Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: The plot-bunny jumped me again. Ha. snort I need to work on resisting those! grin
o.O.o
Dear 'Mione
By SnakeEyesHannah
She's fallen asleep on the couch, head buried in the crook of her arm, on the pillows, her face almost completely obscured by her hair. She look positively gorgeous, I know, and I hate the fact that I can't find the courage to tell her how I feel so I can be the one she sleeps on, so I can brush her hair away from her face, so I can be allowed to study her without anyone questioning me about it.
Harry nudges my shoulder and I shake myself out of the trance Hermione always puts me in to look at him. He has this knowing look in his eyes that I really don't like and he smiles.
"Well, I'm knackered, I'll head up and crash," he says.
"Your own fault," I say, making a face. "You're the Captain, so you're in charge of the practices, you know."
"He's learned from Oliver, you know that, Ron," Ginny says, coming up from behind, slinging her arm over Harry's shoulder, squeezing. She grins at him and he grins back and I almost snort at their obliviousness. He fancies her, she's fancied him for ages and they're still dancing around each other.
"Oh shut up both of you," I say just to stop them from making goo-goo faces at each other, not that they realise that they're doing it, of course.
They share a look before turning to me, smirking identical smirks that almost make Malfoy look bad. It's half-disconcerting, but I choose not to let it get to me, I'll ask Harry about it later, when he's not with Gin, when Hermione's not sleeping on the couch, distracting me.
A glance at her, and I'm relieved she's still sleeping peacefully, and Harry and Ginny tries to choke their laughter, but I hear the giggling and give them a stern look. "Move out, troops," I command them, in the Voice - my worst officer-commanding-soldiers-voice that I've acquired over the summer, ever since I found out I was Head Boy to Hermione's Head Girl. With power come responsibilities, as 'Mione would say. Mine are to make people listen to her. I'm quite good at it. People say I'm scary when I use the Voice.
They mock-salute me, adopting straight faces. "Yes sir," they chorus before bursting out in laughter, at my glare muffling it to not wake up Hermione.
"Just get out of my sight," I say tiredly, having very little energy after the practice.
"'Night Ron," Harry says, grins and winks at Ginny before heading over to the spiral staircase to the dorm.
"Be nice when she wakes up," Ginny says, standing on her toes to kiss my cheek before smilingly walking upstairs to her own dormitory.
"I always am!" I call after her, ignoring her snort and eye-roll.
Slumping down in the nearest armchair, I sigh, rubbing my eyes. I'm dead tired, but I can't let 'Mione sleep down here. I know I have to wake her up in order to not let her sleep down here, but I can't really bring myself to do that just now. She's so wonderfully relaxed when she's sleeping.
She mumbles something and twists in her sleep, lying down flat on her stomach. She wiggles a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position. She can't seem to find it and I rise from my chair, intent on waking her so she can get up and sleep in her own bed – but she finds a nice position and stills. Changing my mind, I pick up the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over her, pulling it up over her shoulders.
"Ron," she mumbles and I pull back. But she doesn't say anything more and she doesn't stir and I let out a breath I hadn't been aware of holding, realising she just talked in her sleep. I'm not really sure how I feel about that she's obviously dreaming of me. I'm mostly pleased, I think, just hoping it's nothing bad.
Sitting back down in my chair, I look around, noting she hadn't been doing homework as she normally would. There is a book on the floor by the couch, one that most likely fell down when she fell asleep. I pick it up, looking around for something to use as a bookmark to the page it's open to. There's a parchment on the table and I reach for it, turning it over to see if there's something important written on it.
It's a letter, I see, and I glance at the sleeping Hermione, wondering if she'd kill me for reading someone else's private letter. Deciding she doesn't have to know, I sit back down, placing the book on the table, dog-marking the page instead.
"Dear 'Mione", it begins and I'm inexplicably mad – no-one is allowed to call Hermione that except me! Everyone knows that. I almost growl, it's probably from Vicky. I hate him, that ugly flat-footed, hunch-backed, uni-browed bastard. I've never understood what Hermione saw in him.
I scan the letter for the signature, finding it neatly scrawled at the bottom of the page, in a handwriting that's creepily alike Hermione's. I don't reflect on it until I read what it actually says; "Love, Dad". And I feel my face flush. It's from her dad. Of course. I feel stupid for jumping to conclusions.
