laura’s 10k celebration (top 30 ships as voted by my followers) ✵ 5 ➳ ron weasley & hermione granger
↳ Harry glanced over at the dark shapes they made on the floor beside him. Ron had had a fit of gallantry and insisted that Hermione sleep on the cushions from the sofa, so that her silhouette was raised above his. Her arm curved to the floor, her fingers inches from Ron’s. Harry wondered whether they had fallen asleep holding hands.
Summary: Hermione asks Ron to Slughorn's Christmas party and things go... well.
Prompts: For @romioneweek (late entry) for day 6 prompt - alternate universe.
Warnings: None
Originally published: Noember 21, 2021 on Fanfiction.net, ao3 and Tumblr
Reposted: N/A
Hermione stood in front of the mirror, looking herself over. There was a bit of hair that just wouldn’t sit still on top of her head. She’d tried a potion and various spells, but it just wanted to be uncooperative this evening.
“Of all days,” she muttered, adding another drop of Sleekeazy to no avail. It simply sprung back up.
The rest of her, she thought, looked alright. She didn’t have many dresses, especially not at Hogwarts, but she’d had her mum send this one with a very quizzical letter about what she wanted to wear it for. It was pale blue, knee-length and kind of low-cut, but modest at the same time. It wasn’t usually something she’d be comfortable in, but… drastic times, she reasoned.
She took one last look at herself, tried to flatten that one piece of disobedient hair, and then left her room. She paused at the top of the staircase a moment before willing herself to descend and enter the common room of Gryffindor tower, her heart thumping in her chest.
She stopped at the bottom, searching the room but couldn’t see either Ron or Harry there. Though, she was drawing the attention of some others, most notably Cormac McLaggen, who smiled at her.
Flushing, she hurried over to the armchairs by the fireplace and stared directly at it. She had been certain Harry and Ron would be down here already. After all, how long would it take them to throw on some dress robes?
She only had to wait for a few minutes before she heard Ron’s voice, wondering aloud where she was. She jumped up, turning to face them. Ron stopped dead in the middle of the common room, his mouth falling open when he laid eyes on her.
It might have been her imagination, but she even thought she saw him mouth the word woah, though he didn’t say it out loud.
“Hermione,” he said instead. “You look… really nice.”
Hermione smiled, the pounding in her chest increasing. “Thanks,” she said. She looked around the room. People were staring and it caused her to feel embarrassed. “Should we… should we go, then?” she asked.
Ron nodded.
“Yeah. I said I’d meet Luna there.”
Hermione startled, turning to Harry. She’d all but forgotten he was there for a moment. She offered him a smile and nod and the three of them climbed out of the portrait hole and set off to Slughorn’s office.
None of them spoke much on the way. Hermione had not felt this nervous in a very long time, and she could sense Ron stealing occasional glances her way, though he didn’t say anything. Harry, she realised, was probably doing his best to ignore the fact that she’d asked Ron as her date for the party and that they were all well aware of the fact that she hadn’t asked him to go with her as her friend. She probably would have dressed more appropriately if she had.
It was a relief to draw nearer to the office, for on the way they ran into more and more people and it became noisier, easing the tension between the three of them. Beside her, Hermione felt Ron relax and she chanced a look in his direction. She hadn’t realised before, but he was nervous too. Though, he’d really dressed for the occasion, apparently with different dress robes than the ones he’d been forced to wear to the Yule Ball two years ago.
She hid a smile. She wasn’t sure exactly what she expected to come from tonight, but this was the best chance she — they — had to talk about things and that was what she wanted to happen. Maybe talking would lead to… something more.
“Ah, Harry, Harry!” Slughorn said brightly, opening the door before they’d even approached. “And Miss Granger! So good to see you here. Thank you for coming. Oh, and Miss Granger, you brought a friend!” His eyes fell on Ron, who shifted uncomfortably. “And what about you, Harry?” Slughorn continued, looking back to Harry. “Did you bring anyone special?”
“Yes!” Harry answered, sounding exasperated. “Luna. Luna Lovegood. Is she here?”
“Oh, the girl with the radish earrings?” Slughorn asked, chuckling. “Yes, yes, already in there.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder and then stepped aside so they could enter.
The first thing Hermione noticed was how Slughorn had on display photos of all his past — successful — students. In fact — her eyes widened — he even had some of them here in person.
