A/N-Many thanks to the lovely and talented Keppiehed for sharing her mad beta skills.
The Love Letter
Hermione arrived at Twelve Grimmauld Place to find Harry sitting on the couch reading the Daily Prophet. She watched as Ginny flitted about the house, moving a mile a minute, getting this and that and heading back upstairs. Hermione flopped onto the couch next to Harry.
"Are you excited for your trip?" she asked.
"It will be the first time Ginny and I have been alone since the kids were born," he said with a huge grin on his face. "What do you think?"
"I think Molly will have such a good time she'll send you away more often." She returned his grin.
"Thanks for doing this, Hermione," Harry said, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tight. He kept one arm around her shoulders and they leaned backward into the couch.
"You know I will house-sit for you anytime. Baby-sit too, for that matter," she said.
"I'm glad to hear that, because you're not actually here to house-sit."
She gave him a questioning look.
"Ron's job is to watch the house. Your job," he said, "is to watch Ron."
She laughed at his joke, knowing he was only half kidding.
"Speak of the devil," Harry said.
Hermione looked up just in time to brace herself as Ron flung himself onto the couch between them.
Ron turned towards Hermione and kissed her with such intensity that Harry felt obligated to look away. He studied the pictures on the mantle until Ron elbowed him in the side. "Aren't you supposed to be gone?" he asked.
"Good to see you too, mate," Harry said. "Blame your sister. She's taking forever to pack."
"Right, then. I'll go tell her to be less Muggle." Ron scurried away before Hermione could attack.
Five minutes later, Ron was headed for the front door with an armful of luggage and two children in tow. It was amazing how much he could accomplish with the right motivation.
Harry stood and pulled Hermione up with him. "Please make yourselves at home, and have a good time. Just not in my bed or on the dining room table," he said, grinning.
"Harry! I would never do that!"
"I know you wouldn't, but Ron would." He walked toward the door and then turned to look back. "Baby-sitting, remember?"
"This job doesn't pay nearly enough," she said to herself.
She heard the front door close, followed by Ron's entrance into the room. She didn't look up from the newspaper as he sprawled across the couch, head in her lap.
"I guess it's just you and me, Hermione. All alone in this house with nothing to do." He let out a dramatic sigh.
"Nonsense, Ronald. I have plenty to do," she said. Hermione hid her grin behind the Daily Prophet, knowing full well what he was hinting at and loving every moment of his distress.
Ron sat up and she could see him fidgeting in her peripheral line of sight.
"Did you need something?" she asked.
"Well, I was wondering ... can we ... er, I mean to say ... are we ever going to have sex?"
"You make it sound like you've been waiting an eternity."
"We've been together for a month now, and every time I see you all I can think about is shagging you senseless." He awaited her response, certain he'd given her the greatest compliment ever.
She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. "It's not going to happen, Ron."
"Ever?"
"Well, that depends. I have certain criteria for being intimate with a man."
"Such as?" he asked.
"I need to know that he loves me," she said.
He waited. "Is that it?"
"That's the bare minimum, but yes."
"Awesome!" he said and began shedding his clothing.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Getting naked. Like you should be."
She stared at him incredulously.
"I love you, silly. Now get your cute little bum upstairs so we can get things moving."
"Ron." She grabbed his arm. "Sit down for a minute. I want to talk to you about something that's important to me."
He sat down and took her hand. "What's going on?" he asked.
"Well," she said, "I know you love me and probably have on some level since we were eleven years old, but we are adults now. We have moved our relationship forward, but knowing that you love me isn't enough. I want to know why you love me. How you love me."
Ron opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.
Hermione went on. "I want you to write me a love letter."
"A love letter?" he said.
"I've never received one, and it will make me feel special."
"Hermione, you are special."
She handed him a quill from the table. "Then tell me about it."
He glanced at the wall full of books. "Why don't you make us some tea, and I'll get started."
"No hurry. I'll take my time with the tea," she said and wandered off toward the kitchen.
Ron entered the kitchen to find Hermione making tea the Muggle way. He found her adorable every time she employed Muggle techniques when the magical way would be so much easier. "I'm finished," he said, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
She took the paper, surprised at how quickly he'd completed the task.
To my beautiful girl,
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Love,
Ron
She finished reading and looked up to see him grinning from ear to ear. She hated to be the one to wreck that smile. "Ron, this is nice – and clearly you put forth some effort to find this – but I don't want poetry. I want an original letter, full of thought and feeling, written about me."
