DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and things that are part of the Harry Potter universe all belong to J.K. Rowling, though should she choose to give up ownership of Ron, then I would gladly take him. This particular story, however, is mine.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Though I have written it out in traditional English, please feel free to read Fleur's dialogue in her accent. My inner perfectionist wouldn't allow me to butcher the spelling of her lines.
Several days later, Hermione had come up with a plan that she believed to be quite brilliant. After a frenzied, almost maniacal focus on her unfinished report (during which she had confined herself in her flat to work for 24 full hours) she can say with satisfaction that her work was finally complete and worthy of her high standards. Yes, she had to sacrifice several hours of sleep and a portion of her sanity along with it, but in the end it had been worthwhile. Besides, the laser-like attention she had on her work enabled her to think of something other than Ron. But now that the report is out of the way, thoughts of him quickly occupied her mind once more.
The idea popped in her head as she sat in her office one day, listening to Harry as he fretted over what to get Ginny for her birthday.
"What am I going to do? It's just a couple of weeks away!"
"Hmm." Even Harry's emphatic statement made her think of Ron, though he wasn't the topic of discussion. A couple of weeks...more than a couple of weeks had passed since she'd seen him last. Privately, she can admit that she missed him terribly. Her bed was cold and lonely without him there, and she longed for his company in general. She even missed arguing with him, which only proved that she was going quite mad.
"What are you getting her?" he demanded.
"I don't know, I haven't thought about it." How could she even think about birthday presents when she was too distracted?
"Haven't thought about it?" Harry repeated incredulously.
She barely stifled an impatient sigh at his inflated sense of urgency. "Harry, I'm sure whatever you get for her will be fine and she will love it," Hermione reassured him.
"You know, this wouldn't even be a problem if I didn't let you win the auction."
"You didn't let me do anything; I beat you fair and square!" she objected.
Several months ago, the Ministry employees held an auction to raise money for various organizations that needed funds to repair the destruction caused by the war. She and Harry were only mildly interested in the various things up for bid until the auctioneer announced the next item: a five-day, all-expenses paid vacation at an exclusive resort. Both of them immediately sprang into action and launched into a heated bidding war that the other Ministry employees and guests wisely avoided. Both Ron and Ginny were ignorant of this blistering exchange, since the Weasleys had gone to Romania to visit Charlie when the auction had taken place.
"I was being a gentleman," Harry insisted.
"Now you're being a sore loser," she retorted without heat. Arguing with Harry was pointless and hardly worth her time when she had a seed of an idea that was beginning to grow and needed her attention. She had been saving the vacation package for her and Ron's anniversary, but now was a good time as any to redeem her prize. What better way to get Ron to capitulate and end their bet than whisking him away to an undoubtedly romantic setting? She was certain this hatchling of a plan will work, once she put more thought into it. Fairly certain it will work. It will probably work. Surely it can't fail!
"I'll help you find the perfect present for Ginny, I promise," she vowed as she ushered him out of the office without bothering to be subtle about it. "I'll see what I can get out of her the next time I see her. Right now I need time to think."
"About what?" he asked, eyes narrowed in speculation.
Revealing any part of her plan to Harry was the equivalent of telling Ron about it herself. "About Ginny's gift, of course," she fibbed with a smile.
"Okay," he remarked, grinning. "Thanks a lot, Hermione."
She closed the door behind him and sighed. She hated lying to Harry, especially when she felt she owed him for giving her the idea that will guarantee her victory. She really is going to think about Ginny's birthday gift. Just not yet.
Hermione decided to break the news to Ron bright and early on Saturday morning. She needed to use whatever weapons she had in her arsenal and the element of surprise was simple yet effective. Spirits high, she knocked on his front door. Though Ron had given her leave to unlock the door to his home and come in whenever she liked, her ingrained sense of propriety and manners would never allow her to abuse such a courtesy.
When she received no response, she knocked again, harder and louder this time. Was he even home? Now that he was in charge of the joke shop in Diagon Alley, he can set his own work schedule and opted to have weekends free. The door quickly swung open as she was about to bang on it for the third time.
His hair was a tousled mess and in need of a trim. His jeans and shirt were wrinkled, as if he had slept in them last night. He obviously hadn't been awake long enough to shave the overnight stubble from his face. All in all, he looked disheveled, disoriented, and disgruntled. She had never seen a more welcome sight.
"What do you want?" he demanded gruffly, squinting against the sun's unforgiving glare.
"Is that any way to greet the woman who loves you?" Hermione brushed past him and stepped inside the flat.
His only response was a grunt and to slam the front door, an action he immediately regretted if his low moan was any indication. She didn't attempt to hide a smirk.
"Rough night?"
