Fic - Making a Point
Title: Making a Point
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: Ron/Hermione
Summary: Two stubborn people. A battle of wills. But what's the point?
"Ron, don't you think you're a bit old to be doing a dance of joy?"
Author's Notes: You gotta love a beta who’s quick to notice all the stupid crap you missed so that you don’t look like as much of a doofus. Thanks, belovedranger! :D
Initial Posting: 4.28.06
~*~
It is late, very late, and so dark that Ron’s anticipation is cloaked by the shadows and thin bars of moonlight in the room.
“No, Ron, I won’t marry you.”
Hermione, caught up in preparation of the oncoming rant, does not notice as Ron’s face falls- through the floor of their bedroom, past the living room, avoiding the murky pools of water in the basement that their combined Scourgifys have never managed to quite erase, down through several miles of earth, dinosaur bones, precious gems, and more earth, finally coming to rest inches from the planet’s molten core.
“But-but, Hermione, I…” he can only stammer, dumbstruck.
“It’s silly, Ron,” she continues, oblivious to his shock, or, indeed, to the fact that he has spoken at all. “There is absolutely no reason why we should get married-”
“But I love y-,” he tries again, for all the good it does him. Woe unto him who attempts to derail a Hermionerant.
“-No reason why we should get married. In fact, I can think of several reasons not to. First of all, look at poor Tonks and Pro- Remus. They can’t get married, just because he’s a werewolf! What a horrible injustice, in this day and age. That just goes to show you how prejudiced this government still is after all everyone’s done. If they can’t give a man who’s risked his life for everyone’s safety the simple right to get married...but that’s not my point. My point is, if they can’t get married just because of that furry little problem, it is up to us, as a couple that is legally allowed to get married, to make a stand and say that it isn’t right. It’s our responsibility. If enough people showed their support just like that, it would tell the Ministry a thing or two.”
“But-” Poor boy, but you have to love him for trying.
“And another thing. Marriage is an inherently patriarchal system. It’s not about love, it’s traditionally about ownership. I love you, Ron, but I refuse to be owned by anyone.” Although she is by now looking at him, Hermione may as well be looking at her shoes, given the obliviousness imparted by her fervency.
“But I don’t want-“
“Finally, and most importantly, I might add, it’s completely unnecessary. I love you, you love me; who came up with the silly notion that we need a piece of paper? I think we can do quite well enough making love stay by ourselves, without requiring some silly document to keep us together. If we did, goodness forbid, fall out of love with each other, would a legal contract serve to keep us together? Of course not. I think we are quite capable of continuing to love each other without needing to get married to prove it.”
Hermione pauses seconds before going blue in the face, and as she takes a much-needed breath, Ron is able to get in a complete sentence.
“But, you do love me, right?” The quiet sadness of Ron’s voice manages to bring Hermione’s attention back into the moment she’s actually in.
“Oh, Ron, I’m sorry.” She reaches out, finds his face in the darkness, and kisses him. Forehead to forehead, she continues.
“Of course, of course I love you. Don’t ever doubt that. It’s because I love you that I won’t marry you.”
“Hermione, that makes no sense.”
“Just hush, please, for one more minute. Do you want us loving each other based on a ceremony, or would you rather us love each other at ninety, one hundred, or a hundred fifteen because we’ve just never figured out how to stop loving each other?”
“Getting married won’t change whether or why we love each other. Do we really need to be the ones to prove a point? I just want to marry you.”
“Ron, when have either of us ever passed up the chance to prove a point? Especially with each other. I just want to spend my life with you, and I don’t need a marriage for that.”
Because of the darkness in their bedroom, with all of her attention now focused on him, Hermione misses the challenge she’s given. She does feel the tension in his body change, but misses the telltale twin-like gleam in his eyes, the conception of his plan.
“Okay then. That’s what I’ll do. Thanks for the idea, Hermione. Goodnight.” He turns over, prepared to feign sleep.
“Ron, what? What?” She curls over him, trying to get into his eyes.
“I’ll make my point. Night, Hermione.”
“Ron-” But she is cut off as he kisses her, and that is the end of their discussion that night.
~*~
It is growing sunset as Hermione waves her wand, erasing the Gryffindor red from the curtains.
