper. Just as he was about to return to his own reading, a sentence made him frown.

“In situations when one is outnumbered, quick-paced reaction times might benefit the user more than a shield charm as there are several hexes a simple Protego will be unable to deflect. The unforgivable curses are, of course, a prime example.”

Well, that was true enough, Ron supposed. But that was more of a delay tactic. Dodging spells for eternity would never work without an exit strategy. It had mostly worked for them because even though they were outnumbered, they were surrounded by enough chaos that…actually there was a lot wrong with Hermione’s argument. Should he say something? There was a good chance that Hermione’s textbook hadn’t covered all that he had learned in the first bit of Auror training. But Ron knew that Hermione hated making a claim without a textual source to back it up.

My Auror texts! Ron realized, only just curbing the urge to do a victorious fist-pump. They weren’t her class textbook, but maybe if Hermione could see the points that he was making came from a book..? He started to disentangle himself from Hermione and stand up. Before he could take a step towards his bedroom, a small hand shot out and wrapped around his. Startled, Ron half-thought Hermione wouldn’t even notice that he’d gotten up, he looked back to see his girlfriend staring at him with a heart-wrenching expression on her face.

“Please don’t go,” she pleaded. Her eyes looked suspiciously bright. “I know I’m being terrible company, and a terrible girlfriend, and-and I really do want to spend time with you, really! But it’s just–I have so much work to do, and it’s my NEWT year. And, and even if I have to study, I feel much more relaxed when you’re next to me. So, if it’s not too much trouble could you–would you…?”

“Woah, woah there, ‘Mione.” Ron carefully sat back down on the edge of the couch as to not get sucked back in. “I was just reading over your essay, and thought that I have a book that might help in my room.”

Hermione’s lips rounded into a small “o” of surprise, then she blushed so red she could almost put him to shame. Ron chucked quietly, and pulled her into a side hug so as to not crush the parchment between them.

“So no more of that ‘being a terrible girlfriend’ nonsense, alright? You were one of my best mates when you were upset that end of year exams were canceled. I fancied you even when you were nagging me about study schedules. I’ll still love you when you when you study now. S’not even a question.” Ron pressed a kiss onto the top of her head. “‘Kay?”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed quietly. She had burrowed her face into Ron’s chest in what he guessed was a move to hide her blushing face. Cute. He kissed her head again for good measure and stood up.

“Be right back.”

As Ron had promised, he was back in no time at all with several of the beginner texts that he had received. Hermione’s eyes scanned the spines of the books he carried as he approached–eyebrows raising slightly with each title scanned: Practical Defense, Defense as an Offense, The Defensive Properties of a Single Poppy (and 1000 other common objects), and Defense for Two.

“So,” Ron began, somewhat unsure how to go about this. He sat down once more and stacked the books on the coffee table in front of them to buy some time. “I, um, I noticed that you mentioned that a shield spell was ineffective against some curses–”

“Which it is,” Hermione interrupted. Her eyes were narrowed as she considered him, not angrily, but as if she was trying to figure out where he was going with this.

“Which it is,” Ron agreed. Grabbing the thickest text, he scanned the table of contents before flipping to the designated page, “But there are–there are other defensive options.” He indicated the title of the chapter he had opened to before continuing. “Transfiguration, for one, is a good bet. Protego won’t defend against Avada Kedavra, but a transfigure a rock into a literal shield? That could work.”

Hermione nodded slowly, “And I’m guessing you have a reason that physically dodging won’t work.”

“I mean, dodging does work. We know it does from experience,” Ron grabbed Practical Defense and flipped it to a dog eared page. A single line on the page was italicized and Ron himself had underlined it twice, “ ‘Do not allow your defensive tactic to become your downfall.’ Basically it’s saying there’s no one-size fits all defensive strategy. Being outnumbered in an open field is completely different from being outnumbered in an alley.”

“So dodging spells in an open field? Totally feasible in most situations. In an alley there’s only so many spaces you can go. If you’re really outnumbered you’re going to get hit eventually, so the first priority really needs to be getting the fuck out of there or–or blasting a wall open to get some space and create a distraction or something like that.”

“And when you’re outnumbered with a teammate? What if you and your partner both dodge spells right into each other? What if you manage to dodge spell and then it blindsides your partner because you move?”

“Um, so really there are several alternatives to a shield spell, but I wouldn’t suggest physical dodging as an only alternative,” Ron finished.

