In Which Hermione Loves Crisps
Annoying Author's Note: This fic is the product of a challenge written by a bitter shipper:
Ron comes home from work and finds his wife, who is pregnant, with two screaming little ones already, is laid out on the couch with a bag of the Wizarding equivalent of Doritos's, munching, with the house a filthy mess, no dinner on the table... You know, a moment of REAL life after the whirlwind romance. Oh, and then you'd have his pesky mother-in-law who simply CANNOT stay out of their lives, butting in, preaching, offering 'friendly advice'. Yeah, that would make a fabulously funny story. I'd LOVE to see that.
'Fabulously funny?' Why,my fantastic shipper,you flatter me.
Disclaimer: If I owned the Harry Potter series, I would make better movies out of them.
Crisps. Hermione had discovered that crisps were wonderful, wonderful things. Of course, the Wizarding world had some pretty potent drugs (as she had discovered when Lavender had tried some and had literally went up the wall and stayed there for three hours), but really, who needed drugs when they had crisps?
She had sat down on the sofa with her son, Gideon, already two years old, and had eaten her way through two and a half giant bags of the crisps. Gideon had eventually fallen asleep and was curled up on the horrid furry pillow—a wedding gift from Hagrid. Hermione lay down at the other end of the couch, blearily wondering if she should have a nice, warm relaxing bath. But sheer effort it took. That would involve getting up.
She heard footsteps on the porch, and a rattle of the key in the lock. The door opened, and her husband stepped inside, red hair a tangle. "Hey, honey, I'm home."
"Hi, Ron," she croaked, still crumpled on the sofa. She raised her head slightly as he kissed her on the cheek and dropped his bag of Quidditch gear by the radio. "How was practice?"
"It was fine," he said, going over to the crib and gently picking up Molly, who already had a fine head of brown frizz. "How's my favourite daughter in the world?" he crooned to her, touching noses with her. She gurgled happily. "How is she?"
Hermione, looking at the two of them, felt a slight spike in her brain levels. She did love seeing Ron and their children together.
Ron came back to her, holding Molly. He raised his brows at the bags of crisps littered about the sofa. "Feeling up bit down, Hermione?"
"Maybe a little," she admitted, sitting up further. "I had to spend a lot of time looking for werewolf laws in the Ministry this afternoon, it's incredibly poorly documented. And honestly, I cannot believe the nerve of Umbridge! I'm lobbying to get the laws changed, but…"
As his wife ranted on about the werewolf laws, Ron looked around the house, seeing the disaster zone that it was. Baby toys, thick books, crisps bags, crumpled clothes, and various other items were liberally scattered across the floor. "Merlin, Hermione, is it too much to ask that you would clean up now and then?"
Hermione gaped at him, quite losing her train of thought. "Ron Weasley! I'll have you know, I spent the nearly half an hour cleaning up the kitchen and then I made breakfast and—"
Her voice died down. Ron had a grin on his face; it was clear he was not cross at all. "And no dinner on the table? What must a man do to get a proper wife around here?"
Hermione's temper flared. "Well, excuse me if I've—"
She was cut off again as Ron heaved a melodramatic sigh and sat on the couch between her and Gideon. "I suppose I must spend some more time with you, if I'm going to get fed." Hermione spluttered as Ron continued, "You know what I'll do? I'll take my wife out to town with me and then later, I will give her a foot massage."
"A what?" Hermione asked, a tingle of excitement worming down her spine. Her anger had faded as quickly as it appeared.
"A foot massage," Ron repeated, a gleam sparking in his eyes. "After a dinner at the Leaky Cauldron."
"But Ron, the children, and Molly always sleeps so fitfully…" she protested, remembering her responsibility as a mother.
"My mum's coming by to look after them," he answered, putting Molly back into her crib. Before Hermione could protest, his arms were around her and he was carrying her over to the closet.
