Bedtime Stories

A/N: Whoa. I be coming out of retirement, fools. HP madness has caught up with me once again, and while I usually prefer to focus on the lovely twins, I also am wild about Ron and Hermione. I've missed them.

This one is for my dad, who was so dedicated to my love of books and stories that he read or told me a story every single night until I was nine and found him too slow of a reader to be bothered to keep asking (sorry, dad). He is still the best story teller I know.

Reviews put ink in my pen.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter or The Princess Bride, would I really be here? Um. No.

Sniffle.

Hermione groaned in an annoyed fashion as she reached for yet another tissue. She hated the defeat of sickness, hated admitting that she had fallen victim to the common cold, and hated that rather than being out in the beautiful autumn air with her friends, she was wrapped up in ridiculous amounts of Weasley knitting and struggling to find a potion that would help her get over the illness quicker. Pepper-up potion had only been good enough to get her out of bed and to stop shivering, but she still felt chilly.

She refused to believe that she could help bring down the darkest wizard in known magical history and not be able to fend off a cold- even with magic. She must have been particularly lucky this go-round and found some sort of potion-resistant virus.

She cast a glance toward the window of her flat in Hogsmeade, watching the leaves fall quietly in a torrent of oranges, yellows, and reds. She loved autumn. Change was so beautiful. She leaned over and opened the window beside her couch the tiniest bit so that she could reach out and snatch a leaf from outside. She brought it back in, closed the window, and admired the red and orange leaf as she contemplated her life now.

She had opted to stay in her own flat rather than return to the dormitories of Hogwarts while she completed her education. While rooming with Ginny had been appealing, she felt out of place in the common room now without Ron and Harry there beside her. She also avoided the Great Hall at all costs, remembering all too well the events that had transpired there not even a year before. The ghastly visions of Lupin, Tonks, and Fred lying in the Hall would not leave her. She wondered how Ginny could sit and eat in the room where her brother's body had laid.

She shook her head, loosing herself from dismal memories. It was fall, and things were changing again. Teddy was growing and exploring his finer motor functions. George had returned from his much-needed meandering journey through places unknown, with just the hint of a smile on his lips and plans to re-open the shop. Harry had been quite busy gutting out Grimmauld Place in hopes of making it more-than-slightly livable, though he often mentioned the idea of moving elsewhere. Luna had sent Ginny a letter from somewhere in South America, where she off hunting some sort of creature unknown, and it was quite lovely doing it without shoes, Luna had wrote. Neville had gone off to study Herbology as Professor Sprout's apprentice, and he no longer even had a hint of low self esteem anymore, though every now and then he did look like he was remembering something unfortunate. It seemed that while the pain would never fully fade, the swirl of colored leaves outside of Hermione's window offered the hope that maybe someday things would be a bit different… in a better way.

This dratted cold aside, things were definitely looking good for Hermione. She was completing her seventh year at Hogwarts, her friends were healing, and life was continuing to move on. She had already been offered jobs at the Ministry, but had turned them down in favor of pursuing her education. And most importantly, there was Ron Weasley… her boyfriend.

"Achoo!"

Hermione grumbled and rose from her place on the couch, weaving her way into the kitchen. She tapped her teapot with her wand and snatched up a mug to use for the tea she was making.

She felt incredibly comfortable bundled in Mrs. Weasley's finest works. A hat similar to the one she had made for Ron, with fluffy pom-poms that hung down on either side of her ears, was doing well at containing her untamed hair. She wore sweatpants and a chunky, crazily striped sweater Mrs. Weasley had made using all of her scrap yarn. Her Gryffindor scarf was coiled around her neck several times and her hands were encased in a pair of glorious mittens. Ron's Chudley Cannons blanket was draped over her shoulders—he had left it at her flat after the two had settled in to watch muggle films the Friday night prior.

She had been pleasantly surprised to find that Ron rather liked her choices and had marveled over the discovery of popcorn for hours.

