Love You, Mum
A Heron Fanfic by HiSpAnIcPaNiC
a/n: no, sad as it may be, your dear HiPa did not jump off the edge of a cliff into the dismal oblivion…she simply hit a little snag after Freaky Flying (henceforth known as the ex-boyfriend), but she's back now, ready and raring to go, and biding the time until Half-Blood Prince with a stream of plot bunnies both in R/Hr and H/G ships. Be on the lookout for the one-shot sequel to Freaky Flying, Lady in Red, coming later this week!
Un beso dulce,
HiPa
" R O N, hurry, we're going to be late!"
"Mfflbrffl…"
"Ronald Billius Weasley the First, you've been in bed all this time!"
"…no…"
Ron Weasley ran a sheepish hand through his flaming hair, quite cognizant of the white linen sheet entwined round his legs which totally negated his last statement. Still, he thought, glancing blearily at the clock on his night stand, he would not have it said that he ever went down without a fight against the one and only—
"Hermione. It's not even eleven-thirty…"
"And brunch starts at twelve-fifteen," Hermione previously-Granger-presently-Weasley-as-of-five-years-ago-next-Tuesday-thank-you-very-much said pointedly, striking a flamingo-legged pose as she attacked her foot with a gold high heel. "You know how Ginny is about these things…"
"I think I like the pink pumps better, love," Ron said conversationally, trying to avoid the actual subject of conversation. But Hermione was too quick for his boyish games, and for good reason.
"Oh no you don't, Ron, you're not out of the doghouse yet—"
"Doggie! We're getting a doggie? Oh, Mummy, really?"
Much to the currently chastised husband's relief, a distraction in the form of a mop of shaggy red hair leeched itself to its mother's skirt.
"No, darling, although your father may need one to keep him company in that lonely fort if he doesn't get into the shower straightaway," Hermione responded warmly, though arching her brow meaningfully at the end of her statement.
"Daddy, you get to live in a fort? Just like when you and Uncle Harry were in the Order? Do you? Can I come?"
Ron laughed, thrusting his long freckly feet into acquaintance with the mulberry carpet. "Well, aren't we just a bundle of questions today, James Jordan Weasley?"
James Weasley clamored onto the bed and promptly began to bounce on it, surprisingly agile for a four-year-old. "Yep!"
"And with your old man's Quidditch reflexes to boot," Ron added, rubbing the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "But can you avoid…the Bludger Attack!"
"Aargh! Dad!" James shrieked as his father tackled him round the waist.
As they fell into a laughing, wriggling heap on the covers, a disapproving Hermione allowed herself a slight grin.
But only a slight one.
"All right, you two," she sighed, clamping both hands firmly on her hips, "that's enough…"
Ron's head poked out of the mass of fabric, a crimson periscope in a snowy sea. James' ear-to-ear grin soon followed.
"Look, James…the Golden Snitch!"
"Aha!" James cried with much gusto.
The pair of them looked at each other, and without even so much as a wink, said together, "Let's get it!"
"No," Hermione pleaded faintly, but not long after she too was pinned against the mattress.
"Tickle War!" both boys yelled, their clawed fingers roving across Hermione's stomach.
"No! Ahaha…stop! No, come on, guys…not…fair!"
After several minutes, they finally heeded.
"Oh…" groaned Hermione, "Jamesies, your clothes are all rumpled…we'll have to iron them…"
"Aw, Mum…"
"It won't take long. And you, Ron, better be out of that shower when I come back!" she tossed over her shoulder as way of pleasant parting, guiding James out of the room.
"Anything you say, my Golden Snitch."
Whistling to himself as he ambled to the bathroom, the retired Gryffindor Quidditch star gave his reflection a lopsided grin, loving the fact he played both Seeker and Keeper for his little Snitch.
Fifteen minutes later, the living room of the Weasley flat found itself in the company of a freshly showered, shaved, and spruced Ron.
"Hermione, let's get a move on, eh?" he teased good-naturedly, eyeing the clock on the mantelpiece.
"Well, we would have been ready sooner if it hadn't been for a certain Bludger Attack," Hermione replied, a disgruntled-looking James in tow. His blue collared shirt was now being suffocated by a black tie, and the famous Weasley hair was laying itself out to dry along the left side of his head, smartly parted at an angle.
Ron stuck his tongue out at his son while his mother wasn't looking, getting him to smile.
"Right then, all set?" muttered Hermione distractedly. "Good heavens…erm, Ron, do you want to go with James or shall I?"
"Oh, Mummy, please please can I go alone? Please?"
Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know, darling, last time you ended up at your Uncles' shop…"
"Please?" James pleaded, clasping both hands in front of him, "I'll speak real good this time, I promise!"
"Well…"
"Aw, let him go, Hermione. He won't get hurt," Ron made puppy-dog eyes at his wife, softening her. Truth was, he felt rather bad for the boy…he too could sympathize with being wrangled into a tie and having his hair glued down to his scalp when visiting family…
"Fine. But be careful. And don't you dare mess up your lovely hair!"
"I won't," James promised, though Ron swore he saw two little fingers cross themselves along James' left thigh. Hermione threw a pinch of Floo powder into the flames so they blazed emerald green, then warily watched her son proceed to the edge of the hearth.
"Love you, Mum," James said, blowing her a kiss.
"Love you more," she said, blowing one back.
"No, me," the boy argued, jabbing his thumb proudly into his chest and stepping into the fire.
"No, me," claimed Hermione, smiling.
"Auntie Gin and Uncle Harry's flat!" cried James, and with an echoing, "no, me!", he spun into fiery shadow.
Hermione took a step towards the now empty fireplace, but pulled back when she felt a hand clutch her wrist.
"Love you, Mum," Ron whispered in her ear, winding his arms round her waist.
"Ron," she giggled, his warm breath tickling the nape of her neck, "Love you more."
"No, me."
"No, me."
They pressed their foreheads against each other, feeling a heat quite unconcerned with the one from the fire.
"You know," Ron said softly, so that his breath ghosted along Hermione's lips, "I distinctly remember saying I liked the pink pumps better…"
"Ah," Hermione murmured, knowing perfectly well her shoes were not the only thing on Ron's mind. "Perhaps you can come help me find them."
And taking his hand, she led him back to bed.
a/n: a one-shot inspired by a game my little sister likes to play with my mom. I thought it was a cute idea.
Tell me what you think, though!
I'll love you por siempre!
HiSpAnIcPaNiC