Et Fraudator
A/N: I don't own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to the one and only JK Rowling- my hero and the queen of the literary universe. This Romione short is based off of a random writing prompt, and must incorporate a random key word. (See below.) Please consider leaving a review if you have a spare moment, that would make my day. -The views presented in this story are not necessarily the views held by the author-
Seventh Sanctum Writing Prompt: "A character becomes sorry during the story."
Key Word: "propitiate: To gain the favor of someone; to appease."
"How do you do it?" Hermione demanded, folding her hands in her lap and glaring at her opponent.
Ron Weasley simply yawned. "Finesse, my dear. Not to mention years of practice." He rose from the russet easy-chair in which he had been reclining to pick up the pieces of their latest Wizard Chess game. His wife frowned, her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion as she watched him shake the knights, rooks, and queens back into their box.
"I don't believe you." She said finally, never taking her gaze from her husband. "You're okay at the game, I get that, but the statistics just don't work like that. You shouldn't be able to beat me without fail every single time- you just shouldn't!" She fumed.
Ron grinned, sliding the chess box under the small living-room center table and returning to his seat in the leather-man across from Hermione. "What if I was to tell you that I'm just really good at this game, and you, love, have always been really bad? Would you take that for a logical and acceptable answer?"
Hermione Weasley, however, was not about to give in that easily. She hated losing and rarely failed, so being shown up by her husband every time they sat down to play Wizard Chess simply didn't agree with her. Tragic, she thought, as it was really the only issue she had with their relationship. Ginny, Ron's little sister, had seemed unsympathetic when she had recounted her woes to the ginger girl over a luncheon together.
"Seriously Hermione?" Ginny had laughed, her freckled brow raised in disbelief. "You're honestly griping because your husband is better at chess than you? And don't give me that look, either- he's beaten me hundreds of times, he's beaten mum and dad hundreds of times, he's beaten Harry hundreds of times. He's good, and we're not. It's simple."
Hermione had left the cafe that afternoon in high dudgeon, and had, that very evening, insisted on a Wizarding Chess match with her husband. The brown-haired witch was relatively good at chess- better than Ginny's husband Harry, at least- but even when she sat and stared at the board for ages, mentally mapping out the best moves to make and creating elaborate strategies, she was still spectacularly defeated.
She straightened up on her sofa, a fire of freshly kindled resolve shining in her eyes. "No. No, I won't take that was an answer, Ron, because it doesn't make sense. I think that you're cheating! No offense dear, but I consistently beat you in everything-"
"Except chess." Ron supplied helpfully, secretly enjoying the flush of passion that was beginning to rise on his young wife's cheeks.
"As I was saying," continued Hermione stiffly, "I'm usually better at spells, and cooking, and- oh, all sorts of things- than you. I mean, you're bound to get lucky sometimes, but according to statistics, my record of dependable victories should point towards-"
"To Azkaban with statistics!" Ron roared good-naturedly. "If it really annoys you that much, I'll make sure to lose next time we play. Would that make you feel better about yourself?"
Hermione opened to her mouth to provide a smart retort, but then paused to think about what her husband had said. Would she really feel better if she knew that Ron had purposefully done poorly to please her? That would be an insult to her ability and capacity to give her all! "No..." She said slowly, the flame of battle slowly retreating in her eyes. "You know what? Next time we play, go ahead and do your best, and I'll do mine. Like I said, you're bound to get lucky sometimes, and maybe your championships in life are strictly limited to chess. I mean... you are better at Quidditch than me, too..."
"I'll say! You're ghastly."
"Well, so are you. But that's not the point... I was just being sore, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted like I'm the only smart one either, because that's not fair for you. I love you." Hermione's voice lowered slightly, and she began to feel a bit embarrassed that she had nearly started a fight over a matter so little as a game.
Ron Weasley grinned, leaning forward to hold his wife's hand across the table. "Apology accepted; propitiation gained. You're surprisingly good at asking forgiveness, you know that? How are you so talented?"
Relenting, Hermione couldn't help but smile back. "Finesse, my dear, and a lot of practice."
Finis