Here's an update! I'm sorry if you were expecting some relief from the slow burn... nope! I hope this chapter is still enjoyable for you =). Thank you to my usual beta team (you know who you are!)
If you are familiar with New Girl, you'll know it takes multiple relationships for Nick/Jess to get together. I'm not planning on doing that to romione, but I do want to emulate the jealousy they feel (and ultimately overcome) because it reminds me so much of our favorite goobers. Keep in mind there is a friendship in the works too, not just a romantic relationship ;). These two still have a lot to learn about each other.
x Ron x
Ron's phone vibrates in his pocket, but he can barely feel it from his position on his hands and knees, surrounded by small piles of sharp screws, wooden dowels, and a pile of miscellaneous lumber that will hopefully, with a little bit of elbow grease, resemble a dresser.
He leans over to squint at the illustration in Ikea's assembly manual, but whoever drew it seems to have left out essential details, like which of the four pre-drilled holes is for a screw versus a dowel, what pieces are in front versus back, and the proper order of operations. If only he had a magic wand to complete this task more quickly.
His phone buzzes again, and this time he notices, as it's pinned between his hip and thigh from his awkward crouched position. With a sigh, Ron pulls the phone from his pocket and opens the text.
Are you busy tonight? You owe me a drink ;)
Ron's fingers hover over the reply box and he wonders what to say. He's hesitant to make plans.
Instead of responding, he closes out the text and makes a mental note to follow up later, right as the door to Harry's bedroom swings open and startles Ron.
"What's all this noise?" asks Harry upon seeing the construction zone overtaking the living room.
"Nothing."
"It looks like something." Harry takes a seat on the couch in front of Ron. "You bought yourself a new dresser?"
"No, it's Hermione's."
"Oh. Why are you putting it together?"
Ron shrugs. "Thought she'd appreciate it."
"Did she ask?"
"No."
"Well, that's nice of you."
"It's also frustrating as fuck." Ron turns the page in the manual to see more Ikea stick figures doing who-knows-what with the dresser.
"Then leave it be and come out with us. We're going to dinner."
Ron clenches his jaw and shoves one of the wooden dowels into a pre-drilled hole with so much unnecessary force that it snaps. "FUCK."
His expletive alerts Seamus, who bounces out of his room looking quite sharp in a woven dress shirt. "What's up with you?"
"Just trying to build this thing," he says through gritted teeth.
"Let's go to dinner instead, and then we can hit up the bar later," says Seamus with a waggle of his eyebrows. He waves a hand vaguely toward Ron. "An opportunity to release all of this tension."
Ron slams the manual onto the floor with a sigh. "There's no tension."
"You're building a dresser for a girl who is — where is she, again?"
"At Krum's," mutters Ron.
"See, that's tension," says Seamus.
"There's nothing going on between me and Hermione. I'm just doing something nice for my roommate."
Harry and Seamus exchange a look and a smirk.
"Right," says Harry. "So if I buy a new dresser, will you build it for me?"
Ron shoots Harry a glare, and Seamus sniggers.
"Let him deny it, Harry. He's just putting it together. It's not like he went to Ikea with her. Right, Ron?"
Ron keeps his mouth glued shut, but his crimson ears give him away.
"You did, didn't you?" says Seamus.
"A perfectly reasonable thing to do with friends," says Harry.
"Of course," agrees Seamus. "Men go to Ikea with women they don't want to fuck all the time."
"Can you two shut up?"
Harry and Seamus exchange another look, and with a sigh, Seamus takes a seat next to Harry. "Neville, it's happening now!"
Neville's door opens, and he emerges dressed to impress, in a floral shirt and well-fitting khakis.
"I thought it was happening at dinner," says Neville as he enters the living room.
"Ron doesn't want to come to dinner," explains Harry. "He wants to stay home and build a dresser for Hermione."
Neville sighs and plops down onto the couch. "I was looking forward to dinner."
"We all were," says Seamus.
"I didn't even know you were planning on going out to dinner," says Ron. "Don't act like I'm ruining your plans when you can go without me."
"No, we can't."
"Why."
The three roommates seem to be avoiding eye contact with Ron. The way they shift in their seats makes Ron's palms sweat and the hair on his neck prick up. What are they on about?
