Fic Request Fulfilled for admiral_sab
Title: On the inevitable passing of time, and the celebrations thereof
Author: roonil_wazlib80
Beta: irisri
Rating: PG
Word count: 1618
Summary: It took a good five minutes of tossed jinxes, shrieks, and attempted counter-curses before things fell back to normal, though now for some unknown reason the glass gnome ornament from the tree was helping himself to the spiced (and now thanks to Charlie - spiked) cider, and the walls were covered in what looked like purple glitter. However, considering the current population of the sitting room and their very well documented penchant for trouble, things could have been much, much worse.
Warnings: Blatant silliness.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Author's Notes: I hope you enjoy it! It's a big departure from my last fic, but more of my normal style.
On the inevitable passing of time, and the celebrations thereof
An ear-shattering squeal filled the entire house, followed quickly by the overwhelming smell of smoldering sulfur.
The twins flashed identical guilty grins before hiding the evidence of their slightly premature firework celebration behind their backs. Molly sighed and shooed the sparkling green and red phoenix out of the door of the Burrow, fussing and tutting all the way. Harry could hardly blame the boys for their excitement; the heralding of the first year of their lives without Voldemort was mere minutes away and the atmosphere was rather decidedly jolly.
Everyone had gathered at the Weasley home to celebrate together, and though some were less domestically inclined than others, they had all helped in preparations. Harry had offered to lend a hand in the kitchen, and even after he managed only to deliver a very sad looking plum pudding with a smiley face made out of currants on top, it was still better than Ron’s attempt at a mince pie which looked rather more like what Harry usually fed Hedwig after a particularly long journey. Harry sniggered under his breath and was quickly met with a face full of said pie and dubbed a giant sodding git. He fought back with spectacular vigor and soon the room was covered in a snowy blanket of flour; it was only after no small amount of yelling on Molly’s part that the boys scampered off into the sitting room, still tussling. But tonight even a partially destroyed kitchen couldn’t ruin the mood; a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her lips betrayed Molly’s otherwise serious face.
Harry happily helped himself to a mug of steaming spiced cider and flopped onto one of the overstuffed chairs by the tree so that he could look out upon the slightly alcohol-tinged- make that sopping wet - revelry surrounding him. Finally Remus looked genuinely happy, almost giddy really, for the first time since his reunion with Sirius. Bill and Fleur had postponed their honeymoon - and apparently their honeymoon phase as well - to help with the war, and had wasted no time in reclaiming it now that the Wizarding world was once again safe. Charlie took it upon himself to make ridiculous faces behind them, much to the entertainment of Ginny and the twins who sniggered quietly behind their hands, eyes blurred with tears. He became decidedly less jovial, however, when Bill hit him across the face with the now famous Weasley Handlebar Moustache Curse, all without having ever pulled his attention (or his lips) away from his wife. It wasn’t long before everyone in the room was sporting a proud bushy ‘stache of their own, and though Harry thought they rather suited the twins, Molly and Ginny were decidedly unamused.
It took a good five minutes of tossed jinxes, shrieks, and attempted counter-curses before things fell back to normal, though now for some unknown reason the glass gnome ornament from the tree was helping himself to the spiced (and now thanks to Charlie - spiked) cider, and the walls were covered in what looked like purple glitter. However, considering the current population of the sitting room and their very well documented penchant for trouble, things could have been much, much worse. Evidently Molly was counting her blessings that all limbs were still attached to their rightful owners and letting the rest slide. Harry wondered if there was some sort of genetic predisposition for mischief, and if Percy might have not been a very well disguised adopted child from a family of stoic nomad office workers. But even Percy was able to laugh off the newly acquired facial hair, so Harry dared a glance towards the kitchen, where he’d last seen Ron and Hermione. He sincerely hoped that bad memories wouldn’t be trudged up by such a bit of fun, but Ron’s temperament was only very slightly more stable than plutonium. He’d had a bad run with facial hair as of late, what with the eyebrow apparition issues and the more recent incident that had been informally dubbed “the Case of the Chops”, during which Ron had sported a pair of rather marvelous pink muttonchops for the better part of a month.
However, Harry quickly realized that the pair was no where in sight. With a sigh he pulled himself from his chair, though the sound of Celestina Warbeck’s voice pouring from the WWN gave him more incentive than he needed to quickly vacate the area. Merlin forbid he get stuck First Footing again this year, though it seemed he was already doomed by being the only young, dark-haired male in a house full of redheads. As he quickly started up the stairs he heard the announcer come over the airwaves to lead the joyful countdown, and the twin’s voices boomed over everyone else’s, calling out random numbers and earning a loud smack from Molly. Harry hurried up the winding staircases past rooms and hallways, the numbers winding perilously down. He was well on his way to making it up to Ron’s room in time to share the moment with his two closest friends (bloody tossers that they were for abandoning him like that), but it seemed the universe had no shortage of trouble for him: his shoelace came untied and tripped him straight up the stairs, where he landed with a muffed thud.
