(no subject)
Title: Hismione
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I'm not even old enough to be JK Rowling.
Summary: She's always been Hismione.
Word Count: 855
Status: Complete
Warnings: None
Pairings: Ronald Weasley/Hermione Granger
It was the way she bit her lip when she turned every bloody page. It was every distracting twirl of her hair. It was every single time she tapped the muggle pen on the shiny, oak table. That’s exactly what it was. The answer to the only question, it seemed, she ever asked him.
”Why can’t you just do your own work?”
He had a suspicion that she knew exactly bloody why but didn’t confirm her silent guesses. If she did know, he had to play hard to get, had to make it seem like he didn’t care either way.
But he did.
He hadn’t even known it at first. When they’d first met, he figured it was extreme hate. As he matured, he reasoned with himself-maybe he was a smidge jealous of her intelligence. By the time he was fourteen, he saw her eyes. He saw how happy Krum made her. Now he wasn’t jealous of her brilliance, but instead, Krum’s ability to hold her attention and make her so happy. He was so bloody jealous of how Krum could make her scream with laughter and give her that look in her eyes that Ron was convinced should belong to himself, and not the stupid Quidditch player. Hermione was too good for him.
Ugly brute.
Ron became possessive. He wouldn’t admit it until the summer after fifth year that he was totally in love with the girl. He kept his mouth shut though. She wasn’t in her right mind if she accepted and returned the feelings. Better not to say anything and keep the hurt at a minimum.
She twirled the pen in her fingers and shifted in the big chair. It was a wonder her back wasn’t in pain all the time. She probably had a remedy potion. Ron wouldn’t have minded giving her a pack rub now and then. His hands on her smooth skin. No shirts involved. As she turned in his arms and put little kisses and bites along his shoulders while he continued to press his fingers into her back to relax the muscles. That would be nice.
Hermione-his ‘Mione-scribbled something out and leaned over her paper. She had a low cut shirt. He wouldn’t look. To distract himself, he thought of her name. Hermione. Oh no. She was Hismione. That’s exactly what she was. His. No one else’s. His alone to hold and touch. He wanted to give her a sign to wear. Don’t look, don’t touch. I belong to Ronald Weasley. He wouldn’t though. That would be…insensitive, she might say. Maybe distasteful, too. What did he know? He was just a stupid git.
His muscles tightened and he pushed himself off the chair, walked over to her. He stood quietly beside her, watching her wrist and hand and fingers create the words on the page. Fast as lightening, trying to keep up with her brain, he suspected. Ron took a lock of her hair and felt it’s smoothness between his finger and thumb. Lifted it a bit higher and twirled it between his fingers.
She looked up at him.
“Ron, please.”
He gave her a serious look and continued to play with it. So pretty.
“Ron, I have work to do.”
“Shhh. You work too much, ‘Mione.”
Ron lowered himself to the floor, kneeling. Hermione nervously pushed back on the seat of the chair, so much so that she could easily fall off. The vacant area on the seat presented itself to Ron. He pushed himself up again and started to slide her over a bit to get more room on the chair.
“Ron, what’re you doing?”
He lifted her and sat her on his lap. Red hair, blue, trustful eyes.
“Shhh,” he willed her, pressing a freckled finger to her lips. He pushed his hand into her hair, and her mouth parted. “Shhh,” Ron repeated. He stroked just beneath her ear with his thumb. “Alright, alright.” Mmm, his voice was so soft, so husky. “’Mione,” his voice wavered a little with uncertainty if he should even do this. “’Mione, I’m…I’m gunna kiss you now.”
Before she could say anything, he leaned down and pressed his lips firmly to hers. Hermione sat up straight, and tilted her head down, Ron now facing up to kiss her. He rested his hand on her neck.
Ron pulled away, just enough to whisper, “You’re so pretty, Hermione.”
She didn’t respond and instead, kissed him. Ron pulled away again and put his face in her neck.
A hug.
So nice and warm. So perfect and protecting.
“’Mione…since the day I first saw you…you were mine. You know that right? We belong together. Right?” He seemed to be begging her for reassurance.
“Yes, Ron. That’s right.”
“Good. And-and you’re still mine, right? Mine to protect and take care of?”
She laughed softly, remembering when, in second year, Ron had been terrified of the spiders and Aragog. Somehow she knew now he would never let anything or anyone hurt her, even if it meant slaying a stupid spider.
“Uh huh,” she answered.
“Mine,” he repeated.
“Yours,” she whispered back.
***
I think this is the first R/Hr I've posted. I'm not really sure. Either way, please comment, I'd fully appreciate some criticism and/or praise. Thanks for reading.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I'm not even old enough to be JK Rowling.