“Look!” she said, gripping Ron’s arm and pointing to a woman in the corner who was talking to Ginny, “that’s Gwenog Jones.”
Ron stared at her incredulously. “How do you know who Gwenog Jones is?”
“I read about her in a book,” Hermione said. “One day when I was —” She stopped, noticing the amused look he was giving her, and turned red.
Ron’s gaze then shifted back to Ginny and Gwenog. “I’ve never really been in the presence of an actual Quidditch player before!”
“What about Viktor?” Hermione said, realising too late that that was the wrong thing to say to Ron. He took… issue with her friendship with Viktor Krum and it was easier to just not talk about it when around Ron.
Turning red — with anger or embarrassment, Hermione wasn’t sure — Ron said, “Er, I’ll just go and get a drink. It looks interesting, whatever it is. Want one? Harry?”
No answer came. They turned. Harry had made his way across the room over to Luna without either of them realising. He seemed desperate to avoid speaking to Slughorn, or, Hermione noticed, to not have Ginny notice him.
Hermione smiled up at Ron. “Come on, we’ll go over together.”
“You don’t think Harry fancies Luna, do you?” Ron asked when they reached the drinks table. “He just asked her as a friend, right? I mean, because he couldn’t find anyone else?”
“Would it bother you if he did?” Hermione questioned, scooping up some kind of punch into two cups.
“No, I s’pose not,” Ron answered. “But… it’s Luna. Just seems strange.”
“I don’t think he fancies Luna,” Hermione said after a moment. “He likes her well enough, but he’s not interested in her. She’s just here as his guest. His friend.”
“Like you and me,” Ron said, though he didn’t quite meet her eye when he said it.
Hermione didn’t knowhow to respond so she passed Ron one of the filled cups and said, “Yeah, like you and me.”
...
Harry seemed to be the centre of attention at this party, everyone hovering around to get a glimpse or to engage him in a conversation, which left Hermione and Ron pretty much to their own devices.
It was an interesting party to say the least. It was just people bragging about their achievements and eating lots of food.
“Is there a point of us actually being here?” Ron asked after they’d just watched the third person in the space of five minutes steer Harry towards them. “I mean, you were invited and you’re being ignored, so what chance do I have?”
“You were invited too,” Hermione said. “By me.”
“You know what I mean…”
“It is quite boring,” Hermione reasoned, feeling disappointed. She’d expected a bit more from tonight. Maybe dancing, maybe an opportunity for her to tell Ron that she fancied him, that she didn’t want them to be here as just friends. But the opportunity hadn’t shown itself the whole time and now they were both standing in a corner, their third cups of some horrid tasting punch in their hands, feeling bored.
“I suppose we shouldn’t have expected much from Slughorn.” Ron smirked. “And I do kind of feel sorry for Harry, being dragged around like that and all.”
“Do you really?” Hermione asked.
“I did say ‘kind of’.”
Hermione looked around the room once more, taking in the people. There was Luna sitting on her own, having not interacted with anyone at all because Harry had been dragged around. Hermione briefly considered going over there, but she was almost ashamed to admit that she had other motives tonight that didn’t include Luna. Ginny and Dean were snogging elsewhere and she was grateful for Harry being distracted so he didn’t see it. Everyone else she either didn’t know, knew of, or simply didn’t care to talk to.
“Why don’t we go?” she suggested.
“Please,” Ron said. “I was actually sort of annoyed that I wasn’t invited, but now I’m almost grateful he didn’t bother to ask me.” They left the noisy, crowded room and stepped into the cool, quiet corridor where Hermione was well aware of them being alone. Anyone who wasn’t at the party was in their common rooms.
“Thanks for coming,” Hermione said softly. “I’m sorry it wasn’t the party we might have hoped for.”
“It was exactly what I thought it’d be,” Ron said, laughing. “Everyone trying to talk themselves up and Slughorn bragging about how he was responsible for everyone’s success.”
Hermione laughed too, knowing that she was quickly running out of time. She’d spent weeks talking herself up for this, convincing herself that she had to put herself out there or she was constantly going to be left wondering. He fancied her in some way, she was convinced of that much, and she thought it was a risk worth taking to find out just how far he was willing to take things with her.
“Why don’t we take a detour?” she suggested, touching his arm and steering him down the opposite corridor to the way back to the common room.
“Hermione, that’s against the rules!” Ron protested. “Are you breaking the rules?”
