Your pink house dreams of a middle-class America. - The Atari's
Hermione Granger was not a crier, so Ron approached his female flatmate with precaution.
"Hermione?" he questioned, sitting across from her at counter that dived their small kitchen from their modest living room, "what's wrong?"
"It's silly, really." She said, tossing her tissue into the trashcan and missing, "But after spending an entire day with baby Jack, I've decided I want what Luna's got."
Jack was Neville and Luna's newborn son who had spent the day with the two.
"Hermione, really, I mentioned this the other night. That mini-Venus flytrap jewelry set she's got really wouldn't be that difficult to make."
"Ron." Hermione groaned, "I want what she's got in her life, not her jewelry."
"Oh," Ron said, thinking, "so you want Neville?"
"In a metaphorical kindof way, I s'pose." She said, blowing her nose and receiving a grimace from Ron.
"A clumsy botanist with a fashion-challanged grandmother?"
"Honestly, Ron. I'm twenty-four and three months, single as all those lone sock in your drawers. I want what any girl wants - a bitty baby. And a house with a little plotted garden and a washer and dryer that doesn't take galleons."
"Oh." Ron replied sensibly, crossing around the counter and picking up Hermione's soggy tissue from the tiles and properly disposing of it. "Well, we can solve that."
"We can?"
"We'll just have a baby."
"Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes and rose to deposit her other tissue in the bin.
Ron reached out to her in the dimly lit kitchen and gave her a hug.
"Thanks," she said softly over his shoulder.
"For what?" he responded, still holding her.
"For making me stop crying. And well, for a lot more. It seems I don't say thank you enough. For giving me a place to live and for not trashing it. Well, for cleaning up your messes at least. And for not bringing your dates home and for giving up your bachelor-esque luxuries."
"But that's like a gift, Hermione, when I'm on a trashy date then I can just say I've got a girl at home waiting for me."
She laughed into the warm part of his shoulder and he sighed, finally breaking their hug.
"Ron," she said, looking up at him with her wide brown eyes and her arms clinging to his too-small pyjama shirt.
"Yes?" he said huskily, hoping she'd let go of him so his stomach would regulate and his head would unfog and he would stop wanting to kiss her so badly.
"D'you know," and she broke eyes contact with him as she paused, and he was hanging on her every word he said to his chest. He could feel her warm breath through the thin shirt as she began speaking again, "I want to be out with you instead of back here."
"Hermione, how many times have I offered to take you club-hopping for Mr. Right?" And he was trying very hard to lighten the mood and ignore the tone of her voice that suggested something other than his comment.
"I've already got him," She said slowly, softly, and he opened his mouth to speak but she interrupted him, "in my arms now."
And she rose her eyes to meet his once more and he couldn't take it any longer, he leaned down tentavly to match her mouth to his. Perhaps twenty four and three months was the perfect age for the two lone socks to rightly match up.
Author's note: I wrote another Ron/Hermione! And this one had diolauge and no angst! This is not usually like me! Ahh must write another Blackfic, for fluff can make me an un-angst-ified-writer. Which is not fun. Next thing you know I'll have a happy-go-lucky-Rudolphus-with-bunnies fanfiction. Lordy bless. Anyway, back on subject. Yay for the Neville/Luna! Baby Jack was a blatant steal from Degrassi's Baby Jack. Haha. Sowwy, Canadians! I was inspired by the fanfiction "Three Gryffindors and a Baby," and I took a line from the Oxygen show 'Good Girls Don't!' (the line was 'and a washer that doesn't take quarters!') Of course Hermione's a little out of character, but I tried to keep her as Hermione-ish as possible.
Review, please!