Author's note:This lovely little contraption is my first ever song-fic! Well, published one, at least. I was just sitting in the car, driving to Pennsylvania from my sweet Southern home in Carolina, and I heard this song on the radio. Me, being the completely obsessed nerd-child I am, instantly thought of Ron and Hermione. I am such a freak...XD Anyway. So here it is, for your reading pleasure, a little one-shot songfic, set to Brad Paisley's Little Moments. Please review; no flames, please, but constructive criticism would be nice, as I'm not even sure I did this right. And if you don't like the pairing, THEN DON'T READ THE DAMN FIC. No need to yell at me just because you're a Lavender-Ron supporter or a Luna-Ron supporter or whoever hell the else they're trying to throw the poor boy with these days...
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. But of greater annoyance: I don't own Ron, either. Or the twins. Or Sirius. Or anyone else I like, really. : ( And I don't own Little Moments, though I do own the CD. So please don't come chase me down and kill me, O Great Owners, because I put in this disclaimer before I used your work. -bows to O Great Owners of Things-
Well I'll never forget the first time that I heard
That pretty mouth say that dirty word
And I can't even remember now what she backed my truck into
But she covered her mouth and her face got red
And she just looked so darn cute
That I couldn't even act like I was mad
Yeah I live for little moments like that
"SHIT!"
Heeeello. Somebody's pissed. Probably Ginny. She's the only female in our family who ever curses; Mum wouldn't dare, and Fleur is too...whatever. Hermione doesn't, either. She thinks it makes her sound stupid. God. I love her, I do, but even now she's still worried about that.
Groggy and half-conscious, I crack open my eyes and let them slowly travel around the room. Same old living room. Same fire, popping cheerfully. Same beat-up furniture. Same stupid cat. Same sister, asleep on the-
Wait, wait.
Opening my eyes a bit further, I frown at the body laying on its back on the couch across from me. Yep. Definitely Ginny. There's that massive rock Harry got her a month ago. God. Even now he's showing me up. Not like he did it on purpose, but still. That diamond is twice the size of Hermione's. She didn't say anything, but I could see it...
Anyway. So...Ginny's asleep. Mum and Fleur went to Diagon Alley - something about baby clothes - and there's no other girls here. So who said that?
"Shit."
There it is again! Quieter, but so definitely there. Brief pause, and then a tiny, nervous voice calls from the kitchen, "Ron?"
Bugger. That's Hermione. Yawning, I shuffle into the kitchen. I blink sleepily at my wife, who's standing in the doorway with a bright red face, one hand over her mouth, and a guilty expression in her dark brown eyes.
"Ev'rythin' mmkay?" I mumble.
"Mm m'ckmm mmur mmoom." Her right hand still over her mouth, I notice that her other hand is behind her back.
"English would be great..." I try to stifle another yawn. I don't know what was wrong with her. It wouldn't be the first time she's interrupted my nap to tell me an interesting fact about kneazles she found in a book somewhere, and I really hope this isn't one of those times. I'd been in the middle of a dream about my new broom, a remake of the old Silver Arrows. Harry got it for me for a wedding present, deciding that I had more bedsheets than I could ever figure out what to do with.
Slowly, she lowers her hand, her face still red. She looks up at me sheepishly. "I crashed your broom," she whispers.
My stomach drops. I have to fight to keep my jaw from dropping in horror and shock. With an incredible effort, I swallow hard and say, in the steadiest voice I can manage, "Okay. Into what?"
She suddenly brings her left hand out in front of her, waving both hands around and explaining quickly, "It's not bad! I just crashed it and then I said it and I didn't mean to and I know everyone heard me..."
I blink at her, then look at the broom. It looks fine; maybe a scratch on the handle, but otherwise it looks the same as ever. "The broom looks fine, so...what are you worried about again?" I look back up at her, confused. The look she's giving me is enough to make me want to marry her all over again. Her eyes are wide and scared, and her whole face is beet-red. Sometimes, Hermione is beautiful. Sometimes, she's scary. And sometimes she's just completely adorable. This is one of the latter times.
