Auction: (character) Ron

Jelly Bean Day - Orange - (character) Ron Weasley, Cappuccino - (time) early morning

Easter - Make a Basket - Scissors - (plot point) getting hurt (physically or emotionally)

Scavenger Hunt - Write a CoffeeShop!AU

Caramel mocha with nonfat milk and crushed ice.

That's her precise order every single day, rain or shine, summer or winter, drowsy or upbeat. She would come in, looking adorable as hell, and order.

And everyday, Ron fought to be the barista who served her.

(It was not because he fancied her or anything. He just really, really liked seeing her.)

The other cashiers took advantage of his eagerness, letting him have the early morning shifts. The manager himself took the liberty to schedule him in the mornings, while he himself slept in.

He didn't even know her name. She just went by Granger every time, and he started subconsciously calling her that in his head.

The bell would jingle merrily each morning when she walked in, but it was nothing compared to the bells ringing in his head when he saw her smile. It was always present on her face, whether sunny or weary, and Ron's heart flip-flopped regardless.

Her curly brown hair would be in either three different hairstyles: loose, braided, or up in a bun. Personally, he preferred the bun, because it made her look stylish and professional, and he had a thing for women who looked like that. Plus, loose curls would dangle from it and frame her rosy cheeks.

(Some of his coworkers told him that he had it bad for her. Ron staunchly ignored them.)

Her rich brown eyes were browner than the coffee she drank, and they held a magnetic depth within them. They were a normal shade of brown, but Ron swore up and down they sparkled in the light, whether sunlight or artificial light. He could write sonnets about her eyes (if he knew how to write sonnets).

And she was brilliant. Brilliant, as in both humor and brains. Her sarcasm was always on point and she was a natural conversationalist. And her voice. Her voice was so beautiful and light and her laugh was like tinkling bells.

And to top it out, she was kind. Kind when she talked to him, kind when she willingly gave up her comfortable spot by the door for an elderly couple.

Pretty, smart, and caring. A deadly threesome, in his opinion. He was weak for women like her.

Maybe that's why his heart performed a full gymnastics routine when he saw her. She was perfect in every aspect.

The bell jingled again as the last customer exited the shop. Ron was practically asleep on his register. His eyes were heavy with drowsiness, and he yearned for nothing more than to collapse into bed this very minute.

(And as a cherry on top, he hadn't seen that pretty woman, Granger, today. She had been mysteriously absent, leaving Ron to envision several scenarios as to why she didn't come. Was she in a car crash? Was she kidnapped?

"Calm down, mate," Harry had told him, rolling his eyes when Ron voiced these aloud. "She probably overslept or something. Don't worry, I reckon she'll turn up."

She didn't.)

Ron shuffled to the door, stifling an enormous yawn and was just about to flip the sign to Closed when a woman skidded to a halt in front of the door. Bewildered, Ron paused.

"Are you still open?" she panted. Her hair, which was brown and curly, covered her face, but Ron recognized her anyway.

His mystery woman. Granger.

He could make an exception for her, if it meant he could talk to her.

He surreptitiously turned the sign to closed so they could have some privacy. The woman brushed her hair out of her face and Ron was shocked to see tear tracks on her face.

He must've been staring, because the woman glared at him reproachfully at him and snapped, "Stop looking like that at me!"

"Sorry," he apologized.

And then, Granger promptly burst into tears.

"N-No, I'm sorry," she hiccuped between her sobs. "C-Could I h-have my usual, please?"

Ron was off to the kitchen before she could finish, his hands moving at the speed of light in his haste. He almost dropped the ice pitcher, but quickly recovered.

Ron practically sprinted over to her table, where Granger was mopping her face with her sleeve. Her mascara was smeared and she looked like mess, but Ron thought she never had looked more beautiful than she did now.

"I'm sorry," she said as he approached, carrying her mocha. "I know it's past closing time, you didn't have to make an exception for me."

"It's okay," he replied lamely, "I don't mind."

She wiped her face one last time and took the mocha from his hands, and their hands brushed. Electricity, hot and swift, darted up his arm.

If she felt it too, she didn't react, instead sipped idly from the cup, her doe eyes peering over the rim. Ron watched, mesmerized.

"You don't mind if I rant, do you?" Her eyes were screaming emotional baggage, so he took pity on her. He figured, how bad could it be, lending an ear to her?

"Sure, of course not, go ahead."

She set down the cup calmly and then, there was a explosion.

"He is such an arsehole!" she shouted and Ron lurched backwards. "How long did he think he was going to get away with it, fooling around with that tramp in our flat?!"

Oh, Ron suddenly realized. She had a boyfriend. And he cheated. So she's single.

Now was his opportunity. But it had to wait until she was done.

Ron let her words fly in and out of his mind, his eyes slightly glazing over as a giddy sensation filled him.

He had a chance.

"-and I hope they rot in hell!" she concluded, slamming her hands on the table for emphasis.

Ron's mind caught up with her in mere seconds. "I hope they do too. He definitely doesn't deserve someone like you."

As soon as he said that, an invisible hand clamped over his mouth. Her eyes widened.

Real smooth, Weasley.

And then, a scarlet blush lit up her cheeks and a shy smile curved her pink lips. "Thank you. That means a lot."

The giddy sensation heightened to the point of no return. His heart fluttered in his chest and for a moment he gazed at her.

Seconds seemed to stretch into light years as he was locked in an internal battle of wills. One told him to seize his chance, to tell her how she felt. The other was warning him that he wasn't prepared; if there was heartbreak to follow, then he would shatter.

He made his choice and leaned in as she did.

This isn't a good idea, his opposing will warned. She just got out of a relationship.

Shut up, he quenched that will. I know what I'm doing.

His eyes drifted shut, his lips puckered, and waiting for impact.

It was like a thousand fireworks exploded behind his eyelids as her soft lips brushed his own, light as a feather. He could've stood there for millennia, savoring her lips. There could be bombs combusting around them and he wouldn't have cared.

Is this what being in heaven feels like?

His second thought was wow, she's as good at kissing as she is at everything.

Followed by shit, I'm actually kissing her.

He was so whipped.

(He still didn't know her name.

But she told him later. Her name was Hermione.

A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.)

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