And are they getting married in my bedroom? No!

RON WEASLEY; twenty and working at weasleys' wizard wheezes for a mere pittance. [ indie, formerly of OBT.]

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

It might not have been a question to put forth at this hour, Hermione realized, when Ron scoffed and dismissed her concerns, but she couldn’t pretend it was something she hadn’t seen coming. Dark brown eyes rolled when the package of biscuits was brandished before her, but a small smirk flickered across her lips all the same. 

“I know,” she breathed, “I was just wondering. I’m sure he’s more than happy to share if that’s the case.”

Living with Ron, disappearing food was part of the agreement, and if Harry didn’t know that by now Hermione would be very surprised. 

A short silence fell between them, Hermione watching intently as Ron readied the kettle. She drew in a breath through her nose and released it, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. 

“Ron?” she murmured, resting her feet on one of the table chairs. “Thanks.”

[weasley-rb]

No doubt that Harry would share, but Ron wasn’t about to let her have the satisfaction of being right.

The sharp turn of a stovetop knob produced blue, hungry flames, tamed only by dialing back the intensity of the initial ignition. Hermione had demystified much of her and Harry’s Muggle experiences for him in the time they spent living in and traveling about Muggle London together, especially when they spent time at her parents’ home. Ron was hardly fazed by talking phone machines or the loud-but-fast-cooking-food-box anymore. Magic was the ultimate convenience, but there was a certain charm in taking the Muggle path every now and again.

Ron positioned the full kettle over the flames, his focus steady and lingering until the softness of his name suddenly spoken reached his red-tipped ears.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” he replied, his eyes glued to the stove. Making a cuppa of the finest English brew was instinctual and the least he could do for someone he cared deeply for, but sometimes, it felt like stemming high tide with a single grain of sand. It didn’t stop the nightmares. It didn’t ease the anguish. But many grains of sand were more effective than just one. “It’s not much, but Mum swears by it.”

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

“At least he bothers,” Hermione replied, the remark emitting with not nearly as much defense as it otherwise would have. The restless night had left her feeling drained, and as much as she wanted to defend Kreacher’s perpetually burnt toast, she found that she just didn’t have the energy. 

She should have foreseen how cold the kitchen’s stone floor would be on her bare feet, but alas, the chill made her shiver upon entering, and she tip-toed quickly across the room. A small lamp was already glowing on the wall (Kreacher liked to keep it on), and it’s warm orange light cast her shadow across the table when she perched upon it, rubbing her hands over her face as she did so. 

“I’m really okay,” she murmured again, peering blearily over at Ron in the dim light. “But are you sure those weren’t for Harry?”

[weasley-rb]

If it were any other time, the pale, freckled boy would have quibbled about Hermione’s point regarding Kreacher. He was more careful, more thoughtful about which battles he fought and which ones weren’t all that important to wage war over. His silence sufficed as his retort as they entered the kitchen.

“The biscuits?” Ron said, forcing air through his nostrils. “They haven’t got his sodding name written on them, Hermione.”

He shuffled about the kitchen, opening cabinets in reckless haste and closing them when his legs knocked against them. In the corner cabinet lay the chocolate-filled biscuits; Ron announced the find with a loud aha.

“See? No Harry,” he added, allowing Hermione to inspect the outer package from her faraway perch. The next order of business was to ready the kettle by hand, which required some filling, and then preparing a cuppa for each of them whilst it boiled. “It’s fine. Even if they are his, he’ll get over it real quick.”

[herboloqy-deactivated20171010]

ron and hermione - ashley moore as hermione and tijn elbers as ron

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺

; headcanon

Always an avid collector of chocolate frog cards, Ron saw no reason to keep those featuring Harry, Hermione, and himself out of the mix. Keenly aware of how Hermione feels about seeing her face on the cards, Ron once filled every cupboard in the kitchen with them, sniggering on the threshold at her frustration when she opened a cabinet looking for two teacups and was assaulted by an avalanche of chocolate frog cards bearing her name.

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

It didn’t matter how quietly they tried to move; Grimmauld Place seemed to have a mind of its own, and it was fond of talking. The floorboards creaked and groaned, and when they reached the first landing the noise they made stirred a slumbering Crookshanks, his big yellow eyes squinting up at them from his position on the threadbare rug. The light on the wall illuminated the landing when it clicked to life, and Crookshanks rose and stretched, opening his mouth in wide yawn. 

