A/N: Wow, I was surprised at how many people wanted another chapter! Alright, I suppose I could carry this one further ;) I'd like to say a special thank you to TheDerangedMango, for her review as well as her message. I fully intend to sit down and read some of your work when I get a moment! Review this chapter with ideas of what you'd like to see- I intended this to be a oneshot, but your wish is my command, dear readers. This is short because I wasn't quite sure what to do... so tell me. :)

Anyway, on to Ron and Hermione (and Buttercup and Westley) goodness! Again, I do not own anything from either the Harry Potter world of the Princess Bride world (the quotes from the book are from page 69 of the William Goldman paperback).

Chapter Two: The Tone

Ron's voice was strangely soothing, Hermione thought as she closed her eyes and listened to him read. They had fought so many times that she'd lost count part way through second year, and she had always found it silly that even while they were fighting, she'd liked his voice. In the throes of anger, while he bellowed and accused with no good grounds for either, he sounded… well, not soothing, but… familiar. She had occasionally imagined that Harry's voice would have had the same effect, but she knew now that that was simply not the case. It was Ron's voice, and his alone, that had this effect.

He was a good reader, she thought. Mrs. Weasley had taught him well. He paused in all the right places and, after he got to know each character a bit better, gave them each a different tone. He had stumbled a bit through the bits about Buttercup and Westley, the farm boy, as the author explained how in love the two were. She smiled warmly, her eyes closed, as she listened to Ron work his way over the words, her ear to his chest, taking in the rhythms of his breath and voice.

How she had gotten so lucky, she was not sure. First, she had become a witch, then she'd gone off to school, made two incredible friends, been adopted into a beautiful family, and now after years of turmoil, grief, and adolescent hormones gone awry, she had her face buried in the sweater of Ron Weasley. Her life was finally starting to come together and she was incredibly grateful toward the man sitting on her couch.

She shifted slightly and opened her eyes. He took little notice, as he seemed to be getting into the story now. His eyes flitted over the words quickly and his wild ginger hair shone a rosy gold in the autumn light. He was beautiful, she thought, and for a moment he seemed like a dream. She reached up to touch his cheek gently, to run her fingers over each freckle and curve of his jaw.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asked with a small smile, looking down at her. Even his eyelashes looked golden in this light.

"Just making sure you're real," she said, then blushed.

"Ah," he replied gently. After a heartbeat, he bent and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Just making sure you're real," he said. "How are you doing? Do you need anything?"

She cast a glance toward the coffee table. A box of tissues and a mug of steaming peppermint tea were waiting. She sat up and took a sip of tea as Ron pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. She seemed to pass his test, and he brushed a few damp curls away from her eyes. She shook her head at him. "Just more reading, please."

"Alright," he said, extending his arm around her and pulling her close. She put her head in the crook of his shoulder and breathed in as deeply as she could past her stuffy nose. "Let's see… where was I?"

"The evil stepmother," Hermione replied, sniffling and smiling all at once.

"Right! Okay… let's see… Queen Bella was shaped like a gumdrop. And colored like a raspberry. She was easily the most beloved person in the kingdom, and had been married to the King long before he began mumbling."

Before Hermione realized what was going on, she was dreaming of a small farm that looked quite a bit like the Burrow. It seemed much like what she imagined the world to be some two hundred years ago, and she found herself wearing a simple dress with an apron over the front, leading a horse to the stable (newly acquired by the Weasleys, she surmised). Soon Ron came stumbling out of the broom shed, his hair in disarray and his clothes a bit the worse for wear.

She smiled at him and he stopped dead, the bucket of water he was carrying sloshing all over.

"Be careful," she advised.

"As you wish," Ron replied, tipping his head at her in the most formal gesture he may have ever made.

All too soon, someone was nudging her awake. She breathed in and rolled her head up to look at Ron. "What? I was dreaming," she said, a bit put off.

"Sorry," he muttered, his cheeks turning a soft pink. "I just thought you ought to drink some more tea before it gets cool. You sound like you're having a hard time breathing. And, um, my arm is falling asleep." He shook his arm gently and she moved apologetically. "Thank you."

"Sorry about that."

"It's fine. So, um, if you want to take a nap… should I um… should I go?" He seemed rather nervous about this question and Hermione hurried to ease him.

"You don't have to, Ron, but if you'd like—"

"Oh, I'm not saying—"

"You can stay. I don't know how much fun I'll be, though. Is your voice getting tired? You've read the first three chapters!" She was quite amazed that Ron could read so quickly—he surely hadn't read that fast when it came to Astronomy homework.

He nodded a bit. "I'll keep reading, if you'd like, but I would like some tea or something."

She got up off the couch and saw to it that Ron had his cup of tea. "I'll take a turn reading, then," she said, snatching up the book and thumbing to the page where Ron had left off.

"You're sick, Hermione!"

"And? Still capable of reading. I'll just do a chapter or so. I'd like to read—always makes me feel better," she said firmly, pulling the book out of his reach when he made a grab for it.

He could see the battle was lost. "Oh, alright. Just one chapter, though. As soon as I'm done with my tea it's my turn again." He raised the cup to his lips and then paused. "Wait. I suppose I ought to do this right." With a devilish grin, he set his tea down and began covering himself in blankets, laid down (as best such a tall man could on such a small piece of furniture), and put his head on Hermione's arm. He reached forward and grabbed his tea, taking a sip as Hermione looked at him with a raised brow. "What? I'll be a good audience, and you were quite comfy yourself—"

"Fine, fine," Hermione said. "Alright. Chapter Four…"