Ron Ficathon
For the Ron Ficathon *here*
For obhwfgirl who requested Ron paired with Hermione, Harry, Luna or a good gen fic with UST, especially suspense or twisty surprises
Pairing: Ron/?
Word Length: 1733 according to MS Word
Rating: PG (perhaps) for some experimental snoggage
A/N:
To obhwfgirl I hope you like what I’ve written and are not too disappointed that it didn’t fit your requirements exactly. A week after I signed up for this I became unwell and was diagnosed with a thyroid problem and haven’t been well since. The worst thing for me has been the lack of concentration and a fuggy head for six weeks, it’s what I can’t wait to get rid of. I wanted to do light and fun, it didn't quite get there! Many thanks to malachan for a thorough beta, without him well … the lack of concentration would show through far much more!
Bloody Spiders
If it hadn’t been for the spider, he’d have kissed her, Ron acknowledged, as not only his ears but his whole face flushed hard enough to heat a small town on Antarctica somewhere. Lying on his bed in the dark, with just a glint of moonlight shining through the window of his Grimmauld Place bedroom, he was incredibly relieved no-one could see him right now. If it had been winter the extra heat would be welcome, but as it was now late August, the hottest part of the year in London, he was feeling decidedly uncomfortable as there was only the smallest breeze on a hot London summer’s night.
Back at Hogwarts, before the incredible independence of living with Harry at Grimmauld Place, and the amazingly relieved feeling at the knowledge of NEWT results just good enough to scrape into Auror training, he’d not had much to do with girls. That famously dull Yule Ball had seen him with a date for the first time, even though it fell flat as a pancake. Just prior to one Hogsmeade weekend in sixth year he’d found himself being accepted on a date by one of Ginny’s room-mates he’d never intended to ask, and who he cursed for months afterwards for misunderstanding his words. That had been the longest day at Hogsmeade he could ever remember; he found himself running out of places to keep his hands where they’d not be holdable. He’d cursed his parents' insistence that it was rude to keep them in your pockets. In Ron’s book you only held hands if you were boyfriend and girlfriend, not if you were taking part in an arrangement that only one had wanted on a wasted day that had previously been full of promise.
Damned spider, horrid thing.
He’d never considered her training as a Mediwitch, never thought about that prospect at. In fact, if he’d been honest he’d never really thought about her as an actual girl at all. She’d always been there in the Common Room, in class, or as a useful member of the DA, but that she was a girl he’d missed.
Cooler now, the heat gone from his face, Ron relaxed on his bed, his hands back behind his head as he thought about what might happen next.
She’d changed, he decided, from days at Hogwarts. Grown up in lots of ways, the things that had pleased and occupied her there were gone. Oh, he thought, I had noticed her, noticed the things that she did. Discussions with Harry had included exasperation at activities more than annoying; irritating in the extreme.
He’d not known that she’d liked him, had an eye on him for a long time. That she’d hoped he’d ask her to the Yule Ball had been a surprise. She’d given him no indication, had she?
As he felt the weight of sleep attempting to claim him, Ron rolled to his side and pulled the covers over himself. He’d owl her in the morning.
The next lunchtime saw Ron, on a much needed day free from the labours of Auror training, sitting at a table outside of Florean Fortescue’s. He was early, a whole ten minutes, and couldn’t remember the last time ten minutes had taken so long to pass. What if she didn’t come? What if her return owl accepting the meeting was being nice just to avoid upsetting him? What if …
“Hey.” She pushed her hair back from her face.
“Hey,” soft voice replied, accompanied by heated lobes covered by carefully grown red hair.
“I’ll sit down.”
“There’s a chair,” Ron pointed totally unnecessarily, the faintest trace of a stammer on the first word.
“I knew that!” She sat down as she giggled and smiled that smile again.
Damn, he should have stood and pulled the chair back for her as he’d seen his dad do for his mum on plenty of occasions. “Yeah … “ If he didn’t know better he’d have sworn there was the beginning of a stutter there somewhere. How ridiculous was this? Get a grip Ronald. “Ice cream?”
“Thanks Ron, yes. A chocolate and raspberry sundae I think?”
Oh, the smile, Ron felt something lurch inside at that smile. He’d been about to order Florean’s daily special. It came in the tallest glass they had, was filled with every flavour of ice-cream in layers, and had all sorts of extras too. Fizzing Whizbees and Bertie Bott’s appeared throughout. It was topped, of course, with sticks of Honeyduke’s best chocolate and the tastiest wafers imaginable. “Me too,” were the words that escaped his lips, the slightest hint of a squeak audible.