"Ron, we didn't want to do this here, but you leave us no choice," says Harry. "This is an intervention."
"An intervention?"
"Yes."
"What am I doing that could possibly require an intervention?"
Seamus, Harry, and Neville look at one another, their expressions simulating a silent argument. Eventually, Seamus and Neville's eyes land expectantly on Harry, as if to remind him that Ron's his best friend, so he's the one who should do the talking.
"Harry," says Ron. "What is this about?"
Harry takes a deep breath and clears his throat. "Do you ever wonder how porn stars stay hard all the time?"
Ron isn't sure what he was expecting Harry to say, but it isn't that. His mouth drops open in surprise, and he's shocked to see that Harry's expression is completely serious. "No. Can't say that I do. Is that something that concerns you?"
"This isn't about me," dismisses Harry. "Porn stars have fluffers, Ron."
"What the fuck is a fluffer?"
"Glad you asked," interrupts Seamus. "The sole job of the fluffer is to follow the porn star around the set and keep them, you know, excited. Then, when the cameras start rolling, they get out of the way."
"What does this have to do with me?"
Harry clears his throat again. "You're Hermione's fluffer, Ron."
"Emotional fluffer," interjects Neville.
"Which is even worse," says Seamus.
"And we're worried about you," says Harry. "You gotta stop."
"Seriously?" says Ron as he rises to his feet. His fists are clenched and his face is burning hot. "I don't care that she's fucking Krum. She can do whatever she wants—"
"And you'll just build her Ikea furniture?" asks Seamus with raised eyebrows.
Harry and Seamus look smug, but not Neville — he's seated at the far end of the couch and looks unsure of himself, as though he's not sold on the idea of an intervention.
"Do you agree, Neville? Do you really think I'm Hermione's emotional fluffer?"
"I wouldn't put it so crudely," he sighs. "I do find it suspicious that you aren't responding to that text." Neville points toward Ron's phone, which has fallen to the floor in his haste to stand up. The last message flashes on the screen for all to see. "Is it possible that after accompanying Hermione to Ikea and building her dresser, you have no more fluffs left to give?"
Ron glances at the dresser, which still resembles a pile of wooden panels, with the assembly instructions and hardware scattered senselessly about, a perfect indication of his frustration. In an ideal world, Hermione would discover it in her bedroom, thank him and think of him every time she got dressed, but more realistically, it'll become the place where Viktor stores a few changes of clothes for spontaneous overnights, maybe a toothbrush and a razer. A box of condoms.
Maybe his roommates have a point. "How did this happen?"
"Let's start from the beginning, " says Harry. "Tell us about the date."
x
— One week ago —
It wasn't supposed to be a date.
Ron was sitting at the restaurant alone, and he couldn't help but feel out of place. The Red Lobster was much too fancy for him, and he already felt constricted in his suit. His roommates should show up any minute.
They had planned a little celebration to mark six months of living together. Of course, the boys had lived together longer, but six months of adjusting to having Hermione around was something to celebrate. Not that she wasn't welcome in the loft — they just wanted to make sure she felt that way.
So there he was, waiting for everyone to show up, acutely aware that his red hair attracted attention and that he looked uncomfortable in his stiff attire. Why did they have to pick somewhere so nice?
Ron could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket and was tempted to ignore it. It was probably the girl from the bar the other night, Lavender. She was cute, but he never expected her to text him back. Lots of girls would flirt with him for free drinks — it was one of the perks of being a bartender.
It buzzed again, so he pulled it from his pocket and checked his texts to find a slew of missed messages — not from Lavender, but from Harry, Neville, and Seamus.
I'm not going to make it tonight— caught up at work.
Same. Last minute meeting.
Let's just reschedule?
Sounds good to me.
Same time next week?
Settled.
Ron, you can reschedule the reservation, right?
Ron?
Ron lets out a sigh. Why didn't he see these before? No one else was coming. Or at least, no one else but Hermione.
So it would be just him and Hermione. Ron glanced around the room, taking note of the fact that nearly everyone was part of a couple. The lights were dim, the music soft and low, and the ambience was perfect for a romantic date. It wasn't supposed to be a date.
He was about to stand up and leave when he spotted Hermione at the entrance. She was wearing a form-fitting black dress and had her hair tied up on top of her head, a few loose curls dangling down to frame her face.