His shoulders slumped, but he didn't give up hope. He looked at her with puppy-dog eyes. "I can try again, right?"
She nodded.
"I'll be back in a bit," he said, then disappeared out the front door.
Hermione was cleaning up her tea things when she heard the Floo flare to life. She entered the sitting room to find the head of Percy Weasley floating in the fireplace.
"Oh, Hermione," he said. He seemed startled to see her.
"Hello, Percy. Did you want to come through?" she asked.
He looked uncertain. "No, I'll just ... could you tell Ron I was looking for him?"
She agreed, then watched him disappear back into his office at the Ministry.
Hermione awoke to the sound of Ron's voice and sat up, rolling her neck and shoulders to work out the kinks from napping on the couch. On the table in front of her was a letter:
My beloved Hermione,
Your beauty is exquisite. You are a stunning sight to all members of the male species, and yet you have chosen me. My heart swells with pride at the very thought. Your kindness knows no boundaries, and the world is a better place for having you in it. Your intelligence is matched by few and is a rare but delightful find behind such a pretty face. I am enamored by all that you are, and I hope that you love me even a fraction as much as I love you.
Yours forever,
Ron
She raised her gaze to his with wide, almost teary eyes. "That was amazing," she said.
"You liked it?" he said.
"Yes," she replied.
"Does it put you in the appropriate mood?"
"It most certainly does," she said, breathless. "I'm going upstairs to freshen up." She put her hand on his shoulder. "Be a dear, and tell Percy I'll meet him in the guest room in ten minutes."
Ron plopped into the chair, dejected. "What gave me away?"
"Percy Floo'd earlier looking for you and then acted strangely when he had to speak to me."
"Oh," Ron said.
"And I read the letter," she said under her breath.
She looked at him while he stared at the wall opposite her, his face forlorn. She hadn't meant to make this an ultimatum. She wanted to be with him. Of course she did, but this was important to her, and she refused to give in just because he found it a challenge. Wouldn't the rest of their lives be a challenge? This was for his benefit as much as hers. She climbed onto his lap facing him, her legs straddling his. She kissed him until they both became breathless, at which point she had his undivided attention. "I know you love me, and I know you don't understand why this is important to me."
"I do understand, Hermione. I'm just no good at this. I'll never be as smart as you want me to be."
"It's not about what's up here," she said as she kissed his forehead, "it's what's in here." She rubbed her hand on his chest. "I wouldn't ask you to do this if I thought you weren't capable."
She stood and pulled him to his feet, leading him to the desk across the room. "Sit," she said and handed him a quill and some ink.
Ron grabbed a stack of parchment, but she took it from him, returning only the top sheet.
"You want it to be brief, then? I like that," he said.
"No. If you fill that page and have more to say, I won't stop you. With multiple pages in front of you, you'll be tempted to start over every time you think you've made a mistake."
"What's wrong with that?" he asked.
"If I let you start over each time, I won't get my letter because you'll never believe that anything you write will be good enough for me. If I wanted something that was beautiful because of its polished perfection, I'd be dating a professional author. I want something that is beautiful because it is real and heartfelt and allows me to see myself through your eyes. Write what you feel; you can't mess that up."
In that moment, he forgot all about his original reason for writing the letter. His new mission was to do anything it took to make her happy. That he was the cause of the smile on her lips fueled his desire to do this for her. He pulled the parchment toward him and dipped his quill in the ink, signaling his intent to get started.
Hermione left him to his work and set about finding a book from the shelves for entertainment.
Ron decided he needed to just dive in or he'd never get started.
Hermione,
You are the girl whom I adore. Or is it who I adore? Oh, it doesn't matter. You'll correct it for me, won't you, love? You said that I can't mess this up, but I don't have a clue what you want me to say. I don't know how I love you or why I love you. There is simply nothing you could do to make me not love you. Well, except maybe forcing me to write a love letter, but even you wouldn't stoop that low, right?
He snorted as he read the last line until realization dawned. "Dammit," he muttered under his breath. "Hermione, I need another piece of parchment."
"You aren't trying to start over, are you?"
"No," he said.
"Let me see the first page, and if it's full, you may have another," she said.
"Never mind," he grumbled. He tapped the quill on the page, trying to decide how to continue.
