#romioneweek2021

[romioneweek]

Below are all the works created for Romione Week 2021. Please show love & support if you enjoyed them!

You can read the stories on AO3 here.

Day 1 : Moments In Time

Dance So Good by @accio-broom

First Time by @purplespunch

31 October 2001 by @mina-roman

A Common Enemy by @voldemorts-tap-shoes

A New Relationship by @cheesyficwriter

Drunk Confessions by @be11atrixthestrange

Flustered Under The Stars by @heavensquill

Caught Staring by @missflufffanfics

Day 2 : Throughout The Years

100 Years by @accio-broom

Day 3 : Traits & Trinkets

Wingardium Leviosa by @adenei

The One He Loves The Most by @accio-broom

The Knight by @mina-roman

Never Again by @cheesyficwriter

Day 4 : A Different Perspective

Like Father, Like Son by @adenei

Love Builds A Garden by @accio-broom

Tea and Wine @mina-roman

Typical by @cheesyficwriter

Her Favorite Three, and What More Could Be by @mertronus

Building Immunity by @honouraryweasley12

Day 5 : Meet The Family

That Twin-Tag-Team-Thing by @accio-broom

Granger-Weasleys : A History by @cheesyficwriter

Blue by @bavalon18

Day 6 : Alternate Universe

Definitely by @romioneb

The Coconut Shy by @accio-broom

Partners In Crime by @voldemorts-tap-shoes

Nothing Like the Present by @cheesyficwriter

Most Ardently Aesthetic by @folk-melody

A Perfect Night by @firethecanonsfanfiction

Day 7 : Free Day

2 Become 1 by @romioneb

Days Like This by @accio-broom

An Unforgettable Evening by @cheesyficwriter

It's Better In The Front Seat by @arianatwycross

Thank you for participating! ❤

Late submissions are welcome! Please tag this blog and I will update the masterlist.

[cheesyficwriter]

Can you do a prequel to “Here We Go Again”? The day before when the blond is flirting with Ron and Hermione is getting jealous. From Harry’s POV! :)

Hiya, @cynthia-granger! I'm so sorry this has taken me a long time — looooong time 😳 — to get to, but I was able to drum up some inspiration given today's theme for @romioneweek. Here is part 2 of Harry's perspective of Ron/Hermione's jealousy. Hope you enjoy!

Part 1: Here We Go Again

Romione Week Day 4: A Different Perspective

Typical

It's a typical day in the Ministry, or so Harry thinks.

He's excited for the prospect of today's lunch as his stomach rumbles with hunger. Will there be corned beef sandwiches? Steak and kidney pie? He's salivating from the mere thought.

Hermione gripes beside him as they walk together, babbling on about how she isn't really all that hungry — typical — but she hasn't seen Ron in nearly a week since he departed on a mission and needs to give him a "proper hello".

Even just those two words are too much for Harry's ears. He really doesn't want to be thinking about his best friends in that way.

"Well, where is he?" Hermione huffs almost as soon as they walk into the crowded Atrium, an impatient trill hanging on the edge of her tone.

"I'm sure he'll be along shortly," Harry assures. He hopes he's right, so he can say a quick "hi" to his best mate and leave the couple to their own agenda while he piles a plate high with food.

Scanning the room, he blinks twice when he spots a familiar head of hair.

"Wait, I see him! Actually…" Harry's eyes grow wide and he spins Hermione around so that she's not looking in the same direction as him. "That wasn't him."

"Who wasn't him?" Her eyes narrow, indicating that she doesn't believe him in the slightest.

"I saw red hair, but it-it was another ginger bloke," Harry stammers. Blimey, he really should be better at lying by now.

"What ginger bloke?" Hermione interrogates. "We know almost everyone in the Ministry!"

Shit. Time to deflect. "There are other ginger-haired wizards outside of the Weasley family, Hermione."

"I know that, I just can't recall any who…" Hermione pauses, pursing her lips as she crosses her arms. "You're deflecting."

Why does he have to be best mates with the smartest witch of his age?

"What? No!"

"Harry Potter, tell me what is going on right now or I will hex you!"

Harry mulls over her threat for a brief moment. He's been witness to an angry Hermione with a wand before. Better not risk it.

"Fine." He sighs, rotating his finger in the air. "Turn around."

Hermione spins in place at once, curiosity morphing into a frown that becomes etched across her face.

"Who is that?"

The sight she finds is of one Ron Weasley, conversing quite closely with an unfamiliar witch with long blonde hair.

Harry shrugs. "I think she's new. I don't know her name."

"And why does she have her hand on my boyfriend?"

"See, this is why-" Harry doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence before Hermione goes marching over in Ron's direction, sticking very true to her determined, albeit somewhat abrasive nature.

Sighing to himself, he mumbles, "This is why I can't stand you two sometimes."

Harry watches Ron's eyes light up as she approaches, his smile quickly fading into a look of apprehension as she not-so-subtly slides her way in between Ron and the other woman. Hermione then pushes her back into Ron's chest suggestively while lifting an eyebrow, challenging the blonde woman with a smirk. Harry can see Hermione's mouth moving at rapid speed, making him wish he had an Extendable Ear so that he can listen in to the conversation too.

Harry struggles to maintain his laughter as he watches Ron's face turn a significant shade of red before relaxing and replacing the shock on his face with pride, naturally wrapping an arm around Hermione's waist.

He's so bloody chuffed.

The blonde woman scurries off just moments later, a scarlet tint on her cheeks indicating clear embarrassment. He almost feels sorry for the woman, knowing she walked into a force to be reckoned with.

"Ron!" He overhears Hermione reproach, as she's now turned fully into his arms and he's whispering in her ear. "Not here!"

Harry doesn't even attempt to resist rolling his eyes, wondering why he's subjected himself as a witness to their charades, knowing damn well how it was going to end — how it always ends.

At least they replaced not speaking to each other for weeks on end with snogging — only slightly less annoying. He laughs inwardly at the thought of Ginny. If she was here, she’d have a grand time taking the mickey out of them.

"Isn't Ron so big and strong?" Hermione coos as they approach their best friend, leaning into Ron's side, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Hey!" Ron defends. "S'not my fault that's what she thinks!"

"Don't worry, love," Hermione pats him on the chest. "I never said that I don't think that as well."

Oh bloody hell, how is Harry going to stomach his lunch now?

"You alright there, Harry?" Ron asks, concern etched between his brows.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry waves off, distracted by the smell of food — glorious food —that he’s eager to find, knowing it’s close by. "Welcome back, mate."

"Cheers!" Ron grins. "Hey, listen, Hermione and I think we're going to go-"

"Yeah, yeah," Harry waves off again. "Go on, get out of here, you two."

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione smiles, and the two walk off arm in arm, giggling back and forth about Merlin knows what.

The sight makes Harry's lips curl up, grateful that despite the typical, disgusting displays of affection between the two, they finally managed to get their shit together. He'll take this over their endless rowing and hostile demeanor towards each other any day.

Now, where are those sandwiches?

[adenei]

Like Father, Like Son

Written for @romioneweek's A Different Perspective Theme - Day 4

A Goblet of Fire Missing Moment

******************

“...I’ll check with your mother, but I don’t see why not.”

Molly hears the tail-end of a conversation as she enters the Burrow. Careful not to interrupt, she slips past the sitting room and into the kitchen. An overfilled laundry basket balances on her hip, full of clean clothes that are fresh off the line after basking in the warmth of the mid-July sun. She makes her way to the kitchen and sets the basket on the shining table, where she casts a charm for the clothes to fold and sort themselves before they make their final destination to the appropriate bedroom.

“Right. Er, thanks,” she hears her youngest son respond before he escapes up the stairs, no doubt to his bedroom.

“Everything alright, dear?”

Arthur folds the latest edition of the Daily Prophet and sets it down on the side table next to his favorite chair. “Never better! Ron was just inquiring about having an extra visitor later this summer.”

“Oh? But I thought he knew Harry is coming in August. He’ll stay with us through the end of summer holidays, just like Dumbledore requested.”

“Yes, yes, he knows about Harry.” Arthur stands and makes his way into the kitchen before continuing. His voice is low, just in case there are any other listening ears nearby. “He’d like to know if he can invite Hermione to stay as well.”

Molly stops transferring the piles of folded clothes into the baskets and eyes her husband. “Hermione?”

“Er, yes? Don’t tell me you don’t remember—”

“Of course I remember! I’m just.” She frowns, trying to think of an appropriate word that matches her thoughts. “Surprised.”

Her husband chuckles. “He seemed a bit out of sorts when he asked. Stumbling over his words, mumbling something about how it wouldn’t be fair if Harry were here without her.”

“Minerva has mentioned many times that the three of them seem to be inseparable at school,” Molly agrees.

“You didn’t see how red his face got when he asked though…” Arthur trails off, his insinuation cemented by a quirk of his eyebrows.

Molly gasps. “You don’t think they’re—”

“Merlin, no! I don’t think he realizes himself.”

“Well, they are only fourteen.”

“Not far off from when I first realized I had feelings for you,” Arthur reminisces, a small smile gracing his lips.

Molly crosses to the other side of the table as Arthur holds out his arm to welcome her into his embrace. “So you insist,” she teases.

“It’s true.” He kisses her crown as she nuzzles into his chest.

“Let’s hope for both their sakes that Ron doesn’t wait as long as you did to make a move then, hmm?”

“I’m sure they’ll sort their feelings out when they’re ready. They’re young, let’s not rush them.”

“You’re right. But for now, I don’t see why she can’t spend the rest of the summer here as well. Hermione can have my ticket for the World Cup as well.”

Arthur pulls away to look his wife in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, it will mean more for them, and if Ron’s anything like his father, something tells me he’ll want to share something that special to him with his someone special.” Molly laughs at her joke as Arthur shakes his head.

“I’ll go put him out of his misery and tell him Hermione’s welcome to stay if her parents are fine with it. I think I saw Pigwidgeon return this morning.”

Arthur heads up the stairs to find Ron as Molly turns back to the wash, blinking back the happy tears that threaten her eyes.

Who knew our youngest son would be the first to find his true love?

[voldemorts-tap-shoes]

Happy Halloween all!

🎃👻🕷

Here’s my day 1 story for @romioneweek !

A Common Enemy

It’s more of a truce than anything else, really, between me and him. A sort of understanding that we both love the same girl and that there’s no compromising with her on both of us being in her life. There’s never been any real affection between us.

I mean, yeah, I sneak him scraps under the table when Hermione’s not looking, but she won’t consent to us getting a dog, and what’s a generous bloke like myself to do?

And okay, sometimes, in the winter he curls up on top of my feet, but that’s all selfishness on his part because his bed gets cold, and my feet are plenty warm without his help.

But make no mistake, Crookshanks and I are not friends.

We do, I suppose, have a lot in common. There’s Hermione, of course, and her regular reminders of our similarity in hair color. “My two favorite gingers,” she says when she comes home and sees us anywhere near each other.

And, as I found out one day late in sixth year, we have a common enemy.

I was stretched out on the common room sofa, pretending to study as usual, when Crookshanks slithered by me. Despite his crouched posture and the stealth with which he moved, the bell that Hermione had foisted on him rattled around his neck, creating a soft jingle in the otherwise quiet room. “Bit early for Christmas, isn’t it?” I teased as the cat passed me. His beady little eyes flickered to me for just an instant before he refocused on whatever he was hunting—an airborne piece of dust, most likely. Hermione didn’t let the poor beast out of the castle enough to chase real prey like mice and birds.

Not that I cared, of course.

Anyway, I went back to my book to resume my feigned interest in schoolwork, and the common room was silent until there was a sudden scratching sound. I whipped my head around just in time to see Crookshanks land back on the floor, his yellow eyes fixed on the wall just above where his claws had scoured the crimson wallpaper. I sighed and got to my feet, intent on a Reparo for the damage he had caused. “Nothing but trouble, are you?” Crookshanks gave an indignant meow in return, and I pointed my wand at the wall.

That’s when I saw it.

It was tiny. No bigger than an owl treat, probably, and if it weren’t for Hermione’s cat staring a hole through it, the bugger would probably have just blended right into the pattern of the wallpaper and I’d’ve been none the wiser. But now that I’d seen it, I couldn’t look away as I retreated slowly back toward the couch.

Crookshanks afforded me another quick glance before he pounced again. This time, he knocked the spider from the wall, and Hermione entered the common room just in time to hear my very manly shriek as it hit the floor. She raised her eyebrows in amusement as she looked between me and the cat, who was now batting the wretched insect between his paws.

“Oh, who’s a good boy?” Hermione cooed, reaching down to scoop up Crookshanks before squashing the spider beneath her shoe. “Did you save Ron from the big scary monster?”

I glared at her, but it was hard to properly convey my annoyance when she was looking at me like that, all bright eyes and dark lashes peeking out from behind the orange mass of fur she called a pet. And she had just saved my life, after all.

“Laugh all you want.” I pouted. “You can fix the wallpaper yourself, then.”

Hermione kept a squirming Crookshanks tucked under one arm as she vanished the dead spider before turning her wand to the wall and repairing the scratches. She took a step closer to me and hoisted the cat higher on her hip as she said, “See, aren’t you glad to have him around?”

The damn cat gave me the most smug look as he curled into Hermione’s embrace, as if he knew that’s exactly where I wanted to be. “Yeah, he’s alright, I s’pose.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Why is it so hard to admit that you like him?”

I asked myself that question frequently, but about her. Why was it so hard to just admit that I liked her? Hermione gave me a soft smile as she set Crookshanks back on his feet, and he scurried off to some unknown corner of the common room, the sound of the bell growing distant as he retreated.

“I’m headed to dinner,” she said, saving me from answering what was apparently a rhetorical question. “Want to come?” I nodded and fell into step beside her as we exited through the portrait hole. Our fingers bumped against each other as we walked, but for once, neither of us shied away from the contact.

Things were different after that, between me and Hermione. And between me and Crookshanks.

