Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.
A/N: Well, hello again! It's been awhile. Life got in the way, but I'm back with another chapter of this short lil fic of mine that I started for Romione Trope fest. Who doesn't love a little fake dating trope? :D
Thanks so much to my betas: sm_jl, adenei, accio-broom.
Just a reminder that this is considered a magical AU and some elements may not follow canon timeline.
Hope you all enjoy. Cheers!
xx Cheesy
I Solemnly Swear
Chapter Two
Hermione's intention is to avoid Ron for the rest of the day.
Granted, Molly makes that task easy by occupying their time with mundane chores, like degnoming the garden and sweeping out the fireplace. Chores that are, very noticeably, completed on opposite ends of the house from each other.
It's brutal enough that Hermione has suffered through the stares and whispers from the other Weasleys after walking down the Burrow stairs following her confrontation with Ron. She needs more time to reflect on how to navigate their new fake relationship, and she can't do that without a single moment of privacy.
Hermione finishes up her chores and heads to the kitchen to receive her next task from Molly—desperate to stay on the Matriarch's good side now that she's 'dating' her son—but that's not who she finds when she walks through the door. Ron is sitting alone at the kitchen table, an assortment of biscuits spread around him. She should have known he'd be browsing the kitchen for food. Looking at the clock, she knows he always gets hungry for a snack around this time of day.
"Hi."
Ron stops chewing. "Hi," he mutters through a mouthful.
Hermione glances over her shoulder, nibbling on her bottom lip before turning to face him again. "Do we really have a moment alone?"
He shrugs, brushing the last bit of crumbs from his fingers. "Not for long, I suppose."
"Maybe we should talk more about this—"
She steps forward to join him at the table, but Ron places a finger to his lips, silencing her. He jerks his head towards the garden. "Come on, let's go to the shed. My dad's gone to visit with Amos Diggory. If we're quick, we may have enough time before supper."
Hermione takes note of the assembled pots and spoons magically stirring a red sauce just as a delicious, spicy aroma tickles her nose. She quickly follows Ron out the back door. If they are going to sneak away, it must be done before Molly notices they're gone. She can only imagine how that conversation would pan out.
But they have to make an attempt. For Hermione, she at least needs to cover up the fact that she lacks any knowledge as to what a real relationship actually looks like. Not that Ron has more experience—well, that she knows of. Her stomach churns at the thought that he might.
They enter the small dusty structure, and Hermione immediately sucks in a breath. She hasn't realized before how tightly cramped it is. It's a chaotic space, one filled with various knickknacks and workstations hosting tools for partially completed hobbies.
Ron ducks inside and the door slams shut with a reverbreal bang, sending a cloud of dust swirling through the air. He has to crouch down to avoid hitting his head on the roof. "So, you were saying?" he asks after a moment, leaning a casual elbow onto a nearby wooden table.
Hermione stiffens, not knowing how to respond. The heat is stifling, and beads of sweat pool on her face. She fights not to swipe a hand across her forehead and bring attention to her slimy perspiration. It's already uncomfortable and awkward enough just being alone with Ron in such a small space.
His eyes scan her face as if he's trying to read her mood, which only increases the tension in her shoulders. Her throat is dry as she squeaks out, "How are you so calm about all of this?"
Ron chuckles, his eyes rolling like the answer is obvious. "Because I'm not you."
Hermione clamps her mouth shut. She wants to say something snappy in reply, but also doesn't want to get sidetracked. Instead she lets out a slow, controlled stream of breath, while simultaneously trying and failing to ignore the tiny grin twitching at the side of Ron's mouth. It's distracting, really. He's much closer to her now than he was in his attic bedroom earlier that day, and in the shed's glowing, dim light, she could probably count his long eyelashes—is he supposed to have that many? And why do his eyes look an even darker shade of blue than they ever have before? Not that she's spent much time dwelling on the color of Ron's eyes.
Hardly none.
"Er, Hermione?" Ron waves a hand in front of her face, and she startles.
"Oh. Sorry."
She averts her gaze, crossing her ankles and digging the toe of her trainers into the ground. The next time she looks up at him, Ron's brows are pulled together and he's sizing her up with a tilt of his head. Hermione barely suppresses the shiver that prickles the hairs on the back of her neck. Good thing he can't see those.
"What about a signal?" Hermione blurts out, sweeping a sticky strand of hair from her neck.
Ron simply blinks at her. "A signal? For what?"