‘Did I wake you too?’ Hermione thought, running the bottom of her foot over his back as he stalked up the stairs past her. Guilt and embarrassment ebbed at her once again, and she nearly missed Ron’s grumbling stomach because of it. Almost. 

“No,” she replied, unable to hide a smirk. “Anyway, I’m sure it’ll be time for breakfast soon enough.” Her last words were spoken exasperatedly, and she let loose a tired sigh as she said them, moving past Ron and leading the rest of the way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

[weasley-rb]

For the love of Merlin’s saggy left -- Hermione’s obnoxious ginger cat was everywhere. Ron’s nose wrinkled, though this required far more effort and energy than he had left to spare on Crookshanks whilst he was tired and hungry. The little bugger was growing on him, albeit slowly, but growing nonetheless. He had an annoying penchant for resting in places where humans liked to dwell and travel, though the light caught yellow eyes glinting ahead of them. The moment passed and his vexation so passed too.

“Your loss, then,” Ron replied, without pause. His tone remained waggish and unchanged. “Kreacher’s breakfast isn’t exactly anything to owl home about, y’know. A right pity.”

Hermione skirted past him, almost ethereal, and left him to trail behind her. The temperature shift between floors was barely noticeable, if not for the shiver that ran through his exposed torso. Living at the top of the Burrow had prepared him well for scorching summer days and humid nights. In London, the humidity seemed nigh constant. 

At the bottom of the staircase, Ron yawned in spite of himself. “They have chocolate in them. The biscuits, I mean. I think Ginny got them in London proper... some market or something...”

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

The bed springs protested once again, finding themselves suddenly relieved of their final oppressor. Hermione’s movements weren’t fast, but they were deliberate; she slid out from beneath the duvet and swept a bathrobe from the bed post in silence, focusing much too hard on cinching it about her waist. Trembling fingers didn’t slow her, however - this wasn’t the first time she’d been through this. 

Ron might have truly hoped she’d stay behind, but his final admission was enough to tug her out of bed. If he was willing to stay awake for her sake, who was she to let him do it alone? Steady resolve guided Hermione’s feet as she moved toward him, a small, brief smile tugging on both sides of her lips. 

“Alright then. After you.”

[weasley-rb]

The mattress creaked in response; she wanted to go with him.

Watching Hermione add more layers to her nighttime ensemble only made Ron even more acutely aware that he was nearly starkers, though his modesty had unraveled the more comfortable he felt with her, with her faithful presence in dark and lonely times. It was his turn to be that for her, to help her cope with the intangible but very real. If she wanted to join him, she should. The extended invitation did just that.

“Okay then. Let’s go.”

He hesitated at the threshold, debating whether or not to take her clammy hand in his, but his brashness evaporated at the surface. Instead, he smiled sheepishly and made his way toward the first milestone; he went slow, keeping his strides tight and even as they headed in the direction of the staircase. At the landing, he paused to pull the chain on the next light after a curt warning.

His stomach gave an abrupt warning as well. “D’you want biscuits, too? Sorry, I should’ve offered those with the tea.”

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

Some warning was better than none, but the orange ball of lamplight still came as a shock to Hermione’s senses, her eyes squinting against the glow. Her vision was blurry at first, but even so, Ron’s exhaustion was painfully obvious. A sharp pang of guilt sliced through her insides, making them twist and squirm like dueling serpants. She wished he would just go back to sleep; she wished he would spare her the guilt and let her fend for herself, but she knew he never would and that he would see right through her if she tried to make him. Gulping down more words of protest, she scooted closer to the edge of the bed, a very weak and brief smile flashing across her lips. 

“It’s three,” Hermione confirmed, pausing to clear her throat (her voice was still quite hoarse). “Do you want me to come with you?”

[weasley-rb]

A sleepy grin emerged at her reply.

“Three, right,” said Ron, exuding complete and utter confidence this time around.·“I mean, if you want to. You can have a lie whilst I’m gone, Hermione… and I swear I won’t mess up your tea. I’m a professional.”

She was hard to read, so his noncommittal answers reflected his uncertainty. If the walk was going to take her mind off of the nightmares, Ron wouldn’t stop her from coming along. It was just hard to tell what worked and what didn’t when the root cause was still shrouded in mystery.