"Ron! Stop that! Do I have to hex you?" she gasped, clinging to his neck as her world bobbed madly. "Oh, my goodness, I think I'm too heavy for you…"
"I'm not that weak, Herm," he protested, and then nearly dropped her. "Oops…sorry, Hermione…"
"You oaf!" she said, breathless and laughing. "I can't go out, I should brush my hair…"
Ron looked at her fondly as he found her jacket and wrapped her in it. "Hermione, have you forgotten that we married when your hair was half-burned off?" He kissed her nose and grinned down at her. "Now, put on your shoes and I'll call Mum."
"Well, that's flattering," Hermione muttered, finding her shoes and pulling them on. Ron strode over to the fireplace. After throwing a fistful of Floo powder onto the fire, then sticking his head in and shouting, the original Molly Weasley ducked under the mantelpiece, holding a small mountain of brownies on a cheery plate. Hermione's lips thinned at the sight of the tasty chocolate treats—being raised by a pair of dentists had taught her exactly how much sugar was in a brownie. Molly, however, was as pleasant as ever, with gray streaks in her hair and smile lines fanning out from her eyes. "Hello, Hermione," she greeted her daughter-in-law. "Goodness, are you wearing those shoes out to town? Oh, dear, you'll need more comfortable shoes, you can't forget that you're pregnant again! Here…I have just the thing at home, it won't take more then two shakes of a Crumple-Horned Snorkak's tail…"
"Mum," Ron said, exasperated, "As much as we love you, Hermione and I would really like to go."
"Oh, of course, I'm sorry for holding you up. But really…oh, fine! Honestly…Hermione, dear, would you like a brownie?"
"No thank you," Hermione said politely. "Thank you so much for doing this—I'm sorry about the mess in the house."
Molly waved away her apologize, going over to the crib and picking her first female grandchild. "Nonsense, my dear, I of all people would know what little children are like…well, enjoy yourselves, you two!"
"G'bye!" Ron said, pulling Hermione out the door before her maternal instincts could fully kick in. He closed the door behind him firmly. "Well, then…we'll Apperate into Diagon Alley, behind the Leaky Cauldron, all right?"
"All right," Hermione said, closing her eyes and focusing on the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.
With two loud cracks, the couple vanished.
Ron reappeared beside the brick wall that was the barrier between the two worlds. Hermione appeared two feet away from him, the edges of her hair glowing orange in the streetlights and her breath misting in the cold air. The windows of the Leaky Cauldron were bright in the darkness.
He wrapped his arm around her and, after prodding at the brick wall to make it open, led her into the restaurant.
Meanwhile, back at Ron and Hermione's house, a pair of interlopers had just arrived.
"We have to clean this all?" Ginny exclaimed, staring in disbelief at Ron and Hermione's house.
Harry, too, looked slightly amazed, although he rallied quickly.
"Having children must be…um…messy," he ventured.
"It almost makes me wish that we had waited a bit longer, Harry," Ginny said ruefully, her hand resting on her rounded stomach. "We have all this to look forward to in three months."
Harry got a slightly zoned-out look in his eyes, as he always did when Ginny mentioned the baby. He was constantly amazed that Ginny Weasley—well, now Ginny Potter—was going to have a child. A baby. His baby, in fact. It was a terrifying concept. "Ginny, you probably shouldn't lift anything heavy, it'll be my fault if you get injured or hurt the baby—"
"Harry!" Ginny laughed, twining her arms around him and looking up to his face. "I'll be fine! It's just baby clothes!" She eyed the room again and noticed the thick, ancient books. "Well, and then there's those monster books…but you can pick up those…"
"All right," Harry agreed seriously, kissing her swiftly on the mouth.
"I'll take the children upstairs," Molly said, watching the couple with a mixture of fondness and eagle-eyed watchfulness. She was constantly on the lookout to make sure her daughter did not make overt displays of affection. "Make sure this place is sparkling by the time Hermione and Ron come home! It's a surprise, remember?"
The two nodded, wearing faces of selfless obedience and determination to clean the house.
As she walked upstairs, holding Gideon's hand and cradling Molly, Harry and Ginny exchanged grins.
"Right," Harry said, "we don't have Auror training for nothing."
