Unforgettable
Plasticized Smiles
Standard disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Story's plot line is mine, in some fashion. I am not JK Rowling. She has better hairdressers on Christmas morning, and a warmer residence. But I bet my scarf is cooler. - D.G.
A/N: Written for Writergirl8, Becca, and a few others as a Very Special Christmas present. Merry Christmas!
Ron Weasley stood in the spotlight, scanning the room for any perceived threats. Try as he may, he never would relax when on duty. Sure, this might be a ministry function, and he was there more for show as Kingsley's attaché tonight, but the smarmy political bastards who populated these events didn't use wands or knives for attack. These ruddy buggers used words, stilted in pretty smiles and tailored robes, but their words were vile nonetheless.
He continued to watch, taking in the dry banter that was common at these functions. Under the plasticized smiles and ornate silk lay opportunists who would jump at the chance to take down the reigning minister, if they had a bollock's worth of courage to challenge him. Most were like that sniveling rat Pettigrew – dependent on others who had courage and determination to protect them from their petty treasons.
He waited, silently begging that she would show up tonight. Hermione Granger-Weasley, his living embodiment of courage clothed in flesh, wasn't here yet. Or so he noticed. She detested the requirement of these functions, but since she was still in the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures, begging and politicking was a necessary evil.
His charge stood a few feet away, talking about some other diplomat, flowery praise that was fluffier than the candies that Hermione introduced him to last summer. Cotton Candy, she called it, after a trip to a carnival in Blackpool. The floss that stuck to his fingers that warm summer day was more substantial than the faint praise Shacklebolt was pontificating.
He scanned the room, looking for the warm chocolate eyes he could drown in. Blue eyes stole across brown ones, seated further back from the podium than should have been allowed. Damn those self-important pricks, shuttling her into a non-important table away from the spotlight. They should have her sitting up here on the dais, letting her bask in the spotlight she earned with her courage, her determination, her outpouring of blood, sweat, tears, and triumph.
He broke protocol, flashing his patented cheeky lopsided grin. A quick glance away from her, and he was back on duty, watching the crowd drink their watered down whiskey and other beverages of choice. Not his Hermione. She would save the imbibing for later, drinking him, tasting the flavors she preferred, whether from his slightly chapped lips, or from the tender flesh from his other head. Both were appreciated by his bushy haired swot of a wife.
For most present, she was reserved, prim, and considerably proper. Only in chambers, arguing for something she cared about – whether it was for better treatment for other magical creatures, or a project she was cared deeply about, would she show her passionate side, harnessing the power of her brilliant mind and her prodigious intellect to convince others to her masterful way of thinking. She could be subtle, pointed, direct, and on occasion, with another brilliant yet closed mind, manipulative.
He stole a glance back her way, covering it by scanning the room once again, and found her squirming in her seat, glaring at him. He knew she was turned on. She'd never admit it to anyone else, but just a smile twisted her knickers faster than him tonguing her nipples. The only thing that pinched his pants was catching a waft of her scent – after he flashed his lop sided grin. Normally, he'd be between her legs, basking in her warmth before diving into her tender flesh, feeling her short nails raking his scalp while he drove her to madness. His long calloused fingers, now practiced after many an hour embedded inside the love of his life, would find the one place deep inside that would rend his scalp raw when she pulled his hair, squeezing his ears painfully while she screamed his name like an epithet.
Ron pulled his focus back to Kingsley and away from his delightful memories. He'd be off duty shortly, given to another Auror so he could circle the room and watch the other tossers flaunt their self-deigned importance. Harry was fortunate. He was at home, off duty tonight. He got to spend the evening with Ginny before going on shift at 11am tomorrow. Ron would be off shift when his replacement checked in. After that, he would spend the evening with his lovely bride, showing her off to the other gits present.
She was gorgeous tonight. The wine colored wrap looked astounding on her this evening: ornate, yet delicately draped on her petite frame. The style was of her choosing, hiding with fabric the scars left by the war. A high neck, long snug sleeves, tailored to accentuate her curves that he loved to run his hands over, long in the length but slit up the side, showing off her well-toned gams. Painful high heels, giving her additional inches she wasn't blessed with. Three inches does wonders for kissing his wife, among other things. The last time she was in three inch heels left him delightful satiated. The thigh high black stockings and black lace garter belt, sans knickers, didn't hurt either.