“We’re prefects, no one will ask.”
“So now you’re abusing your power?”
Despite his verbal protests, Ron didn’t put up too much of a fight as she led him up one of the staircases.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s just fantastic. If we get caught by Filch I’m blaming it all on you, Hermione. Dragging me around the castle after hours.”
Hermione ignored him, continuing up the staircases. They grew higher and higher, Ron complaining every time she decided to move up just one more. Eventually, she stopped.
Ron stood beside her, looking around. “The Astronomy Tower,” he muttered.
“It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it?” Hermione said, going over to stand by the railing that overlooked the whole castle grounds. “Especially at night.”
Footsteps followed behind her and a moment later, Ron was beside her again. “I guess,” he said. “Beats the Christmas party, anyway.” He smiled. “Why’d you come up here?”
“Because it’s peaceful,” Hermione explained. “Did you know it’s where a lot of… couples come to when they want some time alone?”
“Great,” Ron said. “So, who’re you sneaking up here with late at night to know that?”
“Just you.” She tried to sound casual, though she couldn’t control the small question that escaped in the words.
It was enough to pique his interest. His head snapped to her, eyes wide under the cloudy night. She only realised that it was impossibly cold up here now. Perhaps she should have chosen somewhere that was warmer.
A moment later, he returned his gaze to the front, apparently lost on how to respond.
Hermione shivered. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she confessed. “I’m not really dressed appropriately for this weather.” I’m not really dressed appropriately at all, she reasoned.
“You’re cold?” Ron questioned, looking back at her.
Hermione nodded.
“Come on,” Ron said. “Let’s go back to the common room. Sit by the fireplace until Harry gets back…”
“Sorry, Ron,” Hermione said, and they came back indoors to the warmth of the castle. “I thought it would be nice up here. Didn’t really think it through.”
“It’s alright,” Ron replied. “Why’d you come up here anyway?”
“Well, the party wasn’t fun,” Hermione answered, “but I wasn’t quite ready for our night together to end.”
Ron stopped walking. Hermione was a few paces ahead and had to backtrack.
“Why do you keep saying stuff like that?” he asked. “First, you tell me this is the place people come up to snog and when I ask who you’re sneaking up here, you say just me. And now you say that you don’t want our night together to end. Like… like we’re on a… date or something.”
“We did go to the Christmas party together, didn’t we?” Hermione said in response. “I mean, I asked you to the party. So, it was kind of a date, wasn’t it? Isn’t it?”
“I… I guess,” Ron stammered. He was watching her with a strange expression, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of this conversation. “I… just thought… you know… I didn’t realise.”
“Realise what?” Hermione asked.
Ron turned red. “That… this was a… date.”
“What did you think it was?” She wondered if she should have been clearer… more direct about asking him. She supposed she hadn’t actually used the word ‘date’.
Ron looked at the floor between them. “That you felt sorry for me that I wasn’t originally invited. I just thought… that’s why you asked me.”
Hermione opened her mouth to deny it, but when she tried to explain, no words came out. She simply stepped closer to him. “That’s not why I asked you,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t know that.” He looked up again, his eyes taking her in as if he was seeing her for the first time.
“Well, now you do,” Hermione said. “This is a date. If you want it to be, that is.”
“I want it to be,” Ron answered immediately. He flushed, averting his gaze once again. “You… you really do look great, by the way. I wasn’t just saying that before. I thought… think you look… beautiful.”
“Thank you, Ron,” Hermione said. “I like your new robes. They suit you.”
He laughed slightly. “Thanks.”
“Ron… just so you’re aware, I wanted to ask you. I wanted you to be my date, and I wanted us to be here now, alone. And maybe I’m wrong, maybe I misunderstood, maybe I just hoped, but I thought that you wanted to as well.”
“I do.” Again, he spoke quickly, as if the words were tumbling out of his mouth beyond his control. His face turned a deeper red. "I just didn't know…"
The sound of the clock rang in the background. It was midnight.
"Maybe we should go back…" Hermione said. "It's been nice. Fun, despite a lousy party."
"Yeah," Ron replied. "It's been really nice. I had a lot of fun with you. It was a nice… date." He smiled as he said the word.
"Nice enough to want to do it again?" Hermione wondered.