As if he knows I’m thinking about him, the cat hops up onto my desk and scatters the post-mission reports I’m drafting, looking up at me with those same big yellow eyes and a pleading purr that I’ve grown powerless to over the years. Deciding that’s my cue to quit working for the day, I reach out and scratch him under the chin where I know he likes it. “Hey, killer. Get rid of any monsters for me today?”

He nuzzles his head up under my chin just as there’s a snort from the doorway. Hermione shakes her head, but there’s a grin on her face. “Mortal enemies, you two, after all this time,” she teases.

“Yeah,” I agree as Crookshanks rolls over onto his back, affording me access to his tummy that even Hermione isn’t privileged with. “Can’t stand each other, really.”

[folk-melody]

He is a gentleman, and I am a gentleman's daughter. So far we are equal.

Have a Romione moodboard inspired by Pride & Prejudice since I couldn't finish writing the ficlet!

For @romioneweek Day 6 : Alternate Universe

[be11atrixthestrange]

Drunk Confessions

Here’s my entry for @romioneweek​!

Prompt:  Moments in Time

-------------------------------

Drunk Confessions

[October]

“Hermioneeeeee!”

The way Ron extended the last syllable of her name when Hermione entered Grimmauld Place suggested that the glass of firewhiskey in his hand wasn’t his first. She couldn’t help but smile as he teetered on the edge of his chair, his cheeks flushed and hair ruffled.

“Have I interrupted something?” she asked. “I can come back later.”

“NO!”

Harry laughed and safeguarded his drink as Ron sprang to his feet. He rushed toward Hermione and threw his arms around her body with so much force that they might have merged into one.

‘How many has he had?’ mouthed Hermione over Ron’s shoulder.

Harry grimaced. ‘Five? Six? Lost count.’

Hermione sent him a stern look, which elicited a shrug and a mouthed apology.

“Howdidyougethere?” Ron slurred, pulling away from Hermione to hold her at arm’s length.

“Well, as you can see, I used the floo network.” She nodded toward the fireplace.

“But it’s only October,” said Harry from his seat at the table.

Hermione hadn’t planned on returning to Grimmauld Place until the Christmas holidays for fear that seeing Ron and Harry — mostly Ron — would make the first term drag on even more slowly. But as it turned out, for the first time in her memory, school dragged on regardless, and Hogwarts just wasn’t the same without the boys.

“I wanted to surprise—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish her thought before Ron pulled her closer and crashed his lips against hers. Thanks to his inebriated state, his kiss was sloppy, rushed, and frantic, a stark contrast to the timid explorations of their early relationship.

“Mmmmm,” hummed Hermione as she laced her fingers into his hair. She usually hated the bitter taste of firewhiskey, but she found a whole new appreciation for the drink through this method of delivery.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave,” said Harry before downing the remaining contents of his drink and tiptoeing past them toward the staircase. “It’s erm… good to see you, Hermione!”

Harry’s footsteps faded to the background and Hermione found herself completely lost in Ron — his warm breath, his overgrown hair, the scratch of stubble that prickled against her face. She would have stayed there forever if Ron hadn’t stumbled and lost his balance, nearly toppling over before Hermione stabilized him. She laughed, letting herself imagine she made him weak in the knees, although knowing full well it was a side effect of his fourth, maybe fifth drink.

“Let’s get you to the sofa,” she said as she looped his arm around her shoulders.

“Mmmkay,” he mumbled, dragging his feet alongside hers until tumbling onto the cushions.

He gripped her wrist and tugged her toward him, and Hermione let her body melt against his. She fit so perfectly on top of him, and by the way he slipped his arms around her waist and guided her head into the crook of his neck, he must have agreed.

They laid there for a few moments, listening to each other's heartbeats, Hermione’s head rising and falling with each breath. Being with him like this seemed to melt away all of her stress from school, so much so that she found herself wishing for the tenth time that day — hundredth since they’d started their relationship — that they’d sorted themselves out much sooner.

She was about to drift off to sleep when Ron broke the silence. “Iloveyoumione,” he said, the words landing somewhere between a whisper and a mumble.

Heat rushed to her cheeks and she perked up to look at him. His eyes were closed and breathing steady, and he appeared to be asleep, or close. He’d never said those words before, and she wasn’t expecting to hear them anytime soon. She’d imagined it, hoped for it, but it still caught her off guard.

Did he mean it? Would he remember saying it in the morning? Was it wrong to say it back if he said it by accident?

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but at that very moment, Ron let out an elongated snore.

It was too late to tell him, but the words still hovered at the tip of the tongue. “I love you too.”

They felt so natural as they left her lips, and she only hoped she’d have the opportunity to say them again soon. When he was sober, of course. She wanted him to remember it.

She nuzzled her head back against his chest and closed her eyes. It wasn’t long before she joined Ron in sleep, her smile so wide and goofy it could almost compete with his.

***

[December]

Hermione’s head felt like a bludger against Ron’s shoulder. Her bushy hair seemed to expand and contract with every breath she took, all but suffocating Ron in the process and he inhaled the crisp, flowery scent of her shampoo.

His arm was beginning to prickle, but he didn’t dare move. She was so calm, so serene compared to the Hermione he’d greeted at Platform 9 ¾ just a few hours ago. Clearly, the past term had taken a toll on her. It always took some time for the anxiety to dissipate before she could truly relax. He noticed that every school break, but it seemed worse this year. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he wasn’t there to distract her, remind her to eat, and make her laugh. The thought brought a smile to his face.

They were on the couch in the Burrow’s living room having just spent the evening eating dinner and dessert with his family and catching up with his brothers and Ginny over a few glasses of wine. Ron had watched in amusement as Hermione finished her first glass of wine, then reached for a second. Then a third.

School so far must have been intense.

Ron loved the rare, drunk Hermione — well, he loved every version of her, but he hadn’t told her that. Not yet, at least. He couldn’t stand the thought of saying it and not hearing it back, so he vowed not to until he was completely sure she felt the same way. It was so difficult to know her thoughts on the matter when they never saw each other. There was only so much emotion that could be conveyed in a letter.

His cheeks still hurt from laughing as each sip of wine had unraveled her stress, slowly revealing the carefree, playful, fun-loving person that he knew. Watching her joke and banter with his family assured him that she felt just as comfortable around them as she did around him alone. It confirmed at least one thing — that she was already a part of his family.

Eventually, the wine and butterbeer strengthened their effects, and one by one, everyone padded off to bed. Ron stayed put, as Hermione had already fallen asleep against him and he didn’t dare wake her up. He was perfectly comfortable, anyway. So content that he ignored his brothers’ smirks, and when he witnessed Ginny tugging an enthused Harry toward the staircase, he didn’t bother to wonder if they were headed toward separate bedrooms.

At last, they were alone, and in the newfound silence, Ron could hear a slight snore sounding from Hermione’s lips. It was soft and quiet, and so unbelievably cute that he couldn’t wait to make fun of it tomorrow. As much as he loved jovial, drunk Hermione, hungover Hermione reminded him of a fire-breathing dragon, and he’d never give up his pastime of pushing her buttons. He loved a good adrenaline rush.

Ron was also inebriated, and there was no way he could carry her to bed in this state. With caution, he extricated himself from Hermione and gently laid her down on the sofa. He pulled a blanket from a nearby armchair and draped it around her before leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead.

“Stay.” Her whisper was so soft that he barely heard her.

Did she mean that?

“Here? On the couch with you?”

Without opening her eyes, she wiggled against the back of the sofa, uncovering not quite enough room for Ron to fit comfortably, but more than enough to be worth a try.

“Yeah, okay.” All thoughts of his family discovering them in the morning were fleeting. He could deal with the consequences later. It was always worth it.

Ron settled into the space beside her and wrapped an arm around her middle. He was immediately intoxicated by her — the smell of her hair, her warmth, the way she fit against him like a perfectly matched puzzle piece. His lips landed on her cheek.

“Iloveyou.”

Ron froze at the sound that escaped Hermione’s lips. It came out in one breath, and if he hadn’t been so close to her, it could have easily been mistaken for a sigh, or nonsense muttering in her sleep.

But, he knew what he heard. All of the fear that she wouldn’t say those words back melted away, and a wide smile crossed his face.

“What did you say?” he whispered. Just to be sure, of course.

Hermione didn’t respond — her breathing had returned to its calm, sedated pace, her eyes were shut, and her lips parted, eliciting those soft, adorable snores once again. She was asleep.

Had she meant it?

There was one way to find out. “I love you too, Hermione.”

The words nearly tumbled out of him. They felt so natural — as if he’d said them already. He knew the admission would open the floodgates, and he’d never be able to hold it in again.

Of course, Hermione didn’t hear him this time, but he’d make sure she did tomorrow.

[edie-k]

Blue (R/Hr, PG-13)

Title: Blue (R/Hr, PG-13)

Rating: Teen (existence of a sexual relationship discussed)

Pairing: R/Hr

Characters: The Drs Granger, Hermione, Ron

Summary: Warren Granger is thrown off by a household chore.

Written for @romioneweek Day 4 - Meet the Family. A loose interpretation of the theme but it’s about accepting there’s a new way to look at the family now.

I started to write this and then realized it is actually inspired by a scene in episode 1x17 of Friday Night Lights. So credit to them!

Thanks to adnei for the beta help!

“Push that basket this way,” said Warren Granger. He was on the floor of their sitting room, sorting and folding clean laundry with his wife. From her seat on the couch, Judy set down the towel she was folding and slid the basket across the floor.

“This is sassier than your usual fare,” Warren said, holding up a pair of royal blue high cut knickers. “Why don’t I remember this?”

“Hmm?” Judy asked, glancing up. “Oh, it’s not mine, dear.”

“WHAT?” he shouted, dropping them like they were on fire.

“I take it that it’s not yours either,” Judy asked, failing at her attempt to suppress a smile.

“You are not funny!” Warren hissed. “When the hell did she get that?”

“I’m not sure. We went shopping together last week - everything she owns is in tatters, so likely then.”

“YOU bought this for her?”

“Possibly. It’s not like I made her get my approval for every pair of socks and knickers she picked out. She’s almost 19.”

“But that was our money! You spent our money on, on, sex rags for our daughter,” he sputtered.

“Honestly Warren! It’s a pair of cotton knickers - ”

“Indecent knickers!”

“- that help women avoid visible lines in certain articles of clothing.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t wear those clothes then!”

“Which clothes? Trousers? Skirts? Dresses?” Judy asked, amused.

“Denims wouldn’t be an issue. Buy her a whole wardrobe of those,” Warren said.

Judy sighed. “What’s this really about?”

“A man is allowed to be upset when he finds out a garment that he wants to see his wife wear actually belongs to his daughter,” he huffed.

“I suppose. I’d be more understanding except we both know where Hermione has been spending the majority of her nights this summer and why,” Judy reminded him.

Warren sighed. “We should have never sent her to that school.”

“Warren!”

“What?”

“She erased our memories and sent us to Australia to fight in a war but a thong is where you draw the line? What is this actually about?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed again.

“Dear, we knew they shared a bed in Australia. Again, she’s almost 19. I thought we both assumed they were having sex.”

“Yeah but because for many people, it’s a biological need. Not because she wanted to.”

“Warren! That’s a terrible thing to say. You can’t honestly believe that boy, who clearly adores our daughter, would treat her like that! Or that our daughter would let him!”

“No,” Warren said instantly, shaking his head. “You’re right and that’s not what I meant to imply about Ron at all. I do like him. It’s not about him. It’s just about…”

“Her growing up?” suggested Judy.

“Yes. And I feel like we missed a lot of it. We didn’t see her going on a first date, to her first dance. I didn’t get to warm up to any of this. One day, she’s blushing when you ask her what Ron said in his latest letter and in what literally feels like the next day, she’s dating him and trying to be-be….”

“Sexy?” suggested Judy.

“Ugh,” groaned Warren.

“Well, she’s out with him now for a bit before we all go to dinner and she’s not wearing the thong.”

“That’s true but -” Warren started.

“Although,” interrupted Judy.

“What?”

“We don’t know if she’s wearing any underwear.”

“Judy,” Warren growled in frustration. “I’m going through something here! Look, I know I’m being ridiculous about the knickers but it’s not really about the knickers. They’re in this committed, serious relationship. And not even a serious school relationship. An actual relationship, you know?”

“I do know. All too well,” Judy sighed. “And I’m sorry for the lack of sympathy.”

“I just didn’t realize how much I missed being the three of us until I realized that it might not be just the three of us anymore.”

Judy slid off the couch and crawled over to her husband to embrace him. They lost track of how long they had been sitting that way until they heard the door open and shut.

“Hi,” said Hermione, entering the room with Ron behind her. “Ready for dinner?”

Warren looked at the two in front of him, fingers interlocked.

“No, nope, not tonight,” he said, standing up and shaking his head. Judy stood up with him.

“Is everything okay?” Hermione asked, furrowing her brow.

“Warren?” Judy questioned.

“It’s still a little about the knickers,” he muttered quietly to Judy. “Sorry Hermione, I’m not feeling well.”

Warren headed for the stairs but stopped and turned to point at Ron. “You… I want you to… just…” Warren sighed, dropped his arm to his side, defeated, and continued up the steps.

“I’m sorry Ron, he’s a bit out of sorts.” Warren heard Judy apologize on his behalf.

“Is he going to be okay? What’s wrong with him?” Ron asked.

“I imagine in a couple of decades or so you might understand,” Judy replied with a chuckle.

[mertronus]

Her Favorite Three, and What More Could Be

Whoop whoop! @romioneweek is here!

So I've had this concept planned out for AGES, but I'm happy I never got around to it! Makes a perfect contribution to Romione Week 2021's Day four theme: A Different Perspective. It includes a lot of canon, of course, and a few headcanons of my own. ;) Enjoy!

Rated G

Read it on AO3

----

Year 1

Those three first presented themselves to me on Halloween their very first year. Run in with a troll of all things. A TROLL! In our school!