“You know, Ron, I really just don’t like this color in here. House loyalty is fine and all that, but I think this is a bit far.”
Ron pads into the room on dirty bare feet, fingering the empty curtains that seem to fill with color from his touch. The suddenness of the rich grass green startles him. He opens his mouth to protest to Hermione’s back.
“I know what you’re going to say, and it’s a load of tosh. Yes, green is a Slytherin color, but it’s also a very pretty color and I think it happens to be appropriate. Do you have any better ideas?”
And there it is again, the challenge. Something that always puts Ron on the right foot. He begins, “Well…”
“That aren’t orange, please.”
“Ha. I wasn’t going to say orange.” He was, but that is now beside the point. “How about this?”
Ron flicks his wand as if removing a bogey from the end; the color seems to fly out, splattering the curtains into a pale golden yellow.
“Oh Ron, that is lovely, like a daffodil. I think we’ll keep that.” Hermione rests a hand on her belly, a wistful smile on her face, and Ron moves in for the kill.
“I’m glad you li-will you marry me?”
The wistful expression never falters as her lips form the words, “Not for the curtains, Ron.”
~*~
It is noontime and Ron is sitting in his mother’s garden watching one of Crookshanks’ many progeny chase a new generation of garden gnomes. Her tiny bottlebrush tail held high, she dives in and out of gnome holes, attempting to sink her teeth into their equally tiny boots, just as her father once did, many summers before. (Grandfather? Great-grandfather? Surely they aren’t that old yet. Ron can never keep the twisted family tree of the various litters straight in his head.)
Oh, and she’s caught one now, dragging it kicking and screaming back to show her mother and receive a proud swipe of the tongue on her filthy head.
Ron laughs and raises his head in time to see another little girl bring a precious treasure home to show her mother and receive praise. Ginny is able to accept the grub graciously, and smiles without appearing to laugh as Rosie relates the no doubt thrilling tale of capture to Mummy and Auntie Minee.
Ron scoops up the tiny kitten, crosses, and deposits the fluff in his niece’s pudgy arms.
“Unckie Won! I found a gwub and Mummy and Auntie Minee fink it’s neat. Wook!”
‘Won’ catches ‘Minee’s’ eye over Rosie’s head and they share a grin at the three-year-old getting her tongue around ‘Hermione’, as they always do.
Sitting, Ron asks, “Where’s Richard?” but before his lady or his sister can reply, Rosalee pipes up.
“He’s watching the big boys play K-kiddi-kwitich. He won’t play with me!”
Gin cuddles her daughter. “What a mean cousin! But it’s all right, dear. You wouldn’t want to share Morgana with him anyway, would you?”
“Nope,” she replies, once more all smiles. “My kitten!” she burbles, burying her face in Morgana’s soft belly.
Casually, too casually, Ron leans towards Hermione.
“Nice day, this. What say you and I get married?”
“Not today, Ron; ask me again tomorrow.”
~*~
It is late dusk and Hermione and Ron remove their cloaks as soon as they are in the house. Hermione stoops to remove her shoes, wincing in pleasure as her feet come free.
“That’s a relief,” she murmurs, massaging her toes.
“Love, have you forgotten you’re a witch, again?”
Hermione chooses to ignore the smirk in his voice as she sheds her formal robes on the way to their bedroom.
“I don’t see what being a witch has to do with anything,” she calls back haughtily, slipping on a faded shirt so big she’s swimming.
Heading back into the kitchen, she catches the last of his laughter, the questions and clink of Galleons signaling the dismissal of Catherine, and the beginnings of the bangs of the making of tea.
He’s shaking his head. “What being a witch has to do- Hermione, a quick spell would have made those shoes feel like your ancient slippers. Mum used to use it all the time.”
“And you see fit to only mention this now?” Her voice, rising dangerously.
His words, a verbal shrug. “Figured you knew. Would it make you feel better if I rubbed your feet?” Winking, he knows he has won.
Hermione says nothing, bare legs flashing as she hoists her tired feet into his lap, awaiting ministrations.
The gentle rubbing and kneading continues for some time, before his lips begin to travel up her calves.
Her voice, breathless. “Everyone asleep?”
His voice, muffled by her thigh. “Says Catherine.”
His hands slide up her shirt; her voice no longer makes words. Her knickers, gone.
