French
By Lady Pyrefly
Author's Note: I (finally) saw GoF, and I was just inspired to write this. I really hope you like it!
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Ron had always loved the French language. He found it captivating, and fluid, and sophisticated.
And apparently it was genetic. Ron's father and Bill also enjoyed the language, although nobody else in the family did. Molly thought it frivolous, Charlie had no time for it. Percy had spoken it fluently himself, and was not impressed. The twins held the opinion that it was pointless to take the time to say something in French, when more people would understand it in English. And Ginny was Just A Girl.
So, at Hogwarts, it was obvious that Ron was alone with his passion. Fleur, in the fleeting moments she had been at the school, had held his interest, although girls usually had the bad habit of falling for Ron's many brothers rather than him. But Fleur was pleasant enough to be around after marrying Bill, and had taken to teaching him a few words in French here and there. Ron hadn't picked much of it up; he'd been to caught up in the way her voice rushed around him like music. Ron had been captivated. Alone, but captivated.
Until, of course, one day.
A one Hermione Granger was sitting across from him in the common room, preoccupied with the Charms essay that was yet to be finished. For once in her life, Hermione seemed to be having a rough time with it, due in large part to the flu that had rendered her too indisposed to attend the day's lesson. "Le charme électrique, le charme électrique," she murmured, quite agitated, "Qu'est-ce qu'est l'histoire du charme électrique? Là est reçu pour être quelque chose de cela dans le livre!" She flipped hurriedly through the pages of the textbook.
Ron's ears picked up. "Hermione," he said thickly, his voice heavy with sleep, "Are you speaking French?"
Hermione pauses, slightly pink, and said, "Oh, well I suppose I was. My mother's French, you know."
No, Ron hadn't known, but it didn't really matter. He was currently fighting down the overwhelming urge to kiss her. "Say…say something more?"
She blushed more. "Ron, if you're going to make fun of me, I'm going to go upstairs," Hermione chided, not willing to believe a word Ron said. She returned to her rushed mutterings and essay-angst.
Ron leaned back against the couch, Potions essay in disarray in front of him, and reflected that if Hermione would stop thinking he was making fun of her, every time he realized how exactly much he loved her, they're relationship would go a whole lot smother.
Hell, he thought, a bit of a grin coming over his face, maybe she'd even be the one to teach him a few words.