She looked beautiful.
This was not good.
Hermione's eyes locked with his and he offered a nervous wave, his hand trembling. When she approached him, she appeared to glide across the restaurant floor.
"Hi," he croaked.
"Hi!" she said, biting her lip in a way that made Ron's palms sweat.
"You look amazing." With a lot of effort, he managed to steady his voice.
"Thank you! Is it too much?" Hermione glanced down at her dress. She stood stiffly, which told Ron that she was just as uncomfortable in fancy clothes as he was.
"Nowhere close to too much."
Hermione's cheeks filled with color and she averted her eyes. Ron hoped the compliment wasn't overbearing, but it wasn't like he had much control over his words.
"Where are the rest of the guys?" asked Hermione.
"Oh, erm… have you checked your texts? They bailed."
"No, I haven't looked at my phone all day. They all canceled?"
"Yeah. They wanted to reschedule, but I was already here."
"Oh, okay. So it's just you and me?"
"Yep."
Hermione's expression tensed. Maybe this was a terrible idea.
"Is that okay?" asks Ron, his voice tentative.
"Is it okay with you?"
"I asked you first."
The corners of Hermione's mouth tilted up at his playful retort. "It's great."
In response to her smile, Ron felt a wave of tension leave his body. "Good. Then have a seat."
His words sounded like a command rather than a suggestion, and he chastised himself for not softening his tone. Why was he so nervous? He was usually so comfortable around Hermione.
After a pause, Hermione pulled out a chair and took a seat. She smiled brightly at Ron from across the table, and that's when Ron noticed she was wearing makeup — nothing crazy, just a little sparkle of eye shadow. The thought of her getting dressed up for dinner out with the boys made his heart swell, and he could feel his neck heating up with color. He was tempted to tell her she looked beautiful, but resisted. He already did, didn't he? Twice might be overbearing.
"Have you been here before?" she asked, as she began browsing the menu.
"Never."
"Me neither. It's a nice place."
"I know. Much fancier than I'm used to."
The conversation came to a natural pause, and Ron didn't know what to say. The silence lingered between them, and when he glanced up he saw that her eyes were scanning the room. Was she taking note of the other patrons?
Did it bother her that everyone else was clearly on a date?
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Yes, of course," she said in an uncharacteristically high voice.
"Are you sure?" he pressed.
Hermione groans. "Fine. It's kind of weird, don't you think?"
"Nope," he challenged. "Not weird at all."
"Ron. We look like we're on a date."
Frankly, he didn't mind looking like he was on a date with Hermione. Not when she was dressed like that.
In fact, he wouldn't have minded if she'd shown up in a ratty t-shirt and pajama bottoms. But sitting across from her in that slinky black dress made him want to puff his chest out in pride.
And it wasn't even a date, anyway.
"Then we're blending right in! Plus, what they don't know won't hurt them."
"You truly don't feel weird about this?"
Ron frowned. "No, but clearly you do. Do you want to leave?"
"No, it's not that," she groaned.
"Then what is it?"
His question went unanswered by the waiter's interruption. "Do you know what you'd like to order?"
"I'll take the oysters," said Ron. He'd never had oysters before, and this felt like the perfect opportunity.
"Oysters?" asked Hermione, her eyebrows raised.
"Yeah. What's wrong with oysters?"
"Uh, nothing, I guess. They're delicious."
"Well, then order them."
Hermione froze and eyed Ron suspiciously. "Okay. I'll have the oysters too."
"Great," said the waiter, pocketing his notepad.
When he walked away, Hermione turned back to Ron and whispered. "Really, oysters?"
"Seriously, why is that weird?"
"You know they're an aphrodisiac, right?"
What was she on about? "No, they're not!"
"Yes, they are."
"How do you know that?"
"Everyone knows that, Ron. It's a well-known fact."
"I didn't."
"Sure you didn't. Way to make it weird," she said. Ron scowled at her, but his face softened when he caught the hint of a smile on her face.
"I seriously didn't know!" he said. "And I'm not sure I believe you."
Hermione laughed. "Well don't complain when you're all hot and bothered after dinner."
Ron's jaw dropped open and he looked up to see Hermione smirking at him. "You ordered them too."