See, Hermione, I must really love you since I am still mad about you even when you are being bossy. Of course if I only loved you when you weren't bossy, that would be, like, four hours out of each day.
"Bloody hell!" He slammed his head onto the desk. "Hermione?"
"No," she said.
He sighed and turned his focus back to the task at hand. He really wanted to do this right, although he was relatively certain he'd already blown to pieces everything she'd had in mind.
Oh, I know. Remember when we found out that we were getting tickets to the Quidditch World Cup, and I was so excited that I was sick to my stomach for days? That's how I feel when I think about you. Did I just tell you that you make me feel sick? That's not what I meant to say. See, Hermione, you can do this wrong and I'm proof of that. It's just that when I'm with you, everything bad seems to go away, and all I feel is happiness. Hey, you're like the opposite of a dementor. That's awesome! Listen, all I know is that my two favorite things in the world are Quidditch and food, but if I had to choose between those and you, I would pick you. Always you. I think about you all day, and I dream about you all night. I can't explain it, but I do love you, and I hope that is enough.
Yours for always,
Ron
He presented her with the letter, the shaking of his hands revealing his unease. She read slowly, either savoring each word, or stalling for time while she planned her escape. Hermione ended that debate with hands around Ron's neck, lips seeking attention from his.
As they parted, she grinned. "I make you sick, huh?"
"I told you it was a mistake to make me write that."
"Hush," she said. "Let's get you upstairs and see if I can make you feel better."
She missed his look of surprise as she was already sauntering up the stairs, hips swaying far more than was necessary.
They lay in bed, basking in the afterglow of their shared passion. Ron looked up from where his head rested on her chest. "You like to read," he said.
"Um hm," she replied.
"What if you had to choose between books and me? You'd choose me, right?"
"No," she said.
"What?" he asked, shocked.
"I'd never have to choose, Ron. I can multitask."
"Multitask? You mean like doing both at the same time?"
She nodded her head.
"Maybe I'll have to try that sometime," he said.
The next morning, the sun was up hours before their eyes were open to see it. With no agenda for the day, they spent most of it puttering around the house. That afternoon found Ron napping and Hermione heading out for a walk to clear her head.
She and Ron had been friends for twelve years, with the most recent one spent teetering on the edge of something more. Four weeks prior, he had worked up the nerve to ask her out on an official date. Her co-workers had frowned on the idea, saying she was so intelligent, and he was so ... not. They questioned whether she'd considered that the two of them couldn't hold an intelligent conversation. She'd scoffed at that notion. For one thing, Ron was not dumb. He'd proven that on many occasions over the years. Most things of an academic nature were of little interest to him, and as such, he put forth minimal effort where they were concerned.
Secondly, she spent eight hours a day at her job which was mentally stimulating, almost pushing her to her limits by the end of the day. Did she want to come home to a man who would greet her at the door, eager to discuss the latest trends in Transfiguration or whether someone had discovered a thirteenth use for dragon's blood? It hardly seemed necessary. Still, they'd given her food for thought. She did want to be certain that she and Ron were compatible before things got too serious. Thus, her push for the letter.
She returned to a silent house. Ron was nowhere to be found on the ground floor. Hermione headed upstairs to their shared guest room. Leaning against the wall near the bed was Ron's broom. A sandwich sat untouched on the nightstand. She could smell his cologne in the air, something he only wore when they went out. They had no plans for this evening, and she thrilled at the thought that might have changed while she was out. As she eyed the items he'd left in the room, snippets of yesterday's conversations came back to her.
My two favorite things in the world are Quidditch and food ... multitask? I might have to try that sometime.
She plummeted from her state of euphoria into a pile of nausea and nerves. He wasn't seriously considering doing that on a broom, was he? And with her, of all people. He knew she was afraid to fly. What on earth made him think she would enjoy that?
Incorporating food into the act was something she'd admit to having an interest in, but she had always envisioned something a bit more sensual. Did turkey on rye have an aphrodisiac affect of which she was unaware? Honestly, what was he thinking?
She dropped her head into her hands and rubbed at her temples. She felt the faintest hint of a headache coming on, and it had 'relationship disaster' written all over it. It wasn't specifically an issue of sex. They'd had a wonderful time the previous night. She had taken charge and done things for him she knew he would enjoy. It had seemed to be effective – as far as she could tell – and she certainly had no complaints on her end from a physical standpoint. Still, was reciprocity too much to ask? If he was going to be self-serving in the bedroom, would it translate to other aspects of their relationship?