Summary: She's always been Hismione.
Word Count: 855
Status: Complete
Warnings: None
Pairings: Ronald Weasley/Hermione Granger
It was the way she bit her lip when she turned every bloody page. It was every distracting twirl of her hair. It was every single time she tapped the muggle pen on the shiny, oak table. That’s exactly what it was. The answer to the only question, it seemed, she ever asked him.
”Why can’t you just do your own work?”
He had a suspicion that she knew exactly bloody why but didn’t confirm her silent guesses. If she did know, he had to play hard to get, had to make it seem like he didn’t care either way.
But he did.
He hadn’t even known it at first. When they’d first met, he figured it was extreme hate. As he matured, he reasoned with himself-maybe he was a smidge jealous of her intelligence. By the time he was fourteen, he saw her eyes. He saw how happy Krum made her. Now he wasn’t jealous of her brilliance, but instead, Krum’s ability to hold her attention and make her so happy. He was so bloody jealous of how Krum could make her scream with laughter and give her that look in her eyes that Ron was convinced should belong to himself, and not the stupid Quidditch player. Hermione was too good for him.
Ugly brute.
Ron became possessive. He wouldn’t admit it until the summer after fifth year that he was totally in love with the girl. He kept his mouth shut though. She wasn’t in her right mind if she accepted and returned the feelings. Better not to say anything and keep the hurt at a minimum.
She twirled the pen in her fingers and shifted in the big chair. It was a wonder her back wasn’t in pain all the time. She probably had a remedy potion. Ron wouldn’t have minded giving her a pack rub now and then. His hands on her smooth skin. No shirts involved. As she turned in his arms and put little kisses and bites along his shoulders while he continued to press his fingers into her back to relax the muscles. That would be nice.
Hermione-his ‘Mione-scribbled something out and leaned over her paper. She had a low cut shirt. He wouldn’t look. To distract himself, he thought of her name. Hermione. Oh no. She was Hismione. That’s exactly what she was. His. No one else’s. His alone to hold and touch. He wanted to give her a sign to wear. Don’t look, don’t touch. I belong to Ronald Weasley. He wouldn’t though. That would be…insensitive, she might say. Maybe distasteful, too. What did he know? He was just a stupid git.
His muscles tightened and he pushed himself off the chair, walked over to her. He stood quietly beside her, watching her wrist and hand and fingers create the words on the page. Fast as lightening, trying to keep up with her brain, he suspected. Ron took a lock of her hair and felt it’s smoothness between his finger and thumb. Lifted it a bit higher and twirled it between his fingers.
She looked up at him.
“Ron, please.”
He gave her a serious look and continued to play with it. So pretty.
“Ron, I have work to do.”
“Shhh. You work too much, ‘Mione.”
Ron lowered himself to the floor, kneeling. Hermione nervously pushed back on the seat of the chair, so much so that she could easily fall off. The vacant area on the seat presented itself to Ron. He pushed himself up again and started to slide her over a bit to get more room on the chair.
“Ron, what’re you doing?”
He lifted her and sat her on his lap. Red hair, blue, trustful eyes.
“Shhh,” he willed her, pressing a freckled finger to her lips. He pushed his hand into her hair, and her mouth parted. “Shhh,” Ron repeated. He stroked just beneath her ear with his thumb. “Alright, alright.” Mmm, his voice was so soft, so husky. “’Mione,” his voice wavered a little with uncertainty if he should even do this. “’Mione, I’m…I’m gunna kiss you now.”
Before she could say anything, he leaned down and pressed his lips firmly to hers. Hermione sat up straight, and tilted her head down, Ron now facing up to kiss her. He rested his hand on her neck.
Ron pulled away, just enough to whisper, “You’re so pretty, Hermione.”
She didn’t respond and instead, kissed him. Ron pulled away again and put his face in her neck.
A hug.
So nice and warm. So perfect and protecting.
“’Mione…since the day I first saw you…you were mine. You know that right? We belong together. Right?” He seemed to be begging her for reassurance.
“Yes, Ron. That’s right.”
“Good. And-and you’re still mine, right? Mine to protect and take care of?”
She laughed softly, remembering when, in second year, Ron had been terrified of the spiders and Aragog. Somehow she knew now he would never let anything or anyone hurt her, even if it meant slaying a stupid spider.
“Uh huh,” she answered.
“Mine,” he repeated.
“Yours,” she whispered back.
***
I think this is the first R/Hr I've posted. I'm not really sure. Either way, please comment, I'd fully appreciate some criticism and/or praise. Thanks for reading.