Fic: It Must Have Been the Mistletoe (Ron/Hermione, 1400, G)
Title: It Must Have Been the Mistletoe
Author: ???
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Word Count: 1400
Rating: G, all ages
Warnings: They are 12 and they kiss.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: With thanks to FleurySexual and Crowgirl on AO3 | This is a 2018 prompt # 9 "Attack of the Mistletoe"
Summary: "Attack of the Mistletoe"
(Read on AO3)
Turned out, it wasn’t the broken wand at all.
“What’s this?”
“Nothing,” Ron said hastily, fascinated by the roast beef and mash on his plate.
“There’s a leaf on my chips!”
“It’s not a leaf,” Neville piped up at the lunch table, loud enough that he confused the other Gryffindors who had never heard his voice before. “That’s Viscum album, more commonly known as mistletoe-”
“Mistletoe!” Dean said, wiggling it over Seamus’s head and making smacking, smooching noises. “Gimme a kiss!”
“Give your mum a kiss!” Seamus said, his blush creeping up his pale cheeks.
“What is going on?” Harry asked. Another bunch of mistletoe drifted down, barely missing his treacle tart. “Do you think it’s Hagrid?”
Ron sighed and tucked his broken wand under his leg, sandwiched between his thigh and the bench. “Yeah, that’s probably it. You know how Hagrid is.”
“Loves his Christmas decorating, Hagrid does,” Hermione agreed, fascinated by the Runes book she’d pilfered from the library.
“D’you think Hagrid fancies someone?” Harry asked around a forkful of tart.
“Probably,” Ron and Hermione answered at the same time. They looked at each other, then quickly looked away, and Ron’s face burned. Hermione knew. She must know, can’t not know how he feels about her.
He was an idiot last year, so wrong when he’d said she was a nightmare. She’s beautiful and smart and knows everything about everything, and-
“C’mon, mate. Don’t want to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Harry said, nudging Ron.
He was afraid he looked besotted and sappy and that Hermione will look at him and know it’s his stupid, broken wand, with its spell-o-tape fix, that made it snow mistletoe. Instead, he growled, “I hate that class. Fuckin’ Lockhart,” and grabbed his wand, praying he could get to DADA without anything worse happening.
Hermione shoved her book under her arm and marched out of the Great Hall, Harry and Ron trailing behind. Ron ignored the faint sparks that flicker as he tucked his mangled wand into his trouser pocket.
~*~
A shower of mistletoe followed the three of them into the Defense classroom.
“Now, Harry. Not a good look to show off like this,” Professor Lockhart said as they entered the room.
“But I-” Harry stammered as Ron slunk to his desk and slid onto the bench, silently cursing his wand.
“It’s bad form, Harry. No need to make an entrance to flaunt your status.” Lockhart swirled his lavender cape and turned back to his desk.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw Hermione take her seat and place her wand gingerly on the table, as if she were afraid of it. He patted his trouser pocket to make sure his mess of a wand was still there. It spit out one spark, as if it were just too tired for more, and Ron sighed.
At least they never used their wands in this class.
~*~
“Absolutely passable work today,” Lockhart said with glee, as if it were a compliment. “I told Professor McGonagall the right teacher could whip you into shape!”
Harry snorted. Ron coughed to cover up his laughter. Even Hermione rolled her eyes at him.
The students stood to leave, scraping their benches against the floor, but Lockhart clapped his hands brightly. “We’re not quite finished. Pick a partner to work with. We’re going to do some wand work today-”
The class groaned.
“Now, now. You can’t possibly have any place better to be than with me! Oh! I made a poem!” Lockhart clapped once, delighted with himself. He proudly repeated it several times. “We’re going to start with a tricky spell designed to disarm your opponent. It’s a bit above your skill but do try.”
Hermione nabbed Harry as her partner. “Alright, Harry?” she asked, holding her wand gingerly at her side.