"I did," she confirmed, a smug look on her face.
Ron's heart sank, but he kept his face neutral. "Plans with Vicky later?"
"Maybe."
"Well, I won't tell him that you needed a plate of oysters in order to stomach him."
"Ron!"
"Sorry, that was mean." Ron grabbed his glass of water and lifted it up to make a toast. "Here's to extended foreplay via oysters. Gotta get you ready for the sex."
He took a sip of his water and winced as it burned a trail down his throat.
Hermione was shaking her head. "I'm going to need some alcohol if I'm slurping back oysters in front of you."
"I got you covered," he said, setting his water down. "Have a sip of your water."
Hermione looked cautiously at her glass, then raised it to her lips. She took a sip and grimaced when she swallowed. "Did you spike this?"
"You bet I did. Alcohol prices here are outrageous."
"How?"
"My pockets are filled with tiny bottles of vodka."
"I'd expect nothing less," she said.
Ron smiled as she took another sip, this time larger than before. "Perks of being a bartender."
During the brief moment of silence that followed, Ron's phone buzzed audibly in his pocket. Thinking it was one of the guys, he reached down to pull it out.
Hi Ron! What are you up to? Want to meet up?
Right. Lavender. The girl from the bar.
"Who's that?" asked Hermione, squinting at the phone.
Ron cleared out the text and shoved his phone back into his pocket. "No one. Not important."
"Very well."
Hermione reached for her glass, put it to her lips and downed the rest of her vodka water. When she finished, she set the glass back down on the table with a shudder.
"Damn, Hermione," said Ron. "You know there were three shots in there?"
Hermione let out a laugh. "That's why it tasted so terrible!"
"Hey, I take offense. That was my speciality."
"Right, vodka water."
She giggled again, and Ron couldn't help but find her laugh contagious, so he joined in. He was starting to feel the effects of his own spiked water, and enjoyed the slight buzz that kicked in. Hermione looked more relaxed too. The furrow between her eyebrows was gone, and her hair was beginning to unravel from its updo. For a moment he was tempted to reach a hand across the table and ruffle it, but that probably wouldn't have gone over very well.
By the time he finished his drink, the ice was officially broken, and the conversation became both more ridiculous and more comfortable.
"Twelve o'clock," said Hermione, nodding to a table across the room, where a couple about their age sat across from one another, looking tense.
"What about them?" asked Ron.
"Proposal or a break up?" she asked. "Something's about to happen."
Ron looked at the man gazing across the table at his girlfriend, starry-eyed. He then glanced at his date, with her arms crossed, gaze averted. "I vote break up."
"I vote proposal," said Hermione.
"Deal."
In perfect timing, the woman finished her drink and gasped. She pulled out a diamond ring from the glass and stared at it with wide eyes.
"Yes!" said Hermione. "Drink!"
"Wait."
Ron and Hermione continued staring as the man stood up, then lowered himself to one knee. They held their breath as the man's question got stuck in his throat, and his face fell from excitement to horror.
"Oh, fuck," said Ron.
The woman was shaking her head and gesturing for the man to get back into his seat. Her eyes watered with tears and they could barely make out the words she mouthed— I'm sorry, I can't.
The few onlookers awkwardly turned back to their conversations while the woman got up and scurried out, leaving her crestfallen ex alone at the table.
"That is rough," said Hermione.
As if summoned, the waiter stopped by to refill their water. "Your meal should be out soon!"
"Thank you!"
When he turned away, Ron promptly plucked another tiny vodka bottle from his pocket and hid it in his sleeve while he poured another shot's worth into his water. He raised his eyebrows at Hermione, who nodded. He refilled hers too.
"Good," says Ron. "Because we both have to drink for that one."
"Yeah. Poor guy. We probably shouldn't play that game," said Hermione as she finished another sip. "Okay, one more. Three o'clock!"
Ron laughed. "My three or your three?"
"Yours."
Ron looked over to see another couple sitting by the window, looking uncomfortable.
"Clearly a first date," said Hermione.
"Clearly."
"Is it going well?"
"Oooh that's a tough one," he said. Trying to read their body language was a challenge across the room. The man had his hands stashed in his pockets, but Ron couldn't tell if it was from nerves or discomfort.