She startled at the sound of footsteps approaching the bed.
"Hermione, there you are." He frowned when he saw her slumped shoulders, head in hand. "Is everything all right? Did something happen while you were on your walk? Your note didn't say how long you'd be gone, so I wasn't worried."
"Nothing happened, Ron. I just had a bit of time to think about things."
"Well, that's good, right? That brain of yours has a lot to process."
She shrugged her shoulders, then proceeded to explain her concerns regarding his plans for the evening. The broom idea was out. There was no swaying her on that issue. As for the sandwich, she couldn't really approve or disapprove because she hadn't the faintest idea what he intended to do with the thing.
When she'd first started her explanation, he'd developed this ridiculous grin which only fueled the fire of her annoyance. By the time she'd finished, he was full-blown laughing out loud. It was all she could do to leave her wand tucked into her sleeve.
It took a moment for Ron to calm down. "I'm sorry, love. I think your mind is in serious need of a holiday. Thanks for the laugh, though."
She glared at him, prompting him to explain. "I did make plans for tonight. They were supposed to be a surprise, but it looks like I'd be better off spilling the beans. Last night was incredible. Now I can appreciate your need to feel special. It isn't very often that I'm singled out as the object for anyone's individual attentions. I liked it so much that I decided to return the favor tonight and make it all about you."
Hermione looked skeptical.
"It's been a few days since I've been on a broom, and I've been itching to get in some flying time, but I know you don't enjoy it. When you came in just now, I was in the other room drawing you a bath. The water is hot enough to boil the skin right off your bones, just as you like it. I even found that lavender stuff in your bag that makes you smell so pretty, and I added it to the water. Once I got you settled in the tub, I planned to go out for a spin on my broom. We'd both be doing something that relaxes us and makes us happy.
"The sandwich," he couldn't help the laugh that escaped from his lips, "was for me to eat. I know you've been trying to eat healthy, so I made us a dinner of salad and fruit. I chose it because it's your favorite, but while we're being honest, a guy can't live on that kind of stuff. I thought if I had something to eat before we sat down to dinner, I could focus entirely on you and not the rumbling of my stomach."
She reached up and cupped his face with her hands, then kissed him slowly and deeply. "I'm so sorry, Ron."
"Hermione, it's fine," he said.
"It's not fine. I ruined your surprise, and I made assumptions based on nothing just because I was nervous about us."
"There's nothing wrong with feeling nervous. Long ago, I used to wonder why such an amazing girl would befriend boys like Harry and me, and I always wondered when you would move on. I've finally decided that if I haven't run you off by now, maybe I never will."
"Thanks, Ron," she said, climbing into his lap to wrap her arms around him. He responded in kind.
"I'll just go ahead and ruin the rest of the surprise by telling you that after dinner, I plan to undress you one piece at a time. When I have completely explored every bit I've uncovered, I'll remove the next. When I run out of clothing, I'm going to scoop you up and carry you to my bed where I will make love to you all night long," he said.
"Wow, Ron. All night long?" she teased. "You've set your goals pretty high."
He paled. "Well, it sounded good in my head."
"Tell you what," she said. "You stick to the plan for undressing me. Once in bed, try to last more than twenty minutes with the option of a second round later if I ask for it. Deal?" She offered her hand for him to shake.
"Deal," he said. He grasped her hand, turning it over to place small kisses on her knuckles. "I love you, Hermione."
"I love you too, Ron."
He held her close, running his fingers through her hair. She nearly purred from the sensation. Who is this grown up, sweet, romantic man, and what happened to goofy, impulsive, fumbling Ron?
"Oh!" he said as he jumped up and flung her into a heap on the bed.
Good to know he didn't go too far.
"I forgot the best part. I found this in Dad's shed. It's bloody brilliant." He flew from the room, then came back holding a large box.
"What is it?" she asked, not sure if she wanted to know.
"It's a chocolate fountain. This is great. You fill it with chocolate and then it just keeps pouring over the sides. And if your girlfriend is the most brilliant witch on the planet, she'll know how to charm it so it never runs out, no matter how much you eat."
She laughed. "If her boyfriend continues to compliment her in this fashion, she'll teach him the spell."