Now, his voice is muffled by her breast, her neck. “You know what we just came back from…”
“Of-oh-of course. Remus and Tonks’-ahh- we-ed-ding.”
“Marry me yet?”
“Not-not yet.” And he slides upwards and there is no more talking, at least, none fit for polite conversation.
~*~
Barely dawn, and Hermione shuffles blearily into the kitchen. Yawning, the takes the proffered cup of coffee and sits with the new pile of scrolls, sweeping Ruffeo’s feathers from the table.
Ron turns briefly from the stove. “Anything interesting?”
Glasses perched, she reads. “Mmm, invitation to Rosie’s wedding; they’ve finally decided on next month. Aw, that’s sweet, she’s addressed it to ‘Minee’.”
“Do you want to mark it, or should I?”
“I’ll do it after you give me some of that bacon. Smells wonderful. Oh, a letter from Tobias. Hmmm, he says that Richard’s moving out to live with his girlfriend; what was her name again. But that Walter will be moving in after he finishes Hogwarts. You know, I wish for once that they’d tell me these things, rather than letting Tobias do it.”
“Love, you know Toby’s always been better at writing to us than any of the others. It’s not a snub.” He quickly kisses her before distracting her with a plate of bacon and toast.
Hermione looks down at her plate and has to laugh.
A glimpse then, at that plate of breakfast, for those of us who cannot see with Hermione’s weakening but still sparkling eyes: Two ‘M’s, two ‘R’s, an ‘A’, an ‘E’ and a ‘Y’, cut from bacon, arranged on toast, and charmed to spell the same old question.
“Ron, this may be your cleverest yet. But my answer still hasn’t changed.”
~*~
“Hermione, will you marry me?”
Hermione straightens awkwardly from her position under her desk, retrieving some errant parchment.
“Hmm? Oh, yes dear. Mmm-hmm.”
“Really.” Although Ron keeps his tone neutral, he has long since given up believing he will one day get this answer.
“Mmm, yes dear, whatever you say,” she agrees as she files the papers away.
“Hermione, are you listening to me?”
“No dear.”
Ron laughs. “Well, it doesn’t matter; I’m holding you to your answer anyway.”
Hermione squints at him, then shakes her bushy white hair in disbelief. “No. No, I did not-”
“Yes. You did.”
“But-”
“Nope, I won.”
“But-”
“Nowhere did we ever say that you had to be paying attention. In fact, it was precisely that situation which I have been trying to get around for the past sixty-five years. I. Won.”
“Ron, don’t you think you’re a bit old to be doing a dance of joy?”
Ron’s feet do not even still, despite his arthritic hips, as he answers her. “Never, Hermione, never. You can never be too old to enjoy that the love of your life agrees to marry you. Or to enjoy the fact that you finally, finally beat her.”
She halfheartedly assumes a fighting stance, only to discover that his glee is infectious. “Ronald Weasley, sometimes I wonder how I’ve managed to put up with you this long.”
Ron grins the same grin he’s given her since he was eleven years old, the same grin she’s loved since she was thirteen, and Hermione decides that as fun as this little game has been- perhaps, at ninety, it is finally time that the grin wins.
“When do you want to do this?” she asks with an overly dramatic sigh.
“Right away. Today. This minute.” For all his years, Ron’s resemblance to an overgrown puppy has never really changed.
“If that’s the case, dear soon-to-be-husband-if-you-behave, you’d better Floo and owl everyone and invite them. Oh, and make sure Maria and Eliot bring the new baby. Goodness knows that girl will do anything her grandpapa asks.”
“Not everything- I mean, of course, dear.”
“And I’m not changing my name.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Hermione pauses at the door to add one final instruction. “Oh, and dear, I’d suggest you stop dancing now.”
“I see no reason to stop yet,” he remarks with a smirk.
“But Ron, if you don’t stop, you won’t have any energy left for our wedding night.” She throws him a wink over her shoulder and exits, the implications hanging between them.
Ron’s stare turns to a grin. “Ooo you fiery old-”
~*~ fin ~*~
A/N the 2nd: The phrase “making love stay” is shamefully stolen from one of my favorite books, Still Life With Woodpecker which I mention for two reasons. A) The phrase is far too good for me to have come up with it by myself and people should know this, and 2) The book is so good I want that everyone should make with the reading of it.