"They look uncomfortable," said Hermione.
"But they could just be horny," said Ron, watching the man's ears turn pink in that all too familiar way.
"Ron!" laughed Hermione. "Why do you have to be so crude?"
They continued to watch, and it didn't take long for the couple to inch closer together, until one of them threw caution to the wind, and suddenly, they were wrapped up in one another in a passionate kiss.
"Wow," said Ron. "I was joking, but I guess I was right."
Hermione took a sip. "They probably had the oysters."
"So I guess we have that to look forward to." The words left Ron's mouth before he could stop them.
To his surprise, Hermione didn't skip a beat. "Well, too bad everyone else bailed. Would have loved to celebrate with an orgy."
Ron nearly spat out his drink at her response. "Granger! I'm cutting you off!"
"No!" she protested, laughing.
"Clearly, you've had too much," he joked, right as his phone buzzed again. He checked to see if it was anyone important, but it was just Lavender.
Are you at the bar? I'm close by.
He cleared it out and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
"Who keeps texting you?" she asked, her voice surprisingly soft.
"No one."
She cocked her head to the side, studying him. "Is it a girl?"
"No one," he repeated.
She opened her mouth to press further but was interrupted by the waiter. "Sorry about the wait," he said as he set down two plates of oysters in front of them. "Can I get you two anything to drink?"
"I think we're good," said Hermione with a giggle.
"Great," he said, eyeing them curiously before turning away.
"Tone down the giggles, Hermione. He knows we're drunk."
"No, he doesn't."
"We're acting pretty drunk."
"He doesn't know us. It could just be our personalities."
"We should still tone it down so we don't get kicked out!"
"That sounds like fun!"
Ron couldn't help but laugh. "Who are you and what did you do with Hermione Granger?"
"I've been here all this time, Ron," she said. "You're just the first to discover it. Oysters!"
As Hermione pulled her plate closer to her, Ron ignored the tingle elicited by her words and cleared his throat. "Full disclosure. I've never actually had oysters."
"Really?"
"How do you eat them? You just slurp them?"
"Pretty much. Like this." Hermione loosened the oyster with her fork, then held it up to her lips and sucked it in. "I mean, it's not exactly attractive to watch, but maybe after a few your perspective will be different."
"Yeah, you look ridiculous," he lied, while shifting in his seat. He might not need any oysters to disagree. "But does it have the desired effect? Are you feeling horny, Hermione?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes and scanned him. Ron leaned back in his chair and turned his head to show off his better side.
"Tough to say," she said.
"Maybe it takes a while to kick in. Let me try."
Mimicking her, Ron tugged the oyster free from its shell, held it up to his mouth, and slurped. It tasted like he expected — a little bit like the ocean — but the sensation of it sliding down his throat still caught him off guard. Once he swallowed, he eyed Hermione the same way she did just a moment ago, smiling as she straightened out her dress and flattened her hair.
"So, Ron. How do I look?"
"You're probably right. Must take a while to kick in. You look the same as always."
"So you don't feel attracted to me at all?" she said, pouting.
"I didn't say that."
Hermione paused to look at him, her cheeks rosy and her mouth agape as if caught without something to say.
It was a bold response, brought on only by the generous doses of vodka he'd mixed into his water. And of course, by the fact that Hermione seemed more relaxed with him than ever.
Her gape turned into a smile and she was about to finally speak when her phone buzzed, diverting her attention.
"Is that your prince charming texting you?"
Hermione scoffed. "Not quite."
"Then who?"
"Viktor," she said, shrugging.
"Booty call?"
"Yeah, basically."
Her thumb hovered over the keypad in hesitation, in a way that was all too familiar. "You don't seem excited."
Hermione shrugged. "It's not that."
"Then what is it?"
"I'm having fun here, that's all," she said. "With you."
"Dinner with me is more fun than sex with Vicky?"
"Don't flatter yourself," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "But it is nice to feel wanted in that way," she nodded toward her phone, "because it's been a while since I've experienced that."
She stumbled through her words as though they were embarrassing for her to admit, and the sentiment was, unfortunately, familiar. "I know exactly how you feel. It's been a while for me too."
"But it's not all it's cracked up to be," she said, her voice wavering.
"Having someone want you like that isn't all it's cracked up to be?"
