Ron woke when Lavender wiggled out of the bed and sleepily tapped towards the bathroom. He admired her pear-shaped arse as she hunted for her robes on the floor.
"I will be in Sheffield next weekend. Aunt Clara's birthday. Are you sure you can't come?" She flashed him her most winning smile.
Ron let out an un-committing hrmpf and wrapped his arms over his eyes.
"You know how I loath to go alone."
The whine in her voice made Ron cringed internally. The last thing he needed was another hour with Lavender's family and their inevitable questions: 'When are you getting married? Are you getting married? Why aren't you married yet? When will you ever marry, you're not getting any younger! " Her family was… alright… in homeopathic doses … Once a year. Besides, their relationship was casual. Mutually so. They had talked about this.
Ron rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "I have work to catch up on, Lav. Shacklebolt's been giving me grief all week about my filing."
God she looks hot when she pouts.
Lavender let herself be pulled back onto the rumpled bed. She took revenge by using him to warm her icy feet.
His thumb gently caressed her face. "How about I make it up to you… tonight? I can make my famous lasagne?"
She snuggled close, resting her head on his shoulder. "I would love that." She sighed contentedly and then giggled. "Ron… later!" She gently swatted his hands away from unbuttoning her robes. "I really have to go; Skeeter is waiting for my report of last night."
He yawned and stretched. "Half past six at my place. Can you pick up some wine? You know I am pants at that."
She kissed him on the nose. "Half past six it is."
Ron made a mental note to dress in Muggle clothes as he got out of bed and sniffed his socks for freshness and then shrugged and put them on anyway. He grinned to himself. Tesco's Frozen dinners - Muggle ingenuity at its best.
The day had started out so nicely . . . Yet an hour later he found himself sitting in Hermione's kitchen, wishing he had never left his bed.
:::
"For the last bloody time, Hermione, I am not dating Lavender."
Ron took another sip of his coffee, frowned, then added more milk to the acidic brew. It curdled. He glared at it for a moment and then stubbornly cradled the mug in his hands and leaned his elbows on the wooden kitchen table.
"If you are not dating her, then why, Ronald Weasley, did you take her to that function?"
Ron cringed as Hermione slammed the pan onto her stove. "Maybe I just didn't want to show up alone."
"Good God, Ron, are you sleeping with her again?"
"No, I am not -- bloody hell, I mean…Well, what if I am?" Ron smirked cheekily when Hermione turned to glare at him. At least he was getting some. After fixing Harry's problem he should work on getting Hermione laid. She sure needed to get some. It would make life easier for all involved.
She had turned back to the stove, furiously attacking innocently frying bacon with a wooden spatula. "You must know best…"
"You know, the bacon is already dead; there's no need to kill it again!"
The stabbing stopped then continued with increased force. "If you don't like my cooking, have her make you breakfast then. Oh, I forgot, she doesn't do homely...or sane ..."
"For fuck's sake, what is your problem, Hermione?" Maybe he could get Harry to . . . 'help' her… It would certainly solve two problems in one go…
Forcefully adjusting the pan on the flame, the Hermione turned around pointing the spatula at him, making him yell in surprise and scoot his chair back to avoid the hot greasy droplets.
She paused in her spatula waving long enough to shift to stand with her arms akimbo and glare at him down her nose. "Other than your inability to express yourself with anything other than profanity, fact is that I am not willing to deal with another of your psychotic break-ups. Remember, 'Won Won,' when you had to kip on my couch for a whole week because 'someone' would not stop flooing you?" Hermione hmpfed turned around again to stab at the bacon.
"Oh, whatever…"
Ron stared down at his coffee in irritation and thought to himself that Lavender at least knew how to use her mouth for something more pleasant than chewing him a new one.
Hermione and Ron both turned when they heard a thump, immediately followed by the sound of someone cursing loudly.
"Your shoes in front of the floo again, Ronald?" Hermione asked waspishly.
Ignoring her, he craned his neck towards the familiar voice. "You okay, mate?"
Harry limped into the kitchen, brushing soot from his sleeves.
"Grand, mate, no worries. Morning, Hermione." He pulled her into a hug. "Is that bacon I smell?"
She poured him some coffee and shoved the mug into his hand. "Take a seat, will you?"
Harry turned towards Ron quietly mouthing: "That time of the month?"