Because she had known him for many years, she was able to decipher the indistinct muttering he often resorted to when he was in a bad mood, thinking aloud, or in this case, suffering from lack of sleep. She caught the words "Dean," "Seamus," and "pub," and quickly surmised last night's events.
"Ron, you know you can't keep up with those two. No one can."
Another grunt.
Ordinarily she would be put off by his behavior but instead she was rather amused by it. Absence did make the heart grow fonder. "Why, I'm fine, thank you for asking," she answered as if he had posed a question about her well-being. "Yes, it has been a long time since we've seen each other! Several weeks, I think."
Ron sighed heavily and glared at her. "Hermione, what do you want?"
"So you haven't forgotten to combine words together to make a sentence." She stared at him and could swear she felt her heart sigh. There are times when she just wanted to take care of him. This happened to be one of those times. "Ron, sit down." She dragged him to the kitchen table and nudged him into a chair. When she was satisfied that he wouldn't slide to the floor, she busied herself in the kitchen.
With his aching head in his hands, Ron waited a moment before peeking through his fingers. No, he wasn't dreaming. Hermione really was there in his tiny kitchen, frowning over the lack of substantial food in the cupboards. What was she doing here, other than to torture and torment him by simply being within arm's reach? To say that he was surprised by her presence was a vast understatement. When he had opened the door and saw her on the other side, he felt as if he'd been Stupefied. She looked so lovely and fresh, and in comparison he felt like a bag of dirty laundry.
Why did he let Dean and Seamus drink him under the table? Of course he knew he couldn't keep up with them, but they kept goading him and they were having such a good time... It was bad enough to be caught off guard by her visit, but to also be hung over on the top of that, she obviously had the upper-hand even though they were in his territory. She could probably do anything at this point and he would break.
Without the hindrance of his fingers, Ron watched while Hermione brewed a pot of tea as she hummed a tune under her breath. It made for a pretty picture, but the longer he watched, the more his resolve strengthened. No, he wouldn't break, because that would be playing right into her hands and he'd be damned if he went down without a fight. As much as he wanted to tear her clothes off and take her upstairs where they could have their way with each other, he knew that wasn't the best idea, however satisfying it would be. There was a purpose to this bet of theirs, though at the moment he was having a hard time remembering exactly what that purpose was. He silently cursed Dean and Seamus (and their penchant for indulging in firewhiskey without suffering ill consequences) for causing him to lower his defenses.
Teapot in hand, Hermione joined Ron at the table, torn between wanting to treat him like a sick child and kissing him ravenously until they were both delirious. Only he could elicit such opposing reactions in her. "You'll feel better after you eat something," she told him as she placed a plate of biscuits in front of him. "Of course, these can hardly be considered real food—" Her sentence stuttered to a stop when he took her free hand and absently pressed it to his lips in a gesture of affection and gratitude. She almost dropped the teapot and nearly spilled scalding water on them both.
"Thanks," Ron said sincerely before taking a small bite of a biscuit, oblivious to the effect he had on her. Hermione curled the hand he had just released into a tight fist. It felt as if currents of electricity were running through her arm.
What irked her the most was that she had put some effort in her appearance today and it didn't even faze him. A new blouse, a dab of the perfume he had given her for her birthday, and she had even wrestled her unruly hair into submission since he often commented on how much he liked it when she wore it away from her face. But it was obvious that she had not succeeded in getting his attention and the only signs of suffering he had shown so far were due to excessive consumption of liquor.
He wasn't even trying to get her hot and bothered, yet that was the very state she was in. Hermione sat down before she could make an even bigger fool of herself and noted with a growing sense of annoyance that Ron now looked more alert than he had been just a few minutes ago. In the length of time it had taken her to make tea, the small advantage she had been clinging to had evaporated. If she had only pressed on rather than giving in to the urge to take care of him, the playing field wouldn't be level right now.
"As much as I appreciate the tea and biscuits, I don't think that's why you're here," he remarked.
Without preamble, she asked, "How do you feel about going on holiday?"
"Hard not to like that idea."
"How do you feel about going on one with me?"
Ron nearly choked on his tea. Typically he wouldn't hesitate to go anywhere with her, but their current situation is far from ideal. Was she mad? The two of them together in a strange place...anything can happen. Judging by the way she intently studied him, Hermione was counting on exactly that. He acknowledged her smirk with a muttered curse. Bloody hell, she was good.
"Is something wrong?" she asked sweetly, feigning innocence even as the gleam in her eye said otherwise. "I won a free trip to a very nice resort and the passes are set to expire soon." That last bit wasn't true, but that was the only rationale she could come up with to influence Ron into agreeing to accompany her. "It would be a waste if we can't use them."
"So give them to Harry." All too aware of how ridiculous he sounded, Ron quickly gulped down more tea.