"Hermione, you're the best!" He tore into the box, ready to assemble the thing straight away. He looked like a kid at Christmas, all giddy with anticipation of his new toy.
She smiled to herself. If he was this easy to please, things with him would be smooth sailing. She looked back at him and was surprised to see it was nearly ready to go. "What were you going to dip in this fountain of yours anyway?"
"I didn't bring anything," he said. "I guess I'll have to dip you."
"Romantic and sexy? I've hit the jackpot."
"You like sexy, do you?"
"Maybe," she said, winking at him. "Now rumor has it that a bath awaits me."
She squealed as he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulders, heading for the tub.
The next morning started with a lie-in, as it had been a very late night. Ron blamed Hermione for rubbing off on him with her overachieving tendencies.
She prepared them a picnic lunch, which to his delight contained none of what he considered to be 'girl food.'
Ron informed her that he once again had secret plans for the evening, so the afternoon was spent apart, each doing their own thing. Hermione was going room to room cleaning the house so it would be in top condition when her friends returned from their trip. Ron was ... well, it was unclear what Ron was doing. He had spent the majority of his time in the kitchen with the door warded shut. She easily could have let herself in, but she respected his privacy and was not about to ruin another surprise.
Each time Hermione passed by the kitchen, she heard numerous clanking noises and cursing. She swore she even heard him ask where Myrtle was when you needed her. On a couple of occasions, she stopped and knocked to ask if he was okay. He assured her – albeit in a panicked voice – that all was well.
She had just finished cleaning the rest of the house when she heard mass chaos from inside the kitchen. "Ron, are you all right in there?" she hollered. When no response was forthcoming, she took down his wards and burst into the kitchen. There was Ron on his knees in front of the sink, surrounded by tools, water spraying everywhere. She hurried over to see if she could help. He turned to her and thrust something into her hands.
"Here, take this," he said. He had one hand on the broken pipe, trying to contain the water, while his free hand fumbled for his wand. Hermione didn't even notice that he'd stopped the water. She only had eyes for the ring in her hand. She had admired it on her grandmother's hand every time she had gone for a visit.
"I'm sorry about the mess," he said. "I dropped it in the sink and it fell down where I couldn't reach it. And before you ask, I have heard of a spell called accio, but I didn't want to damage the ring. Your father asked me to take good care of it. He'd be really impressed at the moment."
He paused for her response, but she continued to stare at the ring. "Hermione, are you okay?"
"Am I meant to give this back?" she whispered.
"I intended to give it to you tonight," he looked down, "but seeing as I am already down here ... will you marry me?"
She laughed to herself. Despite his recent success in properly sweeping her off her feet, this proposal screamed Ronald Weasley. It was perfect. She got on her knees in front of him, ignoring the soggy conditions and took his hand in hers. "Of course I'll marry you," she said right before she kissed him.
As they parted, he sighed. "What a mess."
"Yes, and I want to thank you for it. What a fantastic story to tell our grandkids."
Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon at her parent's home. Her father stayed long enough for tea, then wished her well, saying that his only responsibility in this business was to hand over money. She and her mother marveled over numerous websites, but made no particular plans until they could ask Molly and Ginny to join them.
Ron scrambled to come up with a new evening surprise, as the old one had inadvertently become an afternoon surprise. More so than he'd intended. He'd determined that Hermione was going to be easy to live with. Unlike most women, she always made her wishes known; he just had to listen for them. He knew exactly what to do for her tonight.
After dinner at an expensive restaurant – you only get engaged once, he pointed out – they returned to the house. Ron excused himself, asking Hermione to join him upstairs in thirty minutes.
She entered the bedroom to find Ron wearing a leopard-print G-string – or maybe another animal; there wasn't enough material to be sure – and sprawled out atop red satin sheets in a centerfold-style pose.
"Oh dear God," she said, hoping she was too quiet to be heard. "Ron, what is all of this?"
"See something you like? You did ask for sexy."
"Oh my," she thought. Was it bad that he was trying to get her hot and bothered, and all she could think about was what a nice job he had done Transfiguring the sheets? She contemplated how to tell him gently that unless he was going for humor, he'd totally missed the mark. She studied the ring on her finger and made a decision. She'd just go with it tonight and appreciate the gesture for what it was. After all, she had the rest of her life to fine tune him.