Which was what Hermione’s entire essay had been based off of so far. If Hermione’s pursed lips meant anything, she had probably come to the same conclusion herself. Damn. Ron had wanted to help her out, and instead made more work for her. Job well fucking done.

But maybe…

“If you want, I can maybe correct your paper? Add some suggestions like you used to?” Rewrite was more like it. “ ‘Bout time I returned the favor. And I promise to to only write what I can back up with a text book. What do you say, Hermione?”

“You’re offering to write my Defense Against the Dark Arts paper?” she asked, incredulous.

“It wouldn’t be completely rewritt–” A shrewd look from Hermione stopped that sentence in its tracks, causing Ron to shrug sheepishly instead. “Yeah. I mean you might have to touch it up a bit later, but I figure it should be easier if the bulk of the content is there.”

Ron had approximately no notice before Hermione had launched herself at him in a manner very reminiscent of their first kiss. Unlike then, however, there was no battle that required their attention.

All thoughts of tactics and strategy slid out of his mind as Hermione’s tongue slid into his mouth. Fuck Ron had missed this. He had missed being able to slide his hands into her hair to pull her closer. He had missed the way it felt when he took her bottom lip into his mouth, and he had really missed the noise she always made when he did.

Since Hermione had to straddle him to reach his mouth as he sat, Ron knew the second that Hermione started to twirl her hips in tight little circles above his dick, drastically reducing the amount of blood flowing to his head. With that, any chance of slowing down and returning to their studies flew out the window. It had been too long. Their lips slid against each other with renewed fervor as their pent-up desire began to overwhelm them.

Hermione pulled back for air, and Ron took the opportunity to latch onto the skin just beneath her jawline. A breathy moan escaped her as he continued his attentions, and Ron felt her nails digging into his shoulder through his new maroon sweater. The amount of blood flowing to his brain had been drastically reduced, and if Hermione’s heady pants were anything to go by she was feeling a little light-headed as well.

He needed to feel more of her skin against him, he decided. Much, much more skin and much, much less clothing. Kissing a path back up from her neck to her mouth, Ron disentangled his hands from Hermione’s hair to slide down the sides of her sweater. His fingers had just

“Heading home to study my ass.” Harry’s voice sounded from the fireplace. “Ugh, guys, this is not what I wanted to come home to.”

Hermione scrambled off of him as quickly as physically possible, almost falling off the couch in the process. Ron threw his head against the arm of the couch and groaned. The mood had been lost and he knew it. His dick didn’t unfortunately, and there would probably be several uncomfortable minutes before he had calmed down.

“Fuck you, Harry,” Ron called to his roommate’s retreating back.

“You could have gone to your room!” Harry called right back. The sound of his door slamming rather pointedly informed them that Harry had disappeared inside his room where he couldn’t see what they got up to any longer.

Too little too late. Ron groaned again, rubbing his face discontentedly. Fuck Harry. They sat like that, on opposite sides of the couch, for several minutes. When he looked up, Hermione’s cheeks were still bright red.

“If you couldn’t tell,” she said quietly, “I would really appreciate your help with my essay.”

And even though he was frustrated, a small smile played on the corner of his lips. Ron sat up with a sigh, and placed a chaste kiss on Hermione’s cheek.

“Might as well. S’not like I’m going to be able to go to sleep anytime soon, anyway.”

Hermione’s blush returned with a vengeance.

—x—

“I think I’m done with homework for the night,” Hermione announced as he was putting the final touches on her closing paragraph.

Three previously blank pieces of parchment rested in front of Ron’s still moving hand. He had bolstered Hermione’s argument quite well, if he did say so himself. Hermione, who always had been a faster writer than him, had filled four pieces of parchment for for her Transfiguration essay. Ron placed his last period with a bit more force than necessary and dropped his quill triumphantly. He rubbed the web between his thumb and pointer finger as he stood, certain that this was one of the best essays he had ever written.

“Yeah, I think this is a good place to stop,” Ron agreed as he stretched his back. He was too tall to be hunched over the table for that long comfortably, “You finish your transfiguration essay?”

“Just about,” she replied. There was a slight droop to her eyelids that spoke to the late–er–early hour, but she no longer resembled a tightly coiled spring. “I just have to flesh out a few rebuttal paragraphs, and then it should be done.”