Oh honestly. She bites her tongue. Although hoping Ron would understand what she means without diving into specifics, it's clear that she's going to have to explain her mentality—while likely only leaving him questioning it even more.
"What if the others start to suspect something isn't quite right with—" Hermione gestures between their bodies. "Well, us? What do we do if we need to make a quick escape to sort out another plan?"
He hums, considering her suggestion. "How about this? Anytime you need to talk, or if you're feeling overwhelmed, just grab my hand."
"Your hand?"
"Well…" Ron shifts on his feet, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah. It won't rouse suspicion cause we're supposed to be, y'know, a couple. Right?"
"Right." She gulps down a large lump in her throat and straightens. "Let's practice."
"Practice what?" His eyes bulge out. "Hand-holding?"
"Yes! We have to make it look natural."
His laughter is a deep, rumbling commotion that sends a pleasant vibration through her chest. "Only Hermione Granger…"
Only Hermione Granger, she repeats in her head. Why is Ron's voice so smooth when he says her name like that? And why does her heart pitter-patter in staccato rhythm over said words?
She's too lost in her thoughts to notice Ron's hand inching closer to hers on the workbench, but when she does, heat engulfs whatever words she has remaining in her mind. Why is it so hot in here? Hermione fights the urge to draw her hand back, not wanting Ron to discover the sweat on her palms.
Their eyes meet, darting apart just as fast. Maybe they shouldn't look at each other. After a beat of silence, Hermione slides her gaze back to Ron, peeking at him through one eye. He stares back at her—hard—for a couple of lingering seconds, but then his demeanor softens. Her pulse rockets, less confident now of her proposal than she was mere moments ago.
Ron's fingers twitch on the table but don't yet move any closer. She wonders if he's going through the same mental analysis in his head. Don't be silly, Hermione. It's Ron. She wouldn't be surprised if his mind was on snatching one of the brooms in the shed for a quick fly before dinner.
Dwelling on what Ron could be thinking ends abruptly in the next moment as his hand curls around her wrist. Hermione's reflex is to scurry away, but his hold is surprisingly tight. Yet, his hand is warm, comforting, and all encompassing.
Her brain turns to mush as a shy smile takes over his face, a hint of vulnerability clouding his expression. Their fingers thread together, and Hermione is certain that she is no longer breathing. She studies his lingering look, searching for any signs that he may be uncomfortable with the intimacy of this plan. His plan. The flobberworms fluttering inside her belly only intensify when she finds none.
Are they supposed to talk during this? Do couples just stand in silence while holding hands? How long should they hold hands? Surely Ron will want to break their connection and wipe his hand on his trousers any second now, it's not like Hermione had a chance to murmur a drying spell before he touched her palm.
But he doesn't pull away. In fact, he leans forward, the movement intensifying the pressure on their joined hands. Her knuckles will turn white if he squeezes her fingers any tighter, but the grip isn't painful.
It feels…good. And it's no secret that Ron and Hermione aren't accustomed to physical affection—at least, not towards each other. When Ron brings a second hand up to cover her own, trapping it into a little ball of warmth, she rises onto her tiptoes. Although not sure what her intention is at first, laying a palm on his chest seems like a solid plan. She wants to know if his heart is racing as fast as her own.
Before her hand can make contact with his shirt, the door to the shed bursts open like it's been blown apart with the force of Reducto. Ron and Hermione jump apart, both attempting to tinker with random Muggle artifacts on the tables. Hermione's hands fumble a large metal object, wincing as it falls to the ground with a loud clatter.
Fred and George stand in the doorway. Of course. Brilliant, just brilliant. The matching smirks on their faces deepen the blush that Hermione is well aware covers her cheeks.
"Hello, you two," Fred drawls out, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Sorry to burst in. Didn't realize the day's entertainment had a change in venue." George chortles.
Ron glares in the twins' direction, a look so fierce that Hermione is surprised actual daggers aren't shooting straight from his eyes. He steps in front of her body, shielding her from view. She raises an eyebrow at Ron's protective gesture. It's not like I'm indecent, but the twins surely think that we were up to much more than we were just now.
"What do you two want?"
"Nothing really," Fred saunters backward, propping the door open with his foot. "Thought we'd scour the shed to find last minute inspiration for the joke shop, but didn't realize that it was already occupied."
"Leave," Ron demands, pointing towards the garden.
