Fic: Lead Time
Er. Here be fic, from me. These were written for the Secret Elf Yule (Drabble) Challenge over at The Quidditch Pitch.
Title: Lead Time
Pairing: R/Hr
Rating: GP
Word Count: 950
Story Notes: Fluff and romance. If death and destruction is your thing, you're not gonna find those here.
Author's Notes: Written for the lovely
jen_liz, beloved friend and fellow Ron-lover. :) And, oh, JK Rowling owns all things Harry Potter. I'm just playing around.
It was just six months after Harry Potter finally, finally killed Voldemort and the graves of loved ones were still fresh. Not very many could say “Happy New Year,” and even fewer could toast others with champagne. Besides, people who drank alcohol nowadays preferred firewhiskey, straight, and enjoyed alone in dark corners.
Hermione didn’t think she needed alcohol tonight. She didn’t think she needed pretty much anything more than weeks of preparation and planning and whatever innate courage she had that compelled the Sorting Hat to put her in Gryffindor. I am going to find Ronald, and I am going to kiss him tonight.
The kiss in the Room of Requirement was their first kiss. She hadn’t planned it to happen right after they destroyed Hufflepuff’s Cup and so very close to the Final Battle, because if her original plans were to be followed, their first kiss would have been at the Astronomy Tower, the night of Slughorn’s party in sixth year. Nevertheless, she thought it was a beautiful first kiss, simply because it was her, and it was him, and things were just as they should be.
However, the kiss in the Room of Requirement was also their only kiss. Hermione thought that was definitely a problem.
There wasn’t much people to swim through to get to Ron. He was just across the room from her, sitting beside Andromeda Tonks of all people, who was holding up a smiling Teddy Lupin for him to see. Hermione could have walked straight up to Ron and kissed him in front of grandmum and baby, but she didn’t want their second kiss to be like an ambush. So she turned right towards empty balcony thinking that if she could wait seven years to kiss the boy she’d always known was hers, she could wait a few minutes more for the chance to properly catalogue his flavour.
The slight breeze messing up her impossibly bushy hair was empty of the odour of fireworks. George had said he hadn’t the energy to set-up fireworks this New Year and no one spoke of it again. Molly had hugged George, Percy had removed his glasses to dab at the corner of his eyes, and Ron had gripped Hermione’s hand a little harder. Hermione knew that was the reason why they hadn’t kissed again. A second kiss would be celebration and an acknowledgement of a future together. To do that so soon after the Final Battle would be insensitive and selfish. But six months, Hermione thought, was enough lead time.
“Hey.” A strong, familiar hand lay gently on the small of her back. Hermione smiled but didn’t turn around to face her best friend.
“Where’s Harry?” Hermione asked.
“Out there somewhere not worrying about You-Know-Who. Listen, Hermione-” Ron gripped her hips with both his hands and turned her to face him.
“Hm?” She looked up at her best friend. Standing this close to him, Hermione felt that inhaling his warm scent and melting into his bright blue eyes could be the most intelligent thing she’d ever done.
“Hermione,” Ron whispered, “I’m not going to wait another seven years for my second kiss,” He brought one hand to her jaw, thumb sweeping across her cheek and back.
My thoughts exactly, Hermione thought, but “really,” was all she could say as she wound her arms around Ron’s broad back.
Ron lowered his face closer to Hermione’s and playfully brushed his long nose against hers. “I reckon I don’t want to even wait until next year.”
“But next year’s just five minutes away.” Hermione tried to sound petulant, but a crack in her voice betrayed her anticipation.
Ron smiled. “And I really don’t care. I’m going to kiss you now if you’re done talking.”
“I think I’m-”
Hermione tried to keep her eyes open for this second kiss, but her eyelids would not cooperate. They shut off on their own accord and deprived Hermione of the sight of Ron Weasley claiming her lips as if he’d owned them all along.
Deprived of sight, Hermione concentrated on the feel of his lips pressing against hers, how the pressure was just enough to tease and make her want more more more possibly forever, how his breath would escape in small puffs directly into her mouth, and how the tip of his tongue felt gloriously perfectly naughty against the tip of hers.
Deprived of sight, Hermione took in so much more of his scent. There was a hint of musk, and a hint of sweat, a bit of treacle, and the barest hint of something she smelled in Amortentia in sixth year.
Deprived of sight, Hermione’s hearing was magnified. She could hear small groans escape him whenever she nibbled on his lower lip. There was also the lub dub of his heart underneath her right palm. She heard a whimper. But that was hers.
Hermione kept her eyes closed when their lips parted. She wanted to burn the moment into her subconscious so not even a powerful Obliviate could take them from her. Ron’s hands on her waist, body against hers. Ron’s mouth on hers.
The last thought on her mind before her eyes fluttered open to stare at deep blue: Ron tastes like chocolate, a little like pumpkin juice. Maybe a pudding and just a dash of tea. Ron tastes like hand holding and Valentines and kisses and talks by the fire and walks by the lake and lazy mornings in bed… and more kisses with Ron is imperative and I don’t want to have to wait for the third, and the fourth and the fifth.