“That’ll be easy enough to wrap up,” he said, before yawning. Yep, it was definitely time to turn in. “Well, it might be better if you camped out here for the night. Ginny’s probably already sound asleep in her room, and it would be a bit of a hassle to set up the cot without waking her up. I can transfigure a mean mattress, though, so you don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

Hermione considered this quietly. She looked between Ron and the couch a few times then drew her lip into her mouth and begin to worry it with her teeth.

“Can’t I, um, I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with you if you wouldn’t,” she finally said, looking determinedly at the the ground.

Ron blinked, certain he had misheard her. “With me, are you sure?”

“Only if you’re okay with it!” she insisted.

Like he would have argued. There were very few things Ron could think of that were better than sharing a bed with Hermione. “Alright. Let me just grab an extra pillow.”

Once again, Hermione’s hand clasped around his, preventing him from going anywhere.

“We don’t have to go to sleep right away,” Hermione suggested quietly, “And I can transfigure something if I need it later.”

So, it wasn’t the Christmas Ron expected. They hadn’t gone for a stroll in the snow, and he had ended up writing an essay of all things. But as Ron looked down at Hermione’s blushing face, he decided it had still ended up being a pretty good one.

#romione #romionesecretsanta #gifts17 #fic #vondrakenhof

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romionesecretsanta · 7 years

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Domestic Bliss

Merry Christmas to Sarah ( @remedial-potions )! I hope you enjoy this little slice of domestic smut involving our favourite pair! Enjoy!

Ron’s mouth watered as he stirred the chilli he was cooking. It was a dish his father-in-law had introduced to him, and he’d loved it. The spicy food was like nothing his mother had ever made and it only required two pots to cook, one for the rice and one for everything else. He took the spoon into his mouth and groaned at the taste. The spices were perfectly balanced with the tang of the tomatoes and the rich flavour of the minced beef. Satisfied, Ron turned down the heat on the hob to let it simmer until Hermione came home.

Speak of the devil, Ron thought as the door to their flat opened. He raised his eyebrow as the door slammed behind her. Quickly washing and drying his hands, Ron went out to meet his wife. Hermione was forcefully shaking her coat free of the snow that had gathered on it and roughly hung it up on a hook. She quickly discarded her scarf in the same manner.

“Everything all right, love?” Ron asked, keeping his distance and trying to gauge Hermione’s mood. He knew from previous experience that being too affectionate too quickly when she was in a sour mood would only frustrate her. She was the opposite of him in that regard. A little affection could often assuage his worries and cool his temper before it really got going unless he was in a real fouler.

Hermione growled at nothing, still shedding layers until she was left in her dress and tights. Ron smiled at the sight of the slight bulge at her middle. Their first child was growing in there. It was a concept that still boggled his mind. He and Hermione had made a new life. A life that would be part of both of them. A little person to pour all their love into. And as they always joked: after raising Harry as teenagers their own child would be a piece of cake.

“The snivelling little lickspittles!” Hermione snarled. “After all the work I’ve done for the welfare of and equality of magical beings and those, those…” The words actually seemed to escape her for a minute. “Those fuckwitted, shitbrained, brownnosing wastes of space are just fucking rolling over for the pure-blooded old guard who just want to keep the status quo and keep lining their sodding pockets with gold!”

Ron was surprised, this level of filth rarely came out of Hermione’s mouth unless she was in the middle of a rant, almost never before she’d gotten a good run up to it. He was the source of most of the foul language in their relationship. He tried to smother the initial reaction he had to her vitriol. It always excited him when she cursed.

“Hermione, darling,” he said, interrupting her mid-sentence. “Why don’t you go sit down while I make you a cup of tea?”

Hermione fumed at him with such a nasty look if he’d known her any less he would have been offended. Ron chuckled inwardly, if she was actually mad at him she’d be a lot more intense. She pushed past him and into their living room, throwing herself on the couch with a huff. Ron quickly made his way back to the kitchen, waving his wand at the kettle, bringing the water to the boil almost instantly. Grabbing Hermione’s “Witch in Charge” mug, he used a muggle brand tea bag she liked with just a splash of milk and no sugar.

Tea in hand Ron joined her in the living room, finding her sitting next to the Christmas tree with her feet up on the pouffe, boots still on and arms crossed. He handed her the mug without a word, kneeling at her feet and beginning to unbuckle her boots. Only when Hermione had taken a few sips of tea and he’d pulled off one of her boots did he speak up again.