On the other hand, Ron wasn’t much better at handling the lingering effects of the war. He had clammed up quite a bit, too.

“… I’d appreciate the company, though.”

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

Words of protest banged on the closed door of Hermione’s lips, guilt masquerading as frustration. Her brows twitched towards one another in a (hidden) expression of irritation, but she bit back whatever she might have said, opting instead for a period of prolonged silence. She shifted, propping herself up on her elbow; Ron’s outline moved, as did the bed, and as her eyes adjusted she was able to make out the pale gleam of his skin in the darkness. Her heart clenched - it felt as though someone had given it a mighty squeeze - and she drew in a breath that left again as a long sigh of weary resignation. 

“Ron, I…I really…” she started, but rather than wrestle him back into bed with her words she allowed her voice to taper off. She licked her lips, trapping the bottom between her teeth for a moment. 

“Alright,” she murmured at last, sitting up with a great creak of the mattress. “Thank you.”

[weasley-rb]

Long silences were indicative of one thing: the loser was ready to yield. Thinking about the next arguing point meant that it was already too late. But late night subjects such as these weren’t supposed to crown the victor; there was no revelry in it. Ron asked because he wanted to.

The darkness surely obscured his half-smile when she conceded, it also masking the tired nod when she thanked him.

“I’m turning on the light,” he warned her, grasping at the pull chain of the lamp nearest to the door. On the third try, the small radius of bright lamplight illuminated Ron and the furniture surrounding it. He rubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palms in an earnest attempt to rid of the sleepiness that was as heavy as lead.

“So, three cubes?” Ron asked, still rubbing at his eyes. “Or two... fuck, I can’t remember. No, it’s definitely three...”

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

weasley-rb said: “Do you want to go back to sleep, or shall I make you a cup of tea?”

Bleary, blood-shot eyes peered unseeing through the darkness, the clock on the bedside table cutting through the tension in the room with every periodic tick it uttered. Hermione shivered, the chill in the air suddenly palpable due to the sweat lingering beneath her pajamas, and she swallowed hard, mortified to find that her throat was raw. A strange mixture of guilt and embarrassment squirmed in the pit of her stomach; had she cried out again? The room had remained silent since she’d jolted back into consciousness, her eyes opened to a darkness that didn’t contain the flash of cool steel that was Bellatrix Lestrange’s dagger. Save for a slight tremble of the mattress, Ron hadn’t shown any sign of wakefulness, and Hermione was almost relieved until…

“Hm?”

She didn’t expect an answer to her monosyllabic inquiry, mostly because she’d heard every word he said. Her cheeks burned despite the chill she felt, and after a few long seconds of contemplative silence she rolled over, facing Ron’s dark outline across the bed. 

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she murmured, her voice hoarse and thick with exhaustion. “I can make my own tea, though. Go back to sleep.” 

[weasley-rb]

Though the question he posed lacked the enthusiasm of a well-rested Ron, it was not entirely bereft of concern. Hermione’s recurring nightmares were a bone of contention between them, leaving one partner frustrated and troubled at the other’s insistence that it was absolutely nothing. Prying questions were gradually replaced with neutral expressions and offers of small, generalized gestures of affection to bridge the rift in their bed. She seemed a lot more receptive when he used a lot less words to convey his concern.

Ron shifted onto his side facing Hermione, having recognized the symptoms upon his sudden waking. He knew them like clockwork. And she knew it too, so there was no point in feigning sleep. The question was instinctual yet closed-ended, leaving her with the choice of how the rest of the night would proceed. Hermione owed him that, at least. It was compromise.

Hermione also turned to face him, though it was reasonable to think that the darkness permeating their bedroom obscured both of their visions. He waited for her response, patient whilst resisting the allure of sleep. Well then. If he heard Hermione correctly, he might have to repeat his question after all.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said matter-of-factly, his voice low. “I’m plenty capable of making a cup of tea, I’ll have you know. Especially during the middle of the night.”

The route to the kitchen in complete darkness was a route well traveled. But it wasn’t about that tonight; it was all about letting Hermione know that she needn’t suffer alone. To make his point clear, he rolled out bed and onto his feet without another word despite the cool air against his bare torso threatening to send him back under the covers. He paused mid-stretch, hands raking through his hair to add, “I’ll be right back.”