Ron glared at Harry, who shrugged as if he were saying, Sorry, mate. What can I do? Ron glared harder.
Harry threw his hands up in defeat and wandered the classroom before acknowledging that Malfoy was the only person available.
“Fine, Ronald,” Hermione huffed and dragged Ron into place next to her. He could smell her lilac shampoo and the chocolate syrup from her ice cream after lunch. Being this close to her made his heart beat wild, and Ron tried to slow it down, make it behave, but it wouldn’t until she released him. “Pay attention.”
He didn’t think she had much room to tell him what to do. She wasn’t listening to Lockhart at all; instead, Hermione was staring at Ron and breathing too fast, too shuddery.
“Listen carefully, children,” Lockhart said when everyone was paired up. This is a classic spell, used by all the finest duelers.” He moved his wand in a swish and flick motion as he said, “Wingardium Leviosa.”
“What?!” Hermione asked, her voice high and sharp. “That’s not a dueling spell. That’s a levitation spell. It’s even part of the name!” She jabbed the air with her wand, then quickly lowered it to point toward the floor.
“And it’s Levi-O-sa,” Ron added confidently.
A blizzard of mistletoe showered the room to the delight of the Slytherins, who ooh’d and aah’d. The Gryffindors, who’d seen this nonsense all day, were bored by it, and simply brushed the mistletoe off their shoulders and plucked it out of their hair.
“Oh-we’ve run out of time,” Lockhart said, glancing at the wall where there was no clock. “Come prepared for our next-”
The Gryffindors dashed from the room with the Slytherins not far behind, chasing them with mistletoe. Malfoy and Harry seemed rooted to their spots; Malfoy held a sprig near Harry, and to Ron, he looked partially confused and partially hopeful. Whatever that was about.
“Shoo! Go on!” Lockhart waved at them. “And do clean this mess up before you leave.” With another swish of his lavender cape, he was gone.
Harry bolted from the room, and Malfoy followed. “Potter! Wait! Harry!” his voice echoed off the hallway’s stone walls.
Ron raised his wand-it hung at a 90-degree angle-and said, “Vacuo,” which sounded more like a question and a prayer than a command.
Please don’t embarrass me, please don’t embarrass me.
The mistletoe stuttered; it started and stalled and started again and limped its way toward Ron’s wand.
“How in the world do you know-” Hermione asked, sounding surprised.
“You don’t have to sound so shocked, Hermione. I know some things,” Ron said, hurt that she thought he was too dumb to know such a basic housekeeping spell. “I’m not stupid, you know. I mean, I know I’m not some naturally gifted wizard like Harry-”
“Harry?” she said, but Ron barreled on.
“I know you wanted to work with him and that’s ok. And I know you don’t like me. I mean, I know you like me, but you don’t like like me, and I’ll get over it…”
“Ron.”
He held up his wand, and it looked worse now, and he wasn’t even sure how that was possible. A few slugs dribbled out of the tip and fell to the floor, sliding away before anyone could step on them. “It’s this stupid wand-”
“Ron!”
“-it does whatever it wants. Like, it keeps making mistletoe even though I’m not making it do that, and-”
Hermione grabbed a fistful of Ron’s cloak and kissed him.
“What the-” Ron mumbled against her lips before he kissed her back. He dropped the wand to the floor and slid his hand to Hermione’s cheek. It was soft, really soft, like-like-dandelion fluff right before it flies away. Or his favorite blanket at home. Ok, so he wasn’t a poet.
Hermione broke the kiss and tilted her head aside just enough to speak. “It wasn’t your wand. The mistletoe was me. I did it. Every time I thought about you. Like when you said, Leviosa and when you began to hoover.”
“Every time you think of me?”
Hermione ducked back in for a kiss; this time, Ron leaned away. “But it happened all day!”
“I know,” she said, and he watched the blush race up her cheeks.
“So you think of me all-”
But his words were cut off by a blizzard of mistletoe. He caught one and dangled it over her head. “Kiss me?”