“So do you want to talk about it?”

Hermione sniffed. “I really thought I was making a difference. I thought I was convincing people of the need for more equality in our laws. Then when it came to present it to the Wizengamot they spoke against me! That fuck-face Cumberbatch even had the gall to suggest my pregnancy was causing me to be overemotional! Wanker!”

Ron frowned. He’d met Cumberbatch, and he was a bigot of the highest order. A misogynist, an ablest and every other –ist imaginable. Hermione had ranted about him before but she was usually able to counter his arguments and cut him down to size in short order. The snake had probably spent weeks whispering things in peoples ears trying to get them to turn against Hermione.

“What a dick,” he said, finally getting her second boot off. “Don’t worry about it though. I give it a week before you’ve destroyed every argument against you.” He began to massage her foot, trying to ease the pain of standing all day. “You’ve got this.”

Hermione looked at him and gave a small smile. “You have such faith in me.”

“Of course I do, love,” said Ron. He took one foot in his hands, gently but firmly massaging it. Hermione groaned. “You’re a force of nature. Always have been. Ever since we were kids you’ve never let anything stand in your way. This is no different.”

“You keep saying things like that- Oh! And doing that oh Merlin that feels so good- I might just have to marry you all over again,” said Hermione, closing her eyes and sinking a bit on the couch.

Ron chuckled. “How about a quiet ceremony this time? No drunken brother, no crotchety maiden aunt. Just the two of us in an intimate setting? Maybe Harry can officiate,” he finished with a smirk.

“Mmm… While that sounds lovely, don’t get me wrong,” Hermione began with a sultry smile. She reached down and gripped him by the front of his shirt, drawing him closer to her face at a deliberate pace. “I don’t think it offers the intimacy I’m looking for.”

Grinning ear to ear, Ron leaned in to give Hermione a kiss. He pressed his lips against hers as she wound her arms around his neck. She deepened the kiss immediately, dragging him down onto the couch with her. One leg hooked around Ron’s backside and pulled him closer to her body. Ron gave an involuntary growl, one hand sliding up her leg to her butt cheek. Hermione pulled away from the kiss, just an inch, and Ron began kissing up her jaw to her ear and down her neck.

“Clothes. Off. Now!” she ordered, her voice filled with need. Ron laughed, pushing himself up from the couch, his knees on either side of Hermione. He yanked his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, pretty sure he hit the Christmas tree but not caring. Hermione sat up, kissing his chest and working on getting his belt open. Ron pulled at her dress, Hermione shifting her bum to allow the fabric to be removed, leaving her in a simple cotton bra and tights bought in a muggle store.

Hermione managed to undo his belt, pulling his trousers and underwear down together and freeing Ron’s already erect cock. She smiled.

“There you are,” she said. She took it in hand, pumping it twice, making Ron’s breath hitch. Then she leant forward, catching the tip in her mouth.

“Oh fuck, Hermione!” he exclaimed, steadying himself by grabbing her shoulder. As she bobbed her head, the sensitive tip passing back and forth between her lips, Ron had to force himself to focus. He reached down, caressing her bare skin, to her bra. With a deft snap of his fingers he unhooked the bra, tearing it away and freeing Hermione’s breasts.

Ron pushed Hermione back down onto the couch, relishing in the audible slurp she made when his dick came free of her mouth. He lay down on top of her, kissing her deeply with one hand snaking into her hair and the other caressing her breast. Hermione moaned, reaching around to grasp his arse tightly.

Ron’s hand slipped from her breast, across the bump, to the top of her tights. He pushed at them, shoving them down past Hermione’s arse, who was shimmying in an effort to help. With an annoyed grunt he separated from Hermione just long enough to drag her tights and underwear off and cast them aside.

He dove back in, pressing his lips against hers once more, his hand between her legs, feeling her wetness. He slipped one finger into her, her centre already slick with desire. Hermione had to end the kiss, to gasp in pleasure. Her fingernails were digging into Ron’s skin, causing a delicious contrast between pain and pleasure.

“Can’t wait. Now,” she said, grasping his cock in order to guide him in. Ron pushed himself inside of her, the two of them groaning in unison. He could feel, even hear, his heart racing. Overwhelmed by the love and desire he felt for this woman, his wife, he thrust forward, staring into her eyes. Hermione matched his pace with feverish intensity, her mouth open in silent ecstasy, her breath hot on his face.