She decided that looking through her potions books had gotten the best of her, and all there was to do now was simply rest. She returned to the couch with her steaming mug in hand and settled into the cushions with a sigh. Yes, things had been bad for a while, but life was starting to look up. If nothing else, she was wrapped in a blanket that smelled like Ron Weasley.

Just as Hermione was nodding off, a gentle knock on the door woke her. She huffed slightly and stumbled to the door, pulling the blanket tighter around herself and wiping at her nose with a tissue she snatched off the coffee table. She whipped open the door and her tension melted instantly.

Ron stood in the doorway, bundled against the chill nearly as much as she was, holding an orchid and looking a bit worried.

"Not feeling any better?"

Her heart melted at his concern and she smiled. "A little, but not much. Come in." She stepped aside to let him in.

He held out the orchid to her, blushing slightly. "Thought you'd want something to brighten the place up," he commented as casually as he could manage. "It, um, it won't ever wilt, so you don't need to water it or anything… I wasn't sure what kind of flowers you liked. I know most girls like roses, but you're not most girls, are you? Anyway, if you don't like it-"

"It's lovely, Ron. Thank you."

He swooped forward and kissed her on the cheek, the tips of his ears reddening. "Of course. Sorry. Get a bit carried away sometimes."

The relationship the two had built after the fall of Voldemort was one she was quite happy with. The rather incredible kiss they had sprung upon each other prior to the final battle had erased any inhibitions she and Ron had had about revealing their true feelings to each other, but they had maintained that they did not want to jump into anything too rashly. After all, they had been tip-toeing around this for years, and to run into it blindly, possibly mucking up everything, well… it didn't sound appealing.

The kisses were frequent and occasionally unbridled, which they enjoyed, but Hermione equally thrived on moments like these—moments stolen from her younger self by impending doom and Ron's immaturity. She had not gotten to be a sixteen-year-old girl who received flowers from a certain boy, and now seemed as good a time as any for Ron to show up with an orchid.

This innocent part of their blossoming relationship was just as wonderful as anything else.

"You ought to sit down. You don't look like you're feeling too well," Ron said in a concerned tone, taking hold of one of her mittened hands with one of his own, leading her toward the couch.

She sat down and he plopped down next to her, planting another kiss on her cheek. "I'd go in for the kill," he said with a small smile, "But I don't fancy your bogeys."

She blushed and wiped at her nose self-conciously. She stifled a giggle when he pulled his hat off, revealing a mass of messy red hair. It pointed in every direction, tangled, and putting Harry's to shame.

"What?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Your hair," she said, reaching out to touch it. She ran her fingers through it, doing nothing to smooth it. "Very fetching."

He raised a brow at her and smiled. "Ah. Now, tell me Hermione, can I get you anything? I hate to think of you cooped up in here all day without any soup or—"

"I'm capable of feeding myself," she jibed. "But thank you."

He rolled his eyes at her and leaned back into the cushions. "So I'll just make myself comfortable then. Oo," he said, sitting up again with a sudden interest, "can we finish watching 'The Big Sleep'? I was so involved."

She giggled at him and found herself yawning. "Oh, Ron, I'd love to but I'm feeling a bit put out. Maybe if I just take a little nap first? But, oh, what will you do? I hate that you've come to see me and I'm talking about napping."

He rolled his eyes at her again. "Hermione. You've napped in front of me dozens of times. The only difference is that now you can use me for your pillow. But first," he said, rising quite quickly and unexpectedly darting to her bookshelf, "which one?"

She raised a brow at him. "Which one what?"

"Which book am I going to read to you while you doze off?"

Her heart had never fluttered so much. The thought of Ron reading to her, his voice lulling her to sleep… "Oh, I don't know!"

He turned to the shelf and grabbed the first title. "The Tales of Beedle the Bard. No. I don't think so. Best to avoid that for some time." He pushed the book back on the shelf and cocked his head, scanning titles as he went. "How about…?"