Hermione let half a heartbeat pass before she claimed her third kiss with Ron.
Title: Lead Time
Pairing: R/Hr
Rating: GP
Word Count: 950
Story Notes: Fluff and romance. If death and destruction is your thing, you're not gonna find those here.
Author's Notes: Written for the lovely
jen_liz, beloved friend and fellow Ron-lover. :) And, oh, JK Rowling owns all things Harry Potter. I'm just playing around.
It was just six months after Harry Potter finally, finally killed Voldemort and the graves of loved ones were still fresh. Not very many could say “Happy New Year,” and even fewer could toast others with champagne. Besides, people who drank alcohol nowadays preferred firewhiskey, straight, and enjoyed alone in dark corners.
Hermione didn’t think she needed alcohol tonight. She didn’t think she needed pretty much anything more than weeks of preparation and planning and whatever innate courage she had that compelled the Sorting Hat to put her in Gryffindor. I am going to find Ronald, and I am going to kiss him tonight.
The kiss in the Room of Requirement was their first kiss. She hadn’t planned it to happen right after they destroyed Hufflepuff’s Cup and so very close to the Final Battle, because if her original plans were to be followed, their first kiss would have been at the Astronomy Tower, the night of Slughorn’s party in sixth year. Nevertheless, she thought it was a beautiful first kiss, simply because it was her, and it was him, and things were just as they should be.
However, the kiss in the Room of Requirement was also their only kiss. Hermione thought that was definitely a problem.
There wasn’t much people to swim through to get to Ron. He was just across the room from her, sitting beside Andromeda Tonks of all people, who was holding up a smiling Teddy Lupin for him to see. Hermione could have walked straight up to Ron and kissed him in front of grandmum and baby, but she didn’t want their second kiss to be like an ambush. So she turned right towards empty balcony thinking that if she could wait seven years to kiss the boy she’d always known was hers, she could wait a few minutes more for the chance to properly catalogue his flavour.
The slight breeze messing up her impossibly bushy hair was empty of the odour of fireworks. George had said he hadn’t the energy to set-up fireworks this New Year and no one spoke of it again. Molly had hugged George, Percy had removed his glasses to dab at the corner of his eyes, and Ron had gripped Hermione’s hand a little harder. Hermione knew that was the reason why they hadn’t kissed again. A second kiss would be celebration and an acknowledgement of a future together. To do that so soon after the Final Battle would be insensitive and selfish. But six months, Hermione thought, was enough lead time.
“Hey.” A strong, familiar hand lay gently on the small of her back. Hermione smiled but didn’t turn around to face her best friend.
“Where’s Harry?” Hermione asked.
“Out there somewhere not worrying about You-Know-Who. Listen, Hermione-” Ron gripped her hips with both his hands and turned her to face him.
“Hm?” She looked up at her best friend. Standing this close to him, Hermione felt that inhaling his warm scent and melting into his bright blue eyes could be the most intelligent thing she’d ever done.
“Hermione,” Ron whispered, “I’m not going to wait another seven years for my second kiss,” He brought one hand to her jaw, thumb sweeping across her cheek and back.
My thoughts exactly, Hermione thought, but “really,” was all she could say as she wound her arms around Ron’s broad back.
Ron lowered his face closer to Hermione’s and playfully brushed his long nose against hers. “I reckon I don’t want to even wait until next year.”
“But next year’s just five minutes away.” Hermione tried to sound petulant, but a crack in her voice betrayed her anticipation.
Ron smiled. “And I really don’t care. I’m going to kiss you now if you’re done talking.”
“I think I’m-”
Hermione tried to keep her eyes open for this second kiss, but her eyelids would not cooperate. They shut off on their own accord and deprived Hermione of the sight of Ron Weasley claiming her lips as if he’d owned them all along.
Deprived of sight, Hermione concentrated on the feel of his lips pressing against hers, how the pressure was just enough to tease and make her want more more more possibly forever, how his breath would escape in small puffs directly into her mouth, and how the tip of his tongue felt gloriously perfectly naughty against the tip of hers.
Deprived of sight, Hermione took in so much more of his scent. There was a hint of musk, and a hint of sweat, a bit of treacle, and the barest hint of something she smelled in Amortentia in sixth year.
Deprived of sight, Hermione’s hearing was magnified. She could hear small groans escape him whenever she nibbled on his lower lip. There was also the lub dub of his heart underneath her right palm. She heard a whimper. But that was hers.
Hermione kept her eyes closed when their lips parted. She wanted to burn the moment into her subconscious so not even a powerful Obliviate could take them from her. Ron’s hands on her waist, body against hers. Ron’s mouth on hers.
The last thought on her mind before her eyes fluttered open to stare at deep blue: Ron tastes like chocolate, a little like pumpkin juice. Maybe a pudding and just a dash of tea. Ron tastes like hand holding and Valentines and kisses and talks by the fire and walks by the lake and lazy mornings in bed… and more kisses with Ron is imperative and I don’t want to have to wait for the third, and the fourth and the fifth.
Hermione let half a heartbeat pass before she claimed her third kiss with Ron.