Ron braced one foot against the end of the couch, using it as leverage to push harder. Hermione threw her head back, letting out a wail and exposing the hollow of her throat. He immediately attacked it with his lips, planting open mouth kisses and pressing his teeth to her flesh.

Fuck, I’m not going to last, he thought, the familiar pressure building too fast for him to hold back. He dragged one hand back down Hermione’s body, forcing it between them to find her clit. And Hermione screamed, coming undone in an instant. That pushed him over the edge, buried to the hilt within her, his cock twitching for what seemed like hours.

Finally, Ron’s ability to form coherent thought returned to him. Beneath him Hermione wore a blissful expression, her eyes closed. “Better?” he asked breathlessly.

Hermione laughed almost silently. “Much better, darling.”

#romione #romionesecretsanta #gifts17 #fic #remedial potions #nsfw

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romionesecretsanta · 7 years

Text

Warmth

Happy holidays Abbie! ( @lovelittlelives ) I hope you have an amazing winter and new year, and that you enjoy your gift! :D

Pushing bushy hair out of her face (she’ll have to tame it later tonight) and a heavy truck behind her, Hermione made it to the door of the Hogwarts Express and next minute her feet where hitting the ground and a shriek pierced her ears as she found herself lost in a tight embrace, tuffs of red hair in her eyes.

“Ron!” her hands closed tight around the skinny, tall boy and she stood on tiptoe to be closer to him, bury her nose on his scarf, take in the scent of his hair…

“Welcome home, love,” Ron whispered into the crook of her neck and sniffed his nose. Funny how he hadn’t mentioned getting a cold in his letter the day before. Or the day before. Or the day before that.

“I’ve missed you,” Hermione confirmed, tightening her hold on him.

They finally broke apart, grins wide, cheeks and noses red from the cold, breaths coming out in white little puffs— and someone was shouting.

Parents and students, decked with trucks and owl cages were gathered around the brick wall that connected Platform 9 ¾ with the Muggle station, but all mobility in or out seemed to have stopped. Dragging the truck behind them, Ron and Hermione walked over to the commotion and craned their necks (Hermione on tiptoe again) to see what was happening.

A frail- and tired-looking old man with Ministry robes was addressing the crowd that had him practically cornered against the wall in a very matter-of-factly, I-just-wanna-go-home-immediately voice.

“A safety measure … wait until further notice… my Christmas is ruined too, ma’am, I see little I can do to ease your distress—”

“Ron!” Hermione tugged at her boyfriend’s sleeve and nodded to a shining apparition in a corner.

Ron blinked at it and then, nodding in understanding, took Hermione by the hand and they walked up to it. Once they got close enough, the apparition stretched out and took the form of a silver lynx that spoke in the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“Ron, I hope you and Hermione are OK. There are more rogue Death Eaters and Snatchers causing trouble right now. We highly suspect they are watching the Burrow. Your family is safe, but do NOT return home until further notice and do NOT communicate with anyone in the wizarding world, visit wizarding London or use magic they can track. Your best chance is to blend in with Muggle London for a few hours and lay low. Keep each other’s backs and STAY VIGILANT.”

And the Patronus vanished.

“Well. That’s one way to spend Christmas Eve,” Ron mumbled.

“Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear,” Hermione hugged herself. “I hope everyone’s OK, I mean, that’s terrible-”

Ron cupped her face in his hands.

“It’s gonna be alright, love, we’ll be just right, don’t you worry about it. We’ll just have a walk, make fun of Muggles— Blimey, I just wish I could be out there helping…”

“Oh, don’t say that! You heard Kingsley, there’s not much we can do, let’s just… try to stay out of trouble for once, OK?”

Ron shrugged.

“Can’t see this being too hard. Harry’s not here, is he now?”

***

Half an hour later, spent with the two of them taking turns sitting on Hermione’s truck and catching up on each other’s news (a conversation barely kept alive thanks to their nonstop correspondence; although there had been a training incident Ron had forgot to mention in his latest letter and no one at home could comprehend Hermione’s decision to delay her departure for studying until Christmas Eve instead of returning earlier with Ginny), the Ministry official finally gave the 9 ¾ occupants the OK to go, and slowly the students and families made their way out.

“Well. That was faster than expected, their safety measures are mental these days… reckon they just wanna go home for the holidays,” Ron said as the two queued up near the end.