"To do it ten more times!" Ron replied. Now that they'd established what this was, he seemed to fill with more confidence by the second. He once again looked over his shoulder to the Astronomy Tower. "Do people really come up here to snog? I thought that was just a rumour."
"So I've heard." She didn't mention it was Ginny who had told her.
"Ah." Ron thought for a moment, perhaps wanting to say something more on the subject but thinking better of it. "So… should we call it a night then? Is that… is that how it's supposed to end? This date, I mean? We go back to the common room and go to bed and… that's it? Until next time?"
Hermione stepped forward again. Their bodies were virtually pressed together. She felt Ron's intake of breath more than heard it. He wasn't really getting it, so perhaps she needed to be a little more forward about how she intended for this date to end.
She tilted her head and lifted her arms to slide them around his neck. He'd seemed a bit clueless, but even he couldn't deny just exactly what she was trying to do now. Nor did he hesitate in drawing his mouth the rest of the way down to hers, capturing her in what was a very enjoyable first kiss.
He gripped her waist tightly, then slid his hands up to her back. She pressed her body into his, the feeling of finally getting to kiss him both a thrill and something she didn't want to rush. Or to end.
Anyone could walk by, she realised. A teacher, other students on their own way up to the Astronomy Tower, but who cared? A detention almost felt worth it.
It was Ron who broke away first, slowly, gently. His hands stayed around her back, holding her close to him. Their foreheads were virtually touching, their breathing heavy and loud in the silent night.
After another moment of just standing there, his hands started to slide away from her. She stood on her toes, kissing him quickly one more time before they completely pulled apart.
Now that she could see him fully, she saw that he was pleased. Perhaps he hadn't expected the night to end like this, but he certainly wasn't complaining that it had.
"That's a good ending to our date," Hermione said softly.
"... Yeah." He almost laughed, grinning. "Yeah, that was good. Maybe even better." He watched her, looking as if he could kiss her again. She stepped forward again, and he did kiss her and it was even better than the first time. Just that little bit of practice on both their parts made it easier. Their nerves were gone now, so there was nothing stopping them.
"I'd love it if tonight didn't end," Ron said after they broke away for the second time. "If we could just freeze time…"
Hermione slipped her hand into his and they started walking, hand in hand and in an enjoyable silence.
As they walked, she smiled. This, she decided, had been the perfect night.
It wasn't until they neared the portrait of the Fat Lady did Ron speak again.
"Hogsmeade," he said.
"What?" Hermione asked.
He flushed. "Next Hogsmeade visit. Can you… come with me? On a… date?"
"Yes," Hermione said, beaming up at him. "I'd really love to."
He returned her grin as he stopped in front of the portrait, and he leaned forward and kissed her for the third time that night.
----
We have 130+ members on our book-focused Discord server. Anyone is welcome to join, so please feel free to join us. In December, we are reading Anxious People by Fredrick Backman as a group!
a backseat rider story - it's better in the front seat -
the smutty one shot I promised (really wanted to get this out for @romioneweek but ended up being a day late)
Ron and Hermione go back home in their university Christmas break and need a little time by themselves - the only way this will happen is for them to revert back to their old ways - alone in Ron's car.
Continue reading
No need to read Backseat Rider but it is set after the epilogue. Read Backseat Rider here
What a week! Thanks to everyone who participated & made it a success! This couldn’t have been done without you!
The masterlist of all the works will be posted shortly. Although this years Romione Week has "ended" - you are welcome to create something for it if you want!
Once again a huge thanks to all those who created something for the event & anyone who showed their love and support for the works! Hopefully see you all next year!
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.
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.
And with this post, I have completed @romioneweek . Do I get a sticker or something?! Considering I didn't think I was going to be able to pull one story out of the bag, I've managed to contribute every single day and I'm super proud of that. (Also, I'm sorry to my betas for putting up with my last minute requests!). Anyway, couldn't let @cheesyficwriter write a Grey's contribution, without adding a One Tree Hill story. I hope you all enjoy it.
Days Like This
Hermione sinks her hands into the bowl, her fingernails scraping against the purple plastic as she searches through the soap suds for the final stubborn fork. She knows it’s there somewhere, but she can’t seem to find it anywhere. Of course, it would have been a lot easier to do the washing up by magic, but she had needed the monotony of doing a task by hand. Something that required no concentration and could allow her thoughts to drift elsewhere.