The sound of wild cheers wafted up the stairwell, and Harry Potter, the hero of the Second War, rang in the New Year face to face with Arnold, the purple Pygmy Puff. He sighed, ruffling Arnold’s fur and drawing a new wave of warm purrs from the puffball. He rolled over, cursing the daft bastard who created trainers, and double cursing the wizard who hadn’t thought of a charm to keep them tied. He could see flashes of pink and green shaped like Ron’s doorway burst against the far wall of the landing above, but a curious silhouette cut a gray shadow in the otherwise colorful patch. Harry quietly pulled himself to his feet, letting his hands crawl his way up the stairs so that he could brave a peek into the room.
The usually orange walls were painted with a rainbow of successive fireworks that flashed brightly outside the windows before falling into the pond, quietly spent. More interesting than the dragons and phoenixes dancing across the sky, however, was the pair of missing persons standing rather close together considering the ample space in the room. Let it never be said that Harry James Potter was completely daft, though, because after a minute of quiet, contemplative head-scratching he decided it best not to disturb them, even if he didn’t quite know why. They weren’t touching (though their arms occasionally brushed), and they weren’t saying much beyond the normal oohs and ahhs that the fireworks mandated. There was still something strange about the scene before Harry - the stiff way Ron stood tall, the careful arrangement of Hermione’s hair.
Auld Lang Syne filled the house, pouring over the green hills outside and punctuated by the well-known creaks and moans of the Burrow’s foundation. And then, the tiniest of movements caught Harry’s attention; had he not trained for years as a seeker, it surely would have slipped by unnoticed. Ron’s finger, his smallest finger, made a movement, the smallest of movements, to the right and hooked loosely around Hermione’s. There they stood in perfect stillness, listening to chorus and verse sung by familiar voices below. Finally Hermione turned, tilting her head back far enough to meet Ron’s eyes, which, considering their proximity, were quite a ways up. A wayward curl sprung free from her carefully constructed bun, and Ron finally seemed to understand the meaning of “opportune moment”.
He reached over, slowly, hesitantly, and brushed it back with large, awkward hands. He lingered, square fingers taking the scenic route back by skirting over cheek and chin. And then there began an agonizingly slow battle of will; neither wanting to bend first, neither wanting to leave. Each inch forward on one side was matched by the other, hazy half-closed eyes sparkling with the glitter of stray fireworks. Harry was only mere moments away from shouting “for fuck’s sake!” and casting a gluing spell on their lips, but finally and without any outside help, Ron moved. His breath played over her lips as they studied one another for timeless minutes, so close they could feel electricity bounce between them. Her eyelids drooped closed in anticipation, but before they managed to shut Ron slid his fingers into her hair (effectively mussing the bun she’d spent a solid half hour taming) and dropped his lips onto hers.
It was gentle, feather-light, so unlike Ron’s normal rough touch. Harry strained forward, hoping to see something, some reaction, but they were still and deadly so. When they separated it seemed that gentlest of touches had the same effect as a mile sprint; the pair were panting, nearly shaking, and both smiling like fools.
Bout bloody time, Harry thought with a good-natured snort. He glanced back once more, and as soon as he saw Hermione’s arms wind around Ron’s neck and his hands grace the curve of her hip, he decided that perhaps his New Year’s resolutions should include giving the pair a lot more alone time.
Downstairs, just as Harry finished spying on Ron and Hermione, Ginny returned from her spying on Harry.
“You stopped him in time?” Fred questioned, eyebrows high.
“And the shoelace trip jinx worked all right?” George asked eagerly.
She paused dramatically, enjoying their identical pleading expressions.
“Like a charm,” she replied with a cheeky wink.
“We always knew you were one of us,” Fred laughed, pulling her between the twins and delivering one half of a pair of serious head-ruffles.
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: A Ron/Hermione New Year's kiss from Harry's POV. Set after HBP (how long after search for Horcruxes doesn't matter).
Preferred Rating: G-R
OBHWF Inclusion: No
Holiday Choice (Christmas, New Year's, Both, or Unimportant): New Year's
If both, when would you like the fic to be posted? n/a
Other Holidays to incorporate (optional, maximum of three): n/a
One to three specifics you want (optional): Harry's POV
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): first person POV, smut
Thank you for participating in the Winter Exchange! Happy Holidays!