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: Ron/Hermione
Summary: Two stubborn people. A battle of wills. But what's the point?
"Ron, don't you think you're a bit old to be doing a dance of joy?"
Author's Notes: You gotta love a beta who’s quick to notice all the stupid crap you missed so that you don’t look like as much of a doofus. Thanks, belovedranger! :D
Initial Posting: 4.28.06
~*~
It is late, very late, and so dark that Ron’s anticipation is cloaked by the shadows and thin bars of moonlight in the room.
“No, Ron, I won’t marry you.”
Hermione, caught up in preparation of the oncoming rant, does not notice as Ron’s face falls- through the floor of their bedroom, past the living room, avoiding the murky pools of water in the basement that their combined Scourgifys have never managed to quite erase, down through several miles of earth, dinosaur bones, precious gems, and more earth, finally coming to rest inches from the planet’s molten core.
“But-but, Hermione, I…” he can only stammer, dumbstruck.
“It’s silly, Ron,” she continues, oblivious to his shock, or, indeed, to the fact that he has spoken at all. “There is absolutely no reason why we should get married-”
“But I love y-,” he tries again, for all the good it does him. Woe unto him who attempts to derail a Hermionerant.
“-No reason why we should get married. In fact, I can think of several reasons not to. First of all, look at poor Tonks and Pro- Remus. They can’t get married, just because he’s a werewolf! What a horrible injustice, in this day and age. That just goes to show you how prejudiced this government still is after all everyone’s done. If they can’t give a man who’s risked his life for everyone’s safety the simple right to get married...but that’s not my point. My point is, if they can’t get married just because of that furry little problem, it is up to us, as a couple that is legally allowed to get married, to make a stand and say that it isn’t right. It’s our responsibility. If enough people showed their support just like that, it would tell the Ministry a thing or two.”
“But-” Poor boy, but you have to love him for trying.
“And another thing. Marriage is an inherently patriarchal system. It’s not about love, it’s traditionally about ownership. I love you, Ron, but I refuse to be owned by anyone.” Although she is by now looking at him, Hermione may as well be looking at her shoes, given the obliviousness imparted by her fervency.
“But I don’t want-“
“Finally, and most importantly, I might add, it’s completely unnecessary. I love you, you love me; who came up with the silly notion that we need a piece of paper? I think we can do quite well enough making love stay by ourselves, without requiring some silly document to keep us together. If we did, goodness forbid, fall out of love with each other, would a legal contract serve to keep us together? Of course not. I think we are quite capable of continuing to love each other without needing to get married to prove it.”
Hermione pauses seconds before going blue in the face, and as she takes a much-needed breath, Ron is able to get in a complete sentence.
“But, you do love me, right?” The quiet sadness of Ron’s voice manages to bring Hermione’s attention back into the moment she’s actually in.
“Oh, Ron, I’m sorry.” She reaches out, finds his face in the darkness, and kisses him. Forehead to forehead, she continues.
“Of course, of course I love you. Don’t ever doubt that. It’s because I love you that I won’t marry you.”
“Hermione, that makes no sense.”
“Just hush, please, for one more minute. Do you want us loving each other based on a ceremony, or would you rather us love each other at ninety, one hundred, or a hundred fifteen because we’ve just never figured out how to stop loving each other?”
“Getting married won’t change whether or why we love each other. Do we really need to be the ones to prove a point? I just want to marry you.”
“Ron, when have either of us ever passed up the chance to prove a point? Especially with each other. I just want to spend my life with you, and I don’t need a marriage for that.”
Because of the darkness in their bedroom, with all of her attention now focused on him, Hermione misses the challenge she’s given. She does feel the tension in his body change, but misses the telltale twin-like gleam in his eyes, the conception of his plan.
“Okay then. That’s what I’ll do. Thanks for the idea, Hermione. Goodnight.” He turns over, prepared to feign sleep.
“Ron, what? What?” She curls over him, trying to get into his eyes.
“I’ll make my point. Night, Hermione.”
“Ron-” But she is cut off as he kisses her, and that is the end of their discussion that night.
~*~
It is growing sunset as Hermione waves her wand, erasing the Gryffindor red from the curtains.
“You know, Ron, I really just don’t like this color in here. House loyalty is fine and all that, but I think this is a bit far.”