Applause broke his reverie, and he trundled down the back of the dais. The entire wizarding world knew Ron Weasley – War Hero; one of the youngest ever to be awarded Order of Merlin, First class; on his own Chocolate Frog by 20. The last one was more important that the first two, but not as important his real claim to fame.
His claim to fame, besides having the family name of Weasley, was marrying the beautiful witch striding to his side. He had his prize before he even turned twenty one. She said yes when he proposed, in front of the entire family, in a passenger pod atop the London Eye with Westminster in the backdrop. That picture, taken by Luna herself, made the Quibbler sell out in spades, along with the Prophet other various publications.
That one photo graced the cover of hundreds of papers and magazines, and media proclamations of being the second-most anticipated wedding of the century. Nothing shouts "notice me" like using the media for their personal benefit. Hermione was mortified, but he wanted the whole world to know that she said yes. The row that morning made for some fantastic make-up sex. The grin on his face, from ear to ear and back, was worth the ribbing he got from everyone he saw at the Ministry. Hermione on the other hand was in a temper that evening, and the row from her temper led to another round of passionate shagging.
At least Harry and Ginny didn't hear them that night. Harry was on shift at the Ministry, and Ginny was at Holyhead for late practice.
Ron laughed. The first time all evening he chuckled. The second most anticipated wedding in Wizarding England – and all they can do is speculate about Harry.
The media were waiting impatiently for that specky git of a best mate to wed the belle of the ball, his sister. Their engagement announcement, in the Quibbler of course, made the headlines, and fueled controversy for weeks, from infidelity to pregnancy. It didn't hurt that it came on the coattails of his own nuptials – arranged between Ron and Harry over a pot of Irish Stew on Valentine's Day. He resented Harry, for one brief moment, before accepting the gift of a lifetime of friendship from his best mate: stepping back and letting Ron have the spotlight.
"Ah, Minister, so glad you could keep my husband so close to you. I'd begun to suspect he was intentionally ignoring me tonight."
"Ah. Director Weasley. So nice you could come this evening. Will you stay for a moment? There are a few dignitaries I'd like to introduce you to."
A small cool hand threaded into his, and off they went to meet yet another bureaucrat. He loathed the ruddy sods, but Kingsley was his wife's patron politician, and she was amenable to doing quid pro quo for him. Politically, they worked well together, and he was one of the few in his life that he trusted with his wife. No one else fought with them that day in May, and no one else fought for her once that day was over.
Ron would gladly stand in her shadow this evening if it meant that she could do more good in the world. She cast a long one, bringing notice to causes that were kept behind closed doors and under rugs for too long.
They circumnavigated the gathering, making pointless talk to various people present. He caught snippets of conversation, but most was candy floss like before. Platitudes and drivel annoyed him. He wanted his wife, hot under his hands, writhing while he indulged her insatiable desire before claiming her for his own once again. He wanted her swotty and salty, spewing coarse words that flipped his switch.
"Ah, Williamson, glad you could make it. Auror Weasley here was looking rather annoyed awaiting your arrival."
"Sorry, Sir. I was held up by Roberts down in the office."
Kingsley turned to the towering Ginger, intoning the words only for them. "Auror Weasley, You're relieved of duty."
"I stand relieved."
"Now, I think it's time to indulge that wife of yours in some dinner and dancing."
Two grins lit their little discussion.
"What say you, wife of mine? Dinner? Or dancing? The Minister has spoken."
Hermione turned and procured two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, threading her other arm with her husband. "I thought I'd never be rid of those ingrates. Annoyingly pedantic they are. Their self-importance nauseates me."
Ron grinned through his sip of champagne, grimacing at the bitter taste.
Hermione saw his reaction to the extra dry beverage, smirking the entire time. "It's not pumpkin juice, dear. It's not supposed to be sweet. That's the idea."
Ron turned and placed the flute on the table behind him, stealing one last glance around the room. As anticipated, people were gathered at the bar on the other side of the ballroom, or out on the floor designated for dancing, or on the other side of the hall at the buffet line.
A rumble of his stomach made his choice difficult.
"Did you not eat?"
Ron Weasley's patented pout made an appearance. "No, I was on duty from half five this evening with Kingsley. At least he got me out of the office. I was sick of paperwork."
"My poor husband. He's about to pass out from starvation. Come, let's feed the savage beast before he has to traipse around the dance floor."