Conversation was stilted while they waited for their order to be delivered. Every time Ron stuttered or heard his voice do that annoying squeak again she smiled. And every time she smiled he got lost somehow, forgot his next word or stuttered again when he found it.
Food was good, Ron decided. Even though he had the piddliest little ice cream he’d eaten in years, it gave him something to do that he was good at and when they finished, left galleons with their empty bowls, and found themselves outside he seemed to be more comfortable.
“Do you want to look in the shops?” he asked as they stood outside and he dared to brush his fingers cautiously against the edges of hers.
“Come on, lets,” she replied being the braver one and gently taking hold of his hand. “I need a new Quill so how about the stationery shop?”
Stationery shopping was something that Molly normally did for him. When the question Do you want anything at Diagon Alley? came up and his answer came back No thanks Mum, she’d come home with a Quill, some parchment or perhaps a new bottle of ink. You boys, she’d explain at the puzzled look are always the same with your supplies. You never think of replacing them till you’ve actually run right out and so he’d never thought of buying such things for himself.
The stationery shop Ron found to be far more fascinating than he had had ever imagined it could be. There were all sorts of things for making reading and note-taking more efficient. When he came to pay, the bag passed to Ron by the wizarding assistant, contained two new quills, one in an orange and black pattern, which he knew would cheer him up if he ever needed it, being the Cannons’ colours and another one he’d been persuaded to buy in a zebra print effect. He also had a block of small squares of parchment in bright colours, charmed to stick to other parchment without damaging it. They’d be brilliant for keeping the place of important quotes and stuff, he decided. If only he’d had them for seventh year NEWT potions!
Outside the window of Flourish and Blotts as they looked in at a display promoting the latest, and special, edition of Felix Summerbees Book of Cheering Charms, which alternately made a model head smile, laugh and snigger, Ron took his courage in his hands and reached once more for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, sealing the effect with a warm smile. The walk past number 93 was swift; Ron had no wish for Fred or George to spot them and announce the vision to the world.
As they walked and talked about shop window displays, quills, everchanging inks, and the amazing flavours of Florean’s ice-creams they exchanged smiles, squeezed fingers and became far more comfortable with each other again.
“Would you like a drink?”
Ron half jumped. “The Leaky Cauldron?” She did that smile again Ron noticed, afraid his mouth was hanging open uncontrollably.
“I was thinking somewhere different. My flat?”
“Oh, err, hum, yes that would be lovely.” Ron stuttered, a mixture of half nervousness and half apprehension filling him, when he regained control.
On arrival in the small clean and tidy flat in a block of wizarding accommodation facing a green at Richmond in the South West of London, Ron found his nerves renewed and multiplied many times over. “S’nice,” he muttered, standing fixed to the spot.
“Come and sit down.” The smile was understanding and her hand was held out to his.
There were no spiders this time and wasn’t that a relief? If he found his courage there was nothing to stop him now. Except he was a novice and he supposed that would be more than obvious. Neither Padma nor Ginny’s friend had been victim to his practice. He’d left it to now, till when it mattered. How stupid was that?
“So,” she’d said, moving closer so her leg touched his. Even through fabric it was amazing, brilliant.
He smiled. “So.” Ron’s voice had been confident, too confident, the word from his lips was final, closed a moment. Stupid bugger, he thought.
“So,” she tried again, more persuasive this time, as she took his hand. “So, there’s no spider this time Ronald Weasley.”
“No,” his voice squeaked as he moved clumsily towards and quickly back again his hand coming up to his nose, smarting a bit as hers was. Bloody hell. Why did it have to be him who was the one who couldn’t kiss? If you judged by Professor Umbridge’s beliefs then prefect’s duties should have made him almost an expert kisser, hadn’t they? She’d said you could learn from description, you didn’t need to practice. But then that argument fell a bit when he thought it was the reason they’d started the DA. He wasn’t sure who were the worst culprits, Slytherins or Hufflepuffs, but whichever he’d seen, and not by choice he wanted to reinforce, some pretty darned accomplished snogging. “Sorry.”
As it happened, his apology was lost as a pair of lips effortlessly and apparently far more skilled in avoidance tactics found his. All thoughts of Professor Umbridge, Vincent Crabbe and Ernie MacMillan, separately and not together, fled from his mind.
“Mmm Ron,” she’d murmured against his lips soon after. He couldn’t have been that bad then, he thought as he pulled her back to try again, missing her nose but finding her tongue this time. Why had he taken this long? Snogging was good; he should have tried it before, Ron decided. Though, Ron noticed with a warm feeling squidging about inside, Lavender Brown certainly didn’t seem to averse to his beginner’s attempts.