[weasley-rb]

09.19.1998 ❁ {hermione&ron}

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

Palms still pressed to both sides of Ron’s face, Hermione weakened her grip when she felt his hands settle somewhere near her waist; her fingers slid deftly into his mop of red hair and came to rest near the nape of his neck, and she found herself pushing towards him despite the sounding alarm in her head. Her breaths were ragged and swift, and her heartbeat accelerated with every passing moment.

No…No, they couldn’t do this - she couldn’t do this, especially not in the girls’ dormitory. Her thoughts and common sense waged war with her body, and it was quite some time before she managed to (slowly) pull her mouth away from Ron’s. Arms still draped about his neck, she paused just inches away from his face, and her eyes met his with a look that plainly communicated the regret and frustration gnawing at her insides. She swallowed hard as she drew even further away, and her watery gaze traveled to the necklace she’d abandoned on the bed-clothes. With slightly shaking hands she drew it out of its box and held it out to Ron, licking her lips before asking softly, “Will you help me put it on?”

[weasley-rb]

The sensation of her nimble fingers running through his hair drove him mad with passion; he eagerly accepted the warmth of her body as she pressed in closer, picking up the lost rhythm of the summer long gone. Spurred on by the want and deep desire within, Ron’s hands found their way to the hem of her blouse and played with the tension, both teasing and gentle as he pulled on the fabric. Then, as gentle as his prior touch, his hands felt for the smooth curvature of her sides; his fingertips grazed her stomach, the contact deliberate yet fleeting. When he felt Hermione’s palpable hesitance and noticed her tempo fall out of pace, he matched her speed and returned to reserved, chaste movements.

Ron could be dense, but there were times where all Hermione had to do was to give him a look and he understood. She didn’t need to elaborate. He withdrew, angling himself away from her and resting the palms of his hands flat against his thighs. Her arms around his neck lingered, just until the point she favored the little white box and its unveiled contents.

In an effort to disguise an awkward transition from being, well, awkward, Ron cleared his throat and diverted his gaze toward the glittering sapphire pendant. “Ginny wouldn’t ever let me live it down, y’know, if she walked in,” he said, his self-awareness of the public space rapidly returning in double time. Ron’s gaze returned to Hermione, his eyes filled with longing. Bloody hell, I miss her already. 

He nodded solemnly, reaching out to accept the necklace and waiting for her to turn around. “Of course,” he replied, sweeping her bushy hair to one side with his free hand. Ron draped the white gold chain around her neck, careful to avoid bumping her arm. At that point, he learned a valuable life skill: lobster clasps were extremely difficult to manage, with what the clasp refusing to catch the loop on the end of the other chain. By some miracle of Morgana, the clasp and loop caught at last. “There,” he said triumphantly. “I’m not totally useless.”

[weasley-rb]

09.19.1998 ❁ {hermione&ron}

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

Hermione’s eyebrows arched ever so slightly upwards, a retort about Ginny’s shedding habits playing on her lips. Although Ron had spent his entire life with his sister, Hermione doubted he’d ever been made to live in such close quarters, and she had serious reason to believe that he was mistaken. (The truth, though, was that Hermione easily shed more than both of her roommates put together, but her attention turned once again to the little white box in her hands before she could find it in herself to say so.)

Peering intently down at the red ribbon, she felt her heart hammering against her ribs, and she cast a nervous, searching glance at Ron before she lifted the lid. What she saw settled within quite literally took her breath away; she wanted to gasp, but she found that the ability to take in air had left her. The brilliant sapphire gem was so bright she almost had to squint, and for a moment she hoped that that would pass as the reason for the tears welling up in her eyes, clouding her vision. She set the lid atop the bedclothes and made to touch the necklace with a trembling hand, but she seemed unable to, afraid to smudge it.

Her watery gaze rose to meet Ron’s, and after what seemed like a milennium of silence she managed, “Oh goodness.”

Her mouth split into a smile, a tiny laugh tumbling out. “It’s…It’s beautiful, Ron.”

And at that moment she leaned forward, seizing Ron’s face in her hands and planting a soft kiss on his lips. She lingered longer than she’d meant to, and when she pulled away she was only able to mutter another “it’s beautiful” before she was back for more.