With a heavy sigh, she allows her gaze to trail away from the dirty water, shifting beyond the kitchen window to the dark garden beyond. It’s been four days since Ron left to attend his final Auror assessment, and she suspects she probably won’t see him for at least another week.
⁂
His internal memo had come as a surprise a few mornings ago. Ron’s almost unintelligible scrawl urged her to meet him at home within the next thirty minutes. Although the short note sent a hundred flobberworms squirming through Hermione’s belly, she’d calmly asked her manager for an early lunch, and then hurried down to the Floo Network as soon as she had his approval.
By the time she got back to the townhouse she shared with Ron in South Wales, Hermione had discovered him shoving random items of clothing into his ministry-issued rucksack.
She takes a huge breath, using the moment to rearrange her thoughts and push all her concerns aside. Leaning against the wooden doorframe that leads to their bedroom, she tries to keep her voice light as she jokes, “What’s going on? Are you leaving me or something?”
Ron’s head shoots up, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “No. Why would you think that? Didn’t you get my note?”
“Yes. I tried to decipher it, but all I could get was that you needed me to get home urgently.”
Taking a cautious step inside the room, Hermione tries her hardest not to let the worst of her thoughts take over. A million possibilities race through her mind, each one more miserable than the last. Despite three years of being a couple, it’s like she’s been waiting for him to realise that he could have a girlfriend who was spontaneous, less naggy and much more fun than her. All it would take is a click of his fingers.
“We had a meeting with Robards this morning,” Ron explains. “It’s time.”
“Already? But you thought you might have another month to prepare for it.”
“Yeah, so did Harry. But the boss did warn us that it might come out of the blue if a suitable mission comes up. It’s a reflection of ‘being on the job,’ I guess.”
Hermione’s shoulders droop. She’s excited for him, of course, but the mission and his chosen career comes with a high level of risk. She’d thought that was all over with after the Horcrux hunt. Plus, Robards, the Head Auror, has always warned that they could be out for days or even weeks at a time on missions.
She’s grown quite fond of having Ron around.
“Well, that’s…great.” Hermione winces at the hesitance laced through her voice. “You’ve been studying and training for this for almost three years. I reckon you’re going to nail it.”
Ron stops mid-packing, a balled-up Weasley jumper in his hand, appearing as if struck by a bludger. His body sags, and his skin turns pale, highlighting the expanse of freckles in all the areas his clothes don’t cover.
“What if I don’t?” he asks in a small voice.
Hermione quirks an eyebrow then saunters closer to him, prising the jumper from his fingers before laying it carefully on the bed. She then reaches up, pushing his too-long fringe off his forehead before letting her fingers rasp over the stubble across his jaw.
“Ron Weasley, you are the best Auror I have ever known. Not only are you skilled in duelling and tracing, but your strategic mind allows you to think ahead. You have the edge on anyone else in your class.” Lacing their fingers together, she presses a soft kiss against his lips before whispering, “I have complete faith in you.”
⁂
“Hiya, love.”
His low, familiar voice yanks Hermione out of her daydream, igniting a fire deep in her belly. She turns around in surprise, the wayward fork still grasped in her hand, and drinks in the weary-looking man standing before her. Mud paints his cheeks and robes, and deep, dark circles sit under his eyes. Ron looks like he’s been through hell.
“Oh Ron,” she breathes out, clutching a soapy hand to her chest. “You startled me. If my wand was in reach, I might have hexed you. What are you doing home?”
Ron gives a small chuckle, allowing his bag to fall to the floor at his feet. “You know that red dress you wore to Harry and Ginny’s engagement party?”
“When we went to the Ritz in London, and Arthur got over-excited about the teapots? Yeah, I know the dress.”
“You looked amazing in that dress. I was hoping we could take another trip to London, with you wearing that dress. We could take Mum and Dad….”
Frowning, Hermione takes a step towards him, but he backs away, avoiding eye contact with her. Trying not to let his actions hurt her, she places a hand on her hip, ignoring the warm water as it seeps through her thick denim jeans. “Ron, what happened?”
“I’m not in the Auror Academy anymore.”
With a sigh, she reaches for the tea towel, desperate to get to her boyfriend and provide the comfort he looks like he needs.
“I’m sorry, Ron.”
“It’s okay.” He holds a hand up to stop her. “What do you say, Hermione Granger? Want to take the trip to London and spoil ourselves? Only, I kinda have to be there, considering I start my new full-time job on Monday.”
