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sinfully-romione · 6 years

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Let Them Know

Summary: One month after the Final Battle, Ron can’t wait any longer to move things forward with Hermione.

Rating: M

Oneshot

Category: Lust

They really weren’t supposed to wait this long.

That was wrong - they. It was almost definitely his own fault. He’d fucked it up. He hadn’t told Harry to sod off when he’d suggested the three of them bring her parents back from Australia, together.

No, that was wrong, too. The real mistake had been a week before that, the night they’d gone home to the Burrow, after the war had ended. Hours later. His mum had set up the camp bed in Ginny’s room for Hermione, and Harry had his bed in Ron’s room, and everyone had said goodnight… but he wasn’t supposed to. Not to her.

Lying there in the dark, unable to sleep, he should have gone to her. He recalled the way he’d talked himself out of it for hours. Shit.

Nerves compounded every minute, post-battle, until they were caught up in trying to mend, in funerals, repairs, pubs… where he found himself almost a full month later. Everyone was there. Harry had thought it was important to go, too. Ron would probably have rather hidden in his room for his last night at the Burrow before moving to Grimmauld Place with Harry, but there they were.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione looked fucking amazing. Her hair was piled in messy twists on top of her head. She was wearing a thin, black shirt that dipped lower in the back than anything he’d seen her wear before, and he kept catching himself staring too long at the way an escaped curl had dropped to brush across the back of her exposed neck.

He watched her walk away to the bar, and he was left with too many thoughts for an empty table. She seemed to have been avoiding him a bit, or was it just his imagination? Her eyes darted away when he spoke to her. A heaviness was dampening her smile, and he could hear it in her voice.

Somewhere between his second drink and midnight, he’d realised. A terrifying corner had been turned. Waiting to find the right time to talk to her had faded to the very real possibility that he was giving her the impression that he wasn’t interested. His worst fear between them had always been imagining what he could lose. But he was suddenly hit with a mighty, alcohol-induced clarity. What the fuck difference did it make?

No part of him believed there was any chance he’d simply live the rest of his life in the safety of friendship and not tell her how he really felt. If he was going to lose her, if she didn’t reciprocate his feelings and was too uncomfortable around him after his admission, then it was going to happen now… or it was going to happen later. It was an inevitability.

What he should have been focused on, what should have been much more terrifying to face, was the possibility that he’d waited too long, and she’d moved on. Or he’d wasted days, weeks, months they could have shared.

Fuck it all.

He knew how she was likely to feel about doing what he was trying to work himself up to doing in public, recalling those disapproving sighs from her toward their classmates in their later years at Hogwarts. Himself included, if he was being honest. Possibly himself almost exclusively, he corrected. But it was loud and crowded, and he had to do this now.

He got up to approach the bar, focused on her back toward him as he moved closer. But she turned around, caught sight of him, and there was that smile again, the disappointed one she probably didn’t know he could read so well.

She was going to walk away, but he was too determined now, and there wasn’t time to come up with the perfect words to keep her there. He blocked her between the bar and his body, reaching to steady himself on the edge of the counter behind her. One half-step closer and he’d be touching her. He suddenly felt too bloody bold and maybe a little bit too self-conscious for her not to notice. His heart was racing.

He saw the moment her shocked eyes softened, darting across his face and reading him perfectly.

What the hell had he done, looking the other way for so long? He knew her, as she knew him, in every moment… the honesty they shared without speaking. He’d just covered that truth with his own lack of self-worth.

“We need to talk,” he nearly growled, hardly able to contain his emotions for another full second.

“What?” Her inaudible voice didn’t stop him understanding her.

“We need to have that conversation, y’know… the one I’ve been avoiding. Maybe you have, too. Dunno.”

“Ron… you’ll have to be more specific,” she said a bit shrilly, louder this time, breathing uncomfortably. He dropped his arms from either side of her, returning to his full, towering height in front of her.

“You know. What we should have done a month ago,” he managed to rake out. “A year ago, probably. A month ago, definitely.”

Her eyes widened and locked onto his… both a vast improvement and a sure detriment to his ability to form coherent sentences.

“You want to do this now?”

“No one can hear us,” and he had to raise the volume of his own voice to be properly heard. “Music’s bloody loud, and I can’t wait any longer. Can you?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“I need you to say it’s okay… or I can’t…” He hadn’t really considered this important detail until he’d said it. Once the words were out, he felt like a prat for not having thought of it moments ago, back when he’d determinedly approached her.

“Okay?” she puzzled, forehead creased. He sighed slowly, already feeling a bit deflated. The faster they did this, the more likely he’d manage to explain.

“I was sitting at the table over there, and I started thinking… it’s not gonna get any easier, is it? I’m going mental, Hermione.”

She did know what he meant. He suddenly noticed that she was lightly trembling. What was she thinking and what did she want him to say (or not say)? He’d have given anything to know.

“You want me to lie and tell you it’s okay,” she started, just above the volume of the music, “that I’m not terrified of what you’re going to say?”

“No. I’m bloody terrified, too. Just… it’ll be over. We won’t have to feel like this anymore.” He was pleading, really. Wanker. He should buy them both another drink, sit back down, forget it.

No! Fucking hell, if there was any chance she’d let him, he had to end this tonight.

She whimpered, eyes softly watering.

“Two minutes? That’s all I need.”

Slowly, she nodded, a resigned look melting across her face.

“Alright, but please. Before you say anything, you have to know… you’re my best friend, Ron. You mean so much to me, and I-“

“Bloody hell, not sure that’s making it easier…”

“Oh, just go on,” she actually moaned. “We’ll… we’ll still be friends, won’t we? Or-or whatever you want… Depends what you say next, doesn’t it.”

“Depends on me? What about you?”

His hammering heart sorted what her words had accidentally meant to him, moments before the rest of him caught up. If the fate of their relationship rested with him, then that could only mean… She wanted more than what they had - wanted the same things he did. Everything. He almost laughed, but he knew his relief was premature. She wasn’t going to answer him, and he was waiting too long again. A bloody recurrent theme for them, wasn’t it… and it ended now.

“You kissed me,” he heard himself state, almost as if he had to say the words aloud to believe they’d been real.

“I remember.” Her response was nothing but a frail whisper, but he was close. And he could read her lips, anyway.

“I don’t think we should just be friends anymore.”

They both stood there, breathing, his words washing over them. It wasn’t all he should say, wasn’t all he owed her, not in the least. But he’d done it, that next step that had felt so bloody impossible for so long, and her eyes were watering.

It wasn’t fucking fair. He didn’t deserve it. The fact that she’d been standing in a crowded pub for one bloody minute and had only seen him. If nothing else ever worked out, if years of glances when she had no idea how much it really meant, hours in the library with her whispering voice, late nights alone in the Common Room… If she was his best friend, if she didn’t love him, but for one fucking minute she’d looked at him the way she was looking at him just then-

“Neither do I,” she cried, relieved, wiping her eyes on the side of her wrist. He hadn’t realised exactly how close they were until she sighed and he felt her warm breath on his chin.

What were the rest of the words he’d wanted to say? Goddamn it. His heart was beating wildly, and all he could think was-

“Can I-“

She answered with an interruption, grabbing his collar and tugging him forward, leaning back against the bar behind her, head tilted to accommodate his height. As his lips crashed down against hers, he braced himself with a forearm pressed to the bar, behind her, his other arm sweeping around her upper back, palm flattening to her bare shoulder blade.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he felt his own moan vibrate up his throat. Fuck, he’d thought kissing her the first time had been incredible. But there was no threat looming over them now, no reason to stop. Did they ever have to stop?

She tasted amazingly sweet and just a bit bitter from whatever she’d been drinking, and her chest was pressed so tight to his that they had to breathe in sync when their lips finally broke apart.

“You wanted to have a conversation,” she panted.

“Snogging counts.”

“Does it?”

He nodded, eyes dropping to her parted lips.

“But what were you saying?” she whimpered… only he could see the corner of her mouth twitching, trying not to smile and give herself away. But he knew her far too well for that.

He responded by kissing her yet again, which had clearly been the correct choice, in spite of her question. Whatever he had been leading up to saying aloud surely would have been irrelevant now that her tongue was in his mouth…

His hands slid across her shoulders - bloody hell, her skin was so soft - and he considered every other place he wanted to touch her, in rapid succession. Distantly, he heard a glass clattering behind her as they tried desperately to get closer to each other.

“Oi!”

Well, fuck, that was familiar… only it wasn’t Harry this time. Ron grinned against Hermione’s mouth before they pulled apart, both laughing.

“Watch it, eh?” The bloke behind the bar narrowed his eyes up at Ron as he picked up the spilled glass, shaking his head.

Ron’s ears were suddenly burning quite insistently, and he had a nagging suspicion that someone was standing behind him, though he shook it away, sure he was only imagining it.

“Could we get out of here?” Hermione asked quickly, and he could feel her body lightly shaking against his.

“Grimmauld Place,” he answered, immediately. “No one’s there.”

She sucked in a needy breath, dropped her arms from around his neck, and fiercely grabbed his hand.

They were Apparating before he’d comprehended what was happening.

The dark front steps swam into view, and his free hand shot to his back pocket for his wand. He unlocked the door with an effortless flick, and Hermione let go of him to turn the knob and lead them inside. Though the entryway was shadowy and cool, they had cleaned the place out over the last few days and had made it rather liveable, so the short walk to the steps in near pitch dark was far less intimidating than it once would have been.

“Lumos,” and Hermione followed the beam of light from her wand to the sconces on the wall, illuminating them with a nonverbal spell.

She turned back to face Ron, eyes glimmering in warm light and beautiful features bathed in splashes of flickering shadow, and he backed her to the first stair until she silently stepped up, still gazing at him, trembling hands lifting to his shirt collar as he lost any sense of patience remaining and covered her mouth with his again.

It was almost impossible to climb stairs and snog at the same time. Almost. They managed up to the first landing, nearly tripping on the rug.

“Which room’s yours now?” she asked breathlessly, between kisses, and her question served to answer a vague one of his own, one he hadn’t fully formulated, though of course he probably should have by then…

She wanted to go to his bedroom. God.

“Uh… next level up,” he muttered in a suddenly scratchy voice.

“Ron… well, is that alright?” she shivered, timidly. He crushed her lips with his answer, feeling her fingertips dance at the bottom hem of his shirt.