Ginny nodded, snuggling into him. "And you're the savior of the Wizarding world, Harry—surely you can clean up a bit?"
"Right," Harry repeated, but the minx was distracting him. He rubbed her back. "I'll get right to it."
Ginny made a sound suspiciously like purring and leaned back into him, lifting her hands to clasp the back of his neck and raising her face up to claim her husband's…
"You two! Don't think I'm not watching!" Molly Weasley's irate voice drifted down the staircase. "Now get cleaning before I come down there and make you!"
Thwarted, the two lovers returned to their task of cleaning, both looking remarkably disgruntled.
Hermione giggled and rested her head against Ron's shoulder. The two were walking through Diagon Alley, wrapped together and not really paying much attention to the shops. The windows were well lit, though, and inside they could see customers browsing inside, intent on finding something to buy.
"Hemione?" Ron asked tentatively.
She smiled. "Yes, Ron?" she said, leaning into him heavily. He tilted and had to stagger to keep his balance, his arms tightening around her. He swore, and she stifled a giggle.
"Stand on your own feet," he said, shoving her gently. She merely smiled. "Anyways…Hermione, I'm sorry for making you have to do so much work lately—I've been spending too much time practicing for the World Cup, and I should be helping out at home more…"
"Well, you should, you know," Hermione reprimanded, feeling warm and content. "It gets hard looking after two screaming children all on your own." She squeezed her arm around his waist to show she wasn't really nagging, that she was happy he had volunteered to help out more. "Still, you've got your big match coming up soon…"
"Semi-finals," he corrected.
"Right," she said. "You're going to win, of course." She looked up at him, he looked down at her, and they both smiled. He kissed her softly.
She turned to face him and hugged him tightly, pressing against his lips harder. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he began properly kissing her, as he was supposed to be doing.
The few people out on the streets smiled indulgently at the young couple publicly displaying their love and hurried onwards, going back to their very important lives.
Ron and Hermione took the Knight Bus back to their house, because Hermione said she was feeling tired and didn't want to Apperate. Ron smothered back his complaints about the nature of the bus and protectively cuddled Hermione on one of the beds—much to the amusement of the bus driver.
The two, at long last, finally got off at the cobblestone path leading to their house. The bus banged off into the distance, disappearing with a belch of gas.
The pair walked up the pathway, listening in silence to the frogs and crickets in the bush around the house. Suddenly Hermione snorted. "Those bloody crickets," she sniffed, stomping up the steps to the front porch.
Ron laughed and followed her, opening the front door with a wave of his wand. His eyes widened in shock as he looked at the interior of the room.
"Whoa!" was all he could think of.
"What? What is it?" Hermione shoved at him impatiently. "Oh…"
The two looked at the clean house with something approaching awe. The books were neatly put away, the clothes gone into the closet, the baby toys magically put into the large box. It was…almost frighteningly clean.
Then Ron snickered. Hedwig, the elderly snowy owl, was sitting on the lamp, ruffling her feathers and looking down upon them with amber eyes. A small note was attached to her feet.
Dear Ron and Hermione,
Harry and I stopped by to clean up. I personally don't think you really need that many baby toys—I expect some as presents later. You didn't really want those brownies, did you? We enjoyed them very much.
Love from Ginny and Harry.
Hermione smiled at the letter and stroked Hedwig's feathers. The owl half-closed golden eyes and nipped her finger gently, then spread her wings and soared through the still-open door. Ron closed it behind her.
There was a silence until Hermione said, "Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"You still haven't given me a foot massage," she said, looking petulant.
Ron grinned, electing flutters from Hermione's stomach. She very demurely lay down on the couch and allowed him to give her a blissful foot massage. Foot massages were better then crisps, she decided later.
"I love you," she said sleepily to him as he hugged her.
"Mmm," he hummed into her head. "I love you too, Hermione."
She giggled and snuggled in deeper. Being loved by him was so wonderful.
And thusly this snapshot in time ends with Hermione's contented thoughts that the cosmos were finally in harmony with their relationship.
It took them damn long enough, too.
THE END.