[weasley-rb]

Ron watched on as she revealed the contents of his gift; he ate the last of the crumbs belonging to the piece of cake Hermione had cut off for him, lest he make a confectionery mess on her duvet. Anything to keep from fidgeting too much, really. Tells were far too easy to spot after years of constant bluffing. Still, the next few seconds were important as the initial reaction was the truest one of all -- in his opinion, at least.

So? His eyebrows expressed this impatience, the impatience wrought out of the frustration of not being able to read her reaction right away. A distracted glance toward the orange furball served as a convenient moment of mental panic: what if she doesn’t like it? Too late now. His gaze returned, following her shaky hand to the necklace within the shallow box and back to her face. Oh shite --

“You do?” he asked, the surprise in his tone seeping through. It was a good reaction. Yes, he had done well. Finally, he had gotten it right. With more confidence, he added, “I knew you’d think so. After all, it is your birthstone, ‘course I might’ve first looked at Mum’s Witch Week --”

Well, the rest of his words didn’t really matter, not when Hermione’s lips silenced them. The sensation was one of longing, one that Ron had missed during the heat of the summer days now past, and of one that he’d never, ever forget. He savored every second; the smile at the break was effortless. Then, a much more firm and decisive snog the second time around. Restless hands found the fabric of her blouse and settled at her waist with ease. It felt familiar, brilliant even.

Yeah, he’d done really good.

[weasley-rb]

09.19.1998 ❁ {hermione&ron}

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

Crookshanks purred, the deep rumble audible from Hermione’s position. He rubbed his large head affectionately on Ron’s side, trying to butter him up enough so that he’d share a bit of the cake, but Hermione liked to think that her cat’s actions were purely out of fondness, even though she had to cover her mouth to stop her giggles from expelling cake crumbs all over the duvet.

“Hey,” she managed, having swallowed the last of her cake, “you’ve got ginger hair as well. How would you know it was his hair on your clothes and not your own?”

The smirk tilting her lips indicated that she didn’t expect her response to fly, and to prove her point she lifted Crookshanks away from Ron and placed him gently onto the floor, her eyes fixing immediately on the box Ron held out to her so that she missed her cat’s affronted growl as he stalked away. Her face felt suddenly hot, and she knew that her cheeks had to be growing red; glancing for a moment at Ron’s grinning face, she reached out a tentative hand and took the gift from him, holding it as gingerly as he did.

“Thank you.”

[weasley-rb]

"Where did you even come from?” Ron asked Crookshanks, half-expecting a reply from the half-Kneazle. Hermione’s beloved cat seemed to materialize during the most opportune times, such as meal times and innocent, intimate moments with his owner and her boyfriend. As much as the orange furball was growing on him, food was still a point of contention. Food was something he would not concede easily.

Ron pulled a face. “Don’t laugh, Hermione, it’s not funny. You’re supposed to be on my side, not Crookshanks’. You’re the one that spoils him,” he said, eyes trained on Crookshanks. The cat was persistent, he’d give him that. “Oi, you’re getting a bit cheeky, yeah? Because, not even Ginny sheds that much hair. I just know these things.”

Books were the go-to birthday and Christmas gifts for Hermione. They always were. Except for the one-off sentimental gift of perfume, Ron had always stuck to what pleased her most. Now, he wanted to try again in the sentimental department, especially since he had a few more Galleons laying around to lavish on friends and family. Inside the little white box with the red bow was a sapphire pendant necklace, the brilliant blue gem wrapped in tendrils of white gold as they entwined at the start of the chain. He had no idea that she would like such a thing, having heard no indication of likes and dislikes toward her preference of jewelry, but it stood out to him in the case and that was the chance he’d take. For her.

Ron looked pleased when Hermione removed Crookshanks from his personal space and snorted when the half-Kneazle growled in response.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, a sheepish smile emerging. His heart to race, a result of nervous energy, but he remained cool on his exterior. “I think you’ll really like it.”

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

[alishenciya]

We’re with you whatever happens.

[weasley-rb]

09.19.1998 ❁ {hermione&ron}

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

A shocked sort of giggle bubbled forth, her attention momentarily dragged away from the buttercream cake sitting between them.