Fred chuckles and disappears from sight. George gives them a hearty wave, calling over his shoulder. "By the way, Mum noticed you two went missing at least a full minute ago, and she's not particularly happy about it. Tread lightly if you don't want another bollocking."
Another roll of dust billows up from the twins' noisy retreat. Hermione's heart sinks at the thought of Molly being angry at them for disappearing.
"I'll go out first. Wait one minute before following me." Ron clears his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets before striding out the door without another word.
His departure leaves a silence that is more strange than it is calming. Hermione covers her face with both hands, letting out a loud groan. This scheme is possibly the worst idea she's ever had, and she is positive no good can come from it.
The heart of wizarding London is buzzing with excitement. An innumerable amount of witches and wizards stroll down the cobblestone alley, browsing the assortment of magical restaurants and shops.
Hermione clutches her Hogwarts supply list between her fingers, marveling at the glittering window displays. It's almost the same experience every year, yet she always wishes that she had more than one pair of eyes to enjoy it all.
Although hoping to dash towards Flourish and Blotts to gather the remainder of her schoolbooks that she has yet to purchase for the upcoming year—admittedly disgruntled that she couldn't make this trip earlier—Ron and Harry have different plans, forcing her to stop in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies to admire the latest selection of brooms.
A loud exhale leaves Hermione's lips as she smoothes out the wrinkles in the parchment her strong grip created.
"Don't get your wand in a knot, Hermione. I reckon none of these shops will run out of books by the time we get there."
She sends Ron a glare, her annoyance increasing when he chuckles in response to her look. "If you two aren't actually going inside, I'd prefer we spend our time a bit more wisely."
"You heard your girlfriend," Harry announces, sniggering when a massive blush colors Ron's face. "Let's get our list sorted, then we can come back and browse if there's extra time."
Hermione gives a perfunctory nod, turning on her heel without waiting for any additional moaning and groaning from Ron. The alleyway is packed with other students preparing for the new school year, and there's no time to waste if they want to check off all of their boxes before dusk settles.
Besides, the more she can focus on her set schedule of tasks, the less time she'll spend dwelling on the conundrum she's placed herself in with Ron. After her encounter with him in the shed the night before, Hermione headed straight for the shower, eager to wash off the sweat and grime from the day. When she returned to the kitchen for dinner, wringing out the wet ringlets of curls around her shoulder, she came face to face with Mrs. Weasley. Molly eyed her up and down, a scathing look of disapproval as if Hermione had been caught doing anything less than proper with her son.
Dinner was much quieter than lunch.
Hermione's only relief now is that Fred and George are far too busy today with the opening of their shop to sniff out their ruse. It's still her intention to hold off on stepping foot inside of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes until the end of the day to avoid being targeted by the twins' antics for as long as wizardly possible.
She still needs to develop a backstory with Ron about their relationship—how they decided to get together, what was their first kiss like—
Hermione inhales through her teeth, working hard to keep her feet moving in the right direction down the alley without arousing suspicion. Ron already keeps kinking an eyebrow in her direction, and it's only a matter of time before he asks her what's driving her mental.
Her main goal is to keep suspicions at bay, but so far, it doesn't seem all that difficult as no one has challenged the validity of their relationship.
Wait—why has their relationship been accepted so quickly by the other Weasleys?
She should be grateful for the reprieve from Ron's family—apart from Molly—but her stomach tightens over the thought of having to lie to them. It'd be one thing if they were lying to random strangers, but family is different. And Hermione does consider the Weasleys to be a part of her family, as they've always welcomed her into their home with open arms.
More importantly, she should've made Ron aware of the arrangement before she tossed him into the deep end in front of the entire Sunday lunch table. Honestly, she didn't even wait for his consent. How foolish can she be?
Hermione is just about to push open the door to Flourish and Blotts—and shove all thoughts of her phony romance to the back of her mind—when Ron's hand darts out in front of her body, forcing her to come to a full stop at the entrance.
"Harry, go on in," Ron instructs. "I've gotta talk to Hermione about something first."
Harry eyes them both between his specs before shrugging. "Oh-kay. I'll see if Ginny is inside."
Hermione silently pleads for Harry to stay, but he doesn't seem to read the desperation in her gaze, slinking inside the shop without another word.
"If you keep acting so dodgy, this plan will never work," Ron mumbles.
Hermione huffs. "I am not—"
"You are."