Her heart skips a beat, and the kitchen fades away as she focuses on what he’s trying to tell her. “What?”
“I passed the final assessment.”
“You’re an Auror?”
“I’m a Junior Auror.”
Ron’s wavering voice is the stick that breaks the Bowtruckle’s back. The weak floodgates that barely held back Hermione’s emotions break as tears fall freely from her eyes. Abandoning the tea towel and throwing herself at her boyfriend, she wraps her arms and legs around his gangly frame, raining down a shower of kisses over every inch of available skin.
“Thank you,” he whispers against her curls, sending a buzz of pleasure from the top of her head, right down her spine before pooling in her core.
She pulls back, staring up at his deep blue eyes and trying her best to search for all the hidden meaning behind his words. “For what?”
“For believing in me.”
Hermione buries her head against his neck, a fresh flood of tears washing over her face as she replies, “Thank you for being worth it.”
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.
Happy day 6 of Romione Week! I wrote a Grey's Anatomy/HP Fusion AU ficlet awhile back inspired by the similarities between Owen/Cristina and Ron/Hermione. Consider this one a follow-up 🙂
Dedicated to @folk-melody, the brains behind @romioneweek. Hope you all enjoy 💜
Grey's/HP Fusion Part 1: A Practical Stranger
Romione Week - Day 6 (AU)
Nothing Like the Present
Inspired by Grey's Anatomy Season 5, episode 10 (Vent Room)
Healers clad in their signature lime green robes bustle about the open reception area on the ground floor of St. Mungo’s in disorganized chaos. The busy environment can be overwhelming, particularly for a specific someone who prides herself on having it all together.
Hermione marches in the direction of the Welcome Witch, who peers up at her with apprehension. Many witches and wizards facing strange ailments still await treatment in the filled emergency room, and Hermione is livid that she hasn’t been properly informed. She’s further turned off by the receptionist’s less-than-welcoming demeanor that rivals her own.
"Can someone please fill me in on why I wasn't notified that there are patients awaiting medical attention out here?" Hermione fumes.
Remaining tight-lipped, the Welcome Witch responds, "I'm sorry, Healer Granger. We were told that you’ve already worked your maximum allotted hours for the week and to pass the current cases off to other Healers."
Mild irritation works its way through Hermione’s system. It is true that she has worked an exceptional amount this week, but she just can’t fathom leaving the hospital when there are still so many people that need assistance.
"Was it Healer Stein? I bet it was. She's always trying to encroach on my patients."
“That’s a loud accusation for someone who has just been told to take a break.”
The deep, familiar voice from behind prompts Hermione to close her mouth.
Ron Weasley. The man she hasn’t seen since he spontaneously kissed her mere seconds after he pulled an icicle out of her stomach a month ago.
Whirling around, Hermione fixes her steely gaze on the grinning redhead standing with his feet apart and arms crossed. "What? What are you even doing here?"
He checks his surroundings before stepping closer. "I'm just looking around — trying to see if attractive curly-haired brunettes are biting heads off receptionists on every floor, or if that feature is isolated to just this one."
A warmth coils in her belly, and she internally chastises herself for reacting to his attempts at charming her.
"You're a cheeky one, aren't you?" She narrows her skeptical eyes at him.
"Just figuring that out?” Ron raises his eyebrows. “Someone has a lot to learn."
The Welcome Witch shifts her gaze between the argumentative duo, eyes growing wide with mounting interest.
Hermione guffaws. "That's rich, coming from someone who hardly spent any time actually studying at Hogwarts."
A lopsided grin forms on his face as he tilts his head without breaking their heated stare. "How would you know what I did or didn't do at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger?"
A blush threatens to creep up her cheeks and she makes an attempt to deflect. "You're right. I barely even know you."
"Ah, to the contrary, I’d say we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well recently, don’t you think?” Ron’s suggestive remark intensifies the warmth on her face.
"I have no reason to believe you."
"Don't you ever just go off of a gut feeling?" Ron asks.
"I suppose, yeah." She looks over his shoulder, distracted by the commotion brewing between another Healer and an unruly patient who looks like he’s sprouting a Mimbulus Mimbletonia from his head.
Ron moves his face so that he’s blocking her view of the waiting area, much to Hermione’s chagrin. "And what does your gut say about me?"
