A/N: For the 10 Things Challenge at HPFC. R/HR…YAY! This is a random format…ten drabbles of moderate length, some shorter than others. Notice the date at the end…
I'm posting this before I go on official hiatus. Enjoy my second-to-last post beofre I disappear in a poof of smoke! Just kidding--I'll ALWAYS be here!
Disclaimer: DO I LOOK ENGLISH?? (Or rather, sound English…damn…)
Dedication: The HPFC, meaning The Coolest People You Will Ever Meet. LONG LIVE HPFC!
i. Lust
It is puppy love, almost, that draws him to her.
Her hair is shiny and blonde, she snogs well, she wears makeup…
She has everything Hermione doesn't.
But she isn't perfect.
When he snogs her, he finds himself dreaming that it is Hermione.
When he talks to her, his head aches for a lecture.
When he sits next to her, he finds her arm strangely cold around his neck.
She is no Hermione.
It is lust, and not love, and it never will be.
ii. Reading
She is sitting there, as usual, the book in her hands, her hair falling over her face as she bends over it.
He is taken aback.
When has she become beautiful?
When has her hair turned so curly and glossy?
Why did his heart beat faster, his hands clam up, his eyes even water a bit?
One is not meant to look directly at such beauty.
iii. Strawberries
"Here," he says with a smile, leaning over their daughter, "I brought you something."
She looks up at him in wonder, her big blue eyes hungry. "Stwawbewwies," she says.
"Yes. Strawberries. Aren't they juicy and delicious?" he says as he feeds her one.
She giggles. "Woosy and delissis."
He smoothes her hair—glossy and curly, just like her mother.
"You're beautiful."
"Me?" she says through a mouthful.
"Yes. And you know who else is beautiful?" He stands and wipes his hands on his Muggle jeans that Hermione has asked him to wear when they go to her parents'. The object of his affections walks into the room then, re-reading an official looking document.
"Who ewse is bootiful, Daddy?" she asks in her baby voice.
"Your mum," he whispers, and goes to kiss her. She smiles and wipes the strawberry juice from his mouth. Giggling, she allows him to dip her low and pull her back up into a kiss.
Rosie crinkles up her nose. "Ew!"
iv. Intertwined
They lie together on the bed, his legs intertwined in hers, a smile on her lips.
They are breathing hard, coming down from the very recent high. She giggles as he leans against her back, muttering how much he loves her.
"Think Rosie's asleep?" she asks him.
"If so, we've woken her," he jokes, his eyes twinkling.
She slaps his chest. "I wasn't that loud!"
"It doesn't matter, lovely. Here comes baby number two." And he pats her stomach lovingly as she allows herself to relax against him.
"I love you."
"And I love you," he says, playing with a strand of hair. He grins devilishly and says, "Again?"
v. Blood
Malfoy calls her a Mudblood that day.
He can't help himself. He sends a curse at Malfoy, but—damn his wand!
As the blonde and his friends rush off, laughing, he's left belching slugs.
"Hagrid's," he hears one of them say vaguely, but he refuses to open his mouth.
Soon, he's burping the slugs into a bucket, hearing Hagrid's usual gruff voice.
It's bad enough that he has to deal with living in Harry's shadow, the Petrified students…now Hermione's blood status?
But he knows, deep down, that he'd belch something much worse than slugs for her any time.
vi. Ceremony
It's raining the day of their wedding.
Raining.
But the rain stops by the time they go into the church.
His mother begins to cry, and gives him a bone-breaking hug. "I love you, little Ronnie!" she whispers.
George says, "You mean ickle Ronnikins?" and immediately sobers—who is here to finish the joke?
But Charlie smiles. "Little Ickle Ronnikins, the perfect little baby boy!" he says in a baby voice.
"Shut up," he says with a blush, but he appreciates Charlie's helping George. He sees the smile they share, yet chooses not to comment.
And then he's by the priest, feeling his ears turn red and his palms begin to sweat—
Then he sees her. She's a rhapsody in white, her smile lighting up the church. Her hair is down, like he'd hoped, but toyed with somehow so that few pieces escape the perfect pile she's got back there somewhere.
Her father is beaming too, clutching her arm like it's the last thing he'll do, his brown hair speckled with grey and his glasses falling down his nose.
Soon she is next to him, and they are saying "I do" and everyone is applauding…and now they are married.
They walk from the church to the Burrow, where the party will commence, the droplets of rain still shining on leaves and flowers, the bride in her gown and the groom in his dress-robes, holding hands as the wedding party follows.
They are married.
vii. Pain
"Ron—Ron! My water broke!" she screams, and he is at her side in a second.
"Here—it's okay. Take a deep breath, love, we'll get you to Saint Mungo's," he tells her in a steadying voice.
Only they can't Apparate, and Floo-ing makes Hermione sick…
"I'm getting Mum," he tells her, and leads her to the couch. Then he sends a Patronus (a skill taught to him after the War) and floos Mungo's.
"My wife, Hermione Jean Weasley, is—er, having a baby. Her water just broke, and we can't Apparate. Floo-ing, I'm afraid, will make her sick. Do you think you could deliver the baby here?"
"Absolutely," says the receptionist, looking as though this is the only exciting thing that's happened in months.
They wait together, her squeezing his hand every two seconds or so, until his eyes water.
"We're here, we're here!" Mrs. Weasley calls, bustling in. She gets her comfortable and banishes Ron from the room so they can do something purely woman. He waits in the hallway, twiddling his thumbs, wishing the Healer would get there.
