Marvelous
By Len
Rated: PG
Spoilers: Everything through OotP, just to be safe.
Pairing: RW/HG, of course! And (for some reason) veery slight Charlie/Tonks.
For HughRoe – here you go! I hope you enjoy it!
Written for the LJ r_h_ficathon on March 15, 2004.
Disclaimers: These characters really aren't mine. I swear.
Warning #1: Gratuitous Weasley-Adoration and fluff. I'd apologize, but I really wouldn't mean it.
Warning #2: I don't think I've ever really had a story with a mind completely of it's own before, until this one. It refused to do what I intended.
…and as such, the Rebellion that sparked many of the social reforms of the fifteenth century, in an attempt to ensure equality for all magical creatures, actually led to greater social stratification in the wizarding world…
Hermione paused for a moment, reading over the paragraph to make sure she knew where she was going with it. It seemed to make sense for the most part, she supposed, although the wording would need to be shifted a bit when she started the second draft…
Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud, rather ominous-sounding crash from the hall, followed by muttered, rough cursing. Not that either of these were unusual noises to hear at number twelve Grimmauld Place, but Hermione didn't recognize this particular voice or the footfalls. Standing up, she quietly crept over to the partially ajar sitting room door, and pulled her wand out. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, and pointed the wand directly at…
…a hideous, misshapen, warty nose. The bloodshot eyes above it crossed slightly to get a good look at the wand, and then looked up to see who wielded it.
A smile appeared in the pockmarked face. "Wotcher, Hermione!"
"Tonks!" Hermione exclaimed. "Goodness, you startled me!"
The Auror grinned unrepentantly. "Sorry. Got off assignment a bit early, felt like a bit of a celebration with my mates back here. The daft bloke we've been trailing thought he could blag out of a charge…say, you haven't spotted Charlie around, have you?"
Hermione blinked. Keeping up with Tonks was a bit of a challenge when she'd just come off a case. She had more energy than a room full of Cornish pixies, and tended to shift her appearance to rather odd things. At the moment, her lank, greasy hair was shortening into bright green spikes, and her nose was resuming a more normal shape. But what was odd was she somehow strongly resembled Billy Idol, if Billy Idol happened to be a petite and pretty young woman. "Er…I think he and Ron are running an errand for Molly at the moment."
She looked slightly disappointed, but perked up again almost immediately. "Well, then we - could have a chat! Girl talk. How about a cup of tea? I think I smell biscuits, as well. They're not Ginny's are they? She's a dear girl, but her baking is nearly as bad as mine. Shall we?" Tonks, now with her trademark purple hair and heart-shaped face, extended an arm in the vague direction of the kitchen. Hermione thought about her still-unfinished essay. 'Blimey, Hermione. There's still three weeks of holiday left - relax!' a voice said, it's low tones ringing through her head. It sounded infuriatingly like Ron's. Shrugging it off, she smiled back at Tonks. "That sounds lovely."
In the kitchen, Hermione ended up making the tea. The whole of number twelve had been doing their best to keep Tonks away from potential household accidents, and giving the woman a kettle of boiling water seemed like a terribly bad idea.
"Where'd Charlie and Ron get off to, then?" Tonks asked, once they were settled with their cups of tea.
"I think it was to get more cleaning supplies. And Charlie was going to see about getting some treats for Buckbeak. The poor thing's been a bit down, lately."
"I can't say I blame him, spending all his days in a dreary place like this," Tonks agreed.
"Perhaps Charlie knows of a refuge or someplace he could live? I know Harry doesn't want to give Buckbeak up, seeing as how Sirius was so fond of him. But like Ron says, it's just not right to leave him stuck in the attic."
Tonks nodded sadly and took a sip of her tea. Overhead in one of the bedrooms, Kreacher was wailing and beating something against the floor. Hermione winced.
"So," Tonks said, regaining a bit of her playful demeanor. "How is Ron doing, lately? I've been so busy with assignments for the Order and the Ministry that I've hardly seen him."
Hermione, despite being one of the smartest witches of her age, was not well equipped to deal with what was clearly an invitation to gossip. Particularly when the gossip was about one of her best friends. Sure, she and Ginny often chatted about Ron, but it was usually more of a venting, irritated, Merlin-he-is-driving-me-mad type of chat.
She had a feeling that was not the sort of talk Tonks was looking for.
"He's fine," she answered cautiously. "Good. I think he's happy that all of his family is here."
