The best gift for a girl
Ron Weasley x reader
Summary: Ron is running out of time to find a good birthday present. But what do you get the girl he's in love with? He has to make sure he doesn't mess it up.
wc: 4.3k
N/A: I'm back with something quite long, I hope you like it. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors; I'm not fluent in English. Would anyone be interested if I opened requests? Likes and reblogs are appreciated.
Masterlist
“What do you get a girl for her birthday?”
The room fell silent after the question. Harry looked up from his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages to watch his friend fidgeting in his seat.
“Which girl?” he asked curiously. Ron’s cheeks burned bright red at the question. “Ah… I see… That kind of girl.”
“So?” Ron asked again anxiously. “What do you get them?”
“Well… I have no idea what she might like.” Harry hesitated for a moment. “Hermione likes books.”
“Yeah, but she’s not Hermione,” Ron complained as he rummaged through his trunk, looking for something that might give him an idea. Time was running out, and if he couldn’t find anything to get you, he’d look like a complete loser. “Well, I don’t know, Ron. Maybe you should ask her what she wants.”
“Yeah, right, and that’ll prove I’m such a fool that I don’t even know what to get her for her birthday. Good idea, Potter. Brilliant.” He slammed the trunk lid shut in frustration. “Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.
Harry watched him with a mixture of pity and amusement. “If you don’t want to ask her directly… You could ask Hermione, she always has good ideas,” he said, shrugging.
Ron’s eyes lit up with hope. It was true, Hermione always had good ideas that ended up saving their skins, and besides, SHE WAS ALSO A WOMAN, a perfect combination. She would have the answer.
Without wasting any more time, he dashed out of the dormitory, nearly tripping Neville, who was coming down the stairs. The common room was almost empty, except for Hermione. She was right where he expected to find her, curled up in the armchair closest to the fire with her hideous cat in her lap and her nose buried in an advanced magic book.
“Hermione,” he called, approaching, trying to hide the short dash he'd made just seconds before.
She didn't even look up from her book. “What's wrong, Ron? Another Potions assignment you didn't understand?”
“No, it's not that,” Ron denied immediately, although the truth was he did have a Potions assignment he needed help with. “This is much more important.” Hermione watched him intently over the edge of the old book. “I'm listening.”
Ron swallowed hard. “What do you get a girl for her birthday?”
Surprised by the question, Hermione dropped the book on Crookshanks, who meowed in annoyance but didn't move.
“Well, it depends on the girl,” she finally said.
“Yeah, well, a girl, a girl… Normal?” “Oh, is this a present for your sister?” she asked innocently, enjoying seeing him flustered.
“For Ginny? No!” Ron replied irritably. “Merlin, why would I want to get her something?”
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who it’s for,” she insisted.
“That doesn’t matter,” Ron replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though he knew his cheeks were starting to betray him.
“Well, if you’re looking for a present for who I think it is…” Hermione continued, suppressing a smile, “I know she lost her scarf last week, maybe that would do.”
“I can’t give her a scarf. I’m not my mother,” Ron protested again, frustrated. “Besides, I want it to be something special… And I don’t have much money.” He let his head fall into his hands with a sigh; this task was proving more difficult than he’d expected. Hermione ran her hand down his back, trying to comfort him. It was no secret to anyone who Ron was in love with, even though he didn't want to talk about it. Hermione had noticed how her friend's eyes always wandered in your direction whenever you passed by, how he tried to maintain physical contact as much as possible, and how he'd even given you the last of his Chocolate Frogs just last week. Without a doubt, Ron was completely smitten.
"You don't need to spend a fortune to give a special gift," she said kindly, setting aside the jokes. "A thoughtful gesture can mean so much more than an expensive present, you know?"
"A thoughtful gesture? What exactly does that mean?" Ron felt even more lost than before.
"Something with sentimental value, Ronald," Hermione explained, losing patience. "For example, what do you notice when you're around her?"
"Um... Well, she has a really nice laugh," he murmured after thinking for a few seconds.
"Uh-huh. What else?"
"She also has really beautiful eyes."
"Okay, we're making progress... And what things does she like?" “Well, I have no idea,” Ron muttered, somewhat lost. “She’s always drawing something in a notebook she carries around… She always wears her hair tied back with a red ribbon and she likes to look out the window when it rains.”
“Okay, I think you’ve got it.”
