Ron Doesn't Do Dancing
The kitchen table is strewn with various magazines, mainly fashion and style, and a rather compact laptop occupies most of the free space. The light from the laptop illuminates the near complete darkness of the kitchen, and creates a less than flattering silhouette of the frazzled woman sitting in front of it.
Frazzled may be the incorrect adjective to use in this instance, as the woman always appears frazzled. An uncontrollable, frizzy mane means that she constantly looks as though she has been running through bushes and a habit acquired during the war in her youth causes her to remain constantly vigilant, with tense shoulders and alert eyes, giving the impression of someone stressed.
Tonight, she hasn't been running through bushes, nor has she been stressing herself out to the point of visual representations of it. Tonight, all she has done for the past four hours is sit at her kitchen table, trawling helplessly through the internet. One might have the immediate reaction of asking why, but would more than likely instantly regret it following the rambling and exasperated explanation that is sure to answer them.
This woman is Hermione Granger. She doesn't mess about in important affairs, and she just so happens to considers this affair one of the most important. (to everyone's surprise.) Amid the cries of 'finally!', Hermione announced her engagement two months ago with her longtime best friend and on-off again boyfriend, Ron Weasley. It had been a rather rambunctious celebration, with hazy details and heavy heads the next morning. Nevertheless, it leads Hermione to this exact moment, hunched over her computer, muttering the obscenities she berates Ron and Harry for using constantly.
Just as she's about to let out a particularly delightful curse, she feels someone come up behind her and begin massaging her shoulders gently. Automatically, Hermione sighs contentedly and leans back into his touch. Closing her eyes in pleasure, she murmurs hello to the man.
He bends down to kiss her head, then comes around to sit beside her. Disappointment floods her as the tension in her shoulders returns with full force and the warmth from his body deserts her. Frowning, Hermione is about to ask him why he stopped, when she notices that his attention is absorbed by his phone.
She, being the generous and loving person she is, introduced Ron to muggle technology many years ago, having enabled electricity and ways to use it in the Wizarding World. The smartphone struck Ron in particular, and he's glued to his iPhone like its telling him the secrets of the world. She supposes it probably could in some ways.
He finally feels her stare, and meets her eyes for a moment, "Hey, love. How's the planning coming along?"
Hermione doesn't respond until she's sure he has paused the game, then launches into her tirade a second later, "Oh, Ron, it's awful! I suddenly can't remember one significant song that belongs to us – one that we can use for the wedding, anyway. I mean, is that a sign? Do we not know each other well enough?" Ron snorts here, but a sharp glance from Hermione causes him to quickly disguise it as a cough. "It should be easy. We should be able to think of one at the drop of a hat!"
"Not necessarily—" He begins to say, but is abruptly cut by his partner.
"I need your help, Ron. What do you think? Do you have preferences? Are there any songs you thought we could someday use as our wedding song?" He knows she's grasping at straws and reaching her wits end now, otherwise, she would know better than to ask that question.
He's not sure what to say. He hasn't a clue of what song to suggest – the wrong one could set her off – and being honest, he doesn't really care all that much. Returning to his phone, Ron says lovingly, "Your happiness is all that is important to me here. I'll do anything you want for the wedding, and especially the song." Hermione beams, feeling much more assured about her selection process, and is about to suggest they take a 'fun break' when Ron's next words make her freeze.
Casual as you like, he shrugs one shoulder, eyes engrossed in his damned phone, and says nonchalantly, "Except dancing, obviously." Her stare is more like a lazer beam after that.
Clearing her throat and crossing her hands in front of her on the table, Hermione struggles to appear blasé, "No dancing?" She sees him nod, and continues, a fraction of frustration creeping into her words, "What do you mean no dancing? You want to play our wedding song and just sit and listen to it?"
He finally pauses the game again, looking thoughtful for a second. He sends her a toothy grin then, the one she usually loves so much, and says enthusiastically, "Hey, that's not a bad idea! I never even thought of that!"
"What did you want to do, Ronald?" Her tone is cold as ice.
Of course, Ron has matured and picked up on various female cues as he aged, but he is honestly still the same sixteen year old boy, thinking Hermione sends flocks of birds to attack him simply because she's crazy. He doesn't pick up on the volcano about to erupt within his fiancée, "I don't know. Maybe have someone else dance for us or something – isn't Luna's husband some sort of champion at that stuff?"
She shakes her head, as if ridding herself of all annoyance, but can't help ask him in disbelief, "You wanted Luna and Rolf to dance to our wedding song at our wedding?"
