Disclaimer- Hermione Granger is the pride and joy of Mr. and Mrs. Granger, and Ron is one of several prides and joys of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. They belong to Madame J. K. Rowling. Not to me… and not to each other.
ETA: Enough people have written in for me to have to spell this out: Yes, I know Platonic friendship is straighforward friendly love with no other intentions. The use of Plutonic was intentional--- Irruptive and unstable, just like R/Hr.
Please stop writing to me about itand just enjoy/ignore the pun... Sad eyes
"Dear… adolescent… hopeless… romantics…" Hermione mumbled as she wrote. She'd gotten into the habit of speaking the words she'd written, just to make sure it all made sense to the final letter writers. She was meticulous that way.
"That's good… that's good, put that down!" Ron Weasley said, sticking his head over her shoulder, "Oh, you did… … "
"Ron, you're doing that thing again," Hermione said, gritting her teeth and catching a few strands of her hair that had escaped from behind her ear. She'd sort of hoped that it would tame itself as she got older, but it was still the same bushy mane that it was ten years ago.
"Doing what?" Ron asked, making his 'huh?' face. Hermione continued writing, and reading out loud so that Ron wouldn't have to look over her shoulder.
"I'm very happy to see that young people are expressing themselves through the art of writing… and I'm flattered that I am the subject of many many fan fictions… …. But I feel compelled to---"
"Don't mince words!" Ron said, whipping out his own quill from seemingly nowhere and pushing Hermione's hand out of the way, "Here! I'll show you! Stop… bloody…putting... US…. together…you… pea-brained…"
"Ron!" Hermione said, shoving the redhead off to one side, "Please! Let ME write it, why don't you?"
Ron pouted pitifully as he looked up at her. The quiver in his bottom lip might have instilled in her a bit of remorse, but he made that face so often these days that she'd built up an immunity to it.
"You don't understand, Hermione," Ron said, "Do you know what they did to us in the last one? … They had us---"
"Yes, yes, I'm aware of the garter and champagne story, Ron," Hermione tried to push the image out of her mind, "But we're not going to get anywhere with them by calling them names or using threats or childish violence."
She pulled her wand out and ran it along the last few unkind words, permanently erasing them from the paper, while Ron bit his lip and wondered if the bag of rotted fish guts he'd sent to every member of an online clique dedicated to his 'love and devotion' (ha-ha) for the Lady Granger counted as violent.
"I feel compelled to address this issue." She continued, "Many of you feel that Ron and I belong together. You misinterpreted our childhood friendship as the seeds of love, and our adventures together as the nurturing it needed to blossom into---"
"Into a flower of romance?" Ron asked, rolling his eyes, "Really, you're beginning to sound as bad as they do."
Hermione pursed her lips. "Into a beautiful relationship," She finished, "This is complete and utter Bullsh--- oh, wait, no…"
She hastily glanced over at Ron, whose eyebrows seemed to be raised about eight inches from where they should have been.
"Hermione, did you just---" He began.
"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me…" She said, blushing and undoing her outburst, "It must have been that last 'list of reasons' they came up with…that flaming pile of rubbish."
Ron crawled over to the writing desk and leaned his back up against the side. Crookshanks, who happened to be resting at his mistress' feet, raised his head lazily. He gave Ron a disdainful look to tell him that he didn't approve of the smell of the shampoo Ron used that morning, then went back to his nap.
"Completely wrong." She corrected herself, "For the following reasons… … One should always give arguments to back up an argument, Ron. We learned that in law, English, and simple debating rhetoric." Ron was picking at a scab on his forearm, and nodding vacantly.
"For one thing, Ron and I are friends, and our friendship has become so strong that there is no room for romantic love. Plutonic love DOES exist, though rarely written about anymore."
"Do they know what plutonic means?" Ron asked.
"They'll look it up," Hermione said flippantly.
"Really? The same girls who wrote that story where I save you from going away to graduate school in New York City by telling you I love you---"
"Maybe you're right." She quickly added an asterisk and the definition of the word 'Plutonic' to her paper, "Please refer to the bottom note for a definition of plutonic. … I'll just add that in case they don't understand asterisks either… best to cover all bases, is what my micro-economics professor said."
"Yeah, they say it in Quidditch , too." Ron added, not to be intimidated by her doctorate degree in seven disciplines or her masters degree in five other disciplines.
"Realistically, my busy schedule doesn't allow me much time for a relationship with Ron. He needs a lot of love and affection, which brings me to my next point- Ron is already involved emotionally with Harold James Potter. The two have been eyeing each other since they were sixteen, in fact."
"Are they going to believe that?" Ron was skeptical, "They might just accuse this of being one of those fake form letters…"
"Why would they think that?" Hermione asked.
"Er…. No reason," Ron decided to shut up. She didn't have to know about the archives of deliciously debauched fan fiction that had been written about his love life with Harry, and she certainly didn't need to know that he guiltily enjoyed a few of them.
"I realize that this may be a little too much for some of you to be able to bear," Hermione continued, "but Miss Rowling, knows exactly what she's doing. I implore you to stop writing these redundant fictions, as Miss Rowling has confided in me that she feels mounting pressure to have me involved romantically with Ron to appease the screaming masses."