"It must be dreadful, having all your family spread all over the globe," Tonks agreed. "Not that I'd know, but I'm sure it's very unsettling."
"Yes. Ron seems to be a bit more…calm…now that they're here."
"And now that you're here."
Hermione shrugged uncomfortably, not meeting her eyes. "Well, Ron's always been a bit like Mrs. Weasley in that respect, I suppose. He likes to be able to watch over his family and friends. And since there is no way Harry is going to be able to visit until the end of the month, he's making up for it with the rest of us. He's been a bit…"
"…clingy?" Tonks suggested. Her face acquired a dreamy expression, and she sighed. "What a lovely thought. If I were five years younger…"
"Tonks!" Hermione said, scandalized.
The Auror grinned at her. "What? Surely you've noticed that he's not a bad looking bloke, Hermione. Don't tell me you haven't. Looks a lot like Bill, that one. And when I went to Hogwarts, all the girls had mad pashes on Bill Weasley. Those who didn't fancy Charlie, of course."
Hermione tried to imagine the female student body fainting at the feet of Ron Weasley, and failed. He didn't exactly come across as heartthrob material. He was far too...solid, she supposed. Steady. Comfortable.
But there was Luna and her little crush. And all those silly first years, who'd decided to set their eleven-year-old hearts on the tall, slightly over-protective Prefect. It had been that particular instance where he'd picked up a third-year Slytherin who'd been terrorizing the girls in the passageway that had done it, most likely. And Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that Lisa Turpin spent most of her Transfiguration class last term gazing at him…but that hardly made him the school dreamboat. "Well, that isn't the case with Ron," Hermione replied firmly. Tonks looked skeptical, but sipped her tea.
"It isn't," Hermione insisted. "Look, there are a few first years who think he's marvelous, but…"
"And you don't agree with them," Tonks stated. She was enjoying this far too much, Hermione decided, but she couldn't see a way out of this conversation, short of getting up and leaving, which would just be rude. What hadn't occurred to her was that Tonks was not only enjoying this 'little chat' immensely, but that she was also well-versed in interrogation techniques, and was bringing several of them into play.
"I didn't say that."
"Oh?"
"Honestly, Tonks. You know that Ron is my best friend. I think he's...great."
"Great." The older witch managed to make it sound like Hermione had suggested her friend was a gangrenous flobberworm.
Hermione held her chin a bit higher. "Yes, he's great. He's very...nice. Except when he's being stubborn. And he's really very smart, or he would be if he'd just apply himself..."
Tonks winced. "Oh, dear."
Hermione decided it would be wise to shift the topic a little. She raised her eyebrows as if an idea just occurred to her. "By the way, why were you so keen on finding Charlie before?
It was Tonks' turn to look away. She made the universal waving gesture for 'it's nothing', and nearly dropping her teacup in the process. "It's not important, really. He owes me a few quid, is all."
A likely story, Hermione thought. "What did you two bet on this time?"
"Well…promise you won't tell Ron?" she asked, leaning forward as eagerly as if she'd be Lavender or Parvati, and not a professional Auror.
Nevertheless, Hermione would promise no such thing. "What have you and Charlie done, Tonks?"
"Let's just say that Ron's owl had the dubious honor of testing out the first of Wizard Wheezes' new line of owl treats. And I correctly guessed the outcome."
That sounded very bad. "What—?" Hermione started. She was cut off by the noisy arrival of the two Weasleys they had just been discussing. Tonks promptly sprang out of her chair, spilled half her tea on her shoe, and went out to greet the newcomers. Or, more precisely, Charlie.
Charlie, who was currently trying to fend off Ron's angrily exuberant arm gestures with a large leg of lamb.
"…told them that if they want a Guinea Pig, they can use their own bloody owl! Pig's already balmy enough without them feeding him that rubbish!"
Hermione took in the scene. Charlie, loaded down with the lamb (presumably the treat for Buckbeak) and a shopping bag of cleaning supplies, was trying (unsuccessfully) not to laugh at Ron, who was covered in various unidentifiable sticky liquids, and a smattering of feathers. As he continued to yell and wave an arm about, something jam-like slid off his hair and hit the floor with a splat. Hermione wrinkled her nose.
"Pay up, Weasley," Tonks said, striding out of the kitchen and stepping between the two. So much for secrecy, Hermione thought. "I called it, didn't I? Say it, now." Charlie remained resolutely silent. Tonks looked at him steadily, her eyes now their original blue. "Charlie…."