“I’ve got it? Are you kidding me?” He huffed in annoyance. “You still haven’t told me what to get her.”
“I’m not going to tell you,” Hermione replied, going back to her reading. “Otherwise it would be a present from me, and I already have to get her something.”
“So what are you going to get her?”
“Forget it, Ron, you’ll have to figure this out yourself,” Hermione said. She buried her nose in her book again. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m busy right now.”
“So what?” But he didn’t get a response. Annoyed, he continued, “You’ll have to figure this out yourself.” He mimicked her in a low voice with an exaggerated grimace, but Hermione just carefully turned the page. “I’m Hermione Granger, and I’m a know-it-all, only I’m not going to help you because it’s more interesting to read my book on…” She glanced quickly at the cover of the book. “Evolution and Reproduction of House-Elves?” she said with disgust. “Are you ignoring me because of that awful book?”
“It’s a fascinating and informative book,” Hermione defended herself. “If you read anything other than those stupid Quidditch magazines, you’d understand.”
“Yeah, right…” Ron slumped back against the sofa. “I once heard her mention that she likes chocolate frogs.”
“Don’t you dare!” Hermione angrily put her book aside again, but at that moment the portrait hole opened.
You swept into the common room with your group of friends. Ron immediately fell silent and glared at his friend to make sure she didn’t say anything. Hermione, pleased with the situation, raised her free hand to get your attention. Seeing them, you couldn’t help but smile and quickly approached them.
Ron thought he would faint right then and there. The annoyance he felt with his friend quickly transformed into a knot of nerves in his stomach and a burning heat in his cheeks. He prayed internally that Hermione wouldn’t open her mouth at that moment. “It’s so good to find you,” you said, relieved. “For a moment I thought I’d have to send you both an owl.”
“An owl?” Ron repeated nervously. “Why?” He had to stifle a cry of pain when he felt Hermione’s foot dig into his ankle.
“Well, I don’t know if you knew, but tomorrow is my birthday.”
“Yes, we knew,” Hermione said.
“No, I had no idea,” Ron replied at the same time. They both glared at each other, trying to get the other to shut up.
“Um… Well,” you continued, oblivious to the silent exchange, “Tomorrow is my birthday and I wanted to celebrate. It’ll be something low-key, right here. Fred and George promised they’d get me some snacks. And well, of course, you’re both invited.”
“Oh, that sounds great!” Hermione exclaimed immediately. “Count us in.”
“Cool,” you smiled. “I’m sure it’ll be a good night.” You winked at them. One of your friends came over to where you were to take you with her towards the stairs to the bedrooms. You hadn't even disappeared from sight before Ron slumped back down on the sofa, feeling defeated.
"Well," Hermione said, unable to hide her smile, "You have at least 24 hours to figure out what to get her. You should hurry."
The night was agonizing; the idea of showing up empty-handed made Ron's stomach churn uncomfortably.
It wasn't that you'd be angry if he arrived with nothing, of course not; you were too kind. He'd seen it many times, like when you let him keep your notes indefinitely, or when you shared your favorite sweets, or how you never laughed at him whenever he managed to embarrass himself by saying something silly.
But if he managed to find a good gift, one that would impress you, there was a chance he'd get more than just kindness from you. Perhaps you could see him with the same eyes he saw you with.
However, nothing came to mind, and every small idea that seemed even remotely viable instantly became unfeasible due to the meager amount of Galleons in his purse. Harry hadn't been any help, and he was sure the rest of his friends hadn't either, and Hermione was too stubborn in insisting that he should figure it out for himself.
There was only one last option left to ask for advice, one he had tried to avoid because of the consequences it would bring. But desperate times call for desperate measures. His brothers had always been successful with girls; surely they (after teasing him relentlessly) could help him.
The next morning, for the first time that year, Ron was the first of his classmates to get up and head towards the Great Hall. Fred and George were in their usual spot, chatting about something related to explosives and some itching powder. “Good morning, little brother,” Fred greeted him with a grin that was a bit too big for that time of day. “Did you fall out of bed? Nightmares about spiders again?” Ron bit his tongue to keep from answering. Yes, he’d had a horrible nightmare where he gifted you a box full of spiders and everything ended in disaster… But he wasn’t going to admit it, not with them.
“No, I was just thinking.”
“Merlin’s beard!” George exclaimed. “I’m sure we’ll have a storm tonight.” Both twins laughed as if it were the funniest joke they’d ever heard.