"Ron, I've just had an idea. You said you'd never heard any muggle fairy tales—why don't you read me some of those? It'll put me out and might interest you."

He shrugged. "Alright, which book is that?"

"I have a few. I got interested in fairy tales after… well. Anyway, there's The Brothers Grimm and Irish Fairy and Folk Tales there. Pick one."

"Brothers Grimm? Let's forget that for now. No Grimms or stories about brothers. I've had enough of that." He pulled a book free and returned to sit beside Hermione, who snuggled up against his chest. They both openly smiled. "Any particular favorites?"

"No. Pick one."

He flipped absent-mindedly through the book and stopped at a title that piqued his interest—"The Demon Cat". He cast his eyes around the room, warily searching for Crookshanks. The orange ball of hair curled up and purring in the windowsill on the far end of the room caused Ron to keep flipping pages.

"Dunno, Hermione, these all sound rather terrifying. Hoards of demons and funny little men with odd names-"

"You could pick out a novel if you'd like," she mumbled into her blanket, which she had pulled up against her face. If he didn't pick soon, she'd likely nod off without hearing his steady breathing as he read to her.

She was swept away into memories of her childhood, when it had been her father or grandfather sitting beside her bed, reading to her as she struggled to find sleep. She had found so much comfort and joy as they read to her, giving each character a different voice. The ebbs and flows of their words, unique pronunciations… the characters had come to life, and the world of her bedroom often shifted into that of whatever book she was being indulged. It had been quite awful, being sick when her dad or grandpa were off at work, and that was when her mother had left her a video of her favorite childhood book. She knew it word for word, and even if she fell into slumber, she would just dream the story anyway-

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, sitting up so suddenly she near head-butted Ron. "Ron, I've got it! I know the perfect book!" She struggled to get up, wrestling against the Chudley Cannons blanket and untangling from Ron's limbs.

"Wha-?" Ron watched as Hermione shuffled over to her bedroom door, pushed it open with her elbow, and went in.

Of course there were more books in her room, he thought. How could she just have one shelf? That was ludicrous.

She returned with a green volume, fairly thin for a novel, and a bit worn. It had obviously been read many times, and when Hermione handed the book to Ron, it was with a certain care she had not even given to library books at Hogwarts. Ron looked down at the book in his hands, ran his fingers over the fabric cover and across the gold lettering of the title.

"The Princess Bride?"

"Yes! It's a fairy tale, but it's novel-length! Compromise," she added with a smile.

"A book-length fairy tale? Hermione…" Ron lifted a skeptical brow, but as soon as he saw her overjoyed expression begin to wither, he checked himself. "What's it about?"

"That's the best part," she said giddily, "you'll love it! It's about a princess, a pirate, a giant, a Sicilian, a Spaniard, and miracles. It's quite lovely, Ron. Adventure, romance, sword-fights… go on and try it out. If you don't like it you can put it away after I've dozed off. I'll be none the wiser. Compromise," she repeated.

It was a loaded word with her nowadays. Compromise was something she and Ron had been very bad at for a very long time, and now that they were actually having a proper go at dating, she was bound and determined not to lose herself in petty arguments. She did enjoy riling up Ron, but she knew that sometimes the best way to deal with him was to ask him to try something, and if he didn't like it, he could stop. Such compromises had led to trying a picnic in Hyde Park (which had been fine until Ron was nearly run down by a bunch of boys on skateboards), Hermione trying to learn one of Mrs. Weasley's recipes (which had gone well until that last pinch of salt filled the kitchen with smoke), and so on.

"Compromise," he repeated softly. "Hermione… you don't have to keep saying that. I know you and you know me. You aren't about to scare me off now, no matter how loony you get." He reached over and ran a thumb over her cheek tentatively. "Thinking I'd loose you once was more than enough." He swallowed and averted his gaze toward the book. "Alright, The Princess Bride, by William Goldman. Chapter One: The Bride."