In all my years!...Well, alright, I will admit I have seen some things during my tenure as Matron of Hogwarts, but honestly.

I should have known. I should have known that very day that it was a sign of things to come. What I did know was that I would see a lot of these three during their time at Hogwarts.

It was obvious that they had not been friends long at that point, but I could just tell that their experience in that bathroom sparked something new. From the story I was given, it seemed that the boys had saved the girl from the troll.

And yet, I couldn’t help but notice that the girl’s wide-eyed look of awe seemed to be directed at the little red-head - a Weasley of course - much more than the bespectacled one.

It was a few months later when they returned. First, the girl, Ms. Granger, I now knew, came bustling in, struggling to support the young Mr. Weasley. Oh she was so terribly worried about him. Going on and on about an oversized chess game and a knight - or was he the knight? I really could not be sure.

While he was pretty bruised up, I was able to patch him up quickly. It was the Potter boy who joined us soon after who I was most worried about. To think of the dangers these three first years had been through! And yet, Dumbledore was so calm about the whole thing.

As worried about Mr. Potter as Ms. Granger was, it was Mr. Weasley’s side she seemed particularly glued to.

Year 2

I had hoped that their second year would go more smoothly. Perhaps they simply got off to a rocky start!

But then, first came Potter. I will not even get started on that...that pompous bone-vanishing “professor”! Made my job that much harder the entire year he was with us, didn’t he?

Unsurprisingly, Granger and the young Weasley were constant visitors during Potter’s stay - and always together, I noticed. Well, I already knew by then that the three of them were as thick as thieves...but there was something else, too...something more...

Well, it goes without saying that their second year was no better than their first! The Chamber of Secrets opened! A monster on the loose! Half of my beds occupied by poor, petrified students (plus a cat and...a ghost of all people!)

Of course I felt awful with each petrified student brought in. I don’t have any favorites, can’t afford to! As the Matron of this school I make it a point to love and care for every student equally - yes, even the Slytherin’s.

But I am not ashamed to admit that there was most definitely an extra pull at my heartstrings when I first caught sight of the bushy haired little witch as Minerva brought her in.

It wasn’t long before Weasley and Potter were by her side. Minerva escorted them to their friend. She knew just as well as I did how close those three were.

The boys came as often as they could during the day to see Granger - always together and always whispering. (I should have known that they were up to something!)

But at night only one came. Oh I knew about that invisibility cloak of Potter’s, just as I knew about it when his father ran a muck about the school under it with his friends.

However, it wasn’t Potter under the cloak during those late night visits - the steps were heavier, the feet larger and much clumsier. No, Potter, I already knew, was stealthier and lighter on his feet. Quick and agile like the true little seeker he was. Just as sneaky as his father, albeit more humble.

And quite unlike his best friend who was growing so fast that he couldn’t seem to keep a handle on himself.

I could have said something, should have really. He was out of bounds after all. But all he ever did was sit beside Granger and talk quietly to her. I figured that there was no harm in that. And it was likely good for Granger, even if she would never remember his visits once she woke up.

And...well, alright. I thought it was a bit romantic. Yes, I know they were only twelve and thirteen! Still...

It wasn’t long before Potter was back, this time along with the Weasley girl! I placed her beside Granger so the boys could sit with them both easier. It seemed only right. Mr. Weasley especially looked quite torn between wanting to be at his sister’s side and Ms. Granger’s.

Year 3

Soon enough, another year started with another Quidditch injury for Mr. Potter. I’d never liked that game. Flying around at those speeds on brooms, heavy balls aiming at them. But then, add to that Dementors?! I mean honestly, Dementors at Hogwarts?! I recall thinking back then, “what next, dragons?!”

I would have made a better Divination teacher than Sybil, I think.

Weasley and Granger, as per usual, came to visit often - together and bickering constantly. It was pretty adorable, their arguing. At such a young age, they were already such a passionate cou- uh, pair.

Then, Hogsmeade visits began, and I noticed that Weasley and Granger were heading into the village together, without Potter. I had a perfect view of the courtyard, after all.

I had heard Potter didn’t have permission, poor thing. But, I couldn’t help but think that perhaps, that was for the best. They were quite strong as a trio, but maybe those other two needed some time on their own to sort things out.

Alright, so I might have been talked into the faculty pool by that point.

Several people, Dumbledore included, were certain that Potter and Granger would be the next Potter and Evans. I, however, knew two things by their third year.

One, I had already surmised that Potter was a lot like his father in very many ways, and I was pretty sure that this included an affinity for red-heads.

And two, that Granger shared this particular affinity with Potter. It’s what made Granger and Potter so close, after all.

As is customary, the three of them graced my wing with their presence after another hairy situation. Weasley bore a nasty dog bite, and there was a criminal in the castle. I didn’t know much else, but I had learned a long time ago not to ask very many questions - just enough to do my job. Dumbledore seemed to have the story straight, and that’s all that mattered.

I could never be the headmistress of a magical school...and would never want to.

Potter and Granger stayed by Weasley’s side, though Potter seemed distracted by something. Granger, however, was laser focused on our young injured lad.

Year 4

I will admit, the moment I learned that we would host the Triwizard Tournament, I was absolutely beside myself. I knew that would lead to a very busy school year for me, and made sure that I was even more stocked with supplies and potions than previous years.

Was I surprised when Potter was made a fourth champion? Well, yes and no. That poor boy. But, he was already well acquainted with me and my wing so why in Godric’s good name wouldn’t he be the fourth and youngest champion?

Honestly, though...this school! Dragons?! An hour in the lake?! What was Dumbledore thinking! Yes, we have magic at our disposal, but must we push it to it’s limits?! What happened to teaching normal spells for medicinal and domestic purposes? Stitch a cut here, sew a seam there...simple, everyday things!

While it was quite a busy year for me, I was extremely happy with the way the stars aligned on the night of the Yule Ball. My wing was empty, and everyone in the castle would be in the decorated Great Hall, so what better place for the school’s Matron to be as well! It was nice to get dressed up for a change, enjoy a feast sitting down, and sit back with the rest of the staff to observe our students.

Of course, I took note of my three favorite students. (I mean, not that they were in any way my favorites - I told you already, I simply don’t do favorites.)

Potter was with one of the Patil girls - I never could tell them apart when they were out of their Ravenclaw and Gryffindor uniforms - and it seemed that Weasley was in attendance with the other. Anyone else would probably find that fitting...but I knew better. Something was wrong.

Weasley looked downright miserable, and I do not believe it was simply due to his outrageous robes. (I made a mental note to have a word with Molly. Surely she was still good at transfiguring robes! She should have done better, that poor boy.)

At one point I followed Weasley’s glowering eyes - directly to the Durmstrang champion, a strapping young man by the name of Viktor Krum. Nice boy, really. Very polite, although quiet, when I fixed him up after his dragon encounter.

It took me a moment to realize, however, who was on Mr. Krum’s arm - Ms. Granger.

Ah, so that explained Weasley’s apparent distress!

I was engrossed and ready to spend the evening watching how this all played out. It seemed that young Mr. Weasley had finally realized his feelings.

But then, that Ernie MacMillan. Only he would trip over his own two feet and land nose first onto the stone floor. He broke his nose in 2 places! That, of course, seemed to open the floodgates, and I found myself back at my post tending to an onslaught of more silly little injuries.

My little hospital wing had never seen such chaos (up until that point, anyway) as it did the end of that year. That’s to be expected, of course, when the tournament ended with the death of one of our own. I still shudder whenever I think of poor Mr. and Mrs. Diggory. I tended to Mrs. Diggory as best as I could before Professor Sprout took them away, but I knew that there was no amount of Pepper Up Potion that could help a mother who had just seen her lifeless child’s body.

I wasn’t surprised that Potter was somehow involved. It was a while before Dumbledore brought him in - with strict instructions regarding his care. The boy was a mess. Once again, he’d face He Who Must Not Be Named.

Between the Weasleys and Granger hovering around Potter, along with the Minister of Magic bursting in and poor Alastor Moody - the real Alastor Moody, mind - being brought to me in need of extensive care, there was so much happening!

And let’s not forget the huge black dog posted under Potter’s bed at Dumbledore’s insistence! It was all so much!

And yet, through it all, I couldn’t help but take note of the two who stayed closest to Potter - along with Molly, of course. (Good that he had someone maternal on his side.) Granger was completely distraught over Potter - luckily she had Weasley to comfort her.

Year 5

The atmosphere shifted after that. But even so, quidditch was back.

And so, Potter was back.

As is customary, I received a list of each team's roster once they were set. I was somewhat surprised to learn that Weasley had also joined the Gryffindor team that year! And I could only imagine that it was just a matter of time before Potter and Weasley were in beds beside one another, Granger in the middle telling them both off for being so reckless - her chair scooted just a smidge closer to Weasley’s bed, of course.

I was right, of course...on all counts.

They were in and out throughout the year, the usual nonsense. Admittedly, I was a bit preoccupied with our new professor turned (ahem) “High Inquisitor” turned Headmistress. She was on top of me as much as she was on top of the professors! Asking me all kinds of ridiculous questions about previous injuries - especially Potter’s. I told her the same thing every time, “I only trouble myself with the information I need - what the ailment is and where. Nothing more!”

And then, the end of the year came. Well, let’s give a quick rundown of that debacle, shall we?

Neville Longbottom with a broken nose and recovering from a dancing curse - his legs still twitched for days!

Luna Lovegood recovering from a stunner straight to that pretty little head of hers.

Ginny Weasley with a broken ankle and a stunning spell of her own.

Ronald Weasley with fresh brain tentacle scars all up and down his arms! It is unbelievable the things they keep in that Ministry. (And even more unbelievable that kids were able to break into it!) Oh and let’s not forget the fits of giggles he still had during his first couple of nights thanks to that curse he was hit with. Giggling fits that not even Dreamless Sleep Potion could quell.

And Hermione Granger, who had it the worst of the lot by far. No one could tell me the curse she was hit with, as the assailant had been silenced. As I treated her, however, there was only one curse I could think of that it could have been. I didn’t want to believe it, but that’s how I treated her, and it worked. So...suffice it to say, the thought of a Death Eater doing that to a child is completely Unforgivable.

All five had been portkeyed in straight from the Ministry. But it wasn’t until some time later, that their fearless leader was escorted in by Dumbledore. I treated Harry Potter for a few small hexes and cuts, but he was more shaken up than anything. This time, it was his Godfather who was killed.

The boy sees a lot of death in his young life, doesn’t he?

Moody and broody as he was (understandably so), Potter was free to go. He was followed closely by Lovegood, Longbottom, and Ms. Weasley.

Of the two left, Mr. Weasley was the first who could have been released, but I didn’t see the point. He would have simply returned to sit by Ms. Granger’s side, so I kept him. I figured this way I could be sure his healing ointment was being administered on time each day.

It was so obvious by this point that these two were something special. It was also equally as obvious that they were both just as stubborn as the other. I wondered if I would get to witness the inevitable during the two years they had left - or if the coming war would foil things.

Year 6

Aside from their involvement with Katie Bell’s poisoning, I didn’t see much of the three of them during their sixth year - not at first anyway.

I’d heard some whispers amongst the staff about Weasley and that Brown girl, and did notice that Granger wasn’t seen with Weasley very much. I also noticed that she seemed a bit put out whenever I saw her.

But, I knew that a quiet year was too good to be true - Weasley was poisoned. Had it not been for Potter, the boy would have died. (And I couldn’t help but think how awful that would have been for Potter, who had already lost so many important people in his life already. It was no wonder he was so pale when he came in with Weasley. I had to slip him some Pepper Up Potion and sit him down!)

But Granger? She was completely distraught! She was by Weasley’s side immediately - she seemed to have found out well before Weasley’s so-called girlfriend.

And I swear, it was like watching one of those Muggle soapy opera shows I’d heard about from my cousin Mildred. (Her mum was Muggleborn.)

Every day, Granger would come to Weasley’s side, and I mean the boy would absolutely light up. They would chat and she would scold him about his homework, but even through scoldings he would simply beam at her.

I was surprised she couldn’t see what I could.

Then, Granger would leave suddenly, as if she knew what - or who - would be coming.

Soon, Ms. Brown would come bustling in calling for her “Won-Won”, only to find that a previously awake and in good spirits Mr. Weasley was fast asleep.

I knew he wasn’t asleep, the little faker. Tried that on me a couple of times to avoid his potions, didn’t he?

At one point, Granger came to find Weasley “sleeping”, but at the sound of her voice quietly greeting me, he was suddenly wide awake.

He must have thought that it was Ms. Brown. Couldn’t say I blamed him. Ms. Brown was a bit much…Why do you think I never opened my mouth? I let him pretend, and let her leave.

And wondered how much longer it would be until I could collect from Albus.

Potter, not to be left out, almost took himself out in the next quidditch match (the very one that the recently poisoned Mr. Weasley begged me to clear him for.) I put Potter in the bed beside Weasley, let those two nincompoops keep one another company.

I knew I hadn’t seen the end of them, the year wasn’t over yet. And, as expected, there was mayhem.

Of the worst kind.

Death Eaters in the school. Dumbledore dead. I didn’t know what to think. But, there was no time to even mourn the loss of our headmaster - my wing was busier than ever.

I marveled momentarily at the fact that Weasleys somehow found themselves in my care years after they were no longer students. I still remembered little William Weasley his first year, so there was no wonder I felt a tug at my heart when he was brought to me that night.

My three came to me as well, of course, but for once they were completely uscathed. It was a miracle, really.

Or, they were just that lucky. I wondered if old Sluggy was up to his same tricks...If he was, I was thankful.

Year 7

The following year was a mundane blur of...well, there are no words. I made it very clear to those awful Carrows that they were not to step foot into my wing nor stand in the way of my tending to the students. I knew what they were about.