Author: roonil_wazlib80
Beta: irisri
Rating: PG
Word count: 1618
Summary: It took a good five minutes of tossed jinxes, shrieks, and attempted counter-curses before things fell back to normal, though now for some unknown reason the glass gnome ornament from the tree was helping himself to the spiced (and now thanks to Charlie - spiked) cider, and the walls were covered in what looked like purple glitter. However, considering the current population of the sitting room and their very well documented penchant for trouble, things could have been much, much worse.
Warnings: Blatant silliness.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Author's Notes: I hope you enjoy it! It's a big departure from my last fic, but more of my normal style.
On the inevitable passing of time, and the celebrations thereof
An ear-shattering squeal filled the entire house, followed quickly by the overwhelming smell of smoldering sulfur.
The twins flashed identical guilty grins before hiding the evidence of their slightly premature firework celebration behind their backs. Molly sighed and shooed the sparkling green and red phoenix out of the door of the Burrow, fussing and tutting all the way. Harry could hardly blame the boys for their excitement; the heralding of the first year of their lives without Voldemort was mere minutes away and the atmosphere was rather decidedly jolly.
Everyone had gathered at the Weasley home to celebrate together, and though some were less domestically inclined than others, they had all helped in preparations. Harry had offered to lend a hand in the kitchen, and even after he managed only to deliver a very sad looking plum pudding with a smiley face made out of currants on top, it was still better than Ron’s attempt at a mince pie which looked rather more like what Harry usually fed Hedwig after a particularly long journey. Harry sniggered under his breath and was quickly met with a face full of said pie and dubbed a giant sodding git. He fought back with spectacular vigor and soon the room was covered in a snowy blanket of flour; it was only after no small amount of yelling on Molly’s part that the boys scampered off into the sitting room, still tussling. But tonight even a partially destroyed kitchen couldn’t ruin the mood; a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her lips betrayed Molly’s otherwise serious face.
Harry happily helped himself to a mug of steaming spiced cider and flopped onto one of the overstuffed chairs by the tree so that he could look out upon the slightly alcohol-tinged- make that sopping wet - revelry surrounding him. Finally Remus looked genuinely happy, almost giddy really, for the first time since his reunion with Sirius. Bill and Fleur had postponed their honeymoon - and apparently their honeymoon phase as well - to help with the war, and had wasted no time in reclaiming it now that the Wizarding world was once again safe. Charlie took it upon himself to make ridiculous faces behind them, much to the entertainment of Ginny and the twins who sniggered quietly behind their hands, eyes blurred with tears. He became decidedly less jovial, however, when Bill hit him across the face with the now famous Weasley Handlebar Moustache Curse, all without having ever pulled his attention (or his lips) away from his wife. It wasn’t long before everyone in the room was sporting a proud bushy ‘stache of their own, and though Harry thought they rather suited the twins, Molly and Ginny were decidedly unamused.
It took a good five minutes of tossed jinxes, shrieks, and attempted counter-curses before things fell back to normal, though now for some unknown reason the glass gnome ornament from the tree was helping himself to the spiced (and now thanks to Charlie - spiked) cider, and the walls were covered in what looked like purple glitter. However, considering the current population of the sitting room and their very well documented penchant for trouble, things could have been much, much worse. Evidently Molly was counting her blessings that all limbs were still attached to their rightful owners and letting the rest slide. Harry wondered if there was some sort of genetic predisposition for mischief, and if Percy might have not been a very well disguised adopted child from a family of stoic nomad office workers. But even Percy was able to laugh off the newly acquired facial hair, so Harry dared a glance towards the kitchen, where he’d last seen Ron and Hermione. He sincerely hoped that bad memories wouldn’t be trudged up by such a bit of fun, but Ron’s temperament was only very slightly more stable than plutonium. He’d had a bad run with facial hair as of late, what with the eyebrow apparition issues and the more recent incident that had been informally dubbed “the Case of the Chops”, during which Ron had sported a pair of rather marvelous pink muttonchops for the better part of a month.
However, Harry quickly realized that the pair was no where in sight. With a sigh he pulled himself from his chair, though the sound of Celestina Warbeck’s voice pouring from the WWN gave him more incentive than he needed to quickly vacate the area. Merlin forbid he get stuck First Footing again this year, though it seemed he was already doomed by being the only young, dark-haired male in a house full of redheads. As he quickly started up the stairs he heard the announcer come over the airwaves to lead the joyful countdown, and the twin’s voices boomed over everyone else’s, calling out random numbers and earning a loud smack from Molly. Harry hurried up the winding staircases past rooms and hallways, the numbers winding perilously down. He was well on his way to making it up to Ron’s room in time to share the moment with his two closest friends (bloody tossers that they were for abandoning him like that), but it seemed the universe had no shortage of trouble for him: his shoelace came untied and tripped him straight up the stairs, where he landed with a muffed thud.
