Author's Note: It surprised me a little that I was able to go so far in this competition before I wrote about Ron and Hermione, but not writing about them was never going to happen. This is quite possibly the fluffiest thing I've ever written, because it doesn't even have a taste of angst. It is also kind of pointlessly cute, which is good sometimes, right?
This was written for the Globetrotter Drabble Competition on the Harry Potter Challenge Forum posted by percychased(who was formerly why the caged bird sings) for the prompt #18- Paris.
This is dedicated to NiftyGirl, cuz how long have I been promising to write you something that was just fluff? Still don't own Harry Potter.
"I just don't understand," Ron whined, setting a folded Weasley jumper onto the pile beside Hermione. "Why can't we do this with magic?"
"Because," Hermione started in the tone that she saved exclusively for correcting him. "This is how I learned to do it." as she spoke she refolded the jumper Ron had just place on the stack.
"Well, I learned to do it by flicking a wand," he muttered darkly, savagely forcing a pair of jeans into a new shape. "And for the sake of progress, I think that way is simpler."
"That doesn't make it better." Hermione stated, far too stubborn to even consider changing her stance. Despite his distaste for the chore, Ron felt himself smiling. Even when he was on the butt end of it, Hermione's stubbornness was one of the most endearing things about her. He loved that she could never be swayed by anyone else, no matter how convincing their logic. Her steadfastness had saved them thousands of times, and had he and Harry headed her advice more frequently it could've spared them a lot of trouble.
"Well if this is what all Muggles have to do all the time than I don't see why all Muggles don't just join one big nudist colony."
Hermione struggled to keep the 'honestly Ronald' look on her face, and mostly succeeded. But he didn't miss the way her mouth turned slightly at the edges. Of all her many, many facial expressions, this was his favorite. This reluctant, partial smile came out only when he said something particularly inappropriate. It was only for him that she ever made it, and that was why he loved it.
"Honestly, it's only laundry." She insisted, managing valiantly to wipe the laugh off her face. "The way you're carrying on you'd think I was subjecting you to the rack."
"The rack?"
"It's a medieval torture device that they used to stretch people to death with." She explained innocently before she turned back to the laundry. Damn, he thought, she was perfect. Completely one hundred percent perfect and if folding laundry by hand was what she thought was the right way to do something, than she was probably right.
"We can do it your way." He breathed, pulling her into him, the clothes lay disregarded on the bed. She looked surprised for a moment, taken aback by his sudden proximity but after a second she recovered herself and nodded acknowledgment of her victory. She made to pull away then, to return to her folding, but his hand stopped her. "We'll do it your way," he assured, cupping her face in his hand.
"Later," he clarified before he kissed his favorite smile off her lips.