For obhwfgirl who requested Ron paired with Hermione, Harry, Luna or a good gen fic with UST, especially suspense or twisty surprises
Pairing: Ron/?
Word Length: 1733 according to MS Word
Rating: PG (perhaps) for some experimental snoggage
A/N:
To obhwfgirl I hope you like what I’ve written and are not too disappointed that it didn’t fit your requirements exactly. A week after I signed up for this I became unwell and was diagnosed with a thyroid problem and haven’t been well since. The worst thing for me has been the lack of concentration and a fuggy head for six weeks, it’s what I can’t wait to get rid of. I wanted to do light and fun, it didn't quite get there! Many thanks to malachan for a thorough beta, without him well … the lack of concentration would show through far much more!
Bloody Spiders
If it hadn’t been for the spider, he’d have kissed her, Ron acknowledged, as not only his ears but his whole face flushed hard enough to heat a small town on Antarctica somewhere. Lying on his bed in the dark, with just a glint of moonlight shining through the window of his Grimmauld Place bedroom, he was incredibly relieved no-one could see him right now. If it had been winter the extra heat would be welcome, but as it was now late August, the hottest part of the year in London, he was feeling decidedly uncomfortable as there was only the smallest breeze on a hot London summer’s night.
Back at Hogwarts, before the incredible independence of living with Harry at Grimmauld Place, and the amazingly relieved feeling at the knowledge of NEWT results just good enough to scrape into Auror training, he’d not had much to do with girls. That famously dull Yule Ball had seen him with a date for the first time, even though it fell flat as a pancake. Just prior to one Hogsmeade weekend in sixth year he’d found himself being accepted on a date by one of Ginny’s room-mates he’d never intended to ask, and who he cursed for months afterwards for misunderstanding his words. That had been the longest day at Hogsmeade he could ever remember; he found himself running out of places to keep his hands where they’d not be holdable. He’d cursed his parents' insistence that it was rude to keep them in your pockets. In Ron’s book you only held hands if you were boyfriend and girlfriend, not if you were taking part in an arrangement that only one had wanted on a wasted day that had previously been full of promise.
Damned spider, horrid thing.
He’d never considered her training as a Mediwitch, never thought about that prospect at. In fact, if he’d been honest he’d never really thought about her as an actual girl at all. She’d always been there in the Common Room, in class, or as a useful member of the DA, but that she was a girl he’d missed.
Cooler now, the heat gone from his face, Ron relaxed on his bed, his hands back behind his head as he thought about what might happen next.
She’d changed, he decided, from days at Hogwarts. Grown up in lots of ways, the things that had pleased and occupied her there were gone. Oh, he thought, I had noticed her, noticed the things that she did. Discussions with Harry had included exasperation at activities more than annoying; irritating in the extreme.
He’d not known that she’d liked him, had an eye on him for a long time. That she’d hoped he’d ask her to the Yule Ball had been a surprise. She’d given him no indication, had she?
As he felt the weight of sleep attempting to claim him, Ron rolled to his side and pulled the covers over himself. He’d owl her in the morning.
The next lunchtime saw Ron, on a much needed day free from the labours of Auror training, sitting at a table outside of Florean Fortescue’s. He was early, a whole ten minutes, and couldn’t remember the last time ten minutes had taken so long to pass. What if she didn’t come? What if her return owl accepting the meeting was being nice just to avoid upsetting him? What if …
“Hey.” She pushed her hair back from her face.
“Hey,” soft voice replied, accompanied by heated lobes covered by carefully grown red hair.
“I’ll sit down.”
“There’s a chair,” Ron pointed totally unnecessarily, the faintest trace of a stammer on the first word.
“I knew that!” She sat down as she giggled and smiled that smile again.
Damn, he should have stood and pulled the chair back for her as he’d seen his dad do for his mum on plenty of occasions. “Yeah … “ If he didn’t know better he’d have sworn there was the beginning of a stutter there somewhere. How ridiculous was this? Get a grip Ronald. “Ice cream?”
“Thanks Ron, yes. A chocolate and raspberry sundae I think?”
Oh, the smile, Ron felt something lurch inside at that smile. He’d been about to order Florean’s daily special. It came in the tallest glass they had, was filled with every flavour of ice-cream in layers, and had all sorts of extras too. Fizzing Whizbees and Bertie Bott’s appeared throughout. It was topped, of course, with sticks of Honeyduke’s best chocolate and the tastiest wafers imaginable. “Me too,” were the words that escaped his lips, the slightest hint of a squeak audible.
