FIC: Carrying On (1/1)
Title: Carrying On
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Genre: Romance, Drama
Timeline: Takes place during Deathly Hallows, prior to Harry coming to the Burrow.
Word Count: 3,829
Summary: Ron and Hermione come to an understanding and leave the events of their sixth year at Hogwarts behind them as they begin to plan for their journey with Harry.
Notes: This is my first-ever fanfiction! I welcome all feedback, good or bad!
Carrying On
“Vestis reparo.”
Hermione Granger stood in the doorway of Ron Weasley’s bedroom, her wand pointed at the sock that hung limp in the air, mocking him with its unwillingness to repair itself. Mum had sent him upstairs twenty minutes ago to tend to his laundry, but he had been too preoccupied to do much more than lackadaisically wave his wand in circles as he attempted to patch various items of clothing.
“Thanks.” Ron nodded at her as the sock flittered down the ground, good as new. He knew he could have done the incantation himself easily, but secretly didn't mind the smug look that passed across her face. He liked that after everything that had happened over the last year, she still seemed to have an instinct to look after him, even if it was born out of her insufferable need to always get the better of him.
Besides it only seemed right that it was Hermione who came to his rescue; it had been her he had been thinking so intently about, after all. He’d been able to do little else since he had stumbled, half-awake, right into her this morning in the upstairs hallway of the Burrow. She had been on her way back from the bathroom, still wearing her pyjamas - her girly, lovely pyjamas that clung to her in places that drove him to distraction.
Stupid pyjamas.
Hermione folded her arms across her thin frame, an expression on her face she had been wearing a lot lately. If Ron had to put a name to that look, he would call it “boggled.” But maybe he was projecting, as lately that was all he felt whenever she was around.
She stood rooted