He didn’t need to be asked twice.
Author: ???
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Word Count: 1400
Rating: G, all ages
Warnings: They are 12 and they kiss.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: With thanks to FleurySexual and Crowgirl on AO3 | This is a 2018 prompt # 9 "Attack of the Mistletoe"
Summary: "Attack of the Mistletoe"
(Read on AO3)
Turned out, it wasn’t the broken wand at all.
“What’s this?”
“Nothing,” Ron said hastily, fascinated by the roast beef and mash on his plate.
“There’s a leaf on my chips!”
“It’s not a leaf,” Neville piped up at the lunch table, loud enough that he confused the other Gryffindors who had never heard his voice before. “That’s Viscum album, more commonly known as mistletoe-”
“Mistletoe!” Dean said, wiggling it over Seamus’s head and making smacking, smooching noises. “Gimme a kiss!”
“Give your mum a kiss!” Seamus said, his blush creeping up his pale cheeks.
“What is going on?” Harry asked. Another bunch of mistletoe drifted down, barely missing his treacle tart. “Do you think it’s Hagrid?”
Ron sighed and tucked his broken wand under his leg, sandwiched between his thigh and the bench. “Yeah, that’s probably it. You know how Hagrid is.”
“Loves his Christmas decorating, Hagrid does,” Hermione agreed, fascinated by the Runes book she’d pilfered from the library.
“D’you think Hagrid fancies someone?” Harry asked around a forkful of tart.
“Probably,” Ron and Hermione answered at the same time. They looked at each other, then quickly looked away, and Ron’s face burned. Hermione knew. She must know, can’t not know how he feels about her.
He was an idiot last year, so wrong when he’d said she was a nightmare. She’s beautiful and smart and knows everything about everything, and-
“C’mon, mate. Don’t want to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Harry said, nudging Ron.
He was afraid he looked besotted and sappy and that Hermione will look at him and know it’s his stupid, broken wand, with its spell-o-tape fix, that made it snow mistletoe. Instead, he growled, “I hate that class. Fuckin’ Lockhart,” and grabbed his wand, praying he could get to DADA without anything worse happening.
Hermione shoved her book under her arm and marched out of the Great Hall, Harry and Ron trailing behind. Ron ignored the faint sparks that flicker as he tucked his mangled wand into his trouser pocket.
~*~
A shower of mistletoe followed the three of them into the Defense classroom.
“Now, Harry. Not a good look to show off like this,” Professor Lockhart said as they entered the room.
“But I-” Harry stammered as Ron slunk to his desk and slid onto the bench, silently cursing his wand.
“It’s bad form, Harry. No need to make an entrance to flaunt your status.” Lockhart swirled his lavender cape and turned back to his desk.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw Hermione take her seat and place her wand gingerly on the table, as if she were afraid of it. He patted his trouser pocket to make sure his mess of a wand was still there. It spit out one spark, as if it were just too tired for more, and Ron sighed.
At least they never used their wands in this class.
~*~
“Absolutely passable work today,” Lockhart said with glee, as if it were a compliment. “I told Professor McGonagall the right teacher could whip you into shape!”
Harry snorted. Ron coughed to cover up his laughter. Even Hermione rolled her eyes at him.
The students stood to leave, scraping their benches against the floor, but Lockhart clapped his hands brightly. “We’re not quite finished. Pick a partner to work with. We’re going to do some wand work today-”
The class groaned.
“Now, now. You can’t possibly have any place better to be than with me! Oh! I made a poem!” Lockhart clapped once, delighted with himself. He proudly repeated it several times. “We’re going to start with a tricky spell designed to disarm your opponent. It’s a bit above your skill but do try.”
Hermione nabbed Harry as her partner. “Alright, Harry?” she asked, holding her wand gingerly at her side.
Ron glared at Harry, who shrugged as if he were saying, Sorry, mate. What can I do? Ron glared harder.