I look at Hermione, worried that she'd wake and start yelling at me for being stupid. And suddenly this horrible feeling of guilt spreads through my body. I have no business reading Hermione's letters. I shouldn't do that even if they were from Vicky. But I'm so curious as to what Mr Granger could be writing his daughter. What Hermione normally talked about with her father.
Curiosity wins over guilt and, with a quick look at Hermione, I pick up the letter again from my lap.
Dear 'Mione,
How are you, love? Mum and me are doing fine, missing you as usual. It's nice to see that you haven't completely forgotten about your old parents, what with Harry and Ron and all the magical things happening to you, I mean.
I smile at this, not just because Hermione's father mentioned me, but because it's so lovingly written. It's like I can see Mr Granger smiling to himself writing it. And I can absolutely see Hermione's smile as she reads it. I'm almost jealous, dad would never write something like that to me. Mum possibly, but that wouldn't be the same.
I hope you're not studying too much, allowing yourself to have fun. I know it's important to you, love, and both mum and I agree – school is important, but we also know how important it is to relax.
The handwriting changes, into a more feminine one, and I realise it's Hermione's mother writing. I smile, finding it oddly sweet how they write the same letter.
I blink, trying to clear my head. That was so cheesy, I know. I believe Hermione is rubbing off on me, maybe a bit too much. Not that I don't like the fact that she is, but I could live without the girly feelings.
Ron seems to know how to balance that quite well. Yes, you say he's slacking off with his homework, but he does fine in school otherwise, doesn't he? Didn't you say he was Head Boy? That should count for something, shouldn't it?
I couldn't help but grin, pride spreading in my chest. Hermione's mum thought much of me. I glance at Hermione, wishing that she'd agree with Mrs Granger on that point, wishing she'd see that I had grown up and I actually wasn't slacking off as much anymore.
Yes, it should. But how is Ron, by the way? Has he shown any more signs? Have you made any progress on him? You know both mum and I think he's wonderful, even though he may be a bit slow on the uptake. Much better than that Bulgarian bloke, Victor, was it?
I could have jumped out of my chair, danced around the empty common room, I was so happy. I wasn't the only one who thought Vicky was wrong for Hermione. I immediately liked Mr Granger even more, he was a fine man.
Ignore your father, dear, he still thinks it was wrong to send you to Bulgaria that summer. He doesn't really trust boys with you and you know it. Come to think of it, the only boy he's been fine with has been Ron.
This was also very pleasing to hear. Although I had to admit Mrs Granger didn't seem to share her husband's dislike, she did seem fond of me.
Anyway, we just wanted to hear everything was all right with you and that you weren't stressing yourself out. I'm sure Harry has everything under control when it comes to those soul-binding things you wrote about. We're both scared for you, there's no denying that, but we also know we couldn't keep you home for anything.
Focus on school and try not to think of death so much. I know you're worried about us, but trust me, mum and I are safe. We're as safe as the Weasleys - Molly and Arthur were kind enough to put us under some sort of protection. I don't remember it right now, but I'll let you know soon, okay?
So don't worry about us, don't worry about dying (we know Ron wouldn't let you die without a fight) and just worry about your next exam. And possibly when Ron will come around. Mum says she thinks it's soon. I have a feeling she's right.
Don't stress! We love you so much and can't wait for you to come home for Christmas.
Love, Dad
I was a bit surprised, hearing that mum and dad put the Grangers under some protection. It wasn't really surprising like that, but still. I glace at Hermione again, knowing she must be dying to find out what spell her parents are under – I know that I am too.
There's a small addition to the letter and I tear my eyes off Hermione to read the seemingly hastily written note at the end.
Ps. Mum says she has got everything planned for when you come, whatever that means. Are you two up to no good? Should I be worried? Mum says I shouldn't, but I still am. Well, I have to wait until you come to find out, I guess, both you and your mum can be so stubborn sometimes. Not that I don't love both of you for it. (Please tell me if I should be worried!)
The letter ends there and I let out a small laugh.
"Ron?"
I almost jump out of my skin when I hear Hermione's sleepy voice. The letter falls to the floor and I blink at her, trying to fight the blush from creeping over my face.
"What are you doing?" she asks softly.
"Nothing, nothing," I reply quickly, maybe a bit too quickly, I realise, seeing her arched eyebrow. I know she's sleepy, but she's not dumb and I bow my head when her eyes drop to the floor, to the letter.