Thankfully (and surprisingly), Headmaster Snape backed me up on this. My hospital wing became a safe haven for students, completely untouchable by the Carrows reign of terror. I will admit to keeping students in my care longer than I needed to, if only to give them an extra day or week of relief. I may have even made up an ailment or two along the way. But I never kept them longer than was believable - I didn’t want the Carrows to come down on anyone for hiding out with me.

I watched the youngest Weasley, Lovegood and Longbottom along with a few others do everything they could to protect the younger students - I treated them the most.

The hole left by the three missing students was glaringly obvious. There was news that Potter was on ‘the run’ as the ministry put it, but I wondered about Granger and Weasley. The official word was that Ronald Weasley was home with a horrible case of spattergroit for the foreseeable future.

I called codswallop the moment I heard it. He had to have been with Potter.

Which meant that there was no doubt Granger was as well.

I listened intently to Potterwatch once Finnigan told me about it, but oh I worried about them endlessly.

That May, the battle raged around the grounds, and it was all I could do to keep my little wing safe. Somehow, it held up under the strongest protective spells I could conjure. And the wing was absolutely flooded, with the minor cases and the fallen remaining in the Great Hall - there was just no room!

It wasn’t until well after the battle, that our three heroes finally trudged into my wing for the final time.

Granger was completely emaciated. She was always such a little thing, but after a year on the run, she needed some serious attention. And I thought I recognized some signs of torture, but she wouldn’t allow me to dive too deeply into her care - more concerned over the other two as per usual. Stubborn little girl.

Weasley was covered in bruises and more. I was certain that he’d jumped in front of his fair share of hexes for the other two. He allowed me to look over his shoulder - splinched, he told me - but I told him that it seemed to have healed well enough. At this, he smiled proudly at Granger. “I was well taken care of,” he had said.

I couldn’t help but notice the softness in his tone, nor the deep blush that took over Ms. Granger’s features.

Weasley had also lost a brother that night, and while thoroughly distraught, it was obvious that he was choosing to focus on those who were still with him for the time being - mainly Granger, who’s hand, I noticed, had remained in his during their entire visit, and Potter.

Potter...had died. There was really no other way to put it. He had actually died. Been killed - hit with the killing curse for the second time in his life...and yet there he was in front of me as alive as the day was new. I will never understand it.

They all needed St. Mungo’s, that much was for certain, but they refused to leave. They refused to leave the castle, the Weasleys...each other.

Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger especially. They were holding hands, speaking softly to one another, and overall extremely attentive toward each other. It was obvious that a lot had happened their year on the run - a lot that finally brought them together.

Well, it was about time wasn’t it? It may not have been obvious to others, but I could see it from their very first year.

I wasn’t at all surprised when years after the war, a new Weasley arrived in my wing. Her hair was as red as her father’s, and as bushy as her mother’s.

Now, I've never been one for gossip or gambling or any of the sort, but if Albus Dumbledore was still alive, I would have to rub it in his beard as I collected my fifty galleons. Granger and Potter indeed. Why, anyone could have seen the truth from their very first year. Well, anyone but the two of them, it would seem.

[reallybeth9]

@romioneweek

Written for Romioneweek Day 7: Free Day 

Takes place 5th year around Christmastime 

Rating: General Audiences 

oOo

Hermione sat on the sofa at Grimmauld Place, her legs tucked under her as she read her new book that she’d received from Harry. Mrs. Weasley was spending the night with Mr. Weasley in the hospital, and had left Sirius in charge to watch over her, Ron, Harry, and Ginny. As Sirius wasn't one to enforce any rules, they’d been allowed to stay up as late as they wanted, and right now it was past midnight and she and Ron were alone in the sitting area in front of the lit fireplace.

Harry had been talking to Sirius in the kitchen for a couple of hours now, and Ginny had chatted with them for a while before going upstairs to bed. As Hermionpe read her book, Ron sat in the armchair across from hers, saying nothing as he stared into the fire.

Hermione was only paying half attention to the words on the page, the other half of her mind on the ginger boy across from her. 

For Christmas, he’d gotten her a bottle of perfume.

A bottle of perfume.

That had to mean something. 

Right?

Hermione couldn't imagine Harry getting her such a gift- just the idea was laughable. But Ron had. And to make things even more confusing, he still hadn't explained why he’d bought it for her. In fact, he’d said almost nothing at all and had acted like it was no big deal when she’d thanked him for his gift.

With this thought, Hermione lifted her eyes to stare at Ron, watching the way he rolled a white chess piece in his hand as he sat splayed out in the overstuffed armchair, his body relaxed, his toes noiselessly tapping on the rug. His lips were pursed as if he were in deep contemplation, and Hermione couldn't help but smile at how cute he looked. 

As if he could sense her thoughts, Ron’s eyes flicked to hers, and he gave her a small smile. “What?”

Hermione lowered her book. “Nothing. Just was, uhm…” she trailed off, embarrassed.

“Do I have food on my face or something?” he asked, wiping the corners of his mouth with his sleeve.

She laughed as she shook her head. “No, Ronald, there’s no food on your face.” She paused, grinning at him. “But there are a million freckles.”

Ron’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong with freckles?” he asked, sounding mildly offended.

“N-nothing is wrong with freckles, Ron,” she said quickly as she sat up, maintaining eye contact so he would know she was sincere. “As a matter of fact, I find your freckles lovely,” she blurted out, her heartbeat picking up pace due to her unusual boldness.

“Lovely?” he asked her, his expression doubtful.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, looking back down at her book while hoping Ron wouldn't see the flush that was rising from her neck.

“Oh. Well thanks, Hermione,” she heard him say, and when she looked over at him again, she saw that the tips of his ears were now red, though he looked pleased.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione shut her book and leaned over to set it on the end table. “Speaking of lovely,” she started in a slow voice. “I really did like the gift you gave me.”

Ron sat up, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Really? I thought you hated it. I didn't think ‘unusual’ was a compliment.”

She shook her head. “It is unusual. But not in a bad way.”

Ron cleared his throat. “Right. Well. I’m glad you liked it.”

Hermione stood up and took a few steps so that she was standing in front of the fire. She could feel Ron’s eyes on her as she sat down on the rug, and when she turned, he moved his gaze from her to his hands in his lap.

“Hey!” he said after a few seconds, his head snapping up. “Could we listen to that music thingy you got from your parents again?”

Hermione laughed. “Sure.” 

She crawled over and grabbed her cassette player from where she’d put it earlier on the floor next to the sofa. Crawling back to the rug, she sat down and patted the space next to her with her hand. 

“You have to be next to me to hear, Ron.”

Ron nodded before moving down and sitting next to her, Hermione feeling giddy as the sides of their arms and legs touched. She took the headphones and turned the earpieces outwards so she and Ron could both listen.

“What’s this group called again?” Ron asked.

“Spice Girls,” Hermione responded, pushing the play button and watching Ron’s face light up in wonder. 

“Wouldn't say I’m their biggest fan,” he teased. “But I suppose they're better than hearing Mum’s Celestina Warbeck Christmas album on repeat.”

Hermione’s own breath hitched as she felt Ron’s hot breath hit the side of her face. He smelled like chocolate frogs and Ron, and she swallowed as she tried to ignore the sudden overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss him. He must have noticed their closeness too, because he stopped talking, his face now nervous.

When the next song came on, she turned it up, trying to make the situation feel a little less awkward. The song was one she knew well- a song called ‘2 Become 1’, and before she could stop herself, Hermione was softly singing along.

“Come a little bit closer, baby

Get it on, get it on

'Cause tonight is the night

When two become one

I need some love like I never needed love before

Wanna make love to ya, baby

I had a little love, now I'm back for more

Wanna make love-”

All of a sudden, it dawned on Hermione just what she had been singing about. She dropped the headpiece and turned to Ron, desperately hoping he hadn't been paying attention.

That was not the case though, because Ron was now staring at her with wide eyes and an open mouth- his face drained of color. As she continued to stare, his face turned a fierce crimson color, and his mouth snapped shut before he gulped, his eyes again avoiding hers.

She was mortified. 

"I- uh-" Ron started in a nervous voice. "I'm going to go- on up ahead- up to my sleep- I mean, my bed- to sleep-" he stuttered, his face still red.

"Yes, I'm tired as well, so I'm going to head up too," she replied in a weak voice.

Ron stood up and made his way to the staircase. "G'night Hermione," he said, the words coming out in a squeak before he cleared his throat and practically ran up the stairs.

Once he was out of sight, Hermione put her face in her hands, letting out a loud groan.

She was never again going to hear that song without remembering this moment.

[heavensquill]

Romione Week 2021 Day 1 - Moments in Time - Flustered Under The Stars

My first ever Tumblr post is proudly written for @romioneweek 2021. Thanks to @folk-melody for hosting and please enjoy the story below. Also a massive thank you to @accio-broom for agreeing to beta my work. Apologies if Tumblr messes with the formatting, I don't know what I'm doing. You can also check out the story on FFN/AO3 Flustered Under the Stars

The sun was beginning to set on Ottery St. Catchpole. A small marquee, tucked away in the corner of the Burrow garden, was filled with a ravenous crowd preparing for a late dinner. As the golden hour tinged the apple tree leaves a rosy orange, a bushy-haired witch stepped out onto the grassy knoll, her feet bare as the blades of grass slid between her toes. Staring out into the vast open fields beyond the garden walls, she breathed in the now cool summer air, grateful for the improvement over the blistering heat from that morning.

Hermione Granger had been at the Burrow for almost a month, and already, it felt like home. Its magical characteristics were unique and so Weasley-esque. Yet somehow, whilst preparing for Bill and Fleur’s upcoming nuptials, she, Harry, and even the Delacour’s had slotted right in as if they had belonged.

Just as the sun dipped further behind the towering and asymmetrical house, a tall, ginger-haired wizard stepped out into the garden. Ron, laden with a stack of bowls under one of his muscular arms, walked towards the marquee. The other was outstretched and gripping his wand as he levitated several steaming roast chickens ahead of him.

“Easy there, Hermione. Hot stuff, coming through,“ he called, flashing her a lopsided smirk and wink.

The aromatic smells of the roasted chickens invaded her nostrils as he drew closer to her position. Memories of the Algerian bazaars she had once visited in France with her parents came flooding back to her. The richness of saffron, the rugged strength of cumin, and the woody undertones of cardamom all left her stomach begging to be gratified. However, another decadent smell lingered in the air, independent of Molly’s fabulous chickens, one that Hermione knew all too well.

Ron. Her Ron. Well, not hers exactly. But now that he had stopped dating Lavender, she no longer felt a tug of guilt from her possessiveness over him.

The tantalising smell of Ron wafted through the air and left her feeling dizzy. His body wash and shampoo made from the green apples that grew in the Burrow orchard, combined with green tea extract, formed his signature aroma wherever he went. This scent, coupled with the lopsided smirks, usually reserved only for her, were enough to make her weak at the knees.

She turned to watch him as he strolled past her into the marquee, unperturbed by the assortment of bowls and roast chickens he was carrying. Her eyes dipped down to catch a glimpse of his firm buttocks, clinging to the navy slacks he wore as they accentuated their roundness. All too soon, the warmth from that morning had returned with a vengeance. With her face heating up and beads of sweat beginning to form across her forehead, she tore her eyes away from his bum and rushed out further into the garden.

Trying in desperation to regain her composure, she looked up at the darkening sky, its orange hue doing nothing to douse the desire within her. Nor did it do anything to push aside the mental image of a tall, flaming haired wizard. With a huff of frustration, she pulled out her wand, opting to channel her feelings into her spell work—something she had done regularly last year at Hogwarts.

Finding herself beaming at the memory of him, his family, and his home, she whispered, “Expecto Patronum.“

A shimmering burst of light erupted from the end of her wand in the form of an otter. For the next few minutes, she stood watching as it swam around the garden with endless energy, her heart expanding when thinking of the memories that birthed it. Too engrossed in the antics of her otter Patronus, she was unaware of someone else within her presence. She gave a start as he laid a gentle hand to the small of her back before drawing her in towards his larger frame. Electricity crackled through her body, the source of which radiated from the patch of skin where he had made contact.

“Professor Potter sure taught us well during the Umbridge year,“ Ron remarked as he watched her otter swim over their heads.

She turned to face him, ready to retort, but only managed a weak squeak as he engulfed her senses once more. His tone was playful, and his scent intoxicating. When he turned his gaze down towards her, a smile played on his lips at the sight of her. Drawn to him, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him. The increased contact caused her pulse to race and her breathing to intensify.

She had succumbed to the look of him, the sound of his voice, his electric touch, and his intoxicating smell. All that remained was to get a taste of him.

That final thought was a step too far. Hermione snapped her eyes open and disentangled herself from his grasp. Without a second glance, she raced back into the marquee to take her seat at the dinner table, leaving Ron to watch her with a smug look of amusement on his face.

---

Dinner with thirteen other people was always destined to be a cramped affair. Sandwiched between Gabrielle Delacour and Ron, Hermione struggled to manoeuvre her cutlery as she constantly found her elbows knocking with the ginger-haired man beside her.

The starter course was all it took before her previously flustered state caught up with her. From the moment he had re-entered the marquee and dashed over to grab the seat beside her, he had been polite and attentive to her needs. The voracious version of him that she knew from her previous visits to the Burrow, as well as six years of Hogwarts, was now replaced by a newer, more refined Ron.

Where the old Ron would have dived straight in to pile his own plate and talked with his mouth full, this newer version offered her the first bowl of soup. Later, he had waited until he had swallowed his food before asking her how hers had tasted.

Thrown off by this unusual behaviour, she hastily took another mouthful of the hot soup and spluttered as it seared her throat.

“Wow, careful there. It’s still hot,“ Ron advised, rubbing her back.

His touch sent shivers throughout her body as she fought to stay in control. Mentally cursing herself, Hermione reached across the table to grab a napkin, only to find her elbow connecting with his once more. She yanked her arm back, and it collided with something hard beside her. There was a shattering of glass followed by a yelp of shock. Hermione turned in her seat to see Gabrielle staring daggers at her.