The sound of wild cheers wafted up the stairwell, and Harry Potter, the hero of the Second War, rang in the New Year face to face with Arnold, the purple Pygmy Puff. He sighed, ruffling Arnold’s fur and drawing a new wave of warm purrs from the puffball. He rolled over, cursing the daft bastard who created trainers, and double cursing the wizard who hadn’t thought of a charm to keep them tied. He could see flashes of pink and green shaped like Ron’s doorway burst against the far wall of the landing above, but a curious silhouette cut a gray shadow in the otherwise colorful patch. Harry quietly pulled himself to his feet, letting his hands crawl his way up the stairs so that he could brave a peek into the room.
The usually orange walls were painted with a rainbow of successive fireworks that flashed brightly outside the windows before falling into the pond, quietly spent. More interesting than the dragons and phoenixes dancing across the sky, however, was the pair of missing persons standing rather close together considering the ample space in the room. Let it never be said that Harry James Potter was completely daft, though, because after a minute of quiet, contemplative head-scratching he decided it best not to disturb them, even if he didn’t quite know why. They weren’t touching (though their arms occasionally brushed), and they weren’t saying much beyond the normal oohs and ahhs that the fireworks mandated. There was still something strange about the scene before Harry - the stiff way Ron stood tall, the careful arrangement of Hermione’s hair.
Auld Lang Syne filled the house, pouring over the green hills outside and punctuated by the well-known creaks and moans of the Burrow’s foundation. And then, the tiniest of movements caught Harry’s attention; had he not trained for years as a seeker, it surely would have slipped by unnoticed. Ron’s finger, his smallest finger, made a movement, the smallest of movements, to the right and hooked loosely around Hermione’s. There they stood in perfect stillness, listening to chorus and verse sung by familiar voices below. Finally Hermione turned, tilting her head back far enough to meet Ron’s eyes, which, considering their proximity, were quite a ways up. A wayward curl sprung free from her carefully constructed bun, and Ron finally seemed to understand the meaning of “opportune moment”.
He reached over, slowly, hesitantly, and brushed it back with large, awkward hands. He lingered, square fingers taking the scenic route back by skirting over cheek and chin. And then there began an agonizingly slow battle of will; neither wanting to bend first, neither wanting to leave. Each inch forward on one side was matched by the other, hazy half-closed eyes sparkling with the glitter of stray fireworks. Harry was only mere moments away from shouting “for fuck’s sake!” and casting a gluing spell on their lips, but finally and without any outside help, Ron moved. His breath played over her lips as they studied one another for timeless minutes, so close they could feel electricity bounce between them. Her eyelids drooped closed in anticipation, but before they managed to shut Ron slid his fingers into her hair (effectively mussing the bun she’d spent a solid half hour taming) and dropped his lips onto hers.
It was gentle, feather-light, so unlike Ron’s normal rough touch. Harry strained forward, hoping to see something, some reaction, but they were still and deadly so. When they separated it seemed that gentlest of touches had the same effect as a mile sprint; the pair were panting, nearly shaking, and both smiling like fools.
Bout bloody time, Harry thought with a good-natured snort. He glanced back once more, and as soon as he saw Hermione’s arms wind around Ron’s neck and his hands grace the curve of her hip, he decided that perhaps his New Year’s resolutions should include giving the pair a lot more alone time.
Downstairs, just as Harry finished spying on Ron and Hermione, Ginny returned from her spying on Harry.
“You stopped him in time?” Fred questioned, eyebrows high.
“And the shoelace trip jinx worked all right?” George asked eagerly.
She paused dramatically, enjoying their identical pleading expressions.
“Like a charm,” she replied with a cheeky wink.
“We always knew you were one of us,” Fred laughed, pulling her between the twins and delivering one half of a pair of serious head-ruffles.
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: A Ron/Hermione New Year's kiss from Harry's POV. Set after HBP (how long after search for Horcruxes doesn't matter).
Preferred Rating: G-R
OBHWF Inclusion: No
Holiday Choice (Christmas, New Year's, Both, or Unimportant): New Year's
If both, when would you like the fic to be posted? n/a
Other Holidays to incorporate (optional, maximum of three): n/a
One to three specifics you want (optional): Harry's POV
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): first person POV, smut
Thank you for participating in the Winter Exchange! Happy Holidays!