Ron sighs, leaning against the brick building. As several wizards walk by them, he tilts his head closer, lowering his voice. "I know how you get when it comes to prepping for our classes, but you can't be icy towards me because of it. People aren't that thick. If they sniff out any sort of tension, they're going to wonder if we're even a couple at all. Or why we would be."
Why would we be a couple? Hermione is tempted to question, but thinks better of it. Instead, she says, "You're right. I'm sorry. It's fine."
Ron's eyes scan her face for a moment before he angles his head towards the bookshop. "Come on, I know you've been itching to get in there."
Hermione grins. "I really have. How many classes are you taking?"
Ron releases a loud grunt and follows her inside.
A pleasant amount of time was spent inside Flourish and Blotts—although Ron and Harry would say too much time, judging by their constant moaning and groaning—and they're back on the cobblestone path, strolling to their next destination.
Hermione's gaze shifts down again to her supply list, mentally checking off items as she goes, eager to see a full sheet of marks by the end of the day. Her head must have been buried in her parchment for longer than she anticipated, because her shoulder bumps hard against a solid body.
"Oi. You okay there, Granger?"
She lifts her head to find Ron peering down at her, his eyes bright with amusement. His voice is deep and dangerously low. He has both hands wrapped around her shoulder blades to steady her, and Hermione's cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"Oh—oh, yes. I'm fine, Ron. Thanks." She tucks a wispy curl behind her ear, moving to step back. The action doesn't put as much space between their bodies as Hermione intended as Ron's fingers curl around her arms even tighter, sliding down to rest along her elbows.
"Incoming." Harry's murmur comes from somewhere close, yet still outside of the small bubble charm that Hermione reckons is around her and Ron. Their heads snap up to find Ginny striding towards them with a purpose, her long, ginger hair swishing behind her as she walks.
"Hiya, lovebirds." The youngest Weasley pushes a palm against her freckled forehead to shield her face from the sun. She plonks her other hand on her hip. "Harry, would you like some company so you don't have to be a third wheel anymore?"
"Please," he mutters under his breath, but not low enough that Hermione can't hear him. She attempts to swat Harry's chest but he backs away quickly.
Hermione glances over at Ron, startled to find his gaze still pinned on her. As they make eye contact, he releases one of her elbows, his hand falling limply at his side. Her skin prickles with anticipation, the words catching in her throat. What is happening?
She has spent years standing next to Ron without so much as an innocent, accidental bump of the shoulders. Now, they can't seem to stop touching each other.
Fake dating, remember? The reminder, along with a loud, unmistakable clearing of a throat, is enough for Hermione to detach her body from Ron's without another glance.
"Don't you two want to have lunch somewhere else? Alone?" The mischievous glint in Ginny's eyes is hard to ignore.
Ron wrinkles his nose. "Why would we do that?" Hermione elbows him, and he immediately straightens. "Oh! Uh, yeah. We should—we should go. You fancy some ice cream?"
He jabs a thumb behind him, raising a questionable eyebrow in her direction.
"Okay." Hermione pulls her lip between her teeth, falling into step next to him as they turn away from their friends, walking towards Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.
"So they're skipping the lunch part then?" Ginny murmurs before they are out of ear shot.
"Probably so they'll have more time to snog," Harry plays along.
Ginny snorts. "I think I almost preferred it when they were rowing constantly."
"Fucking hell. I don't."
The last comment compels Hermione to slip her fingers between Ron's without a second thought. Once they're a safe distance away from Harry and Ginny, Hermione squints up at Ron. "You think she's buying it?"
He blows out a shaky breath, but she notices that he doesn't let go of her hand. "For now."
Hermione's stomach sinks, guilt seeping in as she spots the stress lines already forming on Ron's forehead. Why did she come up with this ridiculous plan, and why oh why did he agree to it?
Thankfully Florean's isn't too far away, and seconds later they slip inside the shop to avoid migrating even further through a large crowd. A bell dings to signal their arrival as Hermione's eyes settle on the colorful creamery on display.
Mr. Fortescue's smile widens as they approach. "Good afternoon, good afternoon! Welcome to the parlour. What can I get for you two?"
Ron studies the menu like he's making one of the hardest decisions of his life. "Let's see…"
"Strawberry and peanut butter?" The choice leaves Hermione's lips without a second thought. It's not her favorite—she prefers chocolate and raspberry—but Ron has ordered the combination before and she's curious to try it.