She had knocked over a jug of pumpkin juice straight into the poor girl’s lap.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Gabrielle,“ she cried. “Let me fix that for you.“

She reached out for her wand on the table beside her before Ron’s large hand stilled her movement.

“Allow me.“

Holding his wand aloft, he gave it two lazy flicks. The first caused the broken shards of glass to fly up from the table and piece themselves back together, leaving behind a perfectly repaired jug. The second mopped up the stains of pumpkin juice from both the tablecloth and Gabrielle’s dress, returning them to their former pearly whites.

“Merci, Ronald,“ giggled Gabrielle, batting her eyelashes at him.

Smiling in return, Ron replied, “You’re welcome.“

A sudden bubbling of rage formed in the pit of Hermione’s stomach at the interaction between the French teenager and ginger-haired moron on either side of her. Shoving his hand away from hers, she picked up her spoon and swirled the soup around in her bowl with more force than she had intended. The contents sloshed up the sides of the bowl and splattered onto her lap.

There were two sharp intakes of breath from the opposite side of the table, and she snapped her head up to see Harry and Ginny both wearing identical looks of pity on their faces.

“Are you okay?“ they both mouthed.

“I’m fine!“ Hermione snapped, trying and failing to keep her voice down.

“What’s got into you?“ Harry asked.

Before she could answer him, Ron spoke up to reclaim her attention, “Try this corn fritter. It’s delicious.“ He held a fork up to her mouth, waiting for her to take the offered bite.

There was another intake of breath from Harry and Ginny, who watched open-mouthed as Ron, for probably the first time ever, offered someone food from his own fork. Her heart was now thundering in her chest. This couldn’t be happening. Who was he, and what had he done with the real Ron Weasley?

Realising she hadn’t yet taken the bite, Hermione looked up at him to find him staring at her expectantly.

“Try it,“ he requested, wiggling the fork in front of her.

Realising she had no choice but to accept, she leant forward and took the mouthful of food on offer. There was a smattering of laughter as Fred and George Weasley had joined Harry and Ginny in observing the humiliating interaction.

Feeling the tears start to form around her eyes, she averted her gaze and mumbled, “Thanks,“ to Ron and stared deep into her bowl of soup.

---

Things went from bad to worse once everyone had started on the main courses—the roast chickens. Now that the sun had set, the cool summer air had since turned harsh and chilly. Despite Arthur having cast a heating charm within the marquee, the warmth it generated kept dissipating due to the open marquee flaps.

Fourteen people trying to eat soup at the cramped table had been hard enough. But the prospect of cutting up pieces of roast chicken and vegetables seemed downright impossible. Up and down the table, Hermione could hear the hurried apologies as people knocked elbows trying to load their plates.

“Hermione, do you want some green beans?“ Ron asked.

“Yes, please.“

Holding out her trembling plate to him, Hermione was astounded when he stood up out of his seat and walked to the other end of the table to ask Charlie to hand him the tureen of green beans. She stared, open-mouthed, as he carried it back to his seat before loading a pile onto her plate.

“Th—thank you,“ she croaked.

“Ron, mate, can you pass those potatoes beside you?“ Harry asked.

“I noticed you’ve got functioning arms and legs, Potter,“ Ron snapped at him. “Get your own bleeding potatoes because these are mine.“

He then piled most of the potatoes from the bowl beside him onto his plate before sliding it with the remaining few over to Harry. He then dived straight into devouring his food.

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione and back again, eyeing the pair with a look of suspicion. With a loud huff at the sight of his pitiful portion of potatoes, Hermione heard him mumble under his breath, “Loves her more than he loves me.“

Choosing to ignore his irritable comment, she turned her attention back to dinner. She had just finished loading her chicken onto her plate when a sharp gust of wind from the flap of the marquee entrance passed over her. It was like she had been plunged into an icy bucket of water, and she gave an involuntary shudder as goosebumps erupted over her exposed skin.

Seeming to spot her shivering from the cold, Ron turned to her with a look of concern.

“Are you cold?“ he asked. “Here, wear this.“

He gave another lazy flick of his wand and waited. Unsure of the exact spell he had used, Hermione looked around for something she could wear. Unable to find anything suitable, she turned to him, ready to chastise him for his shoddy spell work.

“That wasn’t a very—“

Expecting to see an embarrassed looking Ron, she instead turned to find him peering at her with a look of smugness. Without breaking eye contact, he thrust out a hand as a trademark woollen Weasley jumper zoomed into it. It was a deep maroon in colour, with a bright yellow “R“ emblazoned on the front.

With another lopsided smirk, Ron took the jumper and draped it over her shoulders. The effect was so immediate that she thought it had to have been magic. The warmth she felt as it enveloped her was unlike any other she had experienced before. It seemed to emanate from the very fabric of the jumper itself, each strand of wool radiating heat.

Before she could thank him, he reached out and rubbed the sides of her shoulders in an attempt to warm her up even further. His touch was magnificent and caused her skin to flare up. Losing control of herself, she closed her eyes and let out an involuntary moan.

Several gasps from those around her made her eyes fling open. As she peered around the dinner table at the shocked faces, comprehension dawned on her. She had moaned at Ron’s touch. Deciding she needed to get away from him, she attempted to stand up and leave the table. Unfortunately, due to the cramped nature of the marquee, she ended up planting her elbow into a gravy boat.

Fred, George, and Charlie all guffawed at the mishap. Harry and Ron looked sympathetic, whilst Gabrielle seemed to revel in the accident. Feeling humiliated and embarrassed, she remained seated and planned to wallow in self-pity for the remainder of the dinner.

---

As the main course started to dwindle, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Breaking out of her reverie, she looked up behind her to see Ginny standing there, a sympathetic yet knowing look upon her face.

“Mum asked us to bring a few extra things out from the kitchen for dessert,“ she declared.

Grateful for the opportunity to get away, Hermione excused herself from the table and walked out of the marquee with Ginny at her side. The pair walked towards the big oak tree at the bottom of the garden.

“What was all that, Hermione?“ Ginny demanded.

“Nothing,“ she lied, but the tremble of her voice gave her away.

“Was it Ron? I notice he’s been different with you lately.“

Ginny had hit the nail on the head, and with that, Hermione lost all her resolve.

“Everyone was looking at me, Ginny! I am a grown, adult, young woman, and I moaned at the dinner table when he touched me. In front of your parents!“

“Grown, adult, young woman?“ Ginny giggled. “He really has got you wound up.“

Stamping her foot into the grass, Hermione glared at Ginny for mocking her usage of words.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. After Lavender, I thought we would just go back to being friends, and I was okay with that.“

“But?“

“But I want more. I want to be with Ron,“ Hermione concluded with a heaving sob.

“So go be with him.“

“I can’t!“

“Why not?“ Ginny huffed.

“What if he doesn’t want me?“ she choked.

“If you want Ron, you can have him. He clearly wants you too,“ Ginny declared before clapping a hand to her mouth as she peered over Hermione’s shoulder, her eyes widening in surprise.

“She’s right,“ Ron said, stepping up behind her.

With her heart thundering, Hermione spun on her heels and turned to face him. For the first time that evening, he was no longer his cocky and confident self. Despite looming over her with his impressive height, he appeared to slump as he eyed her with trepidation, his nerves evident on his freckled face.

“What’s that, Mum? More bowls for dessert? I’m on it,“ Ginny yelled out into the night before shooting Hermione a look of encouragement and darting off to the house.

Panicking and not trusting herself to function around him, Hermione followed Ginny back towards the house. She only made it several paces before his strong hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back.

“What have I done wrong?“ he pleaded.

Saying nothing, she instead gazed up into the night sky, willing for a miracle that would dissipate her flustered state. The Devon countryside was amplified in its beauty by a distinct lack of light pollution. Thousands of shimmering stars decorated the skyline for miles around, and she quickly found herself getting lost in their beauty.

Only when his soft voice begged, “Please, Hermione,“ for her attention did she look at him.

His sparkling blue eyes were glistening with moisture as he studied her with an intensity she had never experienced before. Biting her lip and willing herself to have the strength to do what needed to be done, she stepped in towards him. As if on instinct, his arms opened up to welcome her into his chest. Locked in an embrace, they turned together to look up at the starry sky.

For several minutes, they stood and watched, the moonlight looming over them, spotlighting them amongst the greenery. Neither said nor did anything to break the moment, both just basking in the presence of the other.

“You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve been perfect,“ Hermione whispered into his chest eventually.

There was a streak of light above them as a shooting star darted across the vast night sky, creating a momentary blip of hope in the cool night air. Remembering the old Muggle superstitions she learnt as a child, she scrunched up her eyes, ignored all arguments of rationality and made a wish upon the shooting star.

Opening her eyes to look up at him, she asked, “Why me?“

He appeared taken aback by the sudden change in conversation but soon regained his composure. Hermione watched as he reached out a trembling hand and cupped her face, the warmth from the tips of his fingers burning at her skin.

“Because I’ve loved you for Merlin knows how long, and it took the mess from last year for me to realise it,“ he admitted. “I’m sick of pretending that you’re just a friend because Hermione, you are so, so much more than that.“

He took a moment to compose himself before taking her hands in his and declaring, “I love you, Hermione Granger, and I do want you. I’ve always wanted you, and I will always want you.“

Years later, Hermione would argue that it was a coincidence, but for now, she was more than happy to believe her wish upon that star had worked. Leaning forward on the tips of her toes, she placed a delicate kiss on Ron’s lips. His shock was evident for only the briefest of seconds before he deepened the kiss and swept her off her feet.

There was a sudden barrage of hooting and hollering as everyone from the marquee celebrated their kiss. Fred, George, and Charlie exchanged money as if collecting on some sort of bet. Harry, Molly, and Fleur looked to be crying tears of joy whilst being consoled by Bill, Arthur, and Ginny. And even the Delacour’s were clapping and cheering at the spectacle.

Looking drunk and giddy, Ron placed his forehead to hers and whispered, “I wanted to show you how serious I was before you freaked out. But if you come back to the marquee with me, I may even share my dessert with you.“

As he gently returned her to her feet, comprehension of his words washed over her. The things he was prepared to do for her. No longer flustered, standing in the arms of Ron under the starlit sky, Hermione knew she had found her home.

“I’m going to hold you to that,“ she warned him with a playful swat on the arm. “Lead the way, Ron.“

Hand in hand, they walked under the canopy of stars towards a new moment in time.

[honouraryweasley12]

Building Immunity

This was written for @romioneweek. It was meant to be for Day 4 (A Different Perspective), but I didn’t get it done in time, so I’ve posted it today for the Free Day.

Ron knows he has a weakness for Veela powers, and tries to do something about it with help from an interesting source.

Also on AO3 and FFN.

It was the third time that day that she'd felt his eyes on her, but it was different than the stares she was used to—that dumbstruck look of love and lust that her Veela powers induced in people.

Fleur had always hated it but knew it couldn't be helped. All she could do was try to downplay that side of her around other people.

The expression on his face was different though. It was the same one he had during a game of chess with her Bill. It was a look of intense concentration, like he was trying to figure her out.

She'd noticed his tendency to be rather overprotective, perhaps that even extended to his eldest brother. Out of all of Bill's siblings, it seemed like Ron was the most like him.

It was just the two of them in the sitting room at The Burrow. Everyone else had gone up, and Bill was already asleep, still recovering from the attack and the pain potions the healer at Hogwarts had sent home with them. It wasn't often that she'd spent time with any of the Weasleys without Bill around.

Ron had always been rather awkward around her. She remembered when he asked her to the Yule Ball, but she never mentioned it, not wanting to embarrass him. She recalled what it was like to be that age. How things had changed in such a short time.

She looked up from the seating plan for the wedding, catching him in the act. His head snapped down, pretending to read a book while his ears flamed, knowing that she'd spotted him.

Fleur wanted to approach this delicately, unsure about his feelings toward her joining his family. She cleared her throat, before speaking up.

"Ron? Is there something I can help you with?"

He looked up, his cheeks blotchy in the firelight as he tried to avoid her gaze. "Oh, er… no, nothing. Just reading."

"What are you reading?"

His eyes widened, and he tried to use his arm to block the title of the book. She could make out the number twelve on the spine but couldn't see anything else.

"Nothing interesting."

She pursed her lips, before trying a more direct approach. "I know it must be strange for you, that I am marrying your brother. Especially after everything that just happened at Hogwarts. I can assure you I love him very much and I am very happy to join your family."

His face twisted in confusion. "Huh? No, I'm not worried about that at all. You've been taking care of him, and I know he loves you. Mum's come around, too."

"Then why have you been staring at me all day?"

His face went paler than usual, making his freckles stand out even more, and he visibly gulped. "Sorry, didn't mean to. I was just… no it's stupid. I'm sorry, Fleur."

She put the charts on the coffee table and leaned forward, curious. "You can tell me, it is alright."

He glanced around frantically, checking to ensure no one was around. "If any of my brothers or Ginny hear me, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Ah, yes, I've heard your siblings teasing you. They are not here, so you can talk to me."

He nodded, and took a deep breath, leaning forward as well. "Well, you see, I-I'm trying to train myself not to act so silly around you before Herm… other people get here. Bill told me your Veela cousins and some of your friends are coming to the wedding, and I wanted to be prepared."

Ah, so that was it, Fleur thought. He fancies his friend Hermione, just as Bill suspected, and doesn't want to hurt her feelings by acting foolish at the wedding. It is quite cute.

She smiled at Ron, trying to ease his anxiety. "That is thoughtful of you. Your family might tease you, but I think it's very sweet. We are having a conversation right now and you are not being affected. That is a good sign."

He half-smiled. "Things are still a bit fuzzy."

They heard a door close and the creaks of movement above them.

"I have an idea. I'm going to tell your mother and Bill that I need your help at our new home, Shell Cottage, tomorrow after breakfast. Molly insisted that Bill stay here to recover, and I did not want to argue. We can speak in private, and I can help you."