“That’s not what I meant!” she said quickly, but any venom her voice might have held was snuffed out by the smirk tugging at her lips. “I meant that you have to eat some with me. You made it, it’s only fair…”

Of course she noted Ron’s slip of the tongue, but for some reason she wasn’t inclined to press the issue. She very much doubted that Viktor Krum would take it upon himself to eat a whole cake in one sitting, much less one meant for her, but rather than voice this aloud Hermione once more turned her attention to the cake. Drawing her wand from her robes she held it over the dessert, her face screwed up in concentration.

“Diffindo,” she murmured, cutting two small pieces. Having discarded her wand on the bedside table, she picked one up and passed it to Ron almost as carefully and delicately as she’d cut them, holding a hand beneath it so as to minimize the amount of crumbs on her bed.

“Cheers.”

Picking up her own piece she didn’t hesitate to take a bite, stifling another giggle with the buttercream as she did so. It tasted just as wonderful as it looked, and the smell was so overpowering that Crookshanks popped up from the opposite side of the four-poster, sauntering over to Ron and nudging his arm as he ate.

[weasley-rb]

"Fine, if you must insist,” he replied, his telltale grin emerging through the clear-cut sarcasm.

Ron watched on as Hermione, with great focus, cut the cake with magic. A natural, as always. However, he had to dock points for the size of the slices; in his opinion, they were way too small, even for her. Still, she could read it in his facial expression -- objecting and quibbling on her birthday was in poor taste.

“Cheers.” Ron reciprocated the sentiment, raising the slice of cake slightly before taking an immoderate bite of cake. The birthday confectionery and its delicious French buttercream recipe clung to the corners of his mouth, and despite this, he proceeded to indulge in the rest of --

“Gerroff, Crookshanks,” Ron said, the words garbled by the piece of cake not yet dissolved in his mouth. Hermione’s bloody annoying cat and the obvious ruse to eat his people food didn’t fool Ron. The remaining slice of cake in his hand was put high in the air. They were, admittedly, on better terms than ever before, with what their sole common thread. But, Hermione needn’t know that. “Tell your mangy cat that he’s going to get his fur all over the place -- on me, especially.”

He paused, scooping up the little white box with the red bow in his free hand. “-- On this, too.” He held it out gingerly, prompting her to take it. “Happy birthday, Hermione.”

[iigotthismusic]

Visit Original Link

[weasley-rb]

09.19.1998 ❁ {hermione&ron}

[hermione-jean---grangerarchive]

Hermione swore her heart had sprouted wings what with the way it was fluttering against her ribcage, trying to escape. Ron wished he could’ve done more, but in her mind he had done just enough - more than enough, in fact. However, whatever compassion she had for him at that moment was quickly overridden by another, stronger flood, the astonishment on her face giving way to an expression of the utmost tenderness. He’d made the cake? She felt instantly guilty for being so shocked - Ron was more than capable of baking a cake - but it was the thought behind it that touched her, made a lump form in her throat so that she could only sit in silence as he spoke, gaze never straying from his face. Her mouth split into a smile, one that met her eyes, and when Ron finally drew a small white box from his rucksack she was almost ashamed to say she barely noticed. Tilting towards him she rested her forehead against his, her hands steadying the cake on her thighs.

“Thank you,” she said again, her voice just loud enough for him to hear through the small space between them. She paused for a moment, her eyes closed, and when she drew back she placed the cake between them on the duvet, working the lid off to reveal Fleur’s frosting and writing handiwork.

“That’s a fair rule…and a tasty one. But you’ve got to share.”

[weasley-rb]

Words could never grasp the full extent of the way he felt about her; they needn’t look far in the past for proof. His actions didn’t always reflect it, but when he meant it, it shone bright and true.

Hermione’s romantic gesture caught him off-guard -- a simple thanks would have sufficed, for him -- and for a moment, fell prey to the sea of thoughts in his brain. He recovered by brushing back a section of Hermione’s hair that had fallen forward and tucked it behind her ear. The absence of her in his daily life permeated every facet of it; he breathed in deeply, taking in the moment and the scent of old books that seemed to cling to her clothes.

Once parted, she revealed the cake in all of its buttercream glory. It really did look like a brilliant cake, well, not like the ones in the Hogsmeade bakeries, but really good like his mother made for his family and friends.

“Rude,” stated Ron, rolling his eyes. Of course he’d share; it was her cake, after all. “As if I’d eat the whole thing in one go. I’m not a Bulg -- barbarian.”