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.
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?
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.”
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.
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.
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.”
“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.
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.