Ron pads into the room on dirty bare feet, fingering the empty curtains that seem to fill with color from his touch. The suddenness of the rich grass green startles him. He opens his mouth to protest to Hermione’s back.
“I know what you’re going to say, and it’s a load of tosh. Yes, green is a Slytherin color, but it’s also a very pretty color and I think it happens to be appropriate. Do you have any better ideas?”
And there it is again, the challenge. Something that always puts Ron on the right foot. He begins, “Well…”
“That aren’t orange, please.”
“Ha. I wasn’t going to say orange.” He was, but that is now beside the point. “How about this?”
Ron flicks his wand as if removing a bogey from the end; the color seems to fly out, splattering the curtains into a pale golden yellow.
“Oh Ron, that is lovely, like a daffodil. I think we’ll keep that.” Hermione rests a hand on her belly, a wistful smile on her face, and Ron moves in for the kill.
“I’m glad you li-will you marry me?”
The wistful expression never falters as her lips form the words, “Not for the curtains, Ron.”
~*~
It is noontime and Ron is sitting in his mother’s garden watching one of Crookshanks’ many progeny chase a new generation of garden gnomes. Her tiny bottlebrush tail held high, she dives in and out of gnome holes, attempting to sink her teeth into their equally tiny boots, just as her father once did, many summers before. (Grandfather? Great-grandfather? Surely they aren’t that old yet. Ron can never keep the twisted family tree of the various litters straight in his head.)
Oh, and she’s caught one now, dragging it kicking and screaming back to show her mother and receive a proud swipe of the tongue on her filthy head.
Ron laughs and raises his head in time to see another little girl bring a precious treasure home to show her mother and receive praise. Ginny is able to accept the grub graciously, and smiles without appearing to laugh as Rosie relates the no doubt thrilling tale of capture to Mummy and Auntie Minee.
Ron scoops up the tiny kitten, crosses, and deposits the fluff in his niece’s pudgy arms.
“Unckie Won! I found a gwub and Mummy and Auntie Minee fink it’s neat. Wook!”
‘Won’ catches ‘Minee’s’ eye over Rosie’s head and they share a grin at the three-year-old getting her tongue around ‘Hermione’, as they always do.
Sitting, Ron asks, “Where’s Richard?” but before his lady or his sister can reply, Rosalee pipes up.
“He’s watching the big boys play K-kiddi-kwitich. He won’t play with me!”
Gin cuddles her daughter. “What a mean cousin! But it’s all right, dear. You wouldn’t want to share Morgana with him anyway, would you?”
“Nope,” she replies, once more all smiles. “My kitten!” she burbles, burying her face in Morgana’s soft belly.
Casually, too casually, Ron leans towards Hermione.
“Nice day, this. What say you and I get married?”
“Not today, Ron; ask me again tomorrow.”
~*~
It is late dusk and Hermione and Ron remove their cloaks as soon as they are in the house. Hermione stoops to remove her shoes, wincing in pleasure as her feet come free.
“That’s a relief,” she murmurs, massaging her toes.
“Love, have you forgotten you’re a witch, again?”
Hermione chooses to ignore the smirk in his voice as she sheds her formal robes on the way to their bedroom.
“I don’t see what being a witch has to do with anything,” she calls back haughtily, slipping on a faded shirt so big she’s swimming.
Heading back into the kitchen, she catches the last of his laughter, the questions and clink of Galleons signaling the dismissal of Catherine, and the beginnings of the bangs of the making of tea.
He’s shaking his head. “What being a witch has to do- Hermione, a quick spell would have made those shoes feel like your ancient slippers. Mum used to use it all the time.”
“And you see fit to only mention this now?” Her voice, rising dangerously.
His words, a verbal shrug. “Figured you knew. Would it make you feel better if I rubbed your feet?” Winking, he knows he has won.
Hermione says nothing, bare legs flashing as she hoists her tired feet into his lap, awaiting ministrations.
The gentle rubbing and kneading continues for some time, before his lips begin to travel up her calves.
Her voice, breathless. “Everyone asleep?”
His voice, muffled by her thigh. “Says Catherine.”
His hands slide up her shirt; her voice no longer makes words. Her knickers, gone.