Fuming, she snaps, "It says that you're just the man who pulled an icicle right out of me without my permission."
"Ah. Just the guy?" He clutches his chest. “You wound me."
"The truth hurts."
"Need I remind you that you were the one demanding that I take it out in the first place. I didn't quite take you to be a liar, Granger."
Hermione releases a loud exhale from her mouth, making a move to slide past him. “This has been a lovely chat, but I must get back to work-”
“Ah, no you don’t.”
Ron catches her hand before she can get away, sending a jolt of electricity through her palm from the unexpected contact. Before she can protest, he’s pulling her through the large open room leading towards the staircase.
"Where are we going?" Hermione demands, looking around to see if anyone is noticing her absence. She can’t possibly be caught meandering around with a wizard on work time.
"Would you stop worrying?"
"I would if-"
"Do you trust me?"
"I-"
"Do you trust me?"
Although a part of her wants to say no, there's an even larger part — a more frustrating part — that wants to scream out yes.
Racing down a single set of stairs, Hermione finds herself alone in the basement of St. Mungo’s with Ron, only mildly concerned about his true intentions. He guides her into a darkened room, bare of anything except for large ducts positioned in various locations around the space.
"What are we doing hanging out in a ventilation room?” Confusion settles between her brows.
"Wait."
"But I-"
Ron holds up a hand, sending her a knowing look. "Just wait."
Hermione opens her mouth to declare that she’s tired of waiting, however when he removes his wand from his back pocket, her body stills.
"Ventus". A spiraling gust of wind emits from the tip of his wand into the vent below her feet before swirling back up and blowing against her body with a driving force that almost knocks her over.
Hermione lets out a scream as the air powers in every direction, tousling her tangled curls and creating a whipping motion against her face.
“Ron! What is this?”
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Ron shouts through the whirring of the air exhausting into the room.
With a flick of his wand, he releases the cool steam, bringing the room back to its original, quiet state, apart from the evidence of their disheveled hair and wrinkled clothing.
Gasping, Hermione places a hand over her rapidly beating heart, trying to understand why she suddenly feels like a huge weight has been lifted off her chest, clearing her mind of any negative thoughts that frequently consume it.
"Feeling better now?" Ron studies her, taking one step forward until they are an arms-length distance away. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted, and she can’t manage to quell the urge building up inside of her.
"Loads,” she admits, although she still doesn’t quite get why or how Ron knew that she needed that release.
"The wind makes us feel like anything can happen, like we can be anybody we wanna be, yeah?" Ron’s voice is softer now, and Hermione finds herself strangely moved by his clear, wide-set azure eyes that travel along the intricacies of her face, as if he’s trying to figure her out.
“Y-yeah. I suppose that’s true.”
She leans in closer, unable to resist the pull she feels towards him — unable to stop her gaze from visually tracing the contours of his mouth, letting out a small whimper as his tongue darts out to moisten his lips.
Just when her eyes flutter closed and she can begin to taste his breath, the air resumes like a gentle breeze taking over her body. The soothing wind provides freshness on her skin, rousing her to a wakeful state. When her eyes pop open, Ron is so close to her that their noses are almost touching, only just realizing that he’s gripping her elbows to keep her from falling over.
Hermione’s not sure if she’s ever felt so confident and flexible as she does standing in the midst of circulating wind, like her entire world is changing and freeing her of any unwanted pollutants seeping into her daily life.
And, Good Godric, how did Ron Weasley know exactly what she needed better than herself?
The exhilarating feeling of letting go of all her inhibitions provides her with a sense of satisfaction as she waits in joyful anticipation for the next burst. As if Ron could read her innermost thoughts, the wind filters once more through the room, mixed with the raucous laughter bubbling between the two holding onto each other.
For Hermione, it’s like she can breathe again, and Ron is the one supplying the oxygen she needs to survive. She’s found her place of respite, and it’s in the arms of the man who once pulled an icicle from her abdomen.
All rational thoughts leave her brain as she crashes their lips together in a frenzied snog, awakening the carnal energy inside of her. As his mouth folds over her bottom lip to kiss her back with just as much fervor, she lets out a loud moan while standing on her tiptoes to snake her fingers through his hair. Her body is humming with desire, like she’s drowning in a single kiss as passionate air blows around them.
The wind serves as a reminder for Hermione to live in the present, and there is nothing like the present with him.