He was about to get up and leave, but Fred placed his hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. “Come on, little brother, don’t be angry. Why were you looking for us?”
“I need some advice,” Ron grumbled.
“Advice,” Fred repeated. “What kind?”
“Skipping class?” George interrupted.
“Teaching some idiot Slytherin a lesson?” Fred continued.
“Escaping Filch?”
“Cheating in Snape’s class?”
“Girls?” Ron didn’t answer the question, but the change in his expression was enough to know that George had hit the nail on the head. “Girls!” he confirmed again, and the twins burst into laughter once more, attracting the attention of some students at other tables. Ron was about to get up, convinced that it had been a bad idea to ask them for help, but both brothers forcibly sat him back down.
“You should have started there. We’re experts on the subject,” Fred began. “So tell us, who is this unlucky girl?” George asked.
“I’m not looking for that kind of advice,” he lied. “I just want to know what I can get a girl for her birthday.”
“Her birthday?” Fred repeated, leaning towards him with a mischievous grin. “And she’s the one I’m thinking of.”
“I have no idea who you’re thinking of,” Ron said quickly.
“I think I’m thinking of a girl too,” George added, also leaning towards him.
“Are we thinking of the same girl, George?” Fred asked with feigned innocence.
“I think so, Fred.”
“This was a mistake,” Ron lamented, dropping his head into his hands.
“A mistake? You’ve come to the right place, little brother,” George patted him on the back, trying to cheer him up. “What’s more, we thought you were taking your sweet time,” Fred added. “We bet you’d take until next year to confess your feelings for Miss.”
“Damn it, now I owe Lee 10 Galleons,” George complained.
“You were betting on that?!” Ron exclaimed indignantly.
“Well, it’s not like you’ve been very subtle,” Fred said in a half-whisper.
“When you comb your hair every time she appears, it’s a bit obvious,” Lee commented, sitting down across from the three redheads.
“Or when you always look for a seat near her.”
“Or when you stare for long minutes when she ties her hair up.”
“Or when you stutter every time she speaks to you.”
“Or when…”
“Stop it! I don’t do any of those things!” Ron shouted, completely red-faced. “Sometimes it’s a bit creepy,” George added in a whisper. “But you’re in love, what can you do…”
Ron remained in his place, staring at the plate in front of him, unable to believe how obvious it had been.
“Anyway,” George continued, “you came to the right place, we’ll help you.”
“Yeah, right,” Ron scoffed, already despondent.
“Come on!” Fred slammed his fists on the table, making the plates rattle. “She’ll be so impressed with your gift that she’ll have no choice but to run straight into your arms, won’t she, George?”
“Of course, Fred.”
“Listen, Romeo,” George continued, “She’s a very pretty girl and she also seems to have class, you have to give her something worthy of her.”
“I think I still have some Glow Powder…” Fred rambled.
“Isn’t that the one that almost made the Prefects’ bathroom explode?” Lee chimed in, his mouth full. “Yeah, but we already adjusted it, it’s less flammable now… In theory,” Fred defended himself.
“I’m trying to surprise her, not start a fire,” Ron quickly explained.
“But you have to make your gift stand out from everyone else’s,” George said.
“And romantic,” his twin added.
“And make an impact.”
“There’s a shop in Hogsmeade near Zonko’s,” Jordan interrupted, his mouth full of toast. “They have things like bracelets, necklaces, and all that nonsense girls like… And it’s not too expensive.” Ron’s eyes widened; for the first time in the entire conversation, someone had given him a concrete idea. He stood up so quickly that he accidentally bumped his brother’s elbow as he was drinking from his glass, causing the liquid to spill all over him.
“Holy crap!” Fred exclaimed, jumping out of his seat as pumpkin juice dripped down his uniform. Ron didn’t turn to look at the mess; after all, he knew he’d get charged for it later. He reached Gryffindor Tower in record time and raced up to the dormitories, pulling all the Galleons, some Sickles, and a Knut he'd kept from his own birthday out of his trunk. There was no sign of Harry anywhere, so with a swift movement, he borrowed the Marauder's Map and the cloak hidden under the bed. He was sure he could repay him later. Without wasting any more time, he ventured through the passage, where a strong, icy gust nearly ripped the cloak off his back. It wasn't the first time he'd traveled through these tunnels, but he swore he'd never done it at such speed. It took him no more than a few minutes to reach the other end. Luckily for him, the Honeydukes cellar was completely deserted, which allowed him to remove the cloak before leaving.