“Wish we were, too…” Hermione mumbled, rubbing her arms to keep warm. Ron raised his hand, hesitated just for a split second, and then reached out and patted her hair.

Snow was falling gently once they made it out on the cold, gray day. Hermione wrapped her arm around Ron’s and the two walked on the windy streets of London.

“I can carry it, if you want.”

“It’s not heavy, Ron, that’s the point of the spell!” she said, waving the beaded bag for emphasis. The sound of books falling ensued, and Ron laughed and kissed the top of her head.

“So… where’d you wanna go?”

Hermione shrugged.

“I’m not sure… I mean, it is London, and it is Christmas, and after all… we could go have a bit of fun, if you’d be up to it…?”

Ron raised his eyebrows at her.

“If I’d be up to it? If I’d be up to it? If I’d be up to it?”

Hermione giggled as he broke their grip and turned her towards him by the shoulders. He stared at her.

“Who are you, and what have you done to Hermione Granger?” he asked shaking his head in disbelief, a grin trembling on his lips.

Hermione shrugged a little.

“I was just thinking… it’s obviously not ideal, that we can’t go home, but yet again, we haven’t had a proper date yet, have we?”

Ron promptly leaned in and kissed her on the lips.

“I’ve bloody missed y—”

He was stopped by Hermione throwing herself at him, kissing him on the mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck. He pulled her close to him, held onto her tight.

“So,” he said, once they had broken apart, reaching out to take a snowfall off of her hair, “let’s get to it, shall we?”

Laughing and holding tightly on each other’s hands and so, so relieved to be together again, they roamed the streets of the city, making wishes at fountains and kissing under mistletoe decorations on the streets.

They ended up in a park, wandering about amidst bare trees and Christmas lights and falling snow. Hermione rubbed her nose against Ron’s coat every time she got too cold, and in return he buried his face on her blue knit hat and breathed in her scent.

“You knit it yourself?” he asked after placing a careful kiss on the top of it and before hiding the lower part of his face behind his scarf again. Hermione nodded eagerly and then tugged at the scarf. It was a proper old thing, coming loose here and there, a joyless muddy red.

“And I remember knitting that one, too.”

Ron hastily took back the cloth and wrapped it tightly around his face up to his eyes, but he couldn’t cover the top of his ears, now burning red.

“That’s… not it… ’t was my grandpa’s, he’s passed…”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and fidgeted with the end of the scarf as she cuddled Ron closer to her.

“I knit it for you. I’m only sorry it didn’t last, but oh well, my knitting was terrible back on these days—”

Ron blushed even deeper as his eyes widened in realization.

“Wait… you mean that… that wasn’t for the elves?”

Hermione shook her hair. Bushy hair bobbed about.

“It was the year you had no scarf, and well, you remember how cold it had got. But I had already gotten you a gift for Christmas that year and well, your birthday was still very far, and well, you were never supportive of my knitting cause so I figured you wouldn’t throw away a scarf if it ended up in your things and not in the common room. But I didn’t know you had it all this time until today,” she gave another small shrug and a smile.

Ron froze on his tracks. Hermione looked up to see him blushing profoundly, blinking rapidly and avoiding her gaze.

“Love?”

“I… wow… I just… I never wore it in front of you cause I thought you’d recognize it… xpect I figured you’d’ve forgotten by now… blimey, Hermione, I love you.”

Hermione felt her eyes and grin widen as her stomach tickled and Ron ran soft hands across her jawline until she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his.

Somewhere in the distance, a sweet melody started playing.

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me…” Ron exhaled as Hermione broke the kiss and turned toward the source of the sound.

“C’mon… please?”

Ron shrugged, grinned, then let her take his hand and lead the way to a small square surrounded by trees, where a band was playing a Christmas waltz. There was already a small crowd gathered around, mostly families with children and couples, a few of who were slow dancing to the music.

“Hermione.”

“Ron, please.”

“Hermione, I am not doing this,” Ron said, letting her lead them to the makeshift dance floor and placed his hand on her waist, in accordance to her directions.

The violin broke into a heartmelting solo as the two swirled to the music, a bit awkwardly at first, but warming up to it as the tempo picked up and as the snow started falling thicker.

“This is…”

“…unusual for us?” Ron suggested.