Charlie heaved a sigh. "'You were right, Tonks, as you always are,'" he answered in a monotone. Tonks nodded in satisfaction, but Charlie wasn't finished yet. "You've seen the divine light of truth, oh loveliest, all-knowing, Nymphadora. If I had but a speck of your wisdom—"
Tonks turned a bit pink. "Shut up, you great prat. Do you want a hand with that lot or not?"
Charlie ceased his exultations and passed off the leg of lamb. "Cheers," he said. She grunted a bit under the weight, and the two of them headed up the stairs.
Back in the hallway, Ron paused his irate mutterings to stare at the retreating pair. He appeared to be trying to work something out. After a moment, he shrugged, and turned to Hermione.
"My brothers," he said carefully, while a rivulet of blue liquid made it's way down his face, "are wankers."
"Ron," Hermione chided, "don't swear."
"Hermione – do you know what those bloody—"
"—Ron!"
"—blooming idiots did?"
Hermione looked him over. "Yes, well, I think I can tell. But it's not worth getting worked up about it. A few cleaning spells…" As she towed him towards the kitchen, she realized that whatever he'd been doused in seemed to be solidifying, "…or maybe scouring spells…and you'll be fine," she said, injecting cheer into her tone. "And clothes are easy enough to clean."
Ron exhaled angrily. "Sod the clothes – those prats nearly killed my owl!" he yelled. Hermione blinked, and followed his eyes to flannel shirt he'd been holding carefully in his left hand the entire time. She'd thought he'd merely been trying to spare it from the mess that covered the rest of his clothes, but as she watched, it…moved.
Cradled in the makeshift nest, Pig was lying on his back, blinking wearily and panting for breath. "Oh, my goodness," she exclaimed. "What's happened to him?!"
"Fred and George decided to try out their new 'Speedy Owl' line on him," Ron growled. "And you know what he's like – he already flies like he needs training wheels. The treat doubled his speed, and he ended up trashing the back room of their store before he collapsed." Ron gently brushed back the downy fluff on the top of Pig's head with one long, freckled finger. "Poor little fuzzball," he added softly under his breath.
Hermione watched, feeling an odd warmth spread through her stomach, one that not even the disgusting-looking goop covering her friend could squash. The whole picture was just so…Ron. How many times had she seen Ron, covered in dirt or blood or filth, scared or hurt or angry? And yet every time, he still managed to have these moments where the absolute best part of him shone out for all the world to see - something so true and beautiful that Hermione couldn't help but marvel at it. It was because of this something that the Viktor Krumms and the Justin Finch-Fletchleys of the world, despite their merits, would simply never be able to measure up in her eyes.
"Is he going to be alright?" she asked, watching his face carefully. Ron looked up from the owl and nodded. "Yeah, he should be right after a bit of sleep. But I'm not lending him to the twins again, that's for bloody certain."
Ron carried the bundled bird over to the corner of the kitchen, where it was dark but still close enough to the fire to be warm. After a bit off fussing - filling up a dish with water, and another with a bit of left-over bacon - he turned back to Hermione.
She was leaning against the kitchen table, wearing a very odd expression on her face.
"What's wrong? Something on my nose?" he quipped.
"You're marvelous."
That was possibly the last thing he'd expected to hear from Hermione Granger. "Wha-what?" he asked, and watched with trepidation as she walked towards him, stopping just inches away from his face.
She looked into his eyes, and breathed in the scent of a city at dusk that he still wore on his clothing.
He looked into her eyes, and stopped breathing all together. As she reached her arm up to his neck, he briefly wondered if it were possible to die from abject fear and overwhelming hope, simultaneously. Then he felt a slight tug at his hair. "Erm?" he said cleverly.
Hermione stepped back, and seemed to take his center of gravity with her. She held something up. "A feather. You, er…you had a feather. In your hair."
"Oh," he said, and took it from her. "Thanks."
And he could scarcely believe it, but she blushed pink and looked shyly away. "No worries. You'd better get cleaned up. Your mum won't be happy when she sees what you've tracked in, hey?"
"Yeah."
"Right," she said. "Good. Okay. I'd better get back to my hands—homework! I have to finish my homework."
"Okay," Ron replied, and watched as Hermione practically dashed from the room. He looked down at the feather in his hand, and smiled.