"What-what I said! I know you heard me - I said it so loud! - and your mum and Fleur heard me, too, because they Apparated in right as I said it..." Her face flushed red again, and she stared fiercely at the ground.
"Oh. You mean shit?" I almost laugh, but I know she'd hex me into next week.
But all thoughts of laughter are driven from my head when I hear my mother shriek, "RONALD WEASLEY!"
Oh, bugger.
Well that's like just last year on my birthday
She lost all track of time and burnt the cake
And every smoke detector in the house was goin' off
And she was just about to cry until I took her in my arms
And I tried not to let her see me laugh
Yeah I live for little moments like that
(Random announcer man: Two months later...)
It's my birthday! Aw, yeah. You're happy. I can tell. And guess what? For once, I'm not burned, bleeding, trapped, or covered in some unidentifiable substance! Of course, it helps having our own house, but I was still waiting for Fred and George to find some sort of way to rig this place to attack me. Especially what with Hermione insisting that we install Muggle appliances, which, from what I'm told, tend to randomly blow up on their owners anyway.
Oh, yes. It's a good day. We ate dinner at Mum's, so I didn't have to be afraid of Hermione's cooking (I love her. I've mentioned that, right? But she can't cook. At all. Even after reading more cookbooks than should really be legal, she still manages to burn water. Don't ask how). I'm laying on the couch, listening to that telly-veeshon thing Hermione wanted, with her stupid cat on my stomach, and we're actually at least tolerating each other (me and the cat, not me and Hermione)...
OW! CAT CLAWS IN MY SHOULDER! Yowling even louder than the cat, I fling myself off the couch and end up flat on my face. Alarms are squalling in my ears, and that stupid cat of hers is trying to squeeze its fat ass under the table.
"Oh, my God! Oh...shut up! Ehh...why won't it stop!" Hermione's distressed wail is almost inaudible over the screeching sirens, but I manage to hear her and, hands over my ears, stumble into the kitchen. The entire thing is filled with acrid black smoke, and she's standing in the middle of it all, coughing and trying to stand on a chair to get to a little white thing attached to the ceiling that's flashing and making the noise, apparently.
"What happened? What's wrong?" I bellow.
"It-it's the smoke detector! It's going off - Ron, I can't make it shut off!" she cries.
I still don't know what the hell she's talking about. Frustrated, I fumble on the counter for my wand. The minute it touches my searching fingers, I point it at the damn squalling contraption and yell, "SHUT IT!"
A flash of violet light and a loud popping noise later, it did just that.
Now with only the smoke to deal with. Hermione, much calmer now that the thing has stopped squealing, starts making little, dejected circles in the air with her wand. The smoke begins to collect around the end of it, like cotton candy around those cone things they put it on. When all of the thick, stinging black cloud is in a tidy, neat ball around her wand, she murmurs something and it vanishes.
For a moment, we just stand there. Then I notice that little curls of the black smoke are pushing themselves out of the edges of the oven and into the pristine white kitchen Hermione has cleaned - Muggle-style! Crazy girl... - and is so proud of. "Um...'Mione?" I point at the smoke nervously. That thing scares me anyway, and now it's smoking...
She sniffs, and I realise she's hovering dangerously near tears. "Oh. Right. I should...I need to..." She looks around, a helpless look on her face.
"'Mione, what happened?" I ask gently, taking her hand before she can pick her wand up again.
She lifts her face to me, her mouth trembling and her eyes shining with tears. "I-I wanted to make you a cake, because it's your birthday, and it's the first one you've had here, but I started reading Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them to try to figure out how to get rid of that-that fungus-thing under the house, and I completely forgot about it..."
"Oh. 'Mione, it's all right..." I say, trying my best to keep her from crying. God, I hate it when she does that.
I know she's not perfect but she tries so hard for me
And I thank God that she isn't 'cause how boring would that be
It's the little imperfections it's the sudden change in plans
When she misreads the directions and we're lost but holdin' hands
Yeah I live for little moments like that
"Oh, Ron! You-you're so sweet, and I-I can't even make you a-a cake...you-you might as well just go marry L-Lavender, because I bet she can at least m-make you a b-birthday cake..." A single tear slipped down her cheek, and I saw it before she could brush it away.