"What is that parchment?" she asks, voice betraying her innocently asked question. I know that she knows I just read her letter. I wonder why she doesn't seem more upset about it.
My first instinct is, of course, to lie to her, tell her that it was nothing, deny reading her letter, but I know it wouldn't do me any good and I sigh. I run a hand through my hair, making it stick up more than usual.
"It's your letter," I breathe out, reaching down to grab it.
"My letter?"
I'm still surprised she hasn't blown up in my face yet and I nod, holding out the parchment for her to take. She sits up properly, swinging her legs off the couch, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. But she doesn't take the letter.
"Why did you read it?" she asks after a moment's silence. I can't tell if she's mad or disappointed. I can't tell which one I want her to be.
"Because I was curious," I say honestly, meeting her eyes. She has the most spectacular eyes I've ever seen. They're brown, but I've never thought them to be the same boring ones everyone else has. As cheesy at it sounds, they are the windows to her soul. I know because I can see the fire in them when we argue. When she talks about S.P.E.W (yes, I've learned it's not 'spew' now, thank-you) or some arithmancy problem.
She doesn't say anything, but I can tell she isn't satisfied with my answer. She wants more. I sigh again and break contact. "And I was--," I trail off. I almost say I'm jealous, but I catch myself in time. "Because I thought it was Vicky who'd written it," I admit, grumbling. I can't help the acid tone that creeps into my voice at the mention of Victor Krum.
I don't dare look at her.
"How was quidditch?" she asks.
I snap my head up, blinkingly staring at her. I must have misheard her, because there was no way she'd just switched subjects. She normally goes on for ages about my unjust dislike of Victor and how he was such a nice bloke.
"W--what?"
"How was quidditch practice?" she repeats, smiling softly.
"G--good." I almost smack myself for stuttering.
She nods and only now reaches for the letter. I've re-folded it and our fingers brush when she takes it. There's sparks between us, I'm sure. She must have felt it too, because she inhales sharply and our eyes lock.
I don't know how long we just sit there, staring into each other's eyes, but it couldn't have been long. It felt like hours to me, though. I know I must look like an idiot, but she doesn't look away and neither am I.
"So your mum and dad seems to think much of me," I say after a while, not able to look into her eyes longer. I could drown in her eyes and I would like to live a bit more.
Hermione nods and smiles slightly, bowing her head. "They do," she agrees. "They think you're fabulous," she adds.
"Fabulous?" I can't help the grin.
Hermione looks up and rolls her eyes at my grin. "Yeah. They think you're good for me or something." She falls silent, realising what she just said. It feels surreal, this conversation. It's like I'm not in my own body, it's like this is dream. Only, I don't want it to be. "They seem to want you in the family, want you to fall in love with me," she adds a moment later.
I can see the blush on her cheeks, her obvious embarrassment in her voice and I find my throat dry. "R--really? Do they?" I croak. She nods. "And what about you?" My brain obviously isn't cooperating with my mouth, I so wasn't prepared for that question to come out. I hadn't planned for it to be asked, but it fell off my lips anyway. I could feel the tension hanging in the air.
"Wha-what about me?" she asks nervously.
"How d'you feel about that?"
She visibly swallows and I'm braver by that. "I-I…" She has a hard time putting words into a sentence and I have to suppress a smirk, it's the first time I've made Hermione speechless. "I think-… I think they are right," she finishes, looking scared and nervous. She stands up quickly, the blanket falling off her shoulders. She quickly picks up her book and shoves the letter in among the pages and prepares to leave. "Good night, Ronald," she says.
I stand up slowly, knowing she's rooted to the spot. I reach out and grab the hand that isn't holding the book and bring it close to me. "If you think they're right, why are you running?" I ask. I mentally thank Merlin I sound so calm. Inside I'm jumping up and down, ready to call out to the world I'm the luckiest bloke in the world.
"You, of course, don't feel the same way and I'm terribly sorry I just told you what my parents think and I what I think because it will affect our friendship and-…"
She rambles and while I think it's absolutely adorable I have to tell her she's worrying way too much. I yank at her arm and she falls silent, eyes wide. "It will affect our friendship," I say honestly, because I could never go back to being just friends with Hermione now that I know she feels the same. I've had a sneaking suspicion for a while, I truthfully have, but I've been too chicken to see if I was right.