He looked down at the cheeky witch on his arm. "You're getting me back, aren't you?"
Hermione pulled him down, blowing hot breath on his waiting ear. "Why, whatever gave you that idea, Auror Weasley? Might it be that I am enthralled with you? The way you smile, just for me, in front of the whole crowd, twists my knickers harder than anything you can do for me in public."
Soft lips and hard teeth nibbled on his ear. "Bloody Hell, Hermione, stop that."
"No, I won't. I want to show off my husband to the world, basking in the spotlight for once. When I've tormented him to his breaking point, I want him to ravish me, landing on the floor of our bedroom, making me beg for mercy while he claims me for his own."
Nail scrapes made little Ron twitch in anticipation. "Then, before the night is out and we fall asleep, shagged out stupid, I'm going to make him growl."
He tore from her grasp, looking for those warm chocolate eyes he loved to drown in. "Five minutes and we'll dance."
A grin spread across her barely painted on features. "I can wait fifteen minutes if it means you make me scream all night."
"Cheeky wench!" he growled before pulling her along to the buffet line.
Twenty minutes later, Hermione was leading her husband out onto the floor, two last songs playing via the contracted DJ. Behind them, the quartet was warming up quietly, hidden behind a musical barrier.
Ron watched while swaying in some attempt at rhythm as his wife danced just for him. She was snuggled up against him, grinding her impeccable arse against his groin, enticing him with her motions. Her hands wrapped behind her head and onto his neck.
His hands were on her curvaceous hips, spreading the heat from them onto her skin through the coarse fabric. He loved that he boils her blood, or sees her wanton and lascivious side. She loves dancing, and does so just for him. She would occasionally use those three inch heels just for his benefit. Sometimes those heels were wrapped around his neck, or poking on his boney arse. And on occasion, those heels went in opposite directions while he pounded her away into the mattress of their king sized bed.
Little Ron was slowly turning into Giant Ron. "Fuck me sideways."
The music stopped. "Yes, Ronald? Something on your mind?"
Her cheek was not missed, and neither was her smirk. "I wanna take you home and shag you sideways."
"Dance with me for this song, and we can go."
He pouted again, but indulged her. "Greedy wench."
She grinned mischievously. "That's what you get for flashing me that brilliant smile during Kingsley's speech. You knew I'd get you back. Making you wait one more song should be torturous enough for my benefit."
Notes floated around the room, piano mixed with upright bass. Rhythm mixed with the harmony and the melody, creating a distinctive song. Hermione smiled, recognizing her bribe was well worth it.
Unforgettable
That's what you are,
Unforgettable
Tho' near or far.
Ron looked at his wife, snuggled close in his arms while the music played. "You knew this song was coming up, didn't you?"
She glanced up at those blue eyes she loved basking in. "I did. I bribed the singer 5 galleons to play it first on their songlist."
"Hermione!"
"Kingsley told me you were on duty for him this evening, so I wanted to make tonight memorable."
"Don't you mean unforgettable?"
Ron shifted his wife in his arms, letting her feel what her closeness did to him. He looked at her, giving her the smile he saved just for her.
Like a song of love that clings to me,
How the thought of you does things to me.
Never before
Has someone been more...
He leaned down, nestling his lips to her ear. His words were meant for her only, even in public. "I didn't realize how much you were my soul until I left."
She looked up, shock plastered on her face. A calloused finger lay upon her lips, halting her retort.
"I didn't realize that you're my everything until I walked out. Those weeks were murder."
That's why, darling, it's incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am
Unforgettable, too.
"The day you forgave me, after waking up, was the second best day of my life. The first was the day you said 'I do.'"
Plush lips scorched one another, forgetting the rest of the people out on the dance floor.
Their interlude lasted as long as the instrumental played by the band up on the dais.
Unforgettable
In every way,
And forever more
That's how you'll stay.
She laid her head on his chest, hearing the excitement from his rapid tattoo of his heartbeat. The heat radiating off of him through his uniform felt exquisite.
"Ron?"
Long lanky arms released her from his embrace, letting her look up at him. Bright blue eyes looked down at warm chocolate ones.
"I'm ready."
That's why, darling, it's incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am
Unforgettable, too.
Hot hands encased cool ones, pulling her to the cloakroom. One last stop before they made their way home, and into one another's embrace.
Ch. 2 will go up this evening, with Ch. 3 up at bedtime. - D.G.