"And I dont. Like. Girls. That. Way." Ron said, emphasizing each word with a subdued tap of his foot against the floor. "Hey, Hermione, add in that you're a Virgo and I'm a Pisces."
Hermione's eyebrows tweaked up for a moment. "Why?" She asked.
"Well… Virgos and Pisces are said to be opposites- a good match as friends, but highly unlikely as lovers."
For a fleeting second, the quill hovered over her parchment as she weighed the pros and cons of adding in Ron's reasoning. She finally decided against it, as she didn't really want to explain to the hormone stricken fussbudgets the magic user's perfected study of astrology and how it had more of a sway to those with any magical blood in them at all. Besides, the last thing she needed in her mailbox was a stack of whiny letters from girls who wanted to point out that their current romantic relationship (insignificant and unrealistically expectant, no doubt) was with a supposed 'incompatible star sign'.
"Are you writing it, then?" Ron asked.
"Ahh… yes I am. … … I would like to close this letter with a bit of advice to fan fiction writers." She said, "Umm… … ah, yes. Writing is a difficult field to get into, and you all show at least a shade of interest in it by writing stories based on famous works. However, having friends become lovers is a cliché tactic used mostly by sitcoms. Please try being original."
"You know, writers of the Harry and Ron scenario get ridiculed for being cliché also." Ron said.
"Yes, but really, nobody expected it to happen," Hermione said lightly. She didn't seem to notice that Ron looked a bit hurt by her comment.
"What the heck is that supposed to mean…?" He whispered to nobody.
"Original, by the way, doesn't have to be 'for shock value' either. I am referring specifically to those of you who pair me with my old potions teacher, Professor Snape."
"Oh, disgusting!" Ron said, shuddered, "Glad I was turned down for that one!"
"Turned down, or turned over?" Hermione whispered.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing." Hermione smiled inwardly. Ron certainly didn't have to know about the small but loyal following of Snape/Ron fanatics.
"Hugs and Kisses… Hermione Lockheart and Ro---"
"What?"
"I mean, Granger." Hermione said, wiping off her 'error'.
"Dream on, Hermione. The poor bastard can't even remember his own name yet."
"A girl can dream, can't she?" Hermione asked, turning the paper sideways to that Ron could add his signature.
"I'll send this out when I leave for the pharmacy this afternoon," Hermione said, feeling accomplished, "Hopefully, this will get them to reflect on what they've been doing."
"Just give me the letter," Ron said, casually reaching for the (now sealed) handwritten plea, "I'm going to meet Harry in a bit anyway."
Quickly, but casually, Hermione brought her thumb down onto the letter before Ron could take it away. She gave Ron one of her withering looks that asked "just how dumb do you think I am?"
"What?" Ron demanded, "I'm just offering!"
"Do you think I'd forget about the fish-intestine letter so quickly?" She asked, her half-closed eyes fixed on his.
"Er…"
Hermione got up from where she was sitting and moved towards the front door to put the letter into the 'to deliver' pile. Ron followed her, looking much like a child who wasn't sure if he'd fallen out of favor with his mother. Crookshanks also rose, hoping it was time to go out.
"If you're going to be that way," he said slowly, "Maybe I'd better go before I'm late."
"Have a nice time, Ron," Hermione said, catching the young man in a warm good-bye hug, "Call on me later; tell me how it goes."
"Of course," Ron said, hugging back.
Before Ron was completely out of the door, Hermione asked, "Exactly where are you going, again?"
"I'm just going to pick Harry up from some private meeting he claimed was terribly urgent."
------elsewhere----
On the top floor of a very beautiful apartment complex, a blonde woman with a slightly long nose and a Martha Stewart haircut sat at her desk. She stared, unimpressed at the black haired male who sat in front of her.
There was a long silence. She finally spoke.
"No."
The young man's green eyes widened indignantly.
"But Jay-Kaaaaaaayyyy!" He pleaded.
"I'm sorry, Harry," She said, cradling her head in one hand.
"But the audience wants my true story!"
J.K. reached for her coffee cup. Realizing it was empty, she got up to go refill it. Harry's eyes followed her like a spotlight.
"Sooner or later the world will find out that it's YOU whose been writing half of those 'fanfictions' about my sex life anyway!" As an afterthought, he added very coyly "It'd be a shame if they found out about the forest of papers you printed off from that one archive, wouldn't it?"
"I can't hear you when you threaten me."
Two steps on her way to the kitchen, she felt a rather cumbersome and warm weight on her right leg.
"Pleeeeease! Please, please, please?"
"Harry, I'm sorry, but I'd be blacklisted! The world of children's literature just isn't ready for a gay couple; now kindly let me go!"
"Just write about that one night I told you about, then? Please? Damnit, you OWE me! I made you what you are!"
"Harry, I'm going to count to ten…"
"How about a kiss?"
"One… two…"
"Just one kiss!"
"Three…"
"No, tongue, even"!
"Harry, don't make me get to five…"
-----
I must admit, I would like to do a little more with this, but I'm in college now. I really had fun writing the ending, though. Ok, your turn! Reeeeview! … Oh, and If I offended any Hermione/Ron shippers… … Eh, well you can privately flame me all you want. Grabs Vegetarian hot dogs to roast over potential flames Come join me if you're an anti RW/HG, or perhaps just a loyal member of the HP/RW Empire.