Ron immediately perked up. "Really? You-you would do that for me?"

"Of course, it would be nice to have something else to do besides wedding planning."

"If you really don't mind."

"No, it is not a bother."

They heard another door close. She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "We shall talk more tomorrow."

~*~

Fleur's distinct French accent rang out over the din of breakfast. "Are you ready to go, Ron?"

"Careful, Bill," Fred remarked. "Romeo over here might put the moves on your lady. I still can't believe he managed to snag Lavender Brown last year."

Bill shook his head, fighting back a smirk since it would slow his scars from healing. George laughed loudly, and even Ginny smiled slightly.

Fleur saw Ron's face drop, and she instantly felt for bad for him. No wonder he was so worried about his behaviour when everything he did was ridiculed.

"Stop teasing your brother." Molly commanded, causing the rest of the brood to quiet down. She grimaced anxiously, looking at the family clock. "Please come back as soon as possible."

"Do not worry, Molly, we will be fine. Ron, we can take the Floo."

The tall redhead nodded and followed Fleur to the fireplace. He grabbed the dish of powder from the mantle and offered it to her.

She fought a grin at his chivalrous attempt to be considerate. "Thank you. Remember, 'Shell Cottage'. I will see you there, oui?"

She stepped through the fire, and he stumbled through a moment later. She cast a quick charm to get rid of the ash and motioned him into the kitchen. Ron looked around in wonder at the comfortable cottage, before peeking out the window at the water below.

"Wow, this is nice."

"Thank you, Ron. It is very quiet out here and I love being near the sea. It reminds me of spending summers on the coast of France." Fleur bustled around the kitchen, preparing a pot of tea, and putting some biscuits on a plate. "We still have work to do, and more protection charms to cast, but it is starting to feel like home."

The gawky teen stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. "Er, anything I can help with?"

"Non, you can sit down. I have noticed that you have been offering more help lately."

"Bloody book told me to," he mumbled under his breath, perhaps unknowing that she had exceptional hearing.

"Was that the book you were reading last night?"

Ron grimaced at being caught out and stared at the table in mortification. "Yeah… it's about… how to charm witches." He looked up as she placed the plate down in front of him and turned to retrieve their tea. "A gift from my brothers, since I mucked up things as usual."

She noticed the despondent look on his face. "You must ignore them. I think it is very good that you are reading it."

"You do?"

"Yes, maybe you made a mistake, and now you are learning. I think other people might appreciate that."

He perked up a bit. "Really? I thought my brothers gave me the book as a joke."

"I have noticed they can be very cruel. It is a little strange for me—it has always just been Gabrielle and I, and we are very close. Now I will have all of these brothers and Ginevra."

Ron couldn't help but grin ruefully. "It might help if you call her Ginny, she hates her full name."

The blonde witch nodded. "I know she doesn't like me. I have heard what she calls me."

"Like you said, with so many siblings, sometimes we can be mean to each other. She'll warm up to you eventually. She's used to being the only girl and getting her way."

"I hope so." She took a slow sip of her tea, watching him over the rim of the cup. He listlessly picked at a biscuit, avoiding her gaze. Wanting to move things along, she placed the cup down and addressed him directly. That seemed to work last night when they were talking.

"You are hoping to impress other people, oui?"

Ron coughed suddenly. "Yes."

"I think if you want to impress, you should first be able to say her name." Fleur looked at him pointedly.

He didn't say a word for a moment, but she also didn't budge. As the awkwardness stretched out, he finally gave a huff. "Bloody hell, I want to impress Hermione, alright?"

"Good, now we are getting somewhere. You said yesterday you were trying to get better at not, how shall we say, getting influenced by Veelas?"

Ron nodded. "I really don't want to get distracted at the wedding, so I thought if I stared at you long enough, I'd become immune or something. I don't know."

"You have the right idea. People who spend time around Veela get used to us, but it takes time, sometimes months. Unless you are already in… non, you are too young for that."

He sat forward eagerly. "Too young for what?"

"No, nothing."

He began to protest, but she held up a hand, silencing him. "Since we do not have time, we will have to do things quickly. I want you to watch me as I use my powers, and we will see what happens."

He looked apprehensive but took a deep breath and nodded.

She turned on her natural gifts slowly, trying to gauge his reactions. Fleur watched him for a moment before checking with him. "How are you feeling, Ron?"

He blinked. "I'm alright."

She nodded encouragingly and turned on the charm, watching as his eyes became unfocused, a slow smile growing on his face.

"Ron?"

"Huh?" He blinked again, as if coming out of a trance. His head dropped into his hands, and he sighed. "This is hopeless."

"Non, you just need more practice. We will start again."

Ron nodded, but the look on his face seemed unconvinced.

"Now focus on me."

They repeated the same cycle two more times, only for Ron to be even more discouraged than before. He threw his head back in frustration. "How the hell does Bill even talk to you without falling all over himself?"

She remembered when she'd begun working at Gringotts. There had been an immediate spark between herself and Bill, and he seemed to adjust to her extraordinarily quickly. He'd once told her it was because she'd captured his heart. Perhaps that was the answer.

"I have an idea. This time, I want you to tell me what you like about Hermione."

He swallowed hard. "I-I have to tell you why I like Hermione?"

"Yes. Concentrate on me and start talking."

She started slowly, not wanting to overwhelm him with her presence. Despite his reluctance, he had a great many things to say, his words drifting in and out of her consciousness.

"…she's just brilliant, you know? Not only when it comes to school work, but just her ideas on…"

Fleur smiled and nodded, turning up the charm while watching the expressions on his face. He got more animated as he spoke.

"…and I do love spending time with her, especially when it's just us. We fight less when we're together. I think in some ways we do enjoy arguing with each other, but it's nice to have her full attention, and…"

Fleur watched his eyes brighten, but he hadn't seemed to notice that she'd turned on her charms in full, he was so engrossed in talking about Hermione. Most men would be falling all over themselves now, trying to get her attentions or please her.

She knew in that moment that Ron was in love with Hermione, his heart was already given away to her. She had misjudged the depth of his feelings.

"…she really is beautiful, but I could never tell her that. Not only that, but her hair is just so her, it's wild and untamed, and I'd love to…"

"Ron?"

Much to her amusement, he just kept talking, ignoring her. "I learned last year what it was like to be without her, and I hated it, and I want to be better for her, that's why I'm reading the book and…"

"Ron!"

"What?"

"You did it."

"Huh?"

"You were not distracted by me, even though I was trying my best to do so. I think, because you recognize how powerful your feelings are for her, you are immune. You really care about her, don't you?"

A shy smile formed on his lips, his shoulders slumping as if a great weight was lifted. "I do, a lot. Never said that out loud before."

"I can tell. I don't think you have anything to worry about at the wedding."

Ron nodded, excited at the prospect. "Thank you for inviting her, by the way."

"Of course, she is like family, non?" Fleur couldn't help but tease him. "Maybe one day she will be."

His eyes widened comically, and he stuttered. "I-I don't know."

"Are you going to ask her to go with you?"

Ron shook his head. "After last year, I know I need to take things slow."

"Then you must ask her to dance!"

He nodded. "I'm going to do that. I don't think I can stand seeing her dance with another bloke."

He is very much like Bill.

"I think she will be happy."

"Do you think so?"

Fleur reached out and patted him on the arm. "She will be flattered you went to so much trouble to show her you have grown up."

He nodded, seemingly lost in thought. "Bill is lucky to have you."

She beamed at him. "Thank you, Ron. We should go back; your mother will worry, and I want to check on Bill."

He stood up and waved his wand, cleaning the dishes, before handing them to her. "Thanks, Fleur. For everything."

"Oh, it is fine, Ron. Maybe it is not so bad having brothers."

The corner of his lip upturned. "You'll probably regret saying that when the twins turn your hair green or something."

"I would like to see them try. I know some spells that would make them very… uncomfortable."

"Can you do it to them anyway?"

She laughed, gently shoving him toward the fireplace. "You are all the same. Let's go."

~*~

Fleur melted into Bill's embrace as they spun around the dance floor. The ceremony had been wonderful—she couldn't believe she was married! Looking up, she stared at his face and let out a euphoric giggle.

He looked down, a smile on his face. "Something funny? Are my dance moves that bad?"

"I am just so happy."

His grin grew. "As am I, my love."

She spied something over his shoulder and giggled again, delighted. "We are not the only ones."

They slowly turned so Bill could see what she had spotted. Ron and Hermione were in an embrace on the dance floor, lost in their own little world. Hermione's head was resting against his chest, and Ron had an unbelieving smile on his face, a mirror of his newlywed brother.

Fleur caught Ron's eye and winked at him, causing him to blush and look down at the bushy-haired witch in his arms. She was proud of him for taking that next step.

Fleur turned her attentions back to her now-husband. "They are destined to be together, I think."

"I recall you saying something similar about us."

"Was I wrong?"

"You were not."

She gently cupped his cheeks, making sure not to press on his scars, and pulled him down for a kiss.

"If Hermione loves Ron as much as I love you, they will both be very happy."

[romioneweek]

Announcement for Romione Week 2021!

Romione Week is a fanweek dedicated to Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger pairing.

It is a theme based event where any type of fannish contents such as - fanfic, fanart, gifset, moodboard etc are allowed!

This year we are hosting Romione Week from Oct 31st to Nov 6th.

You can find the FAQs and Themes here!

Meanwhile please follow this blog (@romioneweek) and reblog this post to spread the word!

- Your mod @folk-melody

[cheesyficwriter]

Romione Week Day 1 - Moments in Time

Hey there, Tumblr! I've been quiet lately, but I couldn't resist writing a few ficlets for @romioneweek, hosted by the lovely @folk-melody. Please go to the Romione Week page to view all of the amazing stories created for this fest!

A New Relationship

In the days following the Battle, Ron and Hermione, quite literally, can’t keep their hands off each other. They take every opportunity they have to find a secluded spot to snog, neither willing to be apart from each other longer than is deemed necessary.

It’s during a particularly lengthy snog session that Hermione begins to dwell on where they currently stand with their budding relationship. Their bodies are pressed together in a heated embrace against an oak tree on Hogwarts grounds after spending the day restoring various parts of the castle.

She finds it incredibly difficult to concentrate on any task at hand when she’s apart from Ron for more than a few minutes. All she wants are his kisses and hugs, and to see him smile in that boyish way that makes her heart flutter.

With every passing day, the intensity of their relationship only grows stronger and that single thought terrifies her. She's not used to them being on such solid ground.

Ron presses his hand against her lower back and pulls her in tight. She wants to taste him, to feel the movement of his body as she rubs her thigh against his grass-stained jeans. He trails a lazy finger down the length of her arm, creating little pimples of gooseflesh along its path. Hermione can smell the sweat of the day’s work on him, and hear the thud of their combined heartbeats from the closeness. His lips are so soft and pillowy against her own, and she can taste their shared breath.

Her fingers card through his ginger hair, a warmth blossoming in her chest. Ron explores her face by peppering kisses on the corner of her mouth, jawline, then down to her neck. She leans into those kisses, eyes rolling blissfully back into her head. The desire building within her runs from her heart all the way down to her inner thighs.

Her heart is about to beat out of her chest as she angles her face towards him again until their lips touch. Kissing him for even just a couple of seconds is energizing on its own, but their recent snogging sessions have proven to be on another level.

Ron grins against her mouth, wrapping his arms around her as if he wants their tangled limbs to be closer than they already are — if that's even possible.

His musky scent makes her intoxicated brain swell. The heat of their kisses pulls her into a heady trance, lips tasting so sweet with a feeling that she’d rather die from than to ever have to let go of. Each kiss soothes the flames burning between their bodies, and she can only hope that the closeness doesn’t trigger further panic within her.

After all, everything they’re experiencing is completely new to her. So here they are, starting something so unfamiliar and bold that it seems crazy, but at the same time is so wonderful and natural.

For the first time in a long time, Hermione can see a glimpse of her future and she wants it — more than anything else.

It’s hard enough to be emotionally vulnerable, but here she's having to be that person with her best friend. She wants to be so confident with him and to not let any old insecurities come back. For a moment, after their passionate kiss in the heat of the Battle, Hermione was scared that the door that had opened for them would close before she had a chance to fully walk through it. She operated on hope that the spark between them wouldn’t flicker and extinguish before they truly had a chance to figure it all out.

Days later, the only thing they’ve managed to figure out is how to kiss each other. The attraction is most certainly there, but they have yet to talk to each other as best friends do. They've been through a lot, have lost a lot. Although they've both managed to escape the Battle with nothing more than a few scrapes and cuts, some scars are invisible, and she knows Ron carries his fair share.

Desperate to take the keen edge off, she kisses him back with much more passion than ever before, interlocking her fingers behind his neck to pull him in as close as humanly possible.

"Okay, wait."

Ron drags his lips away from hers, panting, deep concern etched between his brows. "What changed there?"

"Is it so wrong of me to want to kiss you?"

His face flushes crimson. "No, it's just I thought we were already doing that. Then-well…" he rubs the back of his neck, "We were doing that."

She knows that Ron can tell by the expression on her face that there is a lot going on in her head. The thought alone of him thinking about what she's thinking about is enough to consume her mind once more.

"Okay, stop it. You're overanalyzing this, aren't you?" Ron questions.

"Am not!"

"Are too."

What does he mean by overanalyzing? That I'm thinking what's happening between us is more than what it really is? That our snogging might just be a means to blow off steam?

"Hermione, you're doing it again."

She huffs, sitting up to press her back against the bark of the tree with her arms crossed in indignation. "Well, I'm sorry if I take offense to you saying I'm overanalyzing us — as if maybe you feel like there isn't really an us and that this is just-"

"Don't." There's an unhindered look of irritation on his face. "After all this time, how could you possibly believe that I think this means nothing? You know it doesn't."