Like hell she was giving them to Harry! She hadn't expected Ron to put up a resistance, but it was a minor obstacle that could be circumvented. She knew exactly what button to push. "Are you scared? Is your resolve not as strong as you think it is?"
"I'm not scared," he snapped defensively.
"Then I don't see why you'd say no to an all-expenses paid holiday. I'm looking forward to my impending triumph—" She was briefly interrupted by his loud scoff before continuing, "—as much as I look forward to spending time with you. I really miss you, Ron." Hermione took his hand to show him that her words weren't designed as a ploy to convince him to go on the trip.
He would have to be the craziest person in the world to turn down a chance like this. Then again, didn't Harry already question his judgment—or lack thereof—when Ron had divulged the details of his and Hermione's odd situation? No, it would definitely be crazier if he refused to go. His lunacy would be at Xeno Lovegood levels.
Contrary to what Hermione believed (or what she wanted him to believe that she believed), he can hold his own against her. She wasn't going to win as effortlessly as she claimed—that is, if she would even win at all. He could understand why she had come up with the idea for a holiday. If she hadn't forced his hand like this, they would keep avoiding each other for Merlin knows how long, all because neither one of them wanted to give up the fight for control. But bet or no bet, he simply wanted to be with her, it didn't matter where they were.
"Just promise me one thing," he said.
Hermione felt as if she'd claimed a small victory. "What is it?"
"Whatever happens on this holiday, it needs to be about us."
"Sure," she agreed, confused by his request. What else would it be about if not them? She bolted up from her chair, already too busy planning to puzzle over his remark. "Let me know when you can arrange time off work, just five days."
"Okay." Ron rose as well, carrying the teapot to the sink.
"I suppose I'll be leaving now." Hermione paused before asking, "Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?" She had aimed to sound sarcastic, perhaps even indifferent. She knew, as soon as the words left her mouth, that she hadn't succeeded in filtering out the hope and longing in her voice. She could tell by the look on Ron's face that he knew it, too.
She watched as he walked to where she stood, his blue eyes carefully assessing her. He cupped her face in his hand; it was a gesture he did often and one that she loved, for it seemed as if he didn't want to look at anyone or anything else but her. His thumb traced her cheek as he bent his head down to meet hers, his movements agonizingly slow.
Just as their lips were about to touch, he said, "You wish." He abruptly pulled away, grinning. "Thanks for the tea."
Hermione expelled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It was impossible to discern which feeling ruled more: disappointment that he didn't follow through on a kiss she knew they both wanted, or annoyance at herself for failing to see the true nature of his intentions. How had she fallen for that?
"Anytime," she stated pleasantly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. "I'll see you later." With a wave goodbye, she Disapparated, leaving Ron all alone once again.
He almost couldn't stop himself from kissing her...almost. But it had to be done if he wanted to send her a message, to let her know that it won't be easy. Hermione may have come in here with the advantage, but now he can say that they were just about even.
For someone about to go on holiday, Hermione was in a state of apprehension. She and Ron were leaving the next day but due to some last minute preparations she had to take care of, she found herself in unfamiliar territory—a lingerie shop in downtown London. After the way she reacted to Ron last week, she figured a bit of insurance wouldn't hurt. Glancing around furtively, she wished she had borrowed Harry's invisibility cloak. She wasn't ashamed to be in the store; she was just so ridiculously out of her element that she felt incredibly self-conscious.
There were robes, pajamas, and nightgowns in satin, silk, and lace, all in a variety of colors. It made her head spin. She had destroyed a Horcrux and faced countless enemies and Dark Wizards, but this task is by far more daunting.
"Hermione?" said a voice from behind her.
There was no mistaking that French accent. "Fleur," she acknowledged with a sinking sensation. Any hopes she had of keeping her visit to this particular store a secret were now dashed. "Fancy running into you in a Muggle shop."
"I always come here when I want to buy...certain things." From the look of Fleur's full shopping bag, she obviously knew what she was doing. Hermione couldn't help but envy the way the other witch was so at ease.
"You didn't see anything for yourself?" Fleur asked.
There was no point in denying she wasn't clueless, especially when she clearly needed to be steered in the right direction. "I'm not even sure where to begin."
"Well, what does Ronald like?"
If someone had told her that she would be discussing her sex life with Fleur, Hermione would have laughed in their face. "Er...I...I never had to, um, convince Ron to—" Merlin help her, she sounded like a bumbling idiot. "Ron always makes me feel very desirable."
"But of course." Fleur gave her a knowing smile. "The Weasleys have...how do you say? Fire in the blood. This is very true with Bill. Sometimes he is insatiable. An animal in bed, figuratively and literally."