"See, I told you, so please let me go so we can forget this whole thing happened and-…"
I roll my eyes, only slightly amused that she's rambling again. I know there's really only one way of shutting her up so I do that. I kiss her.
It's not long, it's not hard - it's almost just my lips brushing against hers and then I pull away, wondering if she'll slap me, scream at me or run away. Personally I'd like the slapping or the screaming, that way I'd know. Running away…? Naaah, that just brings confusion.
"What was that for?" she asks, sounding breathless.
I lean down, so our foreheads are touching, and raise my hands to cup her face. It feels nice to be able to do that, holding her. "Because you wouldn't shut up," I say, smiling.
She acts huffy, "There are other ways of doing so," but I can tell she liked it, her voice is very un-Hermione. Very-… Dreamy. I must say I like that voice. She sounds sexy.
I shrug at her, looking into her eyes. "Yeah, well, I considered the alternatives and figured this was the best. For me," I add, grinning.
She slaps me, but lightly, and tries to keep a straight face. It doesn't work and she's smiling widely, her arms snaking up over my chest and her fingers latch together at my neck. Relaxing my shoulders, I trail my hand down, letting them come to rest at the small of her back, pushing her closer to me.
"Considering the alternatives, this was the best for me too," she says, grinning. Her eyes sparkle and I can't help but feel lucky that I have this wonderful girl in my arms.
An idea pops into my head and I grin back, my eyes no doubt sparkling with mischief. In the back of my head I wonder if she sees it, but decide she doesn't when she does nothing. "So am I a better kisser than Vicky?" I ask, not because I want to know-- well, all right, I want to know, but at the same time I don't-- but because I want to see her riled up. Want to see the fire in her eyes.
And I'm not disappointed, her eyes light up, her smile faltering and an incredulous look creeping onto her face. I want to laugh, kiss her and say I'm just joking, but part of me wants to hear what she has to say.
"I can't believe you, Ronald Weasley!" she shrieks, her hands at my neck coming to my shoulders, pushing. I refuse to let her be pushed away and hold her tightly. "I can't believe you're asking me about Victor, of all people, at a moment like this!"
"But am I?" I ask, unable to stop myself.
"How should I know!" she practically yells, even though I'm less than a foot from her.
I raise an eyebrow, not prepared for that. "You haven't kissed him?" Hermione blushes and avoids my eye. "You have!"
She nods. "I have," she agrees.
I feel the anger and jealously run through my body. "So why did you say 'how should I know'?" I ask, my voice growing stronger.
"Because I haven't kissed you properly to make that comparison," she says calmly, sounding very professional and businesslike.
I almost have to do a double-take, and I notice the twinkle in her eyes I missed before. A grin creeps over my lips and I calm down. "You saucy little minx!" I tell her, playfully patting her bum. She grins widely, apparently not bothered by my hand. "You let me believe-…" I can't even finish the sentence, but she knows. She always knows.
"So how about I get to do that comparison?" she asks, looking up at me through her lashes, acting all coy. I'd think she was shy if she hadn't proven herself to be such a minx not a minute ago.
"For comparison reasons," I say and she nods seriously, although I see the smile on her lips.
"Of course," she says solemnly and I grin.
I lean closer, not quite going all the way, leaving her room to back out. I desperately wish she won't, but I do that anyway. I am a gentleman after all. It takes all but two seconds before she growls in the back of her throat and she reaches up to close the distance, and we're kissing.
Now it's hunger and passion and lust and love and everything I could ever have hoped for in a kiss. And Hermione's lips are so soft and responsive and I can't think of anything that's better than this – not even flying.
I only break away from her when I have to, when the lack of oxygen is too pressing. And even then I can't keep my lips from her and she tastes so good. She moans and makes sounds that make me dizzy and hot. Suddenly there's way too much space between us, too many layers of clothes separating me from her.
o.O.o
When I look back at this moment, I realise it was probably for the best that we heard footsteps in the stairs. It was probably for the best because otherwise we might've gone further than we should have and I wouldn't be able to give Hermione the satisfaction, the time and the specialness she needed, she deserved.
But right then, with my hands under her shirt, her nails clawing at my back, our lips and tongues battling each other, I wanted to kill Seamus and his stupid nightly trips to the kitchens. Not that he ever went to the kitchens that night – I think me and 'Mione might've scared him. Although by the grin and the twinkle in his eyes, I doubt it.