His face splits into a lopsided grin. "You read my mind, Granger."
Her brain short circuits for a moment as she studies the curve of Ron's lips, long enough for Ron to dig around in his pocket for coins without Hermione noticing. When awareness settles in, she begins rummaging through her bag.
"No, let me—"
"No, really." He holds up a hand to stop her. "I can get it."
Her cheeks warm as he quickly pays for both of them and hands her a heaping cone filled with ice cream that drips over the sides. As they walk towards the exit, Hermione leans over and murmurs, "Thank you. But this isn't an actual date, you know."
"Oh." Ron holds the door open for Hermione as she steps onto the cobblestone street. "I know. Consider it an advance on your Christmas present this year."
She throws her head back and laughs. They sit down at an empty two seater table just as the sun begins to dip behind the clouds in the sky.
"There it is."
Hermione scrunches up her eyebrows. Ron gives her a perplexing look, one that she desperately needs more information about. "There what is?"
"Oh, I don't know." Ron leans back in his chair, licking the sides of his cone before continuing. "You've been so high strung over the past couple of days at the Burrow. It's like we were at school already. I dunno, it's nice to see you relaxed."
Ron's soft smile sends a flurry of flobberworms through her stomach. He has no idea how much she needed to hear that quiet assurance.
Hermione leans forward, letting her elbows rest on the table as she licks her already melting ice cream. "It's nice to feel relaxed. We may have gotten ourselves into a bit of a snag with this whole—"
"We?" Ron interrupts, lips parting. "We?"
Hermione makes a feeble attempt to hide her flushed cheeks behind her cone. "Okay, I did."
"No." He shakes his head. "I agreed to go along with the plan."
"True."
They eat in silence for a few minutes. It's pleasantly natural to be sitting with Ron like this and somewhat surprising that it doesn't feel awkward at all.
Moments after Hermione chews up the last bite of her cone, she wipes the corners of her mouth with a napkin. Itching to start a new conversation topic, she blurts out, "I think our classes will be much more challenging this year. I still haven't decided which text I should start with on the train—"
"Hermione…" Ron groans, his head lolling back in exasperation.
"These are our N.E.W.T. level classes, Ron!"
"Right." Ron's head bobs up and down, his lips forming a tight line. "We must be prepared."
Hermione opens her mouth to agree with him before narrowing her eyes at the smirk spreading across his face. "You're mocking me."
"No…" Ron drawls. "Where would you get a brilliant idea like that?"
She bites back a smile, lowering her gaze to her lap for a brief moment before lifting her head back up again. Ron is still looking at her with that expression…that one, infuriating expression that she can't seem to work out.
Swallowing hard, Hermione straightens in her chair. "We should probably outline what level of PDA we're both comfortable with."
Ron's cheeks turn pink as he whistles. "Fuck, getting right to it."
She rolls her eyes at the crude remark, but a shadow hovers over their sunny spot before she can respond. Neville Longbottom grins down at them, his own double scoop cone making quite the dripping mess down his arm.
"Hermione! Ron! Fancy seeing you here."
"Hey Neville." Ron rubs his hands up and down his jeans, his wide eyes darting over to Hermione. "Alright?"
"Pretty good," Neville responds, his cheery remark giving no indication that he overheard Hermione's mention of 'PDA'. That assumption ends no sooner than she finishes that thought in her head. "Not as good as you two, I suppose. Oh! I interrupted your date, didn't I? M'sorry. Really happy to see you two together though! It's about time."
About time?
"Oh! Er…" Ron looks to Hermione again, mouthing help me.
"Actually, Neville—"
"Oh, blast!" Neville's entire cone falls with a sad splat onto the ground. "My ice cream! I gotta go. See you at school!" Their classmate darts off back into the shop—no doubt seeking a replacement—and leaves the sopping mess behind to melt in the sun.
"Oh, bloody hell." Ron groans, slouching in his chair. "Fancy seeing you here. Everyone in our year will know about us before the train even departs from the platform."
Us? She assumed that their charade would be over by the time school started. Now, she's not so sure.
"Don't stress," Hermione leans forward, lowering her voice. "We're just two people engaging in an activity that others could misconstrue as a date. We didn't actually say it was."
He huffs out a laugh, his eye twitching into a wink. "Clever."
She has no idea what to do with this winking nonsense.
"Really! It's only some light fibbing."