Hermione could feel the heat rushing to her face. She wasn't a prude by any means, but she wasn't prone to discussing such a topic even with Ginny, much less talking about it with Fleur. And she did not need to hear any details about other people's bedroom activities, thank you very much. But admittedly, she needed the other witch's help. "Yes, Ron can be that way, too. Not the literal part, obviously, but...at any rate, I'm not really sure what he would like."
"Then focus on what you like, what you would be comfortable in." Fleur handed her a nightgown that felt incredibly soft against the skin.
"What if it doesn't work?"
"Didn't you just tell me that he desired you?"
"Yes, but..." Hermione didn't have the heart to tell Fleur that Ron would be trying his best to resist any of her attempts at seduction. The fact that she had never actually tried seducing him before was another matter entirely.
"If there is one thing you must remember, it is this: if you are confident, then that is what he will respond to. If you are sure of yourself, it will not matter if you wear the most expensive silk or une sac poubelle!"
"A—a what?"
"A garbage bag," she translated. "Your Ron may have fire in the blood, but this—" She gestured at the nightgown Hermione held. "This will get his blood boiling."
It was hard not to get caught up in Fleur's adamant enthusiasm. "Thank you for your encouragement. I still don't know what I'm doing, but now I feel a little less lost."
"I am happy to help. We are family, are we not? Now come, we will find something perfect for you."
Hermione thought Fleur had done more than enough just by dispensing sage advice; she never expected her to take it a step further by actually helping her brave the overwhelming sea of intimate apparel. Not one to turn down any sort of learning opportunity, however, she lengthened her stride to keep up with her. "Can we keep this between us?"
"Not a problem." Fleur once again flashed a savvy grin. "Believe me, he will appreciate it much more if it comes as a surprise."
Blissfully unaware of Hermione's orchestrations, Ron munched happily on a bacon sandwich as he thought about tomorrow's departure. He was at odds with how he was both dreading and anticipating the trip and he was curious about the location since Hermione wouldn't tell him. He had packed a small trunk, even though she had insisted that his clothes and other belongings would fit into her trusty beaded bag. To him, it was imperative that he take all the necessary steps to keep some sort of separation between them, to maintain a bit of distance in an undeniably intimate situation.
He had mentally prepared for the holiday in his own fashion. His skill at wizard's chess made him a natural strategist, but in this case, the best strategy is to have no strategy at all. Simply reacting to whatever Hermione has up her sleeve would give him flexibility, while the lack of a plan would make him unpredictable. These were just small advantages, but advantages nonetheless.
Ron's musings were interrupted when Pigwidgeon flew through the open window, twittering loudly as he presented him with a rolled-up parchment, though not before crashing into Ron's head and tangling his claws in his owner's hair.
"Get off!" he shouted as he attempted to shoo away the tiny owl. He grudgingly gave Pig a corner of his sandwich, however, proving that his bark is worse than his bite, though the act of generosity accomplished the job of distracting his pet. "Where did you come from, anyway?" He had no idea that Pig had left in the first place, though the diminutive yet animated owl often made trips to the Owl Post Office to personally retrieve Ron's mail.
Ron unfurled the parchment and saw, to his surprise, that the note was from Neville, who was studying at a specialized school for herbology. He would be Professor Longbottom soon, though this was no revelation to his former Hogwarts dormitory mates or his other friends. Herbology was Neville's calling, even though the shy, timid boy had transformed into a self-assured young man, therefore no longer needing to shield himself from insecurity by burying himself in plants—wielding the Sword of Gryffindor and destroying a piece of You-Know-Who's soul did wonders for a person's confidence, as Ron can personally attest to.
A small pouch fell out when he had unrolled the parchment. With his curiosity growing, he began to read Neville's brief message:
Ron,
I heard about your situation and thought I'd send help, in case you needed it. Wizards have to stick together, right?
It doesn't matter how you consume the leaves, the result remains the same: decreasing the effect of external stimuli.
Don't use it all at once!
Neville
Ron opened the pouch and stared at the oddly-shaped purple leaves nestled inside. Decrease the effect of external stimuli...wait a minute, how did Neville find out about his and Hermione's bet? Had he disclosed the information to Seamus and Dean during his drunken haze? He fervently hoped his friends weren't spreading it around. The thought of his forced celibacy as the talk of the wizarding world was unbearable, not to mention embarrassing.
He glanced at the leaves again. It somehow felt like cheating to even consider using them, yet he'd be a fool not to take the leaves with him on the trip. He can think of them as a security measure in the event his plan of not having a plan backfired. Before he could change his mind, he sealed the pouch and tossed it into the trunk.
He was certain that an outcome to this seemingly never-ending challenge will be reached during the holiday, though he wouldn't be able to explain why he felt so strongly about that conclusion. Perhaps because a resolution was so desperately needed that it simply had to happen over the span of the next five days. But who would emerge as the winner? And how would the aftermath affect their relationship?