"Jeez, Hermione. I'm not going to go marry Lavender just because you burnt a cake. C'mere." I wrap my arms around her and she buries her face in my chest, her hands clutching my shirt as she tries to muffle her sobs. Even as her hot tears soak my shirt, I can't help the laughter that threatens to burst out. I've known her a full decade now, and she's still totally adorable. I'd marry her all over again if I could...though preferably I'd be in jeans, not those damn dress robes Mum forced me into.
When she's layin' on my shoulder on the sofa in the dark
And about the time she falls asleep so does my right arm
And I want so bad to move it 'cause it's tinglin' and it's numb
But she looks so much like an angel that I don't wanna wake her up
Yeah I live for little moments
When she steals my heart again and doesn't even know it
Yeah I live for little moments like that
We tossed the cake, and she magicked up her famous cherries jubilee. I let her pick the movie; after all that, I couldn't bear to make her watch Master and Commander again, even though after she taught me how to work the disc-player-whatchamadigger that's all I ever watch. She chose some scary movie with a blond guy with glasses and at least two inches of dark brown roots. Something about a door or a window or something. She dragged her mum's big quilt down from our bed and we curled up under it on the couch, me fully planning on going to sleep as soon as she was engrossed enough in the movie for me to get away with it. But I ended up actually watching it - this guy was nuts, and it was fun to watch him run around and try to figure things out.
I've been sitting here about an hour, and the sports-stuff is starting to fade and the romantic-crap is picking up. Oh, bugger. My arm's falling asleep. Hermione's laying on it, and I hate to say something, but if I don't move the damn thing right now, I'm just going to have to chop it. I look down at her, opening my mouth to ask her, very quietly, to lift her head so that I could wiggle my fingers a bit. Right before the words leave my mouth, however, I snap it shut. She's fast asleep, her mouth slightly open and her hair falling in her eyes. My heart melts. Remember when I said that sometimes she's beautiful, sometimes she's scary, and sometimes she's adorable? Yeah, this would be like an Option-1-and-3-combined type thing. Reminds me that no matter how many times Dean says he got lucky marrying Parvati, I scored so much better.
But no matter how much I love her, it doesn't stop my arm from hurting. It feels like something one of my brothers might do, all prickly and tingly. Oh, bugger. How do I get out of this one? All right, Ron. Take a deep breath...try to relax. Try to ignore it...yeah, that's not happening. Bloody hell, this hurts. I pop the knuckle of my left hand into my mouth, chewing on it frantically to try to get my mind off my damn arm. Damn. All that's doing is making my hand bleed and my arm hurts. What the hell am I supposed to-?
"Ron?"
Oh, sweet Merlin. I look down at Hermione, trying not to let my face twitch in pain. "Yeah?"
"I'm going to go get my slippers from upstairs. You want anything?" Yawning, she gets to her feet and sort of wobbling sleepily to the stairs.
"Nah. I'm good." I wait until she's actually upstairs before letting out a hushed curse and rubbing my burning arm. Slowly, the pain fades away, disappearing completely just as she shuffles back downstairs. Quickly, I link my fingers behind my head. Oh, no. I love her, but there is no bloody way I'm doing that again. She doesn't appear to notice, and just lifts the quilt to crawl back under.
"Um...Ron?" She looks at me shyly, biting her lip. Oh, Merlin. She's about to ask me something. "Um...it's just...this part's really scary, and I was wondering if I could..." No. No, 'Mione, not my arm again, please, anything but my arm - "...sit on your lap?"
Hmm. I take the two seconds I can get away with to debate the pros vs. cons. She may be light enough to get away with not making my legs fall asleep, and Merlin help if I'm going to tell her that she might be too heavy... "Sure," I hear myself say. Ah, well. Didn't mean to say that, but here goes nothing.
Okay. This is nice. My legs are still in order, and she's asleep on my chest, and this movie is getting good -
Oh, no. No, foot, please. I am begging you. Just stay awake...
That's all, folks. Like I said: please review, and I will love you forever. Good waves to you! ; )