Broken Limbs
Summary: Hermione's gone up a tree to get away from Ron. What does he have to do to get her to come back down?
Disclaimer: If I were J.K. Rowling, I'd be rich. The thing is that I'm not, and I'm not.
Rated K
Humor/Romance
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"No! Ron. I said no!" Hermione yelled from her perch in the tall beech tree. She scowled down at him and continued to climb.
"Bloody hell Hermione! Is it really so important that you can't let yourboyfriend screen it first?" he yelled back up, almost begging.
"Why on Earth would I ever let you screen it?" she sneered.
"You know, to check for any funny business," as he said this, his voice sort of died. "… But nevermind! It shouldn't say anything odd anyway! But if it does, I swear, I'll tear him limb from—" he muttered as an afterthought.
"No you will not, and—for the last time—you're not getting this letter," she said with finality before climbing still further, the hem of her jeans catching slightly on a branch. With a nasty crack echoing from her snagged ankle, she fell from the tree and just out of Ron's reach. He watched in horror as her body rebounded slightly off the hard ground before rushing over to her.
To her credit, no exclamation of pain emitted from her. In fact, Ron was more alarmed than she was, despite the fire that was shooting up from her right ankle. Hermione was vaguely aware of the pain, but decided that if she didn't move her foot at all, it wouldn't be so bad. She reflected with demented interest on the sound her ankle had made as it caught the branch. She wasn't sure whether the crack had been audible to Ron, or if it was simply a vibration sent up through her bones. She supposed it was both.
At this point, Ron reached her, and his voice brought her out of her fog. The pain began there. She reached for her wand in her pocket, but the pain was freezing her muscles, and tensing her brain to the point where she couldn't focus on anything but the pain.
"No, don't," Ron said wisely, his deep voice soothing her nerves. "You try to fix it now, you'll do a 'Ron' and it'll backfire or something."
"Do you find me that much a fool, Ronald?" Hermione gasped with a pained chuckle.
"Are you calling me a fool?" He pretended to be indignant.
"Yes, but you're my fool," she whispered with a smile.
"And that's so infinitely better," he said in disbelief.
"It is," she rasped through the coming tears. "Now hurry up…"
"You know me and mending things. I'm taking you to Mum." Without so much as waiting for permission, he scooped her up, wincing as she squealed through sealed lips at the pain. "Keep your ankle as still as you can," he whispered into her hair unnecessarily.
As he carried her off towards the house, Mrs. Weasely came scurrying out, meeting them halfway.
The letter lay forgotten underneath the tree, crinkled, dirty, and wide-open for all to read. It was mostly just news, but the last paragraph …
Oh, my Hermione,
I wish to see you. Will you come visit me soon?
Send me a reply quickly, and I'll find time for you.
There's nothing in our way now.
Viktor
He would never get a reply to his letter, but if he ever came looking for her, his limbs would never be the same.
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Alright. That's all for tonight, loves! Review if you would. If there's anything you want to say, say it. I'll take anything.
Thanks!
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