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be talking to you about this."
"Hermione. Tell me."
Hermione paused to meet his eyes. He could tell by her expression that something was wearing on her, so he offered an encouraging nod.
"I think it's taking a hit on my confidence. For someone to want me for sex, but not for anything else. It's the complete opposite of what I'm used to. And you're right, sex is great, but slurping back oysters and gossiping about random strangers from across the room with you is a thousand times better."
It was all too tempting to beam at her compliment, but she wasn't smiling, so Ron held back. "Viktor doesn't do this kind of thing?"
Hermione shook her head.
"He doesn't know what he's missing."
With that, Hermione let out a chuckle. "With him, anything that could resemble a relationship is off-limits. I asked him to come to Ikea with me because I need a new dresser and he looked at me like I had three heads."
"What's wrong with Ikea? I love Ikea."
"He said asking him to help me build a dresser was a 'marriage level' ask."
Ron laughed. "That's ridiculous. I'll go to Ikea with you."
"Really?" she asked, her eyes lighting up.
"Definitely."
"Thank you," she said, but her voice is cut off when the buzz of Ron's phone startles him. "Who is that?"
"No one."
"Ron, I just spilled my soul to you. The least you can tell me is who keeps texting you."
"It doesn't matter—"
"So it is a girl?"
Ron's following silence might as well have been confirmation.
"What's her name?" pressed Hermione.
"Fine, I'll tell you. Her name's Lavender."
"And how'd you meet?"
"She came into the bar, flirted with me a bit. I thought she just wanted free drinks and I never expected her to text me back. But that's all that's happened. Just texting."
"Is she hot?"
"Sure," he said, shrugging, "but I wouldn't go to Ikea with her."
"I appreciate that," said Hermione, as she reached into her pocket for her buzzing phone.
"Vicky?"
"Yes," she said with an eye roll. "Viktor."
His stomach clenched at the thought of them together, but knowing that it wouldn't be nearly as fun for her as this dinner made it better. "Go," he urged. "Get laid."
"Really?"
"Yes. Just don't bring him to Ikea tomorrow."
"Okay," she laughed. "Only if you promise to text Lavender back. And don't bring her to Ikea either."
"Deal."
Hermione stood and gathered her things, while fumbling on her phone. "I'll Venmo you for my half. And I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Bye Hermione."
"Bye Ron."
He watched her leave before reaching for his phone. He should text Lavender back. Hermione wants him to, Lavender's expecting it, and what's the harm in a little bit of fun while Hermione's otherwise occupied?
Why doesn't he want to?
Ron pulls his phone from his pocket and opens Lavender's latest text, staring at it for a few seconds before typing out his response.
I can't tonight. Another time?
x
—Present—
"You have to text Lavender back," says Seamus. "While she's still interested."
He's right — the longer Ron waits, the more likely it is Lavender will lose interest. He can't ask for a second rain-check. With a sigh, Ron crouches to the floor to pick up his phone. "I hardly know the girl."
"Then get to know her better," suggests Neville. "What do you have to lose?"
Other than Hermione, nothing. And he can't lose someone he doesn't have.
"Nothing. I have nothing to lose."
"At the very least, it'll help you get your mind off of Hermione," says Harry.
Ron takes a seat on the armchair across from the couch and opens his most recent text.
Are you free tonight? You owe me a drink ;)
Short notice. Alcohol. A winky face. She's not asking for a date — she wants a hookup. The suggestion of the message is clear as day, yet somehow, he didn't read it that way before.
Maybe Hermione is clouding his mind more than he thinks.
So why does it make him so nervous? Probably because he's never had sex outside of a relationship.
But neither had straight-laced, prim and proper Hermione, at least not before Viktor, and if she can do it, so can he, right?
Ron taps the reply box and punches out his response.
I'm free tonight, and would love to buy you a drink. Meet in 30? ;)
He hits send and glances back at his roommates. His ears prickle pink at their smirks.
"I think this will be good for you," says Harry.
An unwelcome image of Hermione and Krum flash across his mind, causing his heart to momentarily sink. In response, he conjures up his memory of Lavender, the girl from the bar. Beautiful, friendly, and most importantly, interested. It almost makes him feel better.
Almost.
"Yeah. Me too."