Ron crosses his arms, a lopsided grin forming on his face. "Hermione Granger…going against the rules…"
"There's no rules against fake dating! It's just…frowned upon."
"If that's what helps you sleep at night." His shoulders raise in a nonchalant shrug, but she can tell that he's still fighting back a laugh.
So incorrigible.
"I am actually still hungry, you know." Ron stretches his arms above his head, and Hermione's gaze falls to the small patch of bare skin visible at the lining of his shirt. She gulps, averting her eyes before Ron catches her staring.
Sweet Merlin…
"Figured you might be." She stands abruptly, waving a hand towards the cobblestone alley. "Come on, let's stop by the Leaky before we go find Harry and Ginny."
Ron follows her lead without question. They fall into step next to each other, enjoying a peaceful lull in the conversation.
"The Magical Menagerie!" She points as they pass one of her favorite shops. "Where I bought sweet Crookshanks—"
"Sweet? There's nothing sweet about that bloody beast!"
"Ron! You know, you two are going to have to sort out your differences. I need my two best men to get along," Hermione teases before clamping her mouth shut.
Where did THAT come from?
"What?" His eyes cloud over but then refocus, and he shakes his head. "Oh, yeah, sure. I'll behave s'long as he stops hissing at me."
The banter between them is so natural, a fact that grows stronger with every moment they have together. Ron is different from her in almost every way, but even she can't deny this mysterious attraction she has to him. But things get messy if feelings enter the equation. Their plan can't be some wish-fulfillment fantasy.
No amount of magic could make Hermione forget that this isn't real.
By the time they make it to 93 Diagon Alley, Fred and George's joke shop is already bursting with energy.
The bold orange paint on the exterior is so bright that not even a casual passerby could miss the colorful emporium. The interior is filled with whimsical decor in every single nook and cranny, along with an ample selection of tricks, jokes, and unusual trinkets, all certain to cause mischief.
It's charming, Hermione surmises, if you enjoy that sort of thing. Those magnificent pranksters.
Hermione and Ron squeeze their way through the patrons standing around in a crowd, transfixed by the animated fireworks display on the ceiling. They end up situated next to shelves upon shelves of heart-shaped glass potion bottles filled with a peculiar pink liquid.
"This is…" Hermione begins, not able to find the words to finish her thought as her hand closes around the cork on top of one of the vials.
"Totally barmy," Ron finishes, shaking his head.
"Looking to appease your inner trickster?" George calls from some place above their heads. Hermione glances up to find him peering down at them from the top of a winding staircase, dressed in magenta-colored robes that clash brilliantly with his ginger hair.
But something about the way George phrases that question puts Hermione on edge. Does he know?
"Or perhaps you'd like a love potion to continue wooing your sweetheart?" The Weasley twin continues on. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione notices Ron's nose wrinkle at the term sweetheart. "Maybe there is trouble in paradise already. Need to make sure she keeps her sights set on you, Ronniekins? Instead of, say, Cormac McLaggen over there?"
Hermione follows George's point to the tall, wire-haired Gryffindor a few paces away from them, and to her surprise, Cormac is looking straight at her with a sardonic grin on his smarmy face. With a tut of disgust, she breaks eye contact as quickly as possible.
"Shut it," Ron mumbles, setting the vial in his hand back onto the shelf. His face is a significant shade of tomato red now—is he more mortified over George's comment or angry about Cormac's presence?
The unnerving thoughts swirl through Hermione's mind, and suddenly, the air is nothing but suffocating. Without another word to Ron or George, she stumbles away on a frantic quest to find the nearest exit.
Come on, come on…
Hermione's eyes flicker around the room as she speed walks through the throng of people. She must look mad, but she doesn't care about anything other than her desire to retreat from the spotlight. As soon as her gaze lands on a small oak door tucked away in the back of the shop, she wastes no time turning the knob and slipping inside.
The room is shrouded in darkness, and the first sensation Hermione feels is something sharp pressing against her back. No sooner than she releases a tense breath through her lips, the door swings open again and another body stumbles in. A loud crash, followed by a string of curse words, and Hermione knows it must be Ron.
For a beat, she's speechless. Why would he follow her inside? Especially when so many people could have watched them enter a small cupboard together. Her stomach twists in knots, knowing what conclusions people might draw up from this. Oh Merlin, and George! He had to have seen it all.
That's it. Her behavior is positively despicable and she should be avoided at all costs.
"Hermione, this is a broom closet."