“I suppose so, yes,” smiled Hermione and Ron smiled back before stretching his arm out so she could twirl around. Falling back to his arms just as the song ended, she raised her face up to his, ready to say something, but whatever it was died in her lips as Ron kissed the top of her forehead first, and then the tip of her nose, and then her lips, softly, pulling back almost immediately, but then coming back for a longer kiss, though just as tender.

***

“I could just move it here… oh, but then you would just move the other thing…”

“Rook?”

“Yes, that… you would just… and then I could… oh, well, here goes… now’s your turn, Ron. Ron?”

Ron seemed to be pondering the chess game, rubbing his head and frowning down at it.

“Oh, now I get it! It’s just the Muggle version, yeah, they don’t actually throw their crown when they lose, sure, whatever.”

“Pardon me?”

Ron smiled and shrugged and looked up and smiled again as they locked eyes, Hermione’s hands flying up to cover her face.

“No way! It… Ron Weasley, what did you do?”

“I believe this is something you just did, love,” Ron shrugged again, ears red. “It’s called a checkmate.”

“It’s called… I know what it’s called, thank you very much!” and she threw a throw pillow at him.

“Whoa, easy now!” Ron caught it and added it to his own small collection in his armchair.

They were seated in the cozy sitting room of a hotel Hermione had had tea with her parents as a kid once, where they were presently taking shelter from the increasing snowfall. Luckily, no member of the staff seemed to notice Hermione’s pillow-throwing, though the old lady the corner did wrinkle her nose at them a little.

“Besides, if you really wanna pillowfight, we should probably take it elsewhere,” yawned Ron, stretching luxuriously.

“That sounds like an indecent proposal.”

Ron stopped mid-stretch, looked at her solemnly, then dissolved in giggles.

“I wasn’t— I mean— no, really—I guess—it’s what you want it to be.”

“Oh?” Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, a crooked grin spreading on her face.

“Oh? You say it with attitude Hermione, but admit it, you’re just outspoken,” said Ron, a smug look on his face.

“For heaven’s sake,” Hermione rolled her eyes as she started putting the Muggle chess pieces back in place. “And don’t ever do this again.”

“Do what?”

“Let me win. I thought you hated it whenever I won. And besides, chess victories should be earned.”

Ron mumbled something close to how would you know that but covered it in a small coughing fit. When he looked up again, Hermione was hugging herself again, staring out of the window at the falling snow.

“Hermione? What’s wrong?”

“We haven’t heard a word. And it’s been hours,” she sighed.

“Look, I know… but on the other hand, if something bad had happened, we’d know. We probab—”

“Ron! Ron, over there!” Hermione hissed and, getting up, she grabbed hold of her boyfriend’s hand and rushed them over to the doors leading to the toilets. Ron barely caught a glimpse of a silver apparition before it disappeared in the men’s toilets. Hermione rushed them both after it and into a cubicle, locked the door and turned to the apparition, now a silver stag.

“Hey guys, I hope you’re OK. Ron, your dad and the others got home OK but your mum reckons it was very reckless of them and we don’t know if the Burrow is being watched or not. She reckons you should spend the night somewhere safe, maybe at a relative’s, or find a hostel, George adds— Don’t answer to this and stay safe.”

The Patronus went up in smoke, leaving Harry’s voice lingering. Ron punched the cubicle door in silent laughter.

“When he said ‘don’t answer to that’ did he mean the whole message or just George’s—?”

“Both, I reckon,” said Ron and then, once they had both hiccupped back to seriousness, they proceeded to walk out of the toilets and to the reception, booking themselves a room.

***

They started kissing the moment they shut the door closed behind them. The beaded bag thumped loudly against the table it was thrown on, Hermione unwrapped Ron’s scarf gently and laid it on the back of a chair, and they kept pulling each other close, enjoying the warmth. Snow kept dancing madly outside the windows, growing foggy as their breathing got faster, scars were revealed and a mini pillowfight ensued before resuming the undressing process.

She kissed his hand, and then his wrist, and then his arm where the scars were, all the way up to the shoulders, and then kissed him all the way to his neck, where the scars ended.

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you too, Hermione,” he sat up and held her close, kissed the scar on her neck. “I love you.”

And she said it to him again. And again, in the morning, when they woke up to a white world. And it was safe to return home, but the sun turned his hair gold and made her skin shine, and somehow, it didn’t feel like they had to go anywhere to get there.

#romione #romionesecretsanta #gifts17 #fic #lovelittlelives #nsfw #mild nsfw

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