Now, his voice is muffled by her breast, her neck. “You know what we just came back from…”
“Of-oh-of course. Remus and Tonks’-ahh- we-ed-ding.”
“Marry me yet?”
“Not-not yet.” And he slides upwards and there is no more talking, at least, none fit for polite conversation.
~*~
Barely dawn, and Hermione shuffles blearily into the kitchen. Yawning, the takes the proffered cup of coffee and sits with the new pile of scrolls, sweeping Ruffeo’s feathers from the table.
Ron turns briefly from the stove. “Anything interesting?”
Glasses perched, she reads. “Mmm, invitation to Rosie’s wedding; they’ve finally decided on next month. Aw, that’s sweet, she’s addressed it to ‘Minee’.”
“Do you want to mark it, or should I?”
“I’ll do it after you give me some of that bacon. Smells wonderful. Oh, a letter from Tobias. Hmmm, he says that Richard’s moving out to live with his girlfriend; what was her name again. But that Walter will be moving in after he finishes Hogwarts. You know, I wish for once that they’d tell me these things, rather than letting Tobias do it.”
“Love, you know Toby’s always been better at writing to us than any of the others. It’s not a snub.” He quickly kisses her before distracting her with a plate of bacon and toast.
Hermione looks down at her plate and has to laugh.
A glimpse then, at that plate of breakfast, for those of us who cannot see with Hermione’s weakening but still sparkling eyes: Two ‘M’s, two ‘R’s, an ‘A’, an ‘E’ and a ‘Y’, cut from bacon, arranged on toast, and charmed to spell the same old question.
“Ron, this may be your cleverest yet. But my answer still hasn’t changed.”
~*~
“Hermione, will you marry me?”
Hermione straightens awkwardly from her position under her desk, retrieving some errant parchment.
“Hmm? Oh, yes dear. Mmm-hmm.”
“Really.” Although Ron keeps his tone neutral, he has long since given up believing he will one day get this answer.
“Mmm, yes dear, whatever you say,” she agrees as she files the papers away.
“Hermione, are you listening to me?”
“No dear.”
Ron laughs. “Well, it doesn’t matter; I’m holding you to your answer anyway.”
Hermione squints at him, then shakes her bushy white hair in disbelief. “No. No, I did not-”
“Yes. You did.”
“But-”
“Nope, I won.”
“But-”
“Nowhere did we ever say that you had to be paying attention. In fact, it was precisely that situation which I have been trying to get around for the past sixty-five years. I. Won.”
“Ron, don’t you think you’re a bit old to be doing a dance of joy?”
Ron’s feet do not even still, despite his arthritic hips, as he answers her. “Never, Hermione, never. You can never be too old to enjoy that the love of your life agrees to marry you. Or to enjoy the fact that you finally, finally beat her.”
She halfheartedly assumes a fighting stance, only to discover that his glee is infectious. “Ronald Weasley, sometimes I wonder how I’ve managed to put up with you this long.”
Ron grins the same grin he’s given her since he was eleven years old, the same grin she’s loved since she was thirteen, and Hermione decides that as fun as this little game has been- perhaps, at ninety, it is finally time that the grin wins.
“When do you want to do this?” she asks with an overly dramatic sigh.
“Right away. Today. This minute.” For all his years, Ron’s resemblance to an overgrown puppy has never really changed.
“If that’s the case, dear soon-to-be-husband-if-you-behave, you’d better Floo and owl everyone and invite them. Oh, and make sure Maria and Eliot bring the new baby. Goodness knows that girl will do anything her grandpapa asks.”
“Not everything- I mean, of course, dear.”
“And I’m not changing my name.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Hermione pauses at the door to add one final instruction. “Oh, and dear, I’d suggest you stop dancing now.”
“I see no reason to stop yet,” he remarks with a smirk.
“But Ron, if you don’t stop, you won’t have any energy left for our wedding night.” She throws him a wink over her shoulder and exits, the implications hanging between them.
Ron’s stare turns to a grin. “Ooo you fiery old-”
~*~ fin ~*~
A/N the 2nd: The phrase “making love stay” is shamefully stolen from one of my favorite books, Still Life With Woodpecker which I mention for two reasons. A) The phrase is far too good for me to have come up with it by myself and people should know this, and 2) The book is so good I want that everyone should make with the reading of it.