"Is it?" Her voice rises to an unnatural octave.
"Mind filling me in on what we're doing? Cause I don't have a bloody clue!" The irritation is evident in Ron's gruff tone.
"We have to keep up appearances, don't we?"
"Here? Hermione, my mum is out there—"
"I know! I know, okay?" she huffs out, hissing when she inadvertently knocks her fist against a sharp object. "Just give me a minute to think."
In the next moment, Ron mutters Lumos, and the entire cupboard is flooded with light. "That's better. Now we can at least see each other while we talk, yeah?"
"Oh, don't look at me." Hermione moans, shielding her eyes and turning around. "I must be a ghastly sight right now."
Even though she can't see Ron's reaction, she can hear his heavy sigh in response to her dramatic startle. "What are you ranting about you barmy witch?"
"This is silly, we shouldn't be doing this! It's too complicated."
Hermione bolsters her resolve, attempting to brush past Ron to hightail it out of the room. His presence is too much for her to handle right now, particularly when her emotions have been so up and down over the last few days. His kindness towards her, the fun they had sitting outside the ice cream parlour, his insistence on making sure she's okay when his concern is the exact reason she just may very well fall apart…it's all too much.
"Whoa." Ron's fingers circle around her wrist before she can open the door, pulling her back until she's flush against his chest. "You dragged me into this and now you want to back out?"
The warmth of his breath against her cheek elicits a tiny gasp from Hermione's lips. He tenses behind her, as if just realizing the precarious position he's put them in.
Hermione whirls around, backing up against the door. Her eyes meet Ron's as a wave of heated determination flashes across his face. His jaw ticks, like he's prepared to argue with her.
Oh my.
"Will you stop, please?" Ron urges, holding his hands out. "I agreed to this plan because I wanted to. I'm all in."
A larger argument bubbles in her chest, but Hermione forces it back down. He has a point. Besides, now is not the time to hash this out. They're in a broom closet, for Merlin's sake!
She nods—at least, she thinks she does. Ron's hands curl into defensive balls before relaxing them at his sides, his shoulders sagging as if relieved that she didn't respond with a clever retort. As if her mind wasn't too jumbled to think clearly anyway.
This whole arrangement started out as a ruse for—in hindsight—a pretty terrible reason, but why has she leaned into her role so effortlessly? They're operating on clearly set boundaries. Aren't they? They've had an open line of communication. Haven't they?
Ron's gaze drops to Hermione's lips for the briefest of seconds, but his line of vision is unmistakable as she observes the hint of vulnerability at the edge of his expression. He can't be looking at her like—well, in a way he never has before. Like a boy who wants to kiss her.
But what scares her more is the urge she has to just smash their lips together and get on with it. For some reason, tapping into the fear of being caught by anyone who could open that door is thrilling.
Is it possible that she maybe, just maybe—
No.
But he's not backing away. Hermione's heart is beating so fast that she can't catch a decent breath. He inches a fraction closer to her, eyes wide with meaning. Ron is close enough now that she can feel his breath on her lips. The warm air makes her eyes flutter closed, her thoughts buzzing with anticipation.
The door swings open, revealing Ginny and her wide smirk. "I think your time is up, lovebirds."
Ron jumps so far back that he crashes into the shelf full of supplies behind him, cursing yet again as he rubs a sore spot on the side of his head.
"We-uh-it's not what you-uh—" Ron clears his throat, nervous laughter bubbling out. His amused expression sobers quickly, as if realizing that they can play this off. "Actually, yes. It's exactly what you think."
Ginny's eyes roll upward in a dramatic fashion. "Stop with the act. I know."
Hermione's jaw drops. "You—"
Harry appears at Ginny's side, a sheepish smile on his face. Oh, he is guilty.
"Potter," Ron grits through his teeth.
"Don't worry, he wasn't going to tell me," Ginny reassured them both, an evil grin forming at the corners of her lips. "I conned it out of him with my specialty hex."
Hermione doesn't even have to ask what that could possibly mean. The sight of Harry wincing as he rubs his arm is enough for her. "Bloody brilliant, this one," he mutters.
Ginny's cheeks redden, and the small interaction between her two friends brings a smile to Hermione's lips.
"You're just lucky it wasn't Fred and George who found you," Harry adds.
At the mention of the twins—the whole reason why they started this charade in the first place—Ron and Hermione lock eyes with each other.
"Oh, bloody hell…"