Hogsmeade was completely covered in a white blanket of snow, and a familiar, sweet smell filled the air. He walked down the street trying not to attract attention; after all, this wasn't a day when Hogwarts students were allowed to visit the village.
Following Lee Jordan's words, he reached Zonko's shop and began to pay closer attention to the nearby stores. Truthfully, he'd never noticed the old bookstore next door or the old-fashioned women's clothing store beside it, but just a few meters away was what he was looking for.
A small shop, with peeling pink paint on the front and a crooked sign. The window was crammed with strange, shiny objects: rings with tiny pulsating hearts, necklaces that changed color according to the wearer's mood, and even matching bracelets that glowed when one of the two wearers pressed them. Everything seemed designed to impress a girl and perhaps also to ruin any wallet. Ron nervously eyed the shop window. Lee had lied to him; absolutely everything was either out of his budget or too tacky. He was about to give up and desperately search through that secondhand clothing store when a small butterfly caught his attention. The tiny iridescent blue insect fluttered delicately among the other items, held by a thin silver chain. Right where it was attached was a small, handwritten, almost imperceptible sign: “Special Offer!” For a moment, Ron remembered the notebook you carried everywhere, the one with the pretty butterfly you had drawn yourself.
Inside the store, a woman with grayish hair dozed behind the counter. Ron cleared his throat, trying to get her attention, making her jump.
“Oh, dear, how can I help you?” she asked in a calm, kind voice; for a moment, it reminded him of his own grandmother. Ron pointed to the shop window. “I’d like to see the butterfly pendant.”
The woman smiled before searching for what he was looking for. When she brought it out, the butterfly was still clumsily trying to escape. “Good eye, young man,” she laughed. “This is the last one left, that’s why it’s on sale.”
“On sale?” Ron repeated, trying to sound casual as he felt the money in his pocket.
She nodded and told him the price. Ron felt a lump in his throat and emptied everything he had on the counter. He counted it carefully so as not to miss a single coin under the watchful eye of the shopkeeper. Every Galleon, Sickle, and even the last Knut ended up in the shop’s register.
The shopkeeper nodded with satisfaction and tapped the butterfly once with a wand. It fell stiffly onto a small velvet box. “It will last a few minutes,” she explained as she tied a gold ribbon around it. “When your girlfriend opens it, it will fly away again.”
Ron blushed to the tips of his ears, but he didn’t correct her. He carefully tucked the small box into his pocket and said goodbye with an awkward “Thanks.”
The walk back seemed shorter, perhaps because he felt like he was floating. He wasn't in a hurry this time; the snow fell silently, clinging to his hair, but he couldn't care less. He was convinced he was carrying the best possible gift, one that would bring a smile to your face that took his breath away.
When he finally passed through the statue of the one-eyed witch, he dusted off his cloak and walked to the common room. Just as he stepped through the portrait, his brothers came up behind him, laughing and joking, carrying boxes full of snacks and drinks.
“What's with that face, Romeo?” George teased when he saw him.
Fred raised an eyebrow. “Looks like Lee's advice did some good. Although I still think you should have listened to us.”
Ignoring them, Ron went up to the room where he put the map and cloak back in their place. Harry, who was sitting on his bed leafing through a copy of the Daily Prophet, looked at him in surprise. “Did you get a present?” Ron just nodded, blushing. Harry shrugged with a smile, but didn't press the issue.
After a few minutes, they both went down to the common room. The fire was warming the room pleasantly. They had arranged a quiet get-together with a few close friends, and the twins had kept their word about getting snacks and drinks from the kitchen.
He looked around for you; you were standing by the sofa with a glass of Butterbeer in your hand, your hair loose and shining in the firelight. Hermione had just finished telling a joke that made you laugh uproariously, that laugh he loved so much, and it gave him the strength to approach you. He walked toward you with the small box in his hand. He felt like his heart would burst as he got closer; he was afraid that if he got any closer, you might even hear it. When he reached you, he reached out and gently touched your shoulder.
You turned around, and Ron froze. A small pink butterfly pendant, identical to the one he held in his hand, rested on your collarbone, glowing faintly.