Harry threw his hands up in defeat and wandered the classroom before acknowledging that Malfoy was the only person available.
“Fine, Ronald,” Hermione huffed and dragged Ron into place next to her. He could smell her lilac shampoo and the chocolate syrup from her ice cream after lunch. Being this close to her made his heart beat wild, and Ron tried to slow it down, make it behave, but it wouldn’t until she released him. “Pay attention.”
He didn’t think she had much room to tell him what to do. She wasn’t listening to Lockhart at all; instead, Hermione was staring at Ron and breathing too fast, too shuddery.
“Listen carefully, children,” Lockhart said when everyone was paired up. This is a classic spell, used by all the finest duelers.” He moved his wand in a swish and flick motion as he said, “Wingardium Leviosa.”
“What?!” Hermione asked, her voice high and sharp. “That’s not a dueling spell. That’s a levitation spell. It’s even part of the name!” She jabbed the air with her wand, then quickly lowered it to point toward the floor.
“And it’s Levi-O-sa,” Ron added confidently.
A blizzard of mistletoe showered the room to the delight of the Slytherins, who ooh’d and aah’d. The Gryffindors, who’d seen this nonsense all day, were bored by it, and simply brushed the mistletoe off their shoulders and plucked it out of their hair.
“Oh-we’ve run out of time,” Lockhart said, glancing at the wall where there was no clock. “Come prepared for our next-”
The Gryffindors dashed from the room with the Slytherins not far behind, chasing them with mistletoe. Malfoy and Harry seemed rooted to their spots; Malfoy held a sprig near Harry, and to Ron, he looked partially confused and partially hopeful. Whatever that was about.
“Shoo! Go on!” Lockhart waved at them. “And do clean this mess up before you leave.” With another swish of his lavender cape, he was gone.
Harry bolted from the room, and Malfoy followed. “Potter! Wait! Harry!” his voice echoed off the hallway’s stone walls.
Ron raised his wand-it hung at a 90-degree angle-and said, “Vacuo,” which sounded more like a question and a prayer than a command.
Please don’t embarrass me, please don’t embarrass me.
The mistletoe stuttered; it started and stalled and started again and limped its way toward Ron’s wand.
“How in the world do you know-” Hermione asked, sounding surprised.
“You don’t have to sound so shocked, Hermione. I know some things,” Ron said, hurt that she thought he was too dumb to know such a basic housekeeping spell. “I’m not stupid, you know. I mean, I know I’m not some naturally gifted wizard like Harry-”
“Harry?” she said, but Ron barreled on.
“I know you wanted to work with him and that’s ok. And I know you don’t like me. I mean, I know you like me, but you don’t like like me, and I’ll get over it…”
“Ron.”
He held up his wand, and it looked worse now, and he wasn’t even sure how that was possible. A few slugs dribbled out of the tip and fell to the floor, sliding away before anyone could step on them. “It’s this stupid wand-”
“Ron!”
“-it does whatever it wants. Like, it keeps making mistletoe even though I’m not making it do that, and-”
Hermione grabbed a fistful of Ron’s cloak and kissed him.
“What the-” Ron mumbled against her lips before he kissed her back. He dropped the wand to the floor and slid his hand to Hermione’s cheek. It was soft, really soft, like-like-dandelion fluff right before it flies away. Or his favorite blanket at home. Ok, so he wasn’t a poet.
Hermione broke the kiss and tilted her head aside just enough to speak. “It wasn’t your wand. The mistletoe was me. I did it. Every time I thought about you. Like when you said, Leviosa and when you began to hoover.”
“Every time you think of me?”
Hermione ducked back in for a kiss; this time, Ron leaned away. “But it happened all day!”
“I know,” she said, and he watched the blush race up her cheeks.
“So you think of me all-”
But his words were cut off by a blizzard of mistletoe. He caught one and dangled it over her head. “Kiss me?”
He didn’t need to be asked twice.