He shrugs again, "I suppose you could have done it with him. Hands above the waist and all that." The game is calling him once more, she can tell, but he doesn't return to it and she silently, and quite sarcastically, praises him for not being a complete and utter idiot.
It's too late for that though. The exasperation, infuriation and pure incredulity in her have risen to the point of no return, and Hermione Granger explodes, "You are a prat, Ronald Weasley! Of course you have to dance at our wedding, and I'm shocked you'd even try to suggest otherwise. To think I thought you were interested, enthusiastic even, about all of this when in reality – you—you planned to watch from the sidelines? What's more is that you're completely fine with some other man holding me during a song that is supposed to serenade our love?! What is wrong with you?" She screeches, and he visibly winces. Never to be known for tact, Ron exhales impatiently, as if to say 'here we go again', which only serves to further wind Hermione up.
She pushes her chair back, feeling too pent up to remain still. "You don't even care! You just want to make sure you have minimal work and effort in this whole thing, and—and you know what, my mother was right. I told her she was wrong, but she—"
"Now, hold up, who said I don't care? I just don't want to dance! Ron doesn't do dancing!" He stands and throws his hands up in the air with the last comment, but then quickly becomes suspicious, "Wait, your mother? What did she say? You told me she loved me!" He stands, too, and points a finger accusingly, but not threateningly in the least.
Hermione rolls her eyes, "She does, she does."
Silence.
They stand for a few minutes, Ron studying her face intently as she looks up at the ceiling. He can't read her mind, he's never been able to, but his intuition here is telling him to apologise. His stubbornness is telling him that he doesn't want to dance at the wedding.
He decides on a diplomatic mix of both, "I'm sorry," He tells her sincerely, earning a look of surprise from his lover. It's gone as quickly as it comes though, because he continues on adamantly, "But I don't like to dance, and I don't see why I have to do it."
She gestures feebly, her voice gentle all of a sudden, "It's our wedding, Ron. If you don't see why, then we do have problems."
The gravity of the situation finally arrives home for Ron, and he has the strongest urge to return to his angry birds game, but there's no way in hell he'd talk himself out of that one. He settles on being honest with Hermione, and revealing why he's so reluctant to put himself in front of everyone he knows.
Failure.
He's genuinely a little taken aback that she hasn't realised it yet. "Hermione, I can't dance."
Her expression softens, "I know."
"I've never had the desire to learn."
She takes a step closer, "I know you haven't."
Ron allows a humourless laugh to slip through his lips, "I'll make a show out of myself in front of everyone we know. I'll – I'll let you down."
Hermione puts her hand on his cheek, feeling the warmth of embarrassment in the flesh, and tenderly pushes him to hold her gaze. She wants him to know how serious she is. She wants him to know that she doesn't care, that she's never cared, and it won't ever matter. Since she was a kid and didn't know what love, lust or devotion meant, it was him. It's always been him and through all the prince charmings that turned out to be frogs, and all the nice guys that crumbled under her strong personality, it's been him.
He should know now that it will always be him.
Smiling, Hermione takes his hand and presses it to her heart. "Then I go down with this ship." Glancing down at their entwined hands resting above her breast, she continues, "If you make a show of yourself, then I want to, too. Who cares? I certainly don't. It'll be a story for the grandchildren."
Ron laughs a bit nervously, "Oh?"
"Oh." She repeats firmly. "I don't care if you can't dance, you silly man. I love you, I will always love you, and I even love your awkward dancing."
He brings her hand to his lips then, kissing it affectionately as he holds eye contact, "You're the greatest woman I've ever known. I love you."
Grinning impishly, Hermione shrugs, "I know." She then pulls her hand away from his, opting to slide her hands around his neck, drawing them closer still. "At least I should be a better partner than Professor McGonagall." He laughs, grabbing her by the waist and tugging her to him so that they are now firmly pressed up against each other. "Or, hey, we could get you to dance with her instead? I'll dance with Rolf – at least there'll be no fresh embarrassment?"
At her playful taunts, Ron promptly lifts her and throws her over his shoulder. Ignoring her objections – that are seriously undermined by the laughter – he carries her up the stairs to their bedroom.
Safe to say, they don't decide on a wedding song tonight.
A/N: Hey guys :) I know, it's dreadfully fluffy, but I got carried away and couldn't help myself. I don't often write fluff - ever, really - and it was nice to do it. Especially with a couple that is not my OTP, but I have come to acquire a healthy appreciation for Ron/Hermione. Might even do a chaptered fic in the future! It is only the second time I've written a Ron/Hermione, the first one being awful (and very old), so I would love to hear opinions.
Thank you for reading!
CN.