“I just don’t want you to…" Her voice is much smaller as she bites down on her bottom lip. "...lose interest.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Well, it certainly is."

“Again. Not possible. Trust me.”

"And how do you know that?"

He answers her question with a kiss so immaculate and passionate that it would knock her off her broom if she was on one. Before she can even fully process how simply amazing it is, Ron pulls away again, fixing her with a hard stare.

"You feel that? That's how I know."

Her glazed-over eyes are proof that she most definitely did.

"Now, are you quite done ignoring me for your thoughts, or do I need to spell it out a bit more for you?" His eyes promise a rising sense of warmth, steadying her heart in a way she's needed for so long.

Her dazed expression is quickly replaced by a coy smile. "I don't know. I think learning a new skill always requires practice."

He flashes her his signature lopsided grin that ties her stomach up in glorious knots. His lips are just as alluring as they are familiar each time he descends them upon her own, illuminating the love and joy that she had forgotten was inside of her.

Their story will continue to unravel, each day discovering something new about each other that will only strengthen their relationship. For now, they will remain happily absorbed in feelings of love.

[adenei]

Wingardium Leviosa

Written for @romioneweek's Traits and Trinkets Theme - Day 3.

Post War/Domestic Bliss One-Shot

*******************

Ron knew it was a long shot, but he had to try. He ambled down the familiar corridors that he'd traipsed through only a few years ago, his footsteps echoing against the portrait-filled walls. Most of the students were outside on the grounds, enjoying the late-spring sunshine as he made the long trek from Headmistress McGonagall's office to Professor Flitwick's classroom.

By the time he reached the classroom door, he paused and considered doubling back. The idea was too far-fetched. The trip was pointless—

“Ah, Mr. Weasley! Come in. Headmistress McGonagall informed me you wished to meet with me,” Professor Flitwick’s high, squeaky voice startled Ron.

So much for a quiet escape.

“Er, yeah. Thanks for making the time, Professor.”

“Please, call me Filius, Ron. You’re no longer a student walking through these halls. And I believe congratulations are in order?”

Ron’s face flushed. “Thanks.”

He wasn’t sure whether it was for the upcoming nuptials or that he’d just graduated from the three-year Auror Academy training program last month. “That’s actually why I’m here. Er, about the wedding, that is. I was hoping you could help me with something.”

Flitwick’s eyebrows lifted in question. “I’ll do my best, though I’m not sure I can be of much help unless you’d like to hire the Frog Choir to sing at the ceremony.”

Though it was meant to be a joke, based on the tiny man’s jovial laugh, fear washed over Ron at the prospect. Mainly for the fact that Hermione might kill him. She already didn’t like surprises, and if he tried to pull something like that…

“N-no, Hermione’s got the music covered already. It’s actually about—well, you see—” Ron stopped, taking a breath to gather his thoughts. “Back in our first year, you taught us Wingardium Leviosa.”

“Ah, yes, that part of the Charms curriculum has remained unchanged.” An amused chuckle escapes the older man’s lips.

“Well, you see, I know it was a fairly straightforward lesson, and you might not even remember this, but Hermione got the charm on her first try—”

“Oh, on the contrary, I remember that quite vividly! And if my memory also serves me right, her partner was a bit agitated over her success,” he smiled knowingly.

A smile crept over Ron’s face. “Er, yeah. I was in a right foul mood, and I didn’t treat her very well after class either. She ended up hearing me say some things and—” Ron came to an abrupt stop.

Without realizing or planning it, he was about to give away the real reason Hermione found herself in the bathroom with the troll that evening.

“She overheard you, I presume?” Professor Flitwick supplied as Ron nodded. “Would this have anything to do with the real reason Ms. Granger was in the bathroom that night when the troll was loose?”

Ron’s jaw dropped. “Y-you knew?”

“Ah, Minerva always had a sneaking suspicion Hermione never went after the troll on her own. And don’t think we didn’t notice the change in loyalty between the three of you after that night. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to know what really possessed you three to fight off a Mountain Troll on Halloween.” He chuckles.

“In fairness, sir, I was the reason Hermione was in the loo in the first place, so that’s why we went after her—to warn her. But then we saw the troll enter the bathroom and thought we were clever enough to lock him in until we realized that’s where Hermione was too. So, we really had no choice.”

The aging professor shook his head, amusement plastering his face. Ron hadn’t come here to admit the entire story, but it felt oddly relieving to get that off his chest. It’d been a secret between the three of them for so long that it felt good, to be honest.

Laughter bubbled up in his chest. “We were barmy first years, weren’t we?”

“You were,” Flitwick agreed, “and as much as I’ve enjoyed the trip down memory lane, I assume it all has a purpose as to why you’re here?”

“Er, yeah. Right! I know it’s a long shot, but I was wondering if you still had the feather she used that day in class. I remember exactly what it looked like. Most of the ones you passed out were solid, but she’d received—”

“The white one with the brown speckles. Yes, I remember.”

“You don’t still happen to have it, do you?”

“I do.” The professor was already two steps ahead of him, pulling out a box and lifting the feather in question out to show him.

Ron could hardly believe his luck as Flitwick placed the feather in a separate box and extended his arm out to pass on the feather. “It seems as though you’ve put a lot of thought into this, Ron, and I’m sure Hermione will appreciate this more than any future student may.”

“Th-thank you, Professor.” Ron took the box and held it close. He didn’t even have to ask.

He knew without a doubt that this would be the gift to beat all others, the missing piece of the puzzle for his upcoming vows. It was the gift that symbolized how far they’d come from that fateful day when he’d called her a nightmare, the day that changed his life forever. He couldn’t wait to present her with what would be his favorite gift in just a few short weeks.

[cheesyficwriter]

Can you make a fanfic about rose,Hugo,Ron and Hermione family time before rose and Hugo inter Hogwarts I really loved the way you write 😍😍❤️❤️

Hi there! Thanks so much for the love! I hope you enjoy this piece from Rose's perspective, an ode to her family before she leaves for Hogwarts. I thought it fit perfectly with the theme "Meet the Family" for @romioneweek. Cheers!

Romione Week Day 5 - Meet the Family

Granger-Weasleys: A History

When Mum gave me a piece of paper and a quill, she told me that I should write about what my family means to me ahead of my first journey to Hogwarts. Although it feels like she was just eager to give me my first ever essay, she also says that I should save this letter for my future self to read, just in case I need a reminder of the light in my life when things seem most dark.

It's not easy to find the proper words to describe my family. It's so big, usually chaotic, and sometimes downright barmy, but I wouldn't trade my Granger-Weasley genes for anything.

My little brother, Hugo, is always the mischievous little one in the family. Arts and crafts hold his attention for such long periods of time throughout the day that I start to wonder if he's being recruited early by Uncle George to create a new line of children's products for the joke shop.

We don't always get along, but then again, what pair of siblings do?

Then there's my mum. Dad calls her the "anchor" of our house, and I can't agree more.

I share my love for books with her, and I grew up memorizing lines from Hogwarts: A History as soon as I could read, so I'm very knowledgeable on what the ceiling in the Great Hall looks like and that the use of Muggle computers isn’t possible on school grounds, which has made Bampy Weasley very sad to think about.

Mum doesn't cook but Dad does, and he can make wicked chicken and ham sandwiches. One of the first times I remember seeing magic was when an empty plate of food magically refilled itself. Blimey! I love magic.

Dad says I’m a good mix of him and Mum. I get excited when Mum tells me that she thinks I could become a prefect like them someday and I giggle when Dad later whispers in my ear that he’s got loads of fun stories to share with me before bedtime of the mischief my Uncles, Fred and George, got into while they were at school. I laugh with Dad a lot and he’s always willing to take me for a fly, which I LOVE!

After all, he surprised me once with my first ever toy broom! Mum was furious, but Dad calmed her down like he always does. Sometimes they kiss out in the open — it's gross, really. Lucky for me, Mum doesn't like public affection, however from time to time, she lets my dad be a bad influence on her. Mum doesn't seem to mind it too much when it comes from him.

Mum says that I am the most well-spoken eleven-year old she knows and thinks I could become a professional writer — as long as I don’t end up like that beetle, Rita Skeeter, and makes me promise to only publish real news if I decide to work for The Daily Prophet. Dad then tells me that they'd love me all the same even if I wasn't so smart and clever and that I could be anything I want to be — except a quidditch player for the Bulgarian team. He says it jokingly, of course, but Mum rolls her eyes every time. I don’t know if I quite get the joke, but I know all about their most famous player, Viktor Krum, from the Quidditch magazines that my Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny let me read. They always tell me that Krum is “he who must not be named” around my Dad.

My parents are very educated and brave. Sometimes I feel a little intimidated by my high-achieving family, and wonder if the other kids in my year will gawk and stare, knowing I'm the child of two war heroes — my cousin, James, has told me that the attention wears off, and the other students will find something new to chat about...eventually.

I know all about the war, of course, and my parents' epic time at Hogwarts through the moving photographs they have stowed away in an album on Mum's bookshelf. They only let me look at them occasionally, but I wonder sometimes if I will get to go on adventures like them? Dad’s face goes red when I ask him. I don’t think he likes that thought very much. I should ask Nanny and Bampy how they felt when he was in school.

My parents always emphasize that I’m supposed to tell the truth, even if it puts me in a rotten situation. I’m expected to be courteous to everyone I meet — even Scorpius Malfoy who, according to Dad, will be in my year. Dad let it slip once that Mum slapped Scorpius' father across the face while at school. Mum can be dramatic sometimes, but Dad seems quite proud of her for standing up for herself, and wants me to do the same if the Malfoys start giving me any trouble.

"Just don't tell your mum," he insists.

To sum it all up before my hand starts to cramp up, my parents and little brother are the absolute best. Hugo and I have always been taught to help other people out without expecting anything in return, to be patient and kind even when people treat us like rubbish — with the exception of the Malfoys, as Dad mentions — and to remember that with just a little bit of courage and bravery, we can do anything we set our minds to.

So how would I describe my home? Happiness. Love. Fun-filled. Trusting.

Hogwarts may soon become my new home for many years, but I will never forget the home I grew up in, the home I will come back to, and the home that has taught me that anyone can see the magic in the world if they just believe.

Yes, Mum, I know I won’t be allowed to use magic outside of school, but a girl can dream about the day that she is old enough to do so, right?

I am so lucky.

Signed,

Rose Granger-Weasley, Age 11

Future Outstanding Hogwarts Student

#1 Chudley Cannons Fan

[cheesyficwriter]

Happy Saturday! Today is the final day of Romione Week, and participating has been such a blast! Thank you again for all who have followed along, and a big kudos to @folk-melody for hosting @romioneweek. I hope you've all enjoyed reading the Romione goodness as much as I have ❤

Since it is a Free Day, I've chosen to finish up the final part of a series I started a while back ago, Sixth Year Ball. While this ficlet can stand-alone, some dialogue/writing could be confusing, so I do suggest reading the first two parts first 🙂 Enjoy!

Sixth Year Ball Part 1: The Waltz

Sixth Year Ball Part 2: The Invitation

Romione Week Day 7 - Free Day

An Unforgettable Evening

The day of the ball arrives, and Ron is nothing but a bundle of nerves.

He stands in front of the mirror surveying his appearance. The new dress robes that Hermione helped him pick out for the event are a logical choice — a black suit and matching bowtie, under a navy blue dress jacket. The black cushioned inner soles of his shoes feel comfortable the more he wiggles his toes around. His ginger hair is well-groomed, slicked back with just a small amount of hair gel. He's grateful to be rid of the disastrous attire that was his Yule Ball robes, although it does feel a tad strange to not be cloaked in hand-me-downs for once.

The stakes surrounding the ball are high, and if they weren't, he wouldn't be interested in going to the blasted event anyways, right?

He needs to put his best self forward for her.

This isn't just any first date. This is the date. Hermione isn't just some girl that he's attracted to, she's his best friend, she's his — well, bloody hell. What is she?

In an attempt to boost Ron's confidence, Harry babbles next to him, oblivious to Ron’s nervous breakdown inside of his head.

"It's completely normal to feel nervous."

"Harry, I know you're trying to be supportive mate, but-"

"Yeah, I'm rubbish at this, aren't I?" Harry laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You really are. And people say you're the chosen one — not the chosen one to give out advice, I'll say," Ron quips, giving his best friend a hearty shove.

"Don't be a tosser," Harry chuckles. "All I'm saying is that if you're feeling nervous, I can almost guarantee she's feeling the same."

Ron's lips curl up at the image of Hermione frantically scouring through textbooks on how not to be anxious.

He exhales a deep breath, studying his slicked back ginger hair in the mirror. "This is a date. Is this a date? It's a date, right?"

Harry snorts. "Well, how did you ask her?"

Ron squints one eye at his best friend. "Technically, she cornered me after she caught on to me trying to ask her and pretty much conjured the invitation out of me."

Harry ponders on the information. "Well...I think so then?"

This bloke seriously isn’t all that helpful in one of the largest departments of mysteries — women.

With one final clap on Ron’s shoulder, he says, "Now or never, huh? Come on, don't want to keep the girls waiting."

As it turns out, they arrive into the common room before Hermione and Ginny, leaving Ron with a few extra minutes to dwell in his pesky, anxiety-ridden thoughts. He always manages to let the negative thoughts creep in at the most undesirable moments.

But how does Hermione really feel about him? Did she only accept his invitation to the ball to be polite? Does she consider this evening an outing with friends or will it lead to something more between them?

"None of that nonsense," Ginny barks at Ron, disturbing his inner turmoil. When did she get here?

He frowns at his sister. "I didn't even say anything." His eyes dart around, an unsettling feeling spreading through his stomach when he doesn’t spot Hermione right away.

"No, but I know you brother, and I can see the self-doubt in your eyes." Ginny waggles a finger in Ron's direction. "She looks amazing, and you don't look too shabby yourself. You're going to have a great time, yeah?"