And as he makes the wish, she's there. "I'm Healer Patience…no pun intended…" she says, looking harried. She rushes into the sitting room, interrupting the female ritual, and starts coaching his wife.
"I need Ron!" he hears.
He is in the room in a second, grabbing her hand and whispering in her ear.
Oh, the pain! He feels as though it's he that's giving birth, not his wife. She squeezes his hand and cries out.
He hates her squeals of pain, but then he sees his daughter.
All pain is melted away at the sight of the little red-faced baby. The doctor allows him to cut the cord, and he holds her first, not even allowing her to be swathed in cloths.
He falls in love immediately.
viii. Secret Meeting
She leaves that night, telling him she's off to a meeting.
Yet fear chews on his insides, and he becomes paranoid.
He should trust her, he really should.
Yet for some reason, he can't.
She's Hermione—she wouldn't cheat, and she wouldn't be so obvious about it.
But he can't help but worry, and so he goes up to their room and snoops around for something.
There is no evidence.
He looks in her knicker drawer—that's where women hide these things.
Nothing but knickers.
And so he goes back downstairs and drinks Firewhisky and floos Harry for a chat.
She's home very soon, looking upset.
"What is it?"
"Guess who I was meeting?" she asks.
"Lockhart," he says randomly, grinning.
"How did you know?"
He laughs aloud—to think, he thought she was cheating on him!
ix. Philosophy
They go to the annual celebratory party in honor of the defeat of Voldemort.
She takes forever dressing, all so she can come down spectacularly in a lavender dress and have him gather her up and kiss her so hard her eyes pop.
When they get to the party, Harry and Ginny are sitting by Neville and Luna, chatting about life in general.
He goes up to his best mate. "Hello, Harry,"—with a smile—"Gin!"—he hugs her—"Neville, Luna—how's the new house?"—he shakes Neville's hand and kisses Luna's cheek.
"Hello, family!" his wife says, coming over with a smile.
Neville lets out a low whistle. "You're looking beautiful," he says with a smile.
"Thanks, Neville. Hey, Gin, Luna!"
She goes over and hugs all of them.
"Mm—you smell great! What is that perfume?" Ginny asks.
"Probably essence of Crumple-Horned Snorack. One of the prettiest smells around," Luna says dreamily. Neville smiles at his wife fondly.
His wife clears her throat pointedly. "What do you think of…philosophy?"
"Random much?" he asks, but answers anyway, "It's bloody boring!"
"No, it isn't," she argues. "The meaning of life, and things…"
"The meaning of life?" Ginny scoffs. "I'd rather know how to make babies, not the meaning of the baby."
Harry blushes and sends Ginny a look, but she rolls her eyes.
"I think philosophy is lovely…" Luna says. "I love trying to answer unanswerable questions."
"That makes one of us," he mutters.
"Ron!" she scolds. "I agree with Luna."
"That, again, makes one of us."
She kicks him in the shin, making his eyes water.
"Darling, you know I love you! I'm just, er, kidding…"
Harry gives a loud snort.
Luna giggles.
Neville smiles.
Ginny rolls her eyes again.
Hermione blows him a kiss over-dramatically.
This, he reflects, is heaven.
x. Love
He lies in bed, breathing shallowly.
His life, he knows, is coming to an end.
His wife, he knows, will be waiting.
She's died.
He can't believe it, but he must.
Her death was less than a week ago—or so he thinks. He's lost every sense now that his one love is gone.
He thinks of Lavender—blonde, a good snogger, empty-headed…
He knows he always needed more than that. He knows he didn't need her.
He needed a genius, like his beautiful wife.
Who is dead.
He cannot believe it—she's gone.
Forever.
But he knows that if a heart could break, his is quite strong.
He's got his children, Rosie and Hugo, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren, and a great-great-grandchild on the way.
Rosie and Frank, Neville and Luna's son, will be celebrating an anniversary soon. What—their fiftieth?
Their daughter, Sophie, will be fifty or so in two months, and their sons, triplets (Spencer, Jack, and Jimmy), will be having grandkids sometime soon.
Sophie's daughter, Molly, has been married for ten years as of a week or two ago.
Michael, Sophie's son, will be marrying a brown-haired, smart beauty in the space of the next year. Well, once he gets around to asking her.
Molly's daughter will be born—or is she already born?
Everything is so distorted, he cannot think straight. He does not know if his great-great-granddaughter is born or not, when his wife died…
Yes. He may be surrounded by love—
"Grandpa Ronnie! Look at the picture I made you!"
"Oh, Daddy, I can't believe I'm getting married. Thank Merlin you'll be walking me down the aisle, it's perfect…just like Lily and Scor's wedding…I love you so much, Daddy."
"Ron, honey, what colour will you sweater be this year?"
"Ickle Ronnikins, prefect…"
"Grandpa, I'm getting married…"
"Grandpa! So good to see you again! I missed you!"
"I couldn't live through Dumbledore's death without you, Ron. I love you so much. I've got a great brother…"
"Ron, I love you."
Images swirled beneath his eyelids…memories of tears, hugs, drawings, marriages, visits…and love.
No, strong a heart as he's got, he can't live without his love…his Hermione.
"Ron, I love you…Ron, I love you…l love you…love you…love…love…"
"I'm coming, Hermione," he whispers through chapped lips, and he hears Rosie, sitting by his bedside, let out a sob.
"I'm coming. I love you…love you…love…love…."
Ronald Bilius Weasley
Died of a Broken Heart May 3rd, 2090
Always Surrounded by Love