His mind seemed to be alternating in and out of consciousness of their situation, that this was Hermione, and she was snogging him back, and they were alone. His current reality was so much like a recurrent fantasy that they wouldn’t quite merge just yet. His hands wound into her hair as her own hands slid up the back of his shirt, and it occurred to him that they still had another flight of stairs to traverse, but how could he move away to do it when he had flattened her to the nearest wall with his own body, and she was bloody enjoying it? Fuck, the noises she was making…

“Wait,” she muttered against his mouth, and he stepped back so fast he might have been hexed. She blinked up at him, stunned by his sudden movement. “I just thought we should go on up before we, um… well, get too carried away.”

“Oh. Yeah,” he said in a low voice he hardly recognised. Her cheeks were gorgeously flushed, even in such low light, and he felt quite possibly drugged by how much he was feeling, all at the same time.

She licked her bottom lip and a nervous smile flickered as she turned to lead them up the stairs quite quickly.

“Here,” he indicated as they arrived on the next landing, reaching past her to push open the door to the room on the right that would be his own, a faded rug across the wood floors with a large bed in the centre and tall windows on the far wall. Full moonlight flooded the otherwise dark and rather empty space as she stepped inside.

He kept a bit of distance as he contemplated closing the door behind them, but no one was expected there until the next morning, himself included, so he gave it up to stare at her. He’d ‘ruined’ her hair, he noticed, though her usual messy curls were a lovely improvement to organised chaos, he thought, lips twitching toward a grin.

“What?” she asked rather self-consciously.

“Not sure where to start,” he admitted, clearing his throat. “Can’t really believe this is happening.”

“Which part?”

“Whadd’ya mean? All of it. Can’t count the number of times I thought I might kiss you and then lost the nerve.”

“Me, too.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, the metre between them feeling much too far. Did she have a destination in mind now, or were they just drifting blissfully? He didn’t want to make a mistake - God, he couldn’t stand to…

“Are you… sure you want me here?” she asked quietly, and there was no way in hell he was actually giving off a single sign of regret. But he was far too familiar with insecurity.

“Never wanted anything more.”

“Then why are you way over there?” she asked, whilst losing a weak fight with a shy, relieved grin.

“No bloody idea,” he grinned back, closing the space as he spoke, cupping her face in both hands and kissing her. She reached up to hold his wrists before changing course and wrapping her arms around his neck, sighing into his mouth.

He dropped his hands to her waist, accidentally skimming her chest in the process, but her shiver of pleasure in response made him regret having moved away so quickly…

Time. They had time now. So bloody much of it, if they wanted. And as well as he knew her, how she flourished with plans and calculations, he was unexplainably sure that she hadn’t planned this. Her movements felt far too desperate, nails sinking briefly into his flesh as she pushed up to her toes to get closer.

He wasn’t dreaming this time, he reminded himself, as he dragged her shirt up her back to touch her warm, perfect skin. But his movements stalled as his palms spread across an uninterrupted expanse. There was clearly very, very little clothing between their upper bodies. The first time she’d snogged him, in the middle of the battle, they’d been separated by grotty jumpers and Harry’s shouting…

He could distinctly feel both their hearts beating as she sucked his bottom lip between her own.

“Y-You can take it off,” she muttered against his mouth.

His immediate thought was that she was referring to her shirt, but there was no way in hell-

“What?”

“My shirt,” she breathed.

He dragged his lips fully away from hers and stared down at her, heavy lidded and slightly dizzy.

“What?” he heard himself repeat, filling the silence with nonsense. “Seriously?”

She nodded with only a flash of hesitation, and if he was reading her as well as he thought he might be, his own pause had raised her barely restrained nerves.

“Maybe I could…” she whispered, sliding her arms away from him, fingertips down the front of his body to the hem of his own shirt.

His answer was yet again in the form of action. He dropped his hands from her back, finding it far easier to help her take his shirt off than to work up to removing hers, scrambling cotton over his head from the back as she vaguely tugged with him… letting go so it dropped to the floor.

Her gaze washed down his naked upper body, and her chest was moving quite visibly as she breathed. He’d been shirtless in her presence before, in the tent, but that now felt like a useless comparison.

“Why have we never done this before?” she said, gently slurring her words, and a soft laugh escaped them both at the same time. Their eyes met.

She was so gorgeously familiar, features and mannerisms and tones of voice memorised and recalled in dreams for so many years. He could never be like this with anyone else.

“I love you,” he heard himself confess. “I think I would’ve said that.” He couldn’t explain why it had suddenly felt so natural to say, but that didn’t stop him holding his breath for her reply as her eyes widened considerably.

“…what?!”

“At the pub, when you asked what I was trying to say, I dunno,” he smiled, nervously. “I didn’t bloody rehearse.”

“You-you… Ron.” Her hands slid up his shoulders, and he easily ducked to meet her as she kissed him urgently… and with lightly scraping teeth.

Seconds blurred together, and his hands found their way inside the back of her shirt again, and he really didn’t need her to say it back… did he? It wasn’t a small thing to admit. Or to feel for someone else, of course. He had previously wondered, if they ever actually made it here, if he’d be swept down a rapid current, losing control. How could they stop now, after barely containing a flood for so, so long?

He pushed it to the back of his mind, that small ache of reaching too far, of knowing he shouldn’t expect-

“I love you.” She whispered it, breaking their kiss and sliding her cheek past his to hug him fiercely tight. “I’ve loved you for so long,” she continued, next to his ear, more clearly this time. “I c-can’t believe you love me back.”

His hands were high up inside her shirt again, yet he had to get closer somehow. A giddy grin plastered across his flushed face, and her stomach was half bare against his, skin touching like fire.

She actually loved him. Every bit of shite they’d been through had been more than worth it.

She finally let go of him to wipe her eyes dry on her sleeve. He took in the sight of thin, black cotton hanging off one of her shoulders and her partially bare midriff, and she sniffed, and he moved to do what she’d asked. She helped him tug her shirt over her head and shake it free to join his on the floor, and he was fucking speechless.

She didn’t give him much time to dwell on the fact that he was the luckiest bloke alive or that her body was literally the most perfect thing he’d ever seen before she closed the gap between them again, effectively rendering every one of his thoughts incoherent as her naked chest pressed to his. He slowly closed his eyes as she moaned, kissing him deeply.

They stumbled together toward his bed, and it was merely a fleeting thought again - how far did she want this to go? But it escaped him the moment the backs of her legs hit his mattress. As their mouths separated for a breath, she adorably had the forethought to toe off her shoes, and he grinned, doing the same and dropping his wand to his bedside table, watching as she copied him quickly with her own. She sat and tugged him down, scooting back to his pillow as he covered her body, half lying on top of her.

“Are you nervous?” she asked, as her hand slipped down his bare arm. She must have felt him shaking, too.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “You’re just…” He swallowed and tried again. “I can’t believe you want to do any of this with me.”

“Why?” she asked sadly, brow furrowed. “It’s been so long. Hadn’t you guessed?” Her legs shifted under him, and as her skirt rode up her thighs, he momentarily lost his train of thought. When he regained it, it was quite possibly clouded by her naked chest and a bit of alcohol still working through his bloodstream…

“So, I reckon you already knew I’ve been thinking about shagging you since I was fifteen…”

She took in a stuttering breath as her cheeks flushed, pressed her lips together, and shook with restrained laughter. He tried to make a show of acting offended, but it failed miserably and he grinned instead, dropping to cover her mouth with his. As her arms draped around his shoulders and held him tight, their bodies meshed together from waist to collarbone, and he was so focused on how fucking incredible it felt to be touching so much of her skin that he could hardly snog her. Their parted mouths breathed hotly together, noses bumping as he smoothed one large hand down her side, feeling the beautiful curves of her body pressed to his.

Her fingers slid across his back, then through his hair. He dragged his lips down, over her jaw to her neck, and she pulled his hair just hard enough to make him wince.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

He briefly shook his head, too distracted by deciding what to do next. He wanted to touch every inch of her. His neck was burning as he slid down her body enough to properly look at her, and he caught her closing her eyes.

“Hey-“ he started, wondering if he should stop.

“I’m just… just overwhelmed or something. Don’t stop.”

She pushed her head back and her lips parted slightly to breathe, and he believed her because he understood exactly what she meant. Every new thing between them felt equally thrilling and familiar, as if they’d always been meant to end up here.

He must have taken too long in silence because she opened her eyes again.

“We’ll have a long time now, won’t we?” she asked softly.

“What?”

“I know I’m not always the easiest person to be around. Just… don’t let me mess this up with you.”

“That’s mental. You couldn’t. If anyone’s gonna fuck up, it’ll be me.”

“After everything we’ve been through, you honestly think I could stop loving you?”

“Bloody hell. You said it again,” he grinned. “God, I love you.”

“Come here,” she grinned back.

“Can’t get much closer,” he teased, but he lowered his mouth to her collarbone, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

Resuming his plan to touch as much of her as possible, he slid his lips down toward her chest, stopping short when he realised neither of them were breathing. Her hands had wound into his hair again, and he lightly cleared his throat. But words became impossible to form - he’d reached the twin scars that ran down the centre of her chest, one much bigger and more pronounced, the other quite faded from fifth year. He didn’t think before he pushed back to his knees, between her legs, to see them properly… also giving him a startling, full view of her naked breasts. He tried to swallow as her hands fell to the bed quilt and clenched into soft fists.

He took a shaky, deep breath, and glanced up as her eyes met his.

He felt how much he wanted her pouring out from his gaze, and he thought she might have seen it too, because the corner of her mouth twitched, despite her obvious nerves. So he reached up and ran two fingertips softly down her scars. She shivered lightly, goosepimples appearing across her skin.

In spite of assuming that there was no possible way he could verbally express a single thing at the moment, when he shifted between her legs and she encouraged him with a tiny nod and a soft gasp as he covered her breasts with both of his hands, raspy words tumbled out.

“Fuck, y’feel bloody perfect.”

Her back arched slightly off the bed as she smiled shyly for a second, but it faded to another gasp as he experimentally brushed his thumbs over her hardened nipples. He heard his own low moan as he tried to comprehend that his hands were actually attached to his own body, and his erection strained painfully inside his jeans.

He quickly changed position, ducking to replace his hands with his mouth and stretching out on his stomach, forearms shaking on either side of her, hips firmly against the bed between her legs, giving him the smallest amount of relief as his tongue found a nipple and she slurred his name. Her ankle dug into the back of his leg and her nails sank into his upper arm, and all he could hear was his heart beating in his ears and breathy little moans between the two of them.

She tugged him insistently after a while, and he dragged himself back up her body to snog her again.