Ron releases a shaky breath, feeling the slightest bit of weight lifting off his shoulders from Ginny’s words. Surely his sister has spoken with Hermione. She wouldn’t be reassuring him if Hermione didn’t think this was a date, right?

"Yeah, we will. Thanks, Sis."

"Don't mention it,” Ginny grins before addressing Harry with an appreciative gaze up and down his body. “Ready, Potter?"

Harry nods and stumbles along the wooden floor as Ginny leads him towards the portrait hole. Over his shoulder, he calls out to Ron, "We'll meet you two there."

Ron gives a silent thumbs up before shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers and teetering back and forth on his heels. As he gazes up at the empty winding staircase, his impatience grows.

Hermione, where are you?

The ball starts promptly at eight o’clock, and the current time indicates that if they don’t make their way to the Great Hall soon, they will miss the opening dance. Not that he would mind not having a chance to bugger up the steps he’s tried hard to memorize since his practice session with Professor McGonagall.

He’s starting to wonder if Hermione’s decided to ditch him. Shaking his head, he mentally chides himself. He really needs to stop playing out scenarios in his head that may or may not happen. Breathing in through his nose for five seconds, he exhales the heavy breath out of his mouth, feeling the stress start to melt away.

Before Ron can dwell on his nervous jitters for a moment longer, the sound of heels clacking alert him that someone is descending the spiral tower.

Ron’s heart races in his chest from the anticipation, barely breathing as the footsteps grow closer. One studded heel-clad foot makes an appearance, showing off a considerable amount of bare leg that Ron has never had a view of in normal school robes, before Hermione fully reveals herself and steals all of the air right out of his lungs.

Wow.

Hermione steps out in a full-length evening gown that drapes to the floor with slits up the side, made of a silky burgundy fabric that looks so delicate that he fears it could tear at the slightest tug. The modest neckline is richly decorated with beaded jewels, with short sleeves that ruffle around her arms. Her hair is twisted into a plait that fashions her curls into a half updo, the rest of her waves tumbling around her face.

She is positively stunning.

Ron opens and closes his mouth several times. Any single one of his thoughts in his head would be appropriate for him to say as she waits on the bottom step for his reaction, but all that comes out of his mouth is, “Hi.”

“Hi.” She takes a step forward, then two, and the closer she gets, the more he believes that he didn’t prepare enough for this. Why oh why did he not ask for Fred or George’s advice on how to charm witches?

But, Hermione isn’t just any witch. She’s not going to be impressed by mediocre words or cheesy lines. Ron struggles to avoid making assumptions. He reminds himself that the only way he'll truly know what she's thinking or feeling is by asking her himself.

Silently, he lifts a hand in her direction, inviting her to take it. She accepts, and he immediately spots her palms trembling.

His voice is soft and raspy as he rubs his thumb across the back of her hand. “You’re shaking.”

Hermione folds her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes trained on their joined hands. “I’m a bit nervous.”

“Hey.” Ron’s whispered call causes Hermione to lift her gaze to meet his own. He does his best to give her an encouraging smile. “I bet my wand you’re not more nervous than I am.”

She lets out a shaky laugh. “Well, that’s a relief.”

Briefly letting go of her hand, he holds out his bent elbow. “You ready?”

“I am. Are you?”

“Absobloodylutely.”

--

The entire Great Hall is draped in decadence, with twinkling lights dangling from the starry black ceiling, glass vases filled with feathers and beads, and green ivy lining the walls around the room. The decorations really set the mood, promising an evening of socializing with other houses that is encompassed by music, dancing, and eating. Ron finds other students feasting on delicious finger foods, making his mouth water from the sight and smell.

This is the fanciest fucking event he’s ever been to. No pressure, he laughs inwardly to himself. It’s all nothing short of magical, and Ron has high hopes that tonight will be an unforgettable event.

Several other couples rotate across the floor in a counter-clockwise direction, dresses swishing behind the women as the men stumble over their own feet to keep up. As the current string of music comes to an instrumental end, thunderous applause fills his ears.

“Wow. I thought the Yule Ball was elaborate,” Ron jokes, already feeling the beads of sweat pooling on his forehead.

“Can we not talk about the Yule Ball tonight?” Hermione requests, rubbing one side of her arm as a blush forms on her cheeks.

“Oh. Right. M’sorry.” Ron imagines his gangly form is sticking out like a Hungarian Horntail, maintaining an awkward stance with his hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers, not yet willing his feet to move into the grand ballroom as other witches and wizards circle around them.

“What are you apologizing for?” Hermione inquires, raising an eyebrow with an expectant look on her face — a look that tells Ron that she requires nothing but honesty from him tonight.

Harry’s voice echoes in his mind. If you’re feeling nervous, chances are she’s feeling the same.

Blimey, his best mate is right. And Hermione deserves to know that she’s not alone in her self-induced pressure.

“I just feel like I’m already mucking this up and we haven’t even walked into the bloody Great Hall yet.”

A small smile forms on Hermione’s face as she leans over to place a tentative hand on his arm, sending tingles down his spine. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’ve seen your dancing, you’re not that rubbish.”

Ron laughs out loud, releasing some of the tension from his body. “You’re a cheeky one, aren’t you?”

“Come on, Ron.”

With Hermione tugging on his hand, he’s drifting through a sea of other couples, many who whisper and stare as they walk past. The rumbling in his belly makes him want to scope out the food to settle his uneasy stomach. It’s fairly safe to say that he expects to be fed at this event, but Hermione has other plans first.

His feet plant on the floor in the center of the room, arms straight down by his side as Hermione looks up at him expectantly. What should he do now?

"Just like we've practiced, right?" Hermione encourages, nodding her head at him as she smooths out the skirt on her dress.

"R-right."

As the soft flow of music begins, Hermione takes a step forward and bows. Ron mimics her movements, deciding that following her lead is the safest course of action. But in true Hermione form, she’s very difficult to grasp, and Ron isn’t sure what move he should make next when she waits for his guidance.

The sound of the traditional orchestra filters through his ears, and he glances around to see other men gliding across the dance floor with their partners in matching positions.

One hand on waist, one hand in hand.

Ron slips a firm hand on Hermione’s back, pulling her in close with a bit more vigor than he intended, hearing her breath hitch as their chests meet.

“M’sorry.” He winces as he stumbles back, feeling the redness on his cheeks as he clears his throat.

“It’s okay.” Hermione sends him a shy smile, and she helps him out with the next step by raising her hand. Ron intertwines their fingers together, hoping beyond all hope that his palms aren’t too sweaty.

They begin to sway back and forth, slow at first before taking wide sweeping steps in a circular motion. Ron’s heart accelerates as the beat of the song picks up the pace. He tries to ignore the several sets of eyes on them, focusing instead on a tiny freckle in the middle of Hermione’s forehead.

Although Ron feels like he’s towering over Hermione, he can still feel her hot breath on his cheek. The warmth between them grows more powerful by the minute, and Ron’s shoulders relax as the song progresses. It’s amazing how quickly his sluggish movements turn into refined, dare say, even graceful steps, allowing his body to maintain tune with the slow music.

Hermione remains quiet, exchanging soft smiles with him every so often, although she spends most of the dance scanning the floor for other couples as if she’s afraid of getting too close. He knows she’s just itching to establish more control over her surroundings.

For Ron, he’s aware of only Hermione, realizing that the space between their bodies is dwindling.

"Why did you ask me to the ball?"

Hermione’s words break Ron from his thoughts, echoing her inquiry from the day they waltzed in class. Why did you ask me to dance?

Unsure of the right words to respond with, he challenges back, “Why did you say yes?”

Hermione’s lips part, her brows furrowed with intent, and Ron just knows that her mind must be swirling with rapid fire thoughts.

“Don’t overthink this,” he murmurs, holding her hand just a little tighter.

A crestfallen look appears on her face and she drops her gaze to the floor. “Oh.”

Fuck.

“That’s not what I meant!” He quickly corrects. Hermione lifts up her head again, allowing Ron to breathe a sigh of relief when he sees a small bit of hope light up her face. “I just mean-”

Blast. What does he mean to say? Why is it that he can’t seem to hold a proper conversation with her? She’s his best friend, for Merlin’s sake.

“Ron, I’m your best friend,” Hermione gently coaxes. “Just talk to me.”

It’s bloody scary how she manages to read his mind like that. She’s looking up at him now — fucking hell, she’s so beautiful — with round, glassy chocolate brown eyes, filled with such implorable curiosity that it takes everything in him not to just snog her in the middle of the crowded ballroom, in front of the entire school.

He doesn’t reckon Hermione would appreciate that much —not without first receiving some sort of explanation, or providing any indication that she feels the same way.

Deciding that he’s not going to work up the courage he needs to spill his feelings out in public, Ron starts to silently walk backwards through the throng of people, pulling Hermione with him by their joined hands until they’re in a secluded spot just outside the grand entrance. Fairy lights flutter about the open lawn in front of the castle, providing just enough glow for him to still clearly see her face.

The chilly night air provides a small amount of reprieve from the heat of standing so close to the girl he gets so jittery around, although he starts to rethink his choice to head outside when Hermione instinctively covers her bare arms with her hands, her entire body trembling from the cold.

“Here, let me-” Ron goes to remove his suit jacket, but Hermione holds up a hand to stop him.

“No, that isn’t necessary. Just tell me what you wanted to say.” Her tone is very Hermione-like, stern and stubborn, and he would’ve laughed at her insistent independence if he weren’t so tongue-tied.

“It was too loud in there,” Ron says, fighting the labored breaths that leave his mouth in visible puffs of air. “I just—I wanted to-” He almost groans in frustration over his lack of finesse when it comes to admitting what he truly means, what he truly feels.

Hermione takes a step forward, and he can feel the warmth of her body as their arms brush together. “It’s just me, Ron.”

Her voice is so soft, almost velvety, and a lump of emotion gets caught in his throat. “No, it’s not.”

A loud exhale leaves Ron’s mouth and he lets his head fall back. “Do y’know how much I loathed you when I first met you?”

Shit, Ron, that probably wasn’t the right thing to say, but he paces the dimly lit path anyway, the words tumbling out of him before he can stop himself.

“I mean, you really did tie my wand in a knot. You were stubborn, bossy, frustrating…” He pauses to heave out another large breath, viewing the surprise flickering through Hermione’s eyes. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

A quiet gasp escapes her lips and she opens her mouth to interject. Ron jumps in, knowing he’ll lose the momentum he finally has if he allows her the time.

“If I wasn’t an eleven-year-old git, I reckon I would’ve realized why I thought about you all the time sooner. But it wasn’t until I got to know you better, and discovered all the best parts of you — how smart, capable, kind, clever, brilliant you are — that I had to admit to myself that maybe I did like you. Maybe I wanted to be your friend.”

Ron checks in with Hermione again, who is listening intently to his words in such a stoic way that it’s irritating because he has no clue as to what she is thinking.

He presses on. “And then as we grew older, maybe I...maybe I wanted to be more than just your friend.”

Tears shimmer in Hermione’s eyes — oh, fuck, he’s not sure what he’ll do if she starts to cry — but instead she strides towards him with purpose, reaching a hand up to brush against his cheek. The action makes him flinch, although he relaxes into her palm, closing his eyes as he breathes in her scent. Wait, is she wearing...how hadn’t he noticed before? She’s wearing that unusual perfume he got her last Christmas!

“Ron Weasley…” Hermione hums, her mouth curving into a grin, “you are the most frustrating, but also most adorable man alive.” The tips of Ron’s ears burn red, not sure how to take her confusing compliment. “And I swear you sometimes forget that you are also smart, capable, kind…” She giggles through the watery tears that flood her eyes, “Clever and brilliant.”

“Got that speech memorized already, have ya?” Ron teases, his arms wrapping around her waist.

“It was a good speech.”

Ron’s wide grin fades, his heart now beating twice as fast in his chest as a charge of electricity builds between them. Hermione takes a step closer, circling her arms around his neck. One of Ron’s hands leaves her waist, instead trailing his fingers up her arm, letting the tips linger on her smooth skin. He’s cognizant of her fingers making similar movements, finding the hairs on the nape of his neck before threading through his copper strands.

Ron makes contact with her brown curls, pushing her hair back over her shoulders to free up the space between her shoulder blades and her neck for his hand to continue along its path.

He sucks in a breath when he sees her tongue dart out to moisten her own lips, and she makes the tiniest sound in the back of her throat that practically turns his brain to mush.

Before Ron takes the time to process it, he ducks his head, allowing his body to take control, tasting her breath as their lips inch closer and closer…

When their mouths finally fuse together, it’s nothing short of perfection. It’s like he’s drowning in a single kiss, more shocked than anything that he somehow knows exactly how to move his lips over hers, finding a familiar rhythm, a feeling of completeness that makes him think he might just explode from all these emotions he’s never experienced before.

The feeling of Hermione grinning against his mouth prompts him to lift her slightly off the ground, enthusiasm radiating through his bones.

Breathing finally becomes a necessity, and their lips slowly part, with Ron not able to resist planting one more soft kiss upon her lips before a crooked smile lights up his face.

“Bloody-”

“Don’t swear,” Hermione warns, although she too can’t hide the grin on her pleasantly flushed face.

Ron leans forward to embrace her, letting his nose make contact with her hair as he breathes her in. He can’t believe this is reality.

The music from the Great Hall can be faintly heard from the distance, and Ron rocks back and forth with Hermione in his arms, subconsciously swaying along with the song.

“Ron.”

She whispers his name and he lifts her head to see her smiling like she has a secret — a secret only he knows, fueling his excitement over their new romance even more. Hermione laces their fingers again, making Ron grateful for the contact.

“There are people looking at us.”

Only then does Ron’s brain register their surroundings. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Plenty of couples have also ventured off the dance floor. Some linger on the steps, Ginny and Harry included, who are both staring right at them with matching smirks. Ron decides he doesn’t care though —all he cares about is the witch in his arms, and how he can now confirm that it will be, in fact, an unforgettable evening.