“Hi! For a moment I thought you'd fallen asleep,” you said, laughing, but noticing his expression, your smile faded slightly. He just lowered his gaze, speechless.
You followed his gaze to your neck and took the small pendant between your fingers, showing it to him. “Do you like it?” you said tenderly. “It's very original, a friend gave it to me.” Ron felt his stomach sink. “Happy birthday,” he managed to say as he discreetly put away his own gift.
“Thanks, Ron,” you tried to smile at him, but his disheartened expression puzzled you.
You both remained in an awkward silence. From across the room, Ron felt the sharp gaze of his brothers, waiting for the gift to be presented, but that wasn't going to happen. “Hope you enjoy the party,” he muttered before walking away towards Harry and the twins. Fred watched him approach, disappointed. “What’s with that face? Didn’t you get her a present?” Ron didn’t answer, just slumped down in the empty space next to his best friend. Lee Jordan, who was standing with the twins, ventured to ask, “So… did you find that shop I told you about?” “Yeah,” he replied in a low murmur. “And the present? Bro, her birthday’s today. I know you want to surprise her, but I don’t know if you’ll manage it if you give it to her any other day,” George insisted. Ron clenched his jaw, but didn’t reply. Instead, he jumped up and stomped across the common room, passing by the portrait of the Fat Lady. The change in temperature was noticeable, but he didn’t care; he just wanted to be away from everyone. He slumped down on one of the steps with a heavy sigh. The hallway was silent; only the murmur from inside the room could be heard.
With his elbows resting on his knees, he took the small box from his pocket. He opened it carefully, and the small butterfly took flight. "What an idiot," he whispered to himself, watching the little creature trying to escape. He was so focused on the small glass insect that he didn't even hear the frame open behind him. He only noticed your presence when you sat down next to him, staring at you intently.
"You left early," you said, a little uncomfortable. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," he replied with a sigh. "I'm just tired."
"Oh," you murmured. "For a moment I thought you were upset... with me." He looked up to meet your eyes, bright and curious, and felt his heart melt at them.
"Don't be silly," he quickly replied. "I'm just tired of being such a... fool." Ron hesitated for a moment, but finally handed you the small, open box. With extreme care, you took the box in your hands, your warm fingers brushing against his. “I thought you’d like it, but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Oh, Ron, I love it,” you said. “This one’s the same color as my notebook. Thank you so much.”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” he hastened. “Or use it, it’s silly.”
“No, it isn’t,” you interrupted. You took your wand from your pocket and tapped the chain, which, after glowing faintly, shortened considerably. “Now it definitely isn’t,” you assured him. “Will you help me?”
Ron looked at you in surprise. The necklace was now the perfect size to wrap around your wrist. He fastened it carefully, trying to keep his hands from trembling with nerves. You moved it to show it to him; the butterfly fluttered its shimmering wings. “I loved it, Ron,” you insisted again. “Thank you so much.”
“I… I’m sorry I left like that,” he apologized awkwardly. “I just… I spent all afternoon looking for something special, and I wanted it to be unique.” He paused, hesitating to continue. “I think you’re unique.”
You both remained silent, your hand still resting on his, and neither of you seemed inclined to remove it.
“Well,” you said softly, “there’s a gift that no one has given me yet.”
“Really? What—What?” He looked at you, confused.
You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. Ron quickly returned your kiss, gently releasing your hand to place his own on your cheeks. At first awkward and hesitant, Ron began to feel more confident when he felt your hands become entangled in his hair. He pulled back a few millimeters to check that this wasn't a dream, and without letting go, you smiled broadly before your lips met again. This time, Ron's hands ventured to your waist, caressing you more freely.
It was at that moment that the portrait of the Fat Lady creaked open again.
"I'm telling you, there's still cake in the kitchen, George," Fred complained, coming out of the passageway. "Besides, we didn't have enough..." Both brothers froze at the scene before them. You and Ron broke your kiss with a start, but remained in place. The twins, clearly surprised by the scene, opened their mouths to speak. But before you could say anything, a voice cut you off from inside the portrait.
“Fred, George! Come back here!” Hermione leaned half her body through the painting's frame to lead both brothers back into the living room. Neither resisted the young woman, and the portrait closed again, plunging the corridor back into darkness.
You looked at him again; Ron was still staring at you, his hands still on your waist. “Happy birthday,” he said again.
“This is the best birthday present,” you said before he silenced you again with a kiss.
