Romione: A fairy-tale
Hey, this is RawrDaLion,and you may have noticed that Breaking The Timey Wimey Stuff is deleted, but I couldn't finish it :(. So I'm going to try a Romione fairy-tale! RAWR :D
She sat at the red, comfortable sofa, letting the velvet wrap her up like a warm blanket of softness, her dank, grimy stool at the cottage cast aside as she stared into the fire. She thought that it was like salamander's tongues, reminding her of Care of Magical Creatures with Harry, Hagrid the lovable giant bumbling about with his blackened dragon's egg, and Ron. She missed Ron terribly, with his ginger bedhead, and his freckles running rapidly about his boyish face. But here she was, sat on a stranger's sofa, waiting for him, or it, to return.
Wrapping her skinny arms around her skin-tight crimson dress, she met an eerie chill from the south of the room, as the pale door creaked open. A shadow cast across the room like a veil being thrown across the light. The overwhelming character strided across the room, somewhat elegantly dodging the twisted chairs and dragging his hairy fingers across the Victorian-like curtains, pushing out the blackness that flew across the room. She caught a glimpse of ginger hair... or was it fur. A flurry of freckles cascaded onto the seat and a calm voice said "Do you like my home?"
"Yes, it's really quite grand!" said Hermione in disbelief. Why was he being so kind? Was it her? Or him?
"You remind me of a certain someone. She was beautiful, too"
She had never been so flattered in all of her life. This, this thing had bargained with her mother, so that they'd get the crazy witch claiming to be her daughter out. It hurt her to think about, a mere thought could rip her to pieces as easily as a hammer breakes glass. But he was amazing, the first comforting person, or anything, she'd come across since Ron's disappearance. He was just a boy! Well, a man, but that wasn't the point.
She felt silent tears running down her cheek, rubbing it off with her shimmering dress.
"Don't do that. Here, I'll get you a new dress." he said politely and dashed off to the next room. Something about that walk, the boyish stride that she had watched walk away so many times, in Hogwarts, every day. Then at work, as he strode onto the Quidditch pitch on his next game. She always got first-class tickets, a necessity with the new engagement. The ring shone on her finger, even now when he was gone. More tears cascaded down.
She was considering asking to sleep when he strode back into the room, holding a red, skin-tight dress. He held it up against his blue suit, bulging with the fur he was trying to contain, but he flew around the room, with it sweeping around his knees.
"Suit me?" he asked as she giggled, and he pulled a hurt face "No? Red not my colour?". This sent her into a spiral of giggles, throwing aside the grief that wrapped her most of the time.
He threw her the dress and she threw it back, bouncing about on the crimson carpet. He questioned her sudden movement tensely.
"You wear it. It suits you better than me." But how was she this certain? She had flurrying images through her brain of her in the dress, the Knight Bus, that night when Bill and Fleur wed. She had worn it!
But he grabbed her and elegantly started dancing to imaginary music, a fake disco full of unreal lighting. And they were the main attraction, the main diamond on the chandelier.