Conversation was stilted while they waited for their order to be delivered. Every time Ron stuttered or heard his voice do that annoying squeak again she smiled. And every time she smiled he got lost somehow, forgot his next word or stuttered again when he found it.
Food was good, Ron decided. Even though he had the piddliest little ice cream he’d eaten in years, it gave him something to do that he was good at and when they finished, left galleons with their empty bowls, and found themselves outside he seemed to be more comfortable.
“Do you want to look in the shops?” he asked as they stood outside and he dared to brush his fingers cautiously against the edges of hers.
“Come on, lets,” she replied being the braver one and gently taking hold of his hand. “I need a new Quill so how about the stationery shop?”
Stationery shopping was something that Molly normally did for him. When the question Do you want anything at Diagon Alley? came up and his answer came back No thanks Mum, she’d come home with a Quill, some parchment or perhaps a new bottle of ink. You boys, she’d explain at the puzzled look are always the same with your supplies. You never think of replacing them till you’ve actually run right out and so he’d never thought of buying such things for himself.
The stationery shop Ron found to be far more fascinating than he had had ever imagined it could be. There were all sorts of things for making reading and note-taking more efficient. When he came to pay, the bag passed to Ron by the wizarding assistant, contained two new quills, one in an orange and black pattern, which he knew would cheer him up if he ever needed it, being the Cannons’ colours and another one he’d been persuaded to buy in a zebra print effect. He also had a block of small squares of parchment in bright colours, charmed to stick to other parchment without damaging it. They’d be brilliant for keeping the place of important quotes and stuff, he decided. If only he’d had them for seventh year NEWT potions!
Outside the window of Flourish and Blotts as they looked in at a display promoting the latest, and special, edition of Felix Summerbees Book of Cheering Charms, which alternately made a model head smile, laugh and snigger, Ron took his courage in his hands and reached once more for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, sealing the effect with a warm smile. The walk past number 93 was swift; Ron had no wish for Fred or George to spot them and announce the vision to the world.
As they walked and talked about shop window displays, quills, everchanging inks, and the amazing flavours of Florean’s ice-creams they exchanged smiles, squeezed fingers and became far more comfortable with each other again.
“Would you like a drink?”
Ron half jumped. “The Leaky Cauldron?” She did that smile again Ron noticed, afraid his mouth was hanging open uncontrollably.
“I was thinking somewhere different. My flat?”
“Oh, err, hum, yes that would be lovely.” Ron stuttered, a mixture of half nervousness and half apprehension filling him, when he regained control.
On arrival in the small clean and tidy flat in a block of wizarding accommodation facing a green at Richmond in the South West of London, Ron found his nerves renewed and multiplied many times over. “S’nice,” he muttered, standing fixed to the spot.
“Come and sit down.” The smile was understanding and her hand was held out to his.
There were no spiders this time and wasn’t that a relief? If he found his courage there was nothing to stop him now. Except he was a novice and he supposed that would be more than obvious. Neither Padma nor Ginny’s friend had been victim to his practice. He’d left it to now, till when it mattered. How stupid was that?
“So,” she’d said, moving closer so her leg touched his. Even through fabric it was amazing, brilliant.
He smiled. “So.” Ron’s voice had been confident, too confident, the word from his lips was final, closed a moment. Stupid bugger, he thought.
“So,” she tried again, more persuasive this time, as she took his hand. “So, there’s no spider this time Ronald Weasley.”
“No,” his voice squeaked as he moved clumsily towards and quickly back again his hand coming up to his nose, smarting a bit as hers was. Bloody hell. Why did it have to be him who was the one who couldn’t kiss? If you judged by Professor Umbridge’s beliefs then prefect’s duties should have made him almost an expert kisser, hadn’t they? She’d said you could learn from description, you didn’t need to practice. But then that argument fell a bit when he thought it was the reason they’d started the DA. He wasn’t sure who were the worst culprits, Slytherins or Hufflepuffs, but whichever he’d seen, and not by choice he wanted to reinforce, some pretty darned accomplished snogging. “Sorry.”
As it happened, his apology was lost as a pair of lips effortlessly and apparently far more skilled in avoidance tactics found his. All thoughts of Professor Umbridge, Vincent Crabbe and Ernie MacMillan, separately and not together, fled from his mind.
“Mmm Ron,” she’d murmured against his lips soon after. He couldn’t have been that bad then, he thought as he pulled her back to try again, missing her nose but finding her tongue this time. Why had he taken this long? Snogging was good; he should have tried it before, Ron decided. Though, Ron noticed with a warm feeling squidging about inside, Lavender Brown certainly didn’t seem to averse to his beginner’s attempts.