Ron shrugged and grinned at the other man as he sat down across the table from him. "Hermione's made her politically correct scrambled eggs, especially for you."
Harry snorted quietly as Ron ducked the piece of toast that came flying from the kitchen with practiced ease.
"Come on, mate, they don't look burned to me." Harry shot her a winning smile.
"Why don't you microwave us breakfast next time, Ronald?" Hermione filled plates with bacon, eggs and sausages and roughly shoved one in front of Ron after putting down Harry's and her own carefully. She then turned her attention to Harry, pointedly ignoring Ron. "How was the function last night? I heard Ronald had a date?"
"Did he?"
"I did not! I don't date! Change of topic anyone?"
"Smells amazing, Hermione," Harry said, wincing slightly as he sat down.
Ron turned green. Shoving his plate away, he covered his face with his hands, unable to look Harry in the eye.
"Ron?"
"I am not hungry."
"You alright mate?"
Hermione slammed her cup down hard, splattering coffee all over the table. "Ron? Are you laughing at me? You could just say that you don't like my cooking!"
Ron slammed his fist on the table, causing another coffee volcano to erupt. "I. Am. Just. Not. Hungry!"
Harry leaned over and patted his friend on the back. Locking eyes with Hermione who frowned angrily at him, he grinned. "He didn't hook up with Lavender again, did he?"
Ron made a sputtering noise in protest.
Torn between amusement and worry, Harry turned towards his best mate. "Ron, what is wrong?"
Hermione's chair fell over with a bang as she stood up abruptly. "The hell if I know!" Her voice cracked with anger as she turned to face them, her eyes burning with hurt. "Or care!",
Unable to speak, the two men stared in shock as she stomped away and slammed the door behind her.
:::
The flames in the fireplace flared green.
Hermione looked up from the morning paper, put her coffee mug down and blinked. Twice. Ronald Weasley, wearing an orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt and a lime-green towel around his waist, fell out of the floo.
"Mngghmone."
"Morning, Ron. Nice shoes." Shaking her head, she smirked at his combat boots. Oh for a pensieve …
Ron walked over to the icebox and opened it. "Milk?" Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed one of the bottles and turned around, grinning.
Hermione grunted something unintelligible in agreement, turning her attention back to the article she had been reading.
"You know," Ron said, slouching against the kitchen counter, "I could really do with a coffee!"
"Is it noon already? It can talk!" Hermione looked at him over the folded down newspaper, smiling. "On the stove, Ron."
He helped himself to a mug and joined her at the table.
"Ron, stop stealing my paper."
"Oh, come on, just let me have page three."
"Ron, this is not The Sun."
Ron stuck out his tongue at her and pinched the sports section. "MtkingHarrytbrr," Ron announced happily, stuffing another biscuit into his mouth.
"Chew. Swallow. Talk."
Ron's intention to blow her a raspberry ended up with him spewing crumbs all over the table.
"Honestly, Ronald, that is disgusting. How old are we, again?"
"Twenty-five, mother." More crumbs showered the table.
"Ron…" He took a large gulp of coffee.
"As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted: I am taking Harry to a pub tonight,"
Ron grinned, " He needs to get out more."
Hermione nodded in agreement. "Good idea … you are not trying to set him up with one of your workmates, again? It's not that secretary of Shacklebolt's, is it? I have been tempted to tell her that Harry is gay, just to get her to back off. You alright Ron? Too many biscuits?"
Ron spluttered some crumbs and coffee but scooted away and shock his head when she leaned over to clap him on the back.
"Fine, suit yourself, suffocate… Anyway she's been nagging me about him every time I see her. What's her name again … Catherine something. You know, potion-blonde, wears too much make-up, ditzy."
Ron tried to hide his unease by reaching for the sugar-bowl, adding several spoonfuls to his coffee. "Really Hermione, do I look as if I have a death wish? Stop laughing, that was a rhetorical question. Do you remember Yoiko? Junior Auror, Japanese. Harry seemed to have a thing for black hair," Ron took a sip of coffee. "Remember him mooning over that Ravenclaw seeker, Cho? Quiet fit she was, too."
Hermione nodded, cradling her cub with a sad expression. "I still don't think that is a great idea. You should at least ask him first."
"Now why would I do that? He would never show if I did!"