She eventually pushed against him until he rolled to his side, lips still sliding between each other in frantic kisses, her hands roaming down his back, right leg hooking over his thigh.

“Can I… Ron…” she breathed deliriously, and whatever she was trying to ask him, he reckoned it would be a lot easier just to show him. He spread a palm across her back and hummed an unintelligible response into her mouth.

When he’d walked up to her at the pub, not so long ago, not a single part of him had considered what was currently happening as a possibility for the night. But she was rolling on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, hair cascading in curtains around their faces. Her skirt was bunched up nearly to her waist, making him feel overdressed.

As they separated half an inch for a breath, she pressed down on his lap, and he wasn’t even sure she fully realised what she was doing. Her eyebrows shot up just as his hands shot down to hold her hips.

“Sorry-“ she began, at the exact moment that he mirrored her movements by almost involuntarily pushing back against her. She quickly steadied herself by pressing both palms to his pillow, above his shoulders.

“Don’t be sorry,” he raked through his dry throat and half-clenched jaw. So, she did it again, harder. “Fuuuck.”

She dropped quickly to kiss him, a light sheen of sweat between their chests, and he swept his hands up her bare back. Time seemed to blur, minutes disappeared in seconds, and he wasn’t going to be able to keep this up much longer, the way she was shifting on top of him, the way he couldn’t help meeting her movements with his own.

She must have known exactly what she was doing by then…

Panting for a desperate breath, she lifted her face from his and stared down at him, eyes glowing in moonlight. He nearly choked by the intensity of it, staring back up at her, her body meshed to his.

“Hermione…” He held her face in his hands, fingers tangled in her hair.

She licked her swollen bottom lip, and he brushed his thumbs across her cheeks.

“If you don’t stop that…” he added through a shaky grin. This was surely the longest they had ever maintained eye contact, and he suspected he didn’t need to finish his sentence.

“Do you want me to?” she asked hoarsely, a new, timorous tone of voice he’d never heard before.

He shook his head, she kissed him again, and his hands flew away from her face to grip her thighs.

The pressure of her body on top of him was way too much, and he gave up any question of slowing down, fingertips digging a bit too hard into her legs and softly biting her lip as he thrust once more against her and came in his pants, a groan vibrating through the back of his throat.

She froze for a moment, then breathed quite heavily against him, and once he’d calmed down enough to speak, he turned his head slightly, eyes closed.

“Gotta move,” he slurred, and she quickly climbed off of him so he could sit up. She sat in anticipation beside him and tugged his quilt over her chest, wild and disheveled and bloody gorgeous.

“Ron…” she questioned quietly.

“Uh… sorry,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “I’ll just… go to the loo…”

“Oh!” She winced as her gaze flicked down to his jeans. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about after…” She tried to delicately clear her own throat, but she was breathing through parted lips and her cheeks were a deep shade of pink, and she looked anything but composed. He found it oddly satisfying that even though Hermione always planned ahead, she hadn’t planned this.

“It’s fine,” he smiled back, managing to stay in a drugged haze of lust for another few seconds, long enough to escape. “Wait here for me?”

“I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Brilliant.”

He slid off the bed, snatched his wand from his bedside table, and made his way to the loo without looking back. Once inside, he softly clicked the door shut behind him… and reality arrived, finally and completely pushing aside his inability to fully believe what was happening.

He pressed his burning forehead to the cool glass of the mirror over the sink and shut his eyes.

He was with Hermione. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and he could actually cry. He laughed instead, legs feeling like jelly. Years of trying to ignore his feelings for her, then finally admitting it to himself just enough to believe that she could never feel the same in return.

He finally sniffed, opened his eyes, and stepped back to strip off his jeans, cleaning himself with a charm repeated twice. His reflection stared back through the mirror at him, and he could swear he looked different, not that he’d often had the chance to notice what he’d looked like over the last year. But he was distinctly Ron after Hermione had told him she loved him, not the Ron he had been an hour before.

He shoved his hands through his hair, rubbed them across the stubble peppering his jaw-

It rapidly hit him then, as if he’d forgotten time was still moving forward. What the hell was he doing, taking so long?! Hermione was in his bed, not wearing a shirt…

He sighed shakily and tugged open the loo door.

Correction. Hermione was in his bed, wearing his shirt.

And now he felt underdressed, in only his boxers.

Her eyes roamed down his body in an… interesting way. No one had ever looked at him like that before, and the cooling effect of the mirror on his face from moments ago was lost.

He tore his gaze from her shining eyes and made his way back into bed. They moved at the same time to lie down on their sides, facing each other.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he scraped out, and she shook her head, thrown off by the compliment.

“This went a bit further than I expected,” she whispered with a playfully embarrassed smile.

“Oh, me too,” he grinned back, gently resting his hand on her side.

She adorably turned her face toward his pillow, hiding in her hair, and he scooted closer to drape a leg over hers, realising she had completely taken off her skirt…

“It’s your fault, you know,” she mumbled.

“Hm?” He shifted his face closer to hers until his nose was almost in her hair.

“Kissing me like that with your shirt off. What was I supposed to do?”

He laughed and closed his eyes, but when he felt her turn her head back up to look at him, he lazily cracked his eyes open again.

“You nearly drove me mad in the tent… walking around with your shirt off after a shower like I wasn’t there.”

“What?” he laughed again. “Stop. That’s ridiculous.”

“Trust me, it’s not.”

He searched for a joke, his most reliable defense when feeling self-conscious.

“Why didn’t you walk around the tent with your shirt off?”

She lightly shoved his chest and half-rolled her eyes.

“Harry was with us.”

“That was the only reason?”

“Well,” she sniffed. “It was cold, too.”

His laughter shook the bed, and she shyly reached for his hand. He sighed as he watched her loosely lace their fingers together, and he really couldn’t stop smiling. She seemed to be struggling with the same thing as they stared at each other.

“Will you stay and sleep here with me?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she agreed right away. The only problem was… how would he ever sleep alone again?

“Maybe I should let Harry know where we are,” he considered. “We were meant to stay at the Burrow tonight.”

“I’m sure he’s figured it out.”

He raised a brow at her, trying to recall seeing Harry at all during their hasty departure.

“He saw us, at the pub…” she revealed, sliding her fingers further between his. “Everyone did, actually. They were all gathered round behind you when we left.”

“Really?! I didn’t think anyone was paying attention.”

“Oh, let them know. They’d have found out anyway.” But her expression turned mildly nervous for a moment. “Wouldn’t they?”

“Yeah, of course,” he answered swiftly, fully aware of being happier than he had ever been in his life.

For several minutes they were quiet, just looking at each other. He reckoned he knew every detail of her face better than he knew his own, but he’d also never been able to look for this long… and the way she was looking back, no longer guarding what she felt.

“I’m not tired yet…” she whispered. “Are you?”

He shook his head, and they moved at the same time, his hand sliding away from hers to spread across her jaw and cheek as their lips met.

#7deadlysinfest2018 #romione #lust #nsfw

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sinfully-romione · 6 years

Text

Shooting Star

Sin(s): Envy, Pride Rated: T+ (language only)

Summary: Ginny and Hermione are finally home from Hogwarts, having matriculated. Ron and Hermione, along with George are awaiting Ginny to arrive before starting dinner with the parents. She has some news that inadvertently lockets Ron in unpleasant ways.

Ron stared at the back door for the 12th time in the last hour, willing Ginny to arrive. Bill and Fleur were unavailable to join the family for dinner, along with Percy, who was working, and Harry off on a mission. Unfortunately, waiting on the last guest was irritating Ron to no avail, having worked entirely too long today on entirely too little sleep.

Not even Hermione’s gentle rubbing on his back soothed his hangry attitude.

“If she’s not here in five minutes, sod her. I’m eating.”

“You will not,” Molly barked from the oven.

“I’ve not had a thing to eat since dinner last night. I’m starving.”

“You’ll wait on your sister.” Molly turned back to the oven, putting a tray of biscuits in to cook.

Ginny barged into the Burrow’s kitchen holding a butcher’s paper wrapped parcel under her arm. “Sorry I’m late,” she put it down behind the door along with taking off her emblazoned Green Jacket and tossed off her Green and red cloak. After she doffed her gear she went to give her dad a peck on the cheek, her Mum a hug and her other brother a punch in his arm.

“Where the bloody hell have you been? You were supposed to be here an hour ago,” Ron grumped. “Mum wouldn’t let us start without you.” He looked over the table at all of the dinner preparations – roasted chicken, parsnips and peas, bread and sliced tomatoes.

“For your information, brother of mine,” Ron pulled a face, “I was off at Holyhead to get fitted for these,” Ginny pulled on the snug jumper, in dark green, she was wearing along with her very tall Quidditch boots. “Who knew signing a contract could be so stressful.”

“You’re telling me,” Ron finally tucked into dinner. “It’s bad enough working for George on my off-hours from the Ministry but it’s bleeding ridiculous that I have to be available on my off hours at a moment’s notice. But that was what was in my contract,” Ron lifted his fork at his sister across the table, watching her scarf her meal down too. “And since those contracts are magical and binding, there’s no choice.”

“Look, you agreed to help, ya git. You’re the one asking for shifts at the store, for some reason or another. He’s probably saving for a huge ring for you, Hermione.”

“Hush, you,” She blushed and Ron tucked into his chicken, ignoring George but turning beet red. “Anyway, I do hope it’s not as detrimental as the one Ron signed for the Ministry,” Hermione piped up. She picked at her plate like she always did; ignoring half of it that Ron would gladly finish after a strenuous day of training. “I read the entire length of mine, three times over, before signing it. That was probably how I was able to get the extra time off I wanted when Ron comes home from missions.”

“I’m glad you did,” Ron leaned over for a small kiss on the cheek. “Merlin knows how glad I am to have a bit of – “

“Ron, not at the table,” Arthur piped up. His grin and twinkle in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

“Sorry Dad,” he turned red but saw Hermione smiling into her glass of juice. He switched plates with Hermione and worked to finish off what she didn’t eat.

“So I signed the contract Monday” Ginny got up from her seat and picked up her parcel, taking off the cover, “and by Friday I had the galleons to buy this beauty,” Ginny passed the brand new racing broom – the Firebolt 3 – around to her Dad at the head of the table. Ron turned a bright red at seeing such a masterpiece of craftsmanship in their home. “I’ve not had a chance to try it out since I only picked it up from Quality Quidditch Supplies before coming here. The makers said it’s balanced for my weight but I dunno about that. They couldn’t give me off the rack since I’m not what you call a standard sized Chaser.”

“How much did it set you back?” Ron asked over the remainder of his chocolate cake sitting before him, forgotten since Ginny brought the broom out from behind the door in the kitchen. “Since that model hasn’t been released yet to the public, it had to cost a stack of galleons.”

Arthur handed the broom to Molly who glanced at it before handing it to George for admiration. He whistled long and low at the magnificent broom in his hands. “I know I didn’t loan you the galleons to afford this work of art.”

Ginny gave George a dirty hand sign. “Shove off, ya git. I actually negotiated a deal for it. Since this is the prototype of what is coming out next year for the International Leagues, I get it for a discount if I can give them feedback but also agree to some marketing for it later this year.”

She helped hand it over to Ron.

“Still set you back some serious gold there, sis,” Ron hoisted it up and whistled. “The balance on it is incredible,” He inspected the twigs and frowned. “So it only cost you, what, a thousand galleons and not 5000.”

“Something like that,” Ginny muttered and Ron turned bright red again. “One thousand, actually, off the top from my contract, and a thousand comes out from my vault over the course of the year. They’ll probably sell somewhere between five and ten thousand.”

“That’s how much they are going to charge for them once they are released? Christafuck!”

“Ron Weasley, we don’t use that language at this dinner table,” Molly huffed.

“Sorry, Mum, but that is so much money for a broom.”

“The team told me they’d sign me only on the condition that I had to get a better broom than the Nimbus I borrowed from Harry for the tryouts.”

“Better than a Nimbus? What the hell?

“Ron, language,” Hermione chided.

“It is an International standard broom, Ron. It’s supposed to be expensive. Do you think that anyone would want to watch professional Quidditch riding Shooting Stars and riding Cleansweeps?”

“Damn it, though. Why do they have to be so bloody expensive? Only poncy gits can afford it without going into the poorhouse.”

“So you’re saying I’m a ponce now, ‘cause I have an International Standard broom for Quidditch?”

“I never mentioned you, Ginny. Besides, it’s brilliant to get that enormous discount.”

“Guys, enough about the bloody broom,” George and Hermione said in unison. The siblings looked from one another to the others and scowled.

“Ginny put your broom away ‘til after dessert.”

“But I was going to take it out back and let this git of a brother take it for a ride.”

“It can wait until we’re finished.”

“Fine.” Ginny did as her Mum asked and she returned to her seat. Ron was staring at his sister, ignoring Hermione as she was running her hand up and down his thigh.

“You’re going to let me ride it?”

“Yeah, if there’s still light out after dessert. I can’t stay long, though. I have to be at Holyhead early.”

“Wicked.”

“Look, you were there pushing me to do this, about getting a great broom. I owe you one ride on it, at least.”

“I only mentioned it because I overheard you grousing to Harry about how much better everyone else was flying at the tryouts.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. They were looking for three people to test them out in the league and somehow I got one of them.”

“Harry probably pulled some strings,” Ron said under his breath.

“I didn’t ask, Ron. But if he did, I’m glad he did.”

“So tell us about what you have tomorrow, dear. We’ve not seen you in two weeks.”

Ginny started talking about the grueling practices, the intense conditioning she had to perform to even make the first cut, and many other things. Ron kept looking at his plate, frowning.

“Something’s bothering you,” Hermione whispered in his ear, squeezing his knee. It wasn’t like Ron to leave his dessert plate filled with chocolate cake.

“Yeah, it is, but it’s stupid.”

“Fancy a walk for a few? They might be finished when we get back?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Hermione got up first and then Ron. “We’ll be back in a moment,” she said quietly. George and Ginny, along with Molly, looked confused. Arthur, though, nodded in mutual understanding. When Hermione turned, she had to rush out the door to catch up with Ron, with his extra-long legs and fast stride.

“Ron,” Hermione yelled while trying to chase after him in the evening twilight. He crossed the backyard and onward towards the small treehouse, out next to where Fred was buried. “Ron, wait up.”

He finally stopped under the Oak tree out on the edge of the woods, huffing and panting.

Hermione skidded to a stop and saw him fighting back emotions. “Tell me. I might not get it but let me try and help. Please, don’t hold it in.”

“It’s not about Quidditch, Hermione.”

“Oh.” She reached for his hand and held it a moment before he pulled it back from her, running it through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s pointless and stupid,” he muttered.

“So? Tell me, please.”

Ron stared up towards the house, his eyes blazing in the dwindling afternoon sun.

“I’m sick of it,” he grumped, working his lips raw with his teeth. “Everything I wanted, I had to make do, or have less, or using a passed down wand when she got a new one,” he muttered. “Fuck, sometimes what I needed, I had to do without, so she could have, too.”

“Ron,” Hermione tried to interject and he cut across her.

“I’m working two bloody jobs to make ends meet, and help George, saving Harry’s arse, and running myself ragged. She’s able to drop serious galleons on a broom. A bloody broom. Fuck, I can’t even afford to take you out for a nice dinner, much less save up for five years to afford a broom half that good.” He turned, burning a hole in Hermione. “Fuck, I can’t even afford an international portkey to take you on a holiday. That right there would cost two hundred galleons, just to get to France. The rates are atrocious. Greedy bastards. But my dear sister is buying an International Standard broom, fresh out of Hogwarts, and I’m scraping two Knuts together to afford beans and toast.”

“You have one, Ron, for work, too. You train on it weekly with Harry and Hemera and the others. And you are eating better than beans and toast most days. Harry mentioned it in letters, sometimes.”

“It’s a bloody Keeper’s broom, designed to move at the barest touch, but it’s slow as fuck!” He turned and sniffed. “And the only way I will be able to afford to take you out every so often is working more shifts with George. Shit, I could use that broom in my job but there’s no bloody way I could afford one, not on what I bring home.”

“Ron, what is it? Why are you so unhappy at her good fortune?”

“Merlin, I’m happy for her, I really am, but I’m so – She always gets everything she wanted and I have to bloody well work my arse off for hand-me-downs and second-hand and ‘can you make do one more what-the-fuck-ever!’”

“This isn’t about the broom, is it?” He shook his head violently, fighting what he desperately wanted to explode about.

“Ron, please,” Hermione said.

“Even now, they dote on her and I have to practically beg!” He roared before sitting down hard on the ground. “Hell, even waiting to have dinner until she got there, even if she was an hour late.” He huffed again. “Damn fucking locket,” he said under his breath.

“Locket, love? Is this about what happened with the Locket?” Hermione waited patiently for Ron to talk about it. Harry was mum and told Hermione not to push him, that he’d tell her when he was ready.

His face and neck turned red. “Didn’t have to tell me,” He said. “I was already thinking it.”

Hermione sat down across from him, waiting patiently. It was a bit of a struggle but she’d learned a little this past year to let him work through what he was thinking and speak on his own terms. She worried her hands in the grass attempting to wait patiently.

“If anything happened ‘tween us, they always fussed at me, not her. She got away with everything,” he grumped. “She got new clothes, which I get that, but everything else was new, at least for her.”

Hermione scooted closer, knocking her knee up against his. Ron leaned over and plucked some long strands of grass and started shredding them in his bare hands.

“She never got in trouble, I did. She got jumpers in the color she wanted; green, while I had to make do with maroon. I despise maroon. She got new clothes and I got Bill and Percy’s hand-me-downs. She got pretty robes and a new wand and I got nothing.”

Hermione put her hand on his knee, fighting hard to not speak up and over him.

“Look, I know it was hard. I get it. I do. And it’s not like we ever went hungry. We might not have had enough of what we needed,” He recalled the revolting tinned corned beef his mum would send with him often, “or what we wanted, but it was enough. Or so I thought.”

Hermione nudged closer, close enough to take his enormous hand in her smaller ones.

“Shit, Mum was always chasing after the twins, trying to keep them from burning the house down, or setting my hair on fire, or hundreds of other things they were conniving. Sometimes she’d join them, gang up on me, and I’d be the one in trouble if she complained at all.

“And now, she’s dating Harry, signed a professional Quidditch contract, off to see everything, make galleons hand over fist, and bugger all the rest of us who have to scrape the fuck by.” He turned his head, facing towards the granite stone on his right. “Probably won’t lift a finger to help either, not like I do,” his voice trailed off.

“Ron?”

Ron looked up and saw his girlfriend – better yet, his best friend – sitting there, holding his hands.

“How much are you giving your parents?”

His jaw dropped and he stuttered a moment. “How’d you - “ Her look pierced him. “200 galleons a month. Bill deducts it before I even get to touch it.” He rubbed the back of his neck while his face turned bright red in the fast-growing darkness.

“Ron! That’s almost half your month’s wages.”

“Look, I know, all right! It’s my parents, ya know? Why do you think I pull so many extra shifts, with the Aurors and George? Food’s not cheap, even if we get a break paying Harry rent and paying Kreacher’s wages. And having to wear nice clothes for work isn’t cheap either, not when they get grotty so fast while training or out on a mission.”

“Why, Ron? Ginny’s the last one at home and probably not much longer. They can do better, now.”

Ron sniffed before yanking his hand across his face. He turned towards the pond on his left, intentionally not looking at Hermione. “Bill told me that Charlie and Percy couldn’t afford to help, not on their incomes, and the twins sunk every dime of profit back into the shop their first year. They couldn’t afford to help either. And then all the shit went down, and Bill spent almost everything he saved in his vault, saved up to keep everyone afloat and fed, all ‘cept the Prat. He let it slip that Mum and Dad were scraping by on beans and toast for months, especially after Dad couldn’t go to work.”

“And you – “

He turned to face her, his eyes burning like the coldest part of the North Sea. “It’s one thing if I have to scrape two Knuts together to get a slice of toast but I’ll be arsed if my parents have to again. Fuck that. They sacrificed enough.”

“So you think it’s your responsibility to, what, pay for what they did for you? You think you owe them?”

“Well, yeah. No one else ‘cept Bill is. Ginny’s gonna need – ”

“You’re so full of shit, you arse!” Ginny stepped from behind the tree. Ron stood up immediately, towering over his sister. “I can’t believe you’re like this. After all the shit we’ve been through. You think I’m not going to help? You think I take them for granted like that?”

“You have to pay for that bloody broom for work, Ginny. And it’s not like they signed you for all the galleons in Gringott’s. Merlin, you just finished at Hogwarts last bloody week.”

Ginny put her hands on her hips with the wind blowing through her long ginger locks. “Actually, you sod, you stormed out before I could mention that. When I signed the contract this week, it was for a considerable amount annually. Why do you think I was willing to even pay that much for a broom for Quidditch, huh? Because I would be able to easily pay that back in short order. And for your information, you idiot,”

Ron crossed his arms, trying to keep from fidgeting yet pulling a face.

“I already spoke with Bill last weekend. Harry was with me and can back me up. Bill and Harry, they paid for Dad’s last pay raise, courtesy of Bill, and Harry has been helping out, too. You’re not the only one, you twat. I insisted that 10 percent of my contract immediately went into our parent’s vault. It’s not like they won’t ever know but fuck that, you think that you’re the only one helping?”

Ron snorted.

“Look, you might have missed the last two matches, and missed tryouts because of work, but face it, brother of mine, I am that damn good. I signed for a contract 25% better than the league minimum. You know what the league minimum for this year is?”

“Oh and yeah.” He turned almost aubergine.

“Gwenog mentioned I’ll probably start as third chaser since their last two signed away elsewhere and they are short in the position. I’m that good.

“But you’re so damn hung up on me getting new things that you missed the biggest thing of all, you ass. You got to have your friends over every bleeding summer. Every single summer, Harry was here and so was Hermione: every single summer; every single Christmas break; every single bloody Holiday. Did you see Percy have that, huh? What about the twins? Fuck, did you ever see me having anyone over? No, you git. You’re the one who got to have your friends staying all bleeding summer. You’re the one who got to have fun with them, even if you had to do chores and other stuff. After my first year and all the shit that went down with Tom and the school, no one would dare want to be my friend, all ‘cept Luna and then I’d have to go over and visit with her for a few hours then come home. Her father wouldn’t let her come here at all, not after what happened.”

“Oh.”

Ginny huffed. “Look, you wish you had everything I had, and I wish I’d had everything you had. Face it, we’re both a bunch of envious sods jealous of what the other had. All right? Does that make you feel better?”

Ron looked at Hermione and saw her nodding along with Ginny.

“Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t realize it.”

“So now you can either keep giving Mum and Dad all your galleons or you can cut back, take this witch out on more dates and save yourself, like a ring you were harping on last week, and let me help Mum and Dad too. Sorted?

“Yeah, sorted.” Ron rubbed the toe of his boots into the dirt under the trees.

The two of them stood toe to toe, refusing to apologize.

“You want a ride on the broom or not?”

“You mean it, after everything?”

Ginny nodded. “Look, I have to be on the pitch, at practice, at six am. I have to be at Holyhead at 5am at the latest. A minute late and I’m running the stands for an hour. So yes, I mean it. Come on, you.” Ginny held her arm out and while it was comical, seeing Ron towering over his sister, even in her flying boots and attire, Hermione could only remark now painfully similar the last two Weasley siblings actually were.

Ron rubbed his knuckles on his sister’s head, earning her ire and a hearty chuckle from him.

“Ya know, for a git, you’re probably my favorite brother.”

“Bah. You tell all of us that.”

“Not true. I don’t tell Percy the Prat that, even if I did thank him for helping on the contract.”

Hermione came up on his other side, hugging him close to his magenta robes. “Well this one is my favorite, for sure.”

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sinfully-romione · 6 years

Note

I seriously can’t live without this acc dhdjdjdj please update more when you can because I seriously thrive on these fics! X

Lol! We’ve definitely been spoiled by all the great content, haven’t we? Checking my inbox has been like Christmas! The last few days of posting start back tomorrow, so be sure to check back here!

#kingronw

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sinfully-romione · 6 years

Text

Secrets

Rating: T+

Description: Ron and Hermione have a discussion about their friendship, or lack thereof - 6th year slightly AU.

Sin: Lust

——————————————————————-

SLAM!

This is not how Ron had wanted this evening to play-out. He’d tried to get his prefect shift switched to avoid this very thing, but Hermione had thwarted him at every turn. She had made sure they were on rounds tonight… together.

He felt her finally let go of the wrist that she had grabbed when she pulled him into the abandoned classroom and his body responded to the loss of contact. He watched as she waved her wand to light a few of the sconces on the walls. Even though he knew she was completely hacked off at him, her movements seemed elegant and graceful. She turned quickly, her long curls whipped around her face, and her eyes narrowed as she placed her hands on her hips. Ron silently noted her battle stance. He then remembered why they were there.

“Alright, let’s have it out, Ronald Weasley. Why are you acting like the world’s biggest prat?” she flatly stated. Looking down she asked in a quieter voice, “I thought we were friends?”

“Friends, really?” he scoffed as he went into his own battle stance, feet shoulder width apart, muscular arms crossed across his chest. “I thought we crossed that bridge then burned it down,” he stated while trying to look detached.

Hermione sighed with an air of defeat and even a hint of longing, “Ron, you know why… why this is how it has to be. And, and, and.. you agreed!” She had thrown at him gesturing with her arms and starting to pace. “And now you won’t even talk to me! You are rude! …you pretend like I don’t exist ” she added sadly. “You’ve been leaving any room I enter, trading prefect shifts, I haven’t even seen you in the dining hall… I- I just don’t get it?”

Hermione finally stopped and stood there, the most innocent, yet perplexed look on her face. Her fury and anger had rapidly morphed into hurt and confusion.

“You ask way too many questions for a girl who knows all the answers,” Ron ground out, tightening his arms across his chest, making sure they stayed in place.

“Seriously, Ron. Help me understand! Help me fix this?” she pleaded.

“Oh, well… let’s notify the Daily Profit! The all knowing Hermione Granger doesn’t understand something!” he barked at her.

She threw her arms up to the ceiling and rolled her eyes, “Ugh! See! This is exactly what I’m talking about, Ron!” she yelled as she stomped her foot looking at him expectantly.

Ron didn’t say a word, but his crystal blue eyes decisively found hers and stared.

“You’ve barely spoken to me this week,” she went on, “and when you have it’s been insulting!” Her voice a bit more normal tone as she tried to meet his gaze. She could see the challenge in his eyes, but then there was something else…

“Ron?” she waited.

His eyes found the floor and she heard him answer her but couldn’t quite make out what he said. “What did you…”

He sighed and lifted his head this time, speaking clearly, “It’s because I’m trying to keep my bloody hands off of you!”

Hermione gasped, sucking in a breath and after a heartbeat or two, reminding herself she needed to breathe. They stared at each other for what seemed like a lifetime.

He pushed himself off of the wall he was leaning against, “What it is that you don’t understand, Hermione, is that I’ve finally gotten what I’ve always wanted,” he stalked towards her as his voice raised in volume, “… what I’ve always wanted since fourth year, probably before that!” “and then two of my friends… my supposedly "BEST” friends take that away from me!! How do you think that makes me feel?“ he bellowed at her. "I’m fucking angry, yeah!”

Hermione could feel her eyes start to water. She was trembling with quiet anger as well. “You know I want this too. But…” she whispered.

“NO! No buts, Mione! I fucking want to be with you, be with you how I’ve dreamt since I was fourteen but Harry is too much of a selfish prat to see what’s in front of his own ugly speckled face! He knows how we feel, he’s known all along! We finally admit it to each other, after Vicky and Lavender and ourselves, and there he is pulling the fucking Chosen One card!”

By this time Ron was panting with rage. His chest straining through his button-down that was almost threadbare after being passed down multiple Weasleys. His lips, those lips that Hermione had fantasized about since feeling them slide over hers, were glistening, the bottom drawn up between two sets of beautiful teeth. She felt her resolve crumbling. Her heart was pounding, and breaking, and warming her body all at the same time. So many emotions were coursing through her veins, creating pulsing in areas of her body that really shouldn’t be at this time.

“But Ron, we promised to help Harry. We need to finish this, he-he can’t do this on his own!” she yelled back. The pooling of heat in her chest and groin was infuriating and completely unfair.

“It’s always about Harry bloody Potter,” he growled raking his large hands through his hair causing his red locks stand in all directions.

Hermione had enough. “It’s easy for you to say, you’re a pureblood!” she screeched, tears falling from her chocolate eyes. “If Harry doesn’t succeed in ending this do you know what they’re going to do to mudbloods like me? Oh, don’t make that face, Ron,” Hermione scolded when she noticed him crumple up his face like a wounded animal. “It really doesn’t matter what I call myself, or how powerful my magic is, or anything! They will treat me like I am dirty… like I am worthless. We need to do this so we can be together one day!” Her breathing was heavy, her plump lips parted, panting…wet.

Ron shook his head and groaned, “NO! No, don’t say that!”

“It’s true and you know it!” she fired back. “He’s back and he’s getting stronger and Harry’s going to need our help. Even if that means putting my feelings for you aside.”

Ron turned around, banging his fists on the classroom wall. He stood there for a while letting his head fall between his outstretched arms attempting to take deep calming breaths. He could hear Hermione shuffle and give a delicate little sniff behind him.

His voice cracked when he finally spoke, “Is that- is that what you really want? To just be friends?” His tone was one of defeat with a sliver of hope.

Hermione sniffled again and sighed deeply. “No. No, I don’t,” she said quietly. “But right now that’s all I can have… all I can give. Ron. Ron, look at me!” she commanded. She watched him take in a deep breath, but didn’t turn to face her, still leaning against the wall. She cleared her throat and tried to put on a smile, “But you’ll have my heart, you’ll always have that, you always have. Ron. I lo…”

Ron whipped around causing Hermione to jump back slightly. His face wore a scowl and he was glaring at her ferociously. If Hermione didn’t know him better she would have been frightened by the predatory look in his eyes shining through crimson hair that had fallen slightly on his face.

“Fuck. That.”

“Really, Ronald…” she chided however continuing to take small steps backwards.

“If everyone else gets to be selfish, then so do I! I don’t just want your heart, Hermione, I want your brain, your laughter… fuck, even your bossiness! I want your lips, your hands, your bo…” he trailed off.

A blur of emotions ran across her face. She stood there, staring at her childhood friend who was loyal to a fault, brave, and incredibly thoughtful. He towered over her, blue eyes piercing her soul, his handsome face with his strong jaw, charming freckles, and full lips that currently lifted up into a crooked leer. She was literally rendered speechless, yet her mind was running a mile a minute. She licked her bottom lip and brought it between her teeth to hide the fact that she was positively salivating over the thought of him and other areas were saturating in a warm heat as well.

“Ah, fuck it all to hell,” she heard him mutter.

Abruptly he charged at her… lips, chests, and hips slamming together. If she’d been surprised she didn’t show it. This kiss was eager and wild, built-up passion driving them to the brink. The momentum kept him going, soon Hermione found her back pressed up against the classroom door. He pulled slightly back to look at her, silently begging for her permission. That she wanted this too. The determination and excitement shone bright from her eyes as she slid her hands up his chest and gripped his shirt tightly. He wrapped his left hand around her thin waist while his right hand came up to cradle the back of her head, cushioning it from the door. They were both panting and he could smell her sweet breath ghosting over his face. He leaned towards her, capturing her bottom lip between his, sucking on it then sliding it through his teeth. He could feel her moan rather than hear it. He slowly moved up to repeat this action on her top lip. Pulling back to look at her again, “Tell me to stop. Tell me we’re just friends,” he whispered, “that you want me to stop. We are stronger together you know.”

Hermione sucked in a breath and nodded, “we are.” Her voice cracking with emotion, “Don’t stop.” Ron sighed a heavy breath of relief. Time seemed to standstill as they held each other’s gaze; a million conversations being held at once in silence. Fears, determination, desires, joy and a multitude of others transferred between them. Finally, their mouths collided in a frenzy of tongues, lips and teeth. Hermione’s soft moans and little noises were driving Ron over the bend. She nipped his lips and drew his tongue into her mouth to suck on it. He groaned and pushed up against her, pinning her to the door. He used his right hand to grab behind her knee rubbing the soft skin on the back of her thigh, pulling it up to his hip. She gasped and slid her fingers into his hair and gripped tightly. His hips bucked unconsciously at the sensation. “Merlin, you’ll be the death of me yet,” he mumbled into her neck. He could almost feel her smirk. They continued to assault each other with kisses. Lips and hands caressing parts that were reserved for lovers, not friends.

After several minutes Ron slowed down and tried to steady his breathing while Hermione was nipping his jaw line, “What are we going to do about Harry?”

“Do you really want to talk about Harry right now? I’ve missed you,” she whined breathlessly.

Ron couldn’t help but puff up like a proud peacock. But he knew his Hermione and she needed a plan. She needed timetables and schedules. She didn’t do anything by the seat of her broom.

“Mione…” he questioned again, hating himself for stopping the way her plump lips were sucking on him.

He could practically hear her eyes rolling in her head, “Well, what if Harry doesn’t know?” She looked up at him through her lashes. “I mean… we will always put this…” she paused, “mission first. We will be there for Harry one-hundred percent. But, we have prefect rounds, and prefect meetings, and times when Harry is doing lessons with Dumbledore when it will just be the two of us. We needn’t bother Harry with our…” she looked towards the ceiling trying to find the right word. “Our extracurricular activities.”

Ron barked a laugh, “Extracurricular activities?”

She giggled then bit her bottom lip nodding. Ron internally groaned at the innocent, yet sexy sight in front of him.

“Sooo, we’d be dating in secret, yeah?” he timidly asked trying not to sound too disappointed. “Miss Granger breaking the rules?”

Hermione hands laid on each side of his face holding his gaze with her resolute one, “Just until this is all finished. Just until Harry wins. Then I will shout it from the astronomy tower that Ron Weasley is my boyfriend!”

“I’m your boyfriend, am I?” he smirked at her.

“Yes, and I would break every rule for you, Ron,” she said sincerely. “Now… shut up and kiss me!”

#7deadlysinfest2018 #romione #lust

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sinfully-romione · 6 years

Note

Seems to be working now. Thank you for hosting this event and posting the work people submit! You’re doing a great job 😄

I’m so sorry these have been having problems, anon! For some reason, they seem to be not working and then suddenly working at random--I wish I had another reason besides ‘tumblr being tumblr’ so I could find a way to keep things consistent, but I guess we’re just lucky that it eventually sorts itself out.

I’ve loved doing it! Aside from the various problems of posting on here, I’ve had a blast seeing the wonderful fics and art that have come through--both by well known authors/artists and first timers!

#Anonymous

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sinfully-romione · 6 years

Text

Man Cold

Summary: Who knew certain (tiny) things could make a War-Hero and a brilliant Auror so miserable? Thankfully, there is someone who can make it all better.

Rating: K+

Oneshot

Category: Greed

“Ermione?”

Hermione let out an exhale before she looked up from the scroll that had just arrived from her office.

“Yes, Ron?” she asked in the most patient voice she could muster, given the circumstances.

Her fierce Auror, war-hero husband sniffed, pulled his heavy cloak more snugly and wiped his already beetroot-red nose on a tissue before he dragged himself into the room and collapsed on the couch.

For the past couple of days, the only time Ron had let her out of his sight was when either of them had been to the loo. He had, in fact, gone to the extent of conjuring a chair and sitting huddled in it while she had a shower.

“‘ou sure I don need to see a ‘ealer?” he managed in a heavy nasal voice between sniffs. Hermione gave up on the scroll and picked herself up, totally familiar with the conversation that was to ensue. He had asked the same question ten times so far, and she was sure he had called for her a hundred and fifty eight times since morning. Yes, she was keeping count.

By the time she’d crossed the small distance between them, Ron had decided to lie down on the couch, his head resting oddly on one armrest while his legs hung out over the other end.

Hermione placed her palm flat on his forehead, and as expected, it was absolutely normal to touch.

“I’ll get you another dose of Pepper Up Potion,” she told him, arranging his fringe out of his eyes and patting him tenderly on his cheek.

“Okay,” he coughed. She had barely turned when he grabbed her hand and tugged. “Stay wid me,” he pleaded, looking at her with puppy eyes, “summon ed.”

With extreme effort Hermione choked back her laugh, and patted his hand lovingly before casting a silent Accio. The half-empty bottle zoomed into the room, right into her hand.

“Dis can’d be a normal ‘old,” he declared after taking a gulp. “am sure, it’s someding else.”

Hermione walked over to her desk under the pretence of putting away the potion bottle. But it was steadily getting harder to keep her laughter in check. Her oblivious husband let out a loud and dramatic moan, unaware that she was practically shaking with silent mirth.

“C’mere, pleade,” he called. She returned to him and sat down on the floor with her legs folded underneath her. Hermione tucked the cloak properly and cast a spell to expand the couch. Ron settled in more snugly, mouthing a small ‘thank you’.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Some tea, pleade?”

“Sure, I’ll be right back.”

Once she had placed the kettle on to boil, Hermione rested her back against the counter. Ron’s two day old cold seemed to be like a glimpse of the future. She had no clue how it would be once they had kids, but she was sure they couldn’t be as bad as him. The absurd part was, she had seen her husband go on the most dangerous of missions and come home severely injured. He had landed in St. Mungo’s more times than she could count. But she had never seen Ron so miserable, in fact his pain tolerance was extremely high, he hardly ever complained. It was just hilarious that a simple cold had turned him into-

“Ermione!”

“One hundred and fifty nine,” she muttered to herself. “Be there in a tick, Ron!” she replied.

She walked into their study not just with tea but a plate full of his favourite chicken sandwiches.

“I think these will make you feel better,” she said as she set the tray down on a small table. Ron picked himself up and grabbed a sandwich but with much less enthusiasm than she had expected. He took one bite before placing it back on the tray

“Sid?” he called, and familiar with this new nasal-accent of his, she sat down beside him. He managed to adjust his tall frame and placed his head on her lap, closing his eyes.

It was moments like these that stopped her from pointing out his overreaction. For years, Ron was always the one pampering her. He was clearly the more emotional of the two, and caring came naturally to him. Always placing everyone’s needs above his, Ron rarely gave her the chance to spoil him to her heart’s content. She knew which episode in their lives had triggered this sense of duty in him and it saddened her to think that over the course of time, Ron had forgotten to let go of his responsibilities. It had become a second nature of sorts for him put his discomfort aside for others. She knew, once he recovered, he would be just the same. It wasn’t really wrong on her part to crave these role-reversal moments, was it? Even when she was being just as silly…

Running her fingers through his hair she watched his expressions relax. Ron grabbed her free hand and placed it over his chest, sighing contently.

“ ‘M only feelin better wid you nexd to be bud ‘m also worried you’ll catch whad I ‘ave ”

Hermione chucked and pressed a kiss on his nose to which he protested vehemently, arguing she’d catch his deadly infection.

“Honestly, Ron, I’m sure I’m already saturated with this ‘deadly’ virus by now.”

He gaped aloud and sat up straight, then scooted away while wrapping his cloak around him. “No,” he declared with determination, “I musn’d be near you.”

“But you said that’s the only thing which makes you feel better?” she countered.

His expression softened, “Id does, bud I don’d wand you to feel like dis. I’ll watch some telly,” he announced, wiping his nose. “You should fidish your work.”

She watched as he left the study, sniffing and sneezing. The tv was soon switched on and Hermione chuckled as she went back to her desk. She had barely managed to read a couple of sentences when the Floo chimed.

With a groan she picked herself up and knelt in front of the grate. Within a couple of minutes Ginny’s head appeared within the green flames.

Hermione always thought that all the Weasleys looked rather amusing when they Floo-called. If the flames were red instead of green, they’d appear to be on fire. Ginny grinned, making her resemblance to her brother more pronounced.

“Hey there, Sister-in-law!” she laughed, “Harry said, Ron’s got a cold. So I thought, I’d check on you. Wow, you’re holding strong, aren’t you? I thought you’d be at an asylum already.”

“Shut up, Gin!” she mock accused, “He’s not that bad!”

“Hah!” she exclaimed. “You forget, I grew up with that git.”

“And you forget, so did I,” Hermione laughed. “How’s James?”

“Sleeping, finally!” Ginny proclaimed with an over dramatic eye-roll. “No, but seriously, I know how bad Ron is when he gets a cold.”

“I can’t really recollect an episode before this, Ginny,” Hermione pondered aloud.

“That’s because he hasn’t had one in years, I guess,” Ginny provided. “The last time, he was ten and Dad had to take leave from work till he recovered ’cause Ron wouldn’t let him out of sight.”

Hermione bit back a smile which did not go unnoticed.

“And I can see he is doing the same, not that you’re complaining, are you?” smirked Ginny.

“Shut up, Gin. It’s perfectly within my rights to care for my husband,” she justified, hating how her cheeks flushed with colour.

“Of course, and it’s perfectly within your rights to enjoy when he’s being greedy of your attention. Yuck, you guys are disgusting.” Ginny pretended to puke in the grate.

“Look who’s talking!”

“Oh, no…I am-” began Ginny before she stilled and then sighed, “James is up. I’m seriously contemplating feeding him some Sleeping Drought.”

“Are you crazy? He’s barely a couple of months old!” chortled Hermione.

“Remember this when you guys have kids,” Ginny replied, sobering Hermione. “Okay, I gotta go. But don’t let my brother anywhere close to my husband. I’ve got one kid to manage already and no patience to handle another.”

“I’ll do that, Gin,” she promised laughing, and Ginny’s head disappeared along with the flames.

Hermione sat back thinking about what Ginny had told her. Was she supposed to be more strict with Ron? Afterall, how long would a cold last, three days, four at the most? Couldn’t she play along for a while if it made him feel good? However, Ron wasn’t exactly feeling good, was he? On the contrary, he was sure he was dying. She chuckled at the thought. Suddenly something occurred to her and she picked herself up and walked briskly to the kitchen.

“Ron, take this.” He looked at her and pulled an arm out from the blanket.

Hermione handed him a goblet and sat down at the edge of the couch, “Ginny Floo called. Your mum asked me to give you this potion. Said it’ll help.”

Ron nodded once and raising himself a little, drank the contents in one go. He handed her the goblet back and she wiped the traces of liquid from his lips, edging closer for a kiss before he stopped her.

“Nod till I recover,” he declared.

“Fine,” she replied, “But this should make you sleepy and you should be all better in two hours.”

“Really?” he asked eagerly.

“Your Mum said so.”

“Stay wid me?” he asked as he lay back and she nodded, resting her back against his chest, switching the television off and picking up an old copy of Wizarding Communities Around the World. Within a few minutes Ron was snoring softly. Hermione looked at her husband fondly, remembering the article she had read in a medical journal weeks ago. It said that grown up wizards and witches rarely suffered from the common ailments that plagued Muggles, simply because they could choose to heal themselves. Almost like the scratches on her knees healing magically when she was tiny. She never realised she was making it happen by choice. All Ron had to do to feel better was to simply decide to feel better and he’d actually be okay.

She glanced at the goblet and grinned to herself before picking it up and draining the last few drops. Hmm, warm water, a cube of sugar and a pinch of salt didn’t taste so bad after all.

#7deadlysinfest2018 #romione #greed

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sinfully-romione · 6 years

Text

Tie One On

Summary: A little overindulging goes a long way.

Rated: T

Category: Gluttony

10:15am, The Burrow

The night started, improbably, in the chicken coop.

Ron had been scattering the chicken feed to the squabbling hens when Ginny appeared on the other side of the pen, leaning her forearms on the low wooden rails.

“I hear you’re taking Hermione out tonight,” she said without preamble.

“From who?” Ron answered evasively, not thrilled with the idea of his family discussing his love life.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “From her. We do talk.”

“Fine, yes. And?” Ron grunted in return, digging his hand into the bag of seed.

“And I need a favor,” she answered seriously. “I know it’s a cheek, but I need you guys to go on your date another night, and come out with me and Harry for his birthday instead.”

“But his birthday’s not ‘til next week,” Ron countered. “Mum’s going to give him a big do and everything.”

“You know Harry doesn’t want a big fuss. He just wants to spend time with me, and I’m generous enough to share him with you, too.”

“OK, so we tell mum to scale it back.” Ginny was already shaking her head. Ron scowled, exasperated. “I don’t get it.”

“It HAS to be tonight. Harry just found out that Kingsley needs him next weekend, and you know he can’t say no.”

Ron sighed and slung some chicken feed with more force than was strictly necessary. Didn’t it just figure! He had planned this date for weeks - scouted out a restaurant, bought a new shirt, changed his galleons and sickles (okay, sickles and knuts) into muggle money and everything. But Harry was his best mate, and birthdays only came around once a year. With any luck, he’d have loads more dates with Hermione - whom he knew would also want to celebrate the fact that Harry was alive and happy for another year.

“OK, what’s the plan?” he asked, resigning himself to the inevitable.

Ginny grinned. “We go out after dinner tonight, the four of us. To a muggle pub, so no one recognizes him or embarasses him or anything like that. We can have a few drinks, relax - just a normal birthday,” she shrugged.

Normal. He had to admit, that sounded pretty appealing.

“OK, fine. But remember that I’m giving up a date with Hermione. This night better be brilliant.”

8:37pm, The Painted Horse

“I’ve got the first round,” Ginny announced as the four of them scraped stools up to a dented, somewhat sticky table.

The pub was worn but lively, with a comfortable atmosphere and youthful clientele. When Hermione had asked Ginny how she knew about this particular spot, she had only smiled mysteriously and asked what everyone was having.

“Are you sure you won’t need help carrying them?” Hermione worried.

“I’ll be fine, I’m a woman of many talents,” Ginny replied archly with a mischievous wink in Harry’s direction.

“Unnecessary,” Ron mumbled as Ginny pushed past him towards the bar.

“Oh hush, it’s his birthday, remember?” Hermione teased, bumping his shoulder with hers. She smiled up at him warmly and he couldn’t help returning it. Ron thought she looked exceptionally lovely tonight; her excess of curls hung soft and loose around her face and her purple jumper was just fitted enough to send his imagination racing. Several attractive scenarios of how this night was supposed to have played out flitted through his head as he lost himself in her eyes, imagining close conversations in a dimly lit cafe, a stroll under the stars with his arm around her, sliding his hands under that jumper as she breathed his name in his ear…

Harry, who had been watching Ginny’s back as she disappeared into the crowd, suddenly squinted and seemed to gaze at something intently. “Hey, isn’t that Dean?”

Startled out of their moment, Ron and Hermione both swung around toward the bar where Dean Thomas was taking a pint of ale from the bartender. There were several patrons between him and Ginny, who clearly hadn’t seen him.

“Dean, mate!” Ron cupped his hands around his mouth and called to him in a deep voice. When Dean looked over, startled, Ron waved him over. Dean grinned and waved back. He seemed to fiddle with a small object in his hand for a moment, before shoving it into his pocket and making his way towards their table.

“Ron, Harry, Hermione,” Dean nodded to each of them in turn. “Gotta say, I wouldn’t’ve figured to run into you here! What brings you to London?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten one of the cardinal holidays of the wizarding world, the birth of the Chosen One?” Ron joked, grinning at an obviously-embarrassed Harry. “Ow!” Ron jumped as Hermione poked him in the ribs.

“It’s Harry’s birthday,” she clarified, as Ron rubbed his side.

“Well, almost-birthday,” Harry muttered, “it’s really not until next week…”

“Well, fancy meeting you lot here!”

“Neville, Seamus, hi,” Harry greeted them in surprise as he and Ron both moved to exchange quick handshakes with the new arrivals.

“‘Ello, ‘ello, dear housemates,” Seamus grinned. “We came as soon as we heard.”

“What do you mean, ‘as soon as you heard’?” Hermione asked, peering around at them through the dim light. “How did you know where we were?”

“The coins, o’course - what the ‘ell, mate,” Seamus started, before Dean elbowed him in the arm, jostling his drink. “They’ve been right useful this summer in situations such as this,” he added, taking a few calculated sips from his pint to prevent any further spillage.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you’ve been using your DA coins to meet up to go drinking?” she asked in a scandalized voice.

Dean and Neville looked somewhat chastened at her tone, but Seamus merely rolled his eyes. “Come on, Granger - it’s a damn sight better than what we were using them for before!” he retorted.

Harry laughed. “He’s a got a good point, Hermione.”

“Thank you, ‘arry,” Seamus replied grandly, tipping his drink in his direction.

“I suppose,” Hermione sniffed, then broke into a reluctant smile as Ron draped an arm around her. “It really is much better, isn’t it?” she confided sheepishly, leaning into him.

“AAAYYYY!” the group chorused approvingly, the latecomers clinking their glasses together.

“Hey, you lot! Where did you come from?” Ginny called happily as she pushed through the crowd, deftly depositing four pints on the table.

Seamus grinned. “Funny you should ask…”

10:32pm, The Painted Horse

Neville had gotten the next round and then it was Ron’s turn. He carefully counted out some of the muggle money that was supposed to have paid for dinner at a relatively nice cafe and slid them to the bartender. He deposited a few of the pints with Neville, Dean and Seamus, who had drifted over to watch some of the football match playing on the television above the bar - apparently the reason Dean had been at the pub in the first place. Picking up the rest, he carried them over to Harry and Ginny, who were engaged in an extremely competitive game of darts while Hermione looked on. The already-bustling pub had gotten more crowded and rowdy as Londoners streamed in to celebrate the beginning of the weekend. He paused as he handed Hermione her drink.

“This is number three for you, are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Ron,” Hermione tsked in exasperation, carefully taking the glass from him. “You know, there’s nothing specific to the Y chromosome that makes men better able to “hold their drink’,” she added disparagingly. “It’s a simple matter of metabolism and weight-to-alcohol ratio. I know what I’m doing.”

Ron grinned at her swotty tone. He looked around covertly to check that no one was watching them, then quickly pressed a kiss to her mouth.

“Whatever you say, love.”

11:50pm, The Painted Horse

“Ron! RON! Roooooon!!”

Ron staggered as a hand latched onto his arm, the weight of their body making him stumble. He snapped his head around to discover the identity of the person waylaying him on his way back from the loo and found himself looking into the wild eyes of his girlfriend.

“The food!” she hissed urgently.

Ron’s mind spun as he tried to make sense of this, sadly coming to no logical conclusions whatsoever. “Wha?” he added, unhelpfully.

“I forgot about the food!” she moaned, gripping his arm. “You have to keep eating, or the ratios change! Ohhhhhh,” she slurred, covering her eyes, “Can’t let Ron find out about this, ll’never hear the end of it…”

Ron giggled uncontrollably. He was far from sober himself and was having, all things considered, a pretty wicked time. While he had planned to take several opportunities to kiss Hermione in the darker corners of the pub, it turned out that his schemes hadn’t been necessary - as the night went on, Hermione had been happy to snog him wherever they happened to be standing, dark or no. Thanks to the alcohol that he himself consumed, he hadn’t really stopped to consider why she was suddenly so uninhibited about publicly displaying her affection for him.

Ron was about to gleefully point out the flaw in her plan when he was distracted by a commotion at the bar. He wheeled around unsteadily just in time to see a large, ugly-looking bloke take a swing at Seamus amid a general outcry. Unthinkingly, he gripped Hermione’s hand as he pushed his way towards the bar but got swept up in a mass of bodies as more people seemed to join the altercation. The crowd spilled into the street and Ron looked around wildly for Harry or Ginny or anyone he recognized, finding no familiarity in the increasingly blurred faces.

The crowd clustered around a shoving knot of men that seemed to include some of his mates, alternately hurling slurs and encouragement, when an urgent, high-pitched whistle joined the cacophony. He vaguely registered Seamus and Dean taking off running in different directions, but his feet seemed cemented to the ground. A shrill voice was loudly protesting something about rights quite close to him, but before his brain could catch up to the situation, a strong arm clad in blue clapped down on his shoulder.

1:22am, Enfield Metropolitan Police Station

“We are fucked.”

“Yup,” Harry agreed readily.

“We are royally fucked,” he repeated.

“So fucked,” Harry added cheerfully.

Ron sank onto the bench against the back wall. Only a few moments ago, the officer had swung the bars of the dingy cell shut, leaving the outer room through a swinging metal door while muttering about leaving this lot to sober up for a bit.

Hermione collapsed onto the bench next to him, leaning into him heavily. His head still felt like someone had stuffed it full of oatmeal and then put it in a washer on spin cycle. “So what do we do?”

“We’ve all got our wands, right?” Ginny asked. “We’re not fit to apparate, but we could probably open the lock on the cell. Then if we confund the guards on the way out the door…”

“NO!” Hermione interrupted shrilly, looking confused but upset. “No confunding, no obliviating! It’s not right!”

“S’ok, s’ok,” Ron slurred as wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We won’t do any of that,”he soothed, looking at his best mate and sister pleadingly.

GInny blew out a puff of air. “OK, then I guess we’re stuck here for the night.”

“It’s not the end of the world, but what about Mum and Dad? We can’t… we’ve got to let them know. If they get up in the morning and we’re not there, Mum’s going to have kittens,” Ron grimaced.

“We get one phone call, I think! I’ve seen it in films!” Harry hissed excitedly.

Ginny shook her head. “No phone at the Burrow, remember?”

Harry’s face fell. There was quiet for a moment as Ginny narrowed her eyes in thought. “How about a Patronus message?”

Harry looked doubtful. “If someone sees…”

“I can keep watch, make sure no one’s coming, and you cast it real quick,” Ron reasoned, warming up to the idea. “I think they have to be pretty short. What should it say?”

“‘Be back tomorrow, don’t worry about us’”, Ginny suggested.

Ron shook his head. “You’re just asking her to worry, then.”

“‘In muggle jail, don’t panic.’”

“That’s way worse!”

“Look, Ron,” Harry jumped in, “just make sure the coast is clear and we’ll improvise.”

Ron leapt up and bounded to the bars. Head still pounding, he carefully peered up and down the hallway outside the holding cell. “OK, do it now!”

Harry and Ginny looked at each other expectantly.

“Well?” Ginny’s eyes widened and she flapped her hand at him. “What are you waiting for? Do it!”

“Me?!? I thought you were going to do it! You suggested it!”

“I don’t know how to do it! I figured you did! You’re the expert at Patronus casting!”

“I can cast one just fine; I don’t know how to make it talk!”

Ron groaned. “OK, does any of us know how to do it?”

A loud snort from the bench echoed around the cell. Ron, Harry and Ginny swung around and beheld the sight of Hermione fast asleep, head tipped back against the wall and lightly snoring through her open mouth.

“Great. Brightest witch of our age. There goes our last hope,” Ginny groused.

“Lay off her,” Ron began warningly.

“No sense in playing the knight now, Ron, she can’t hear you,” she shot back.

Color flooded Ron’s face. “This was all your idea, you know!” he growled.

“Oh, excuse me for trying to make sure Harry had a proper birthday, for once!!”

“Uh…”

“Oh right, excellent birthday, really bloody festive atmosphere in here!”

“Guys…”

“Well I wasn’t the one that…”

The bang of a door made them jump, as well as the crisp, enunciated words that followed.

“Yes, I’m afraid these are my siblings.”

Three heads snapped around at the familiar voice. “Percy?”

“Hello, Ron, Ginny, Harry… er, Hermione,” Percy replied as the three gaped at him. Hermione continued to snore. He turned to the officer that had escorted him into the room and cleared his throat. “We apologize for their behavior and will take full responsibility from here,” he said rather formally. Still grumbling about delinquents, the officer unlocked the cell door and swung it wide.

The three conscious members of the party shared a quick look before jumping into action. Harry and Ginny moved obediently to the door while Ron stooped to slide his arms under Hermione’s knees and shoulders, grunting as he hoisted her up.They followed Percy quietly down the hall, Ron cradling the still-sleeping Hermione close.

“How…” Ron ventured to ask, once they had passed the sergeant’s desk.

“Neville,” Percy explained as he held open the door to the station for them. “He came to George’s apartment when he realized you had been apprehended by the police. George, having some… experience with this sort of situation, contacted me, correctly assuming that I would be able to assist you.” He sighed. “The usual policy is to let these things run their course through the muggle legal system. But with Harry Potter involved, the press would’ve had a field day. So I was able to use a back channel to secure your immediate release and forestall any resulting proceedings.”

Ginny gaped. “But what did you tell them so that they would let us go? Surely those police officers don’t know who Harry is!”

‘Oh no. What I’ve just said is the high-level situation. As far as those officers are concerned, you wayward youth are actually connected with a distant but influential branch of the royal family.”

“Ooh, posh,” Harry giggled.

“I know quite a lot of useful people, actually,” Percy replied drily, ushering them into a darkened alley.

“I also took the liberty of bringing each of you a vial of Sober-Up potion,” he continued, taking four small glass vials of a sickly green liquid from his pocket. “Happy Birthday,” he said as he handed one to Harry.

“Cheers, Percy” Harry beamed at him.

Percy continued handing out the vials, Ron shifting the girl in his arms to take both his and Hermione’s. “Considering the time, I think it would be best for me to side-along you back to the Burrow as soon as possible. The sober-up potion, while certainly useful, does tend to leave one a bit disoriented for a short period.” He looked at them as Harry and Ginny downed the potion. “I’ll take Harry and Ginny first and perhaps in the meantime, Ron, you can… ready Hermione for travel. I’ll give you a few minutes.”

“Er, right,” Ron replied. Harry and Ginny were both blinking rapidly and shaking their heads as if to clear them. They joined hands with Percy and Ron watched as they disapparated with a pop.

With some difficulty, Ron set Hermione down on an upturned crate pushed against the side of a building. He uncorked the vial and made quick work of his potion, shuddering slightly at the sensation of the alcohol effervescing out of his skin. He looked down at Hermione with clearer eyes, thinking how untroubled she looked - and how vulnerable.

“Hermione,” he whispered urgently, kneeling next to her. He gently brushed her hair from her face, tracing her smooth brow with the pad of his thumb. “Hermione.”

Hermione started, looking at him with bleary eyes and wiping a hand across her mouth.

“Ron?”

“Here, drink this. Sober-up potion.” Ron helped her raise the vial to her lips and watched her closely as she swallowed. With a clearer head, he found it alarming that she had woken up and drunk something he had given her so easily, without even verifying his identity. A part of him warmed at the thought that she trusted him so implicitly, but a bigger part was being swallowed up by the guilt growing in his stomach.

He could see her tense as she took in their surroundings, but before he could say anything, Percy reappeared with a pop.

“Back to the Burrow,” he explained shortly. Hermione looked at him intently, finally nodding slightly. She took Percy’s arm, but reached for Ron’s hand as well.

2:02am, The Burrow

They reappeared on the front porch of the Burrow with a muted crack. Hermione stumbled into Ron and he wrapped his arms around her unthinkingly. Percy straightened his glasses and cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. “Well, I’m going to reset the wards and then I’ll be off. Goodnight Ron, Hermione.”

“G’night, Perce, and… thanks,” Ron said feelingly from over Hermione’s bowed head. Percy nodded to them and strode down the steps into the garden.

Ron gently untangled Hermione from his arms, looking away. “We better head upstairs. You’re staying, right?” he asked, navigating them into the house and through the darkened kitchen.

“Yes, I had worked it out with my parents to stay the weekend,” she whispered softly as they mounted the twisting stairs.

As soon as he had shut his bedroom door behind them, he gave her a condensed summary of the last few hours. She was quiet, legs tucked neatly under herself on his patchwork quilt, as he told her about the fight, the police station, and their unlikely savior in the form of his most pompous brother.

“It wasn’t exactly the night I planned,” Ron finished ruefully, not quite meeting her eyes.

Hermione was silent for a few moments, her head resting on his shoulder. In the stillness of the room Ron found ample time to curse himself for the mess he had let her in for. He leaned his forearms on his knees, clenching his fists together. Finally she sighed.

“You know, we never really got to be young. Not that I was ever very good at it,” she mused. “We never got to make foolish decisions and silly mistakes.”

“I dunno. I can remember some pretty dumb moments,” Ron snorted. “From me, I mean,” he amended hurriedly, glancing at her.

A small smile pulled at her lips. “We both made mistakes. But that’s not what I meant.” She paused. “It was nice to feel… carefree. To have a little too much of a good time. I know that we were lucky to get out of trouble. But it was, well, normal trouble.” She exhaled a short laugh. “We’re not quite used to that.”

“I shouldn’t have been so out of it, out in muggle London,” he said stubbornly, looking at his hands. His fringe, which still wanted cutting, threw his eyes into shadow. “Anything could’ve happened to you,” he added quietly. He winced at the thought of Hermione’s parents having to pick her up at the station, or, worse, what might’ve happened if they had been separated after the fight. He swallowed hard at the panic that rose at the mental image of her alone in the darkened streets, disoriented and defenseless…

She ducked her head and angled her face up to him until he relented and looked into her eyes, flickering in the candlelight.

“I understand, but it didn’t,” she said with sincerity. “And I felt safe all night, because I was with you. Or rather, we were together. I agree, we should probably be more careful. But we take care of each other. We always have.”

For the second time that night he tenderly pushed her hair from her face, his hand lingering on her cheek. She covered it with her own, squeezing tightly, and he knew they were both adding the same unspoken vow.

“Anyway, by all accounts, it was a memorable evening,” she said firmly, fighting a smile.

He huffed out a laugh. “Still, didn’t expect it to end like that,” he said with regret.

“The night hasn’t ended, not yet.” She leaned into his palm, placing a shy hand on his knee. “Has it?”

A rush of love and desire surged through him and he lowered his face to hers, his kiss answering the question in her eyes as the invisible threads that bound them, anchored and supported them, wound ever tighter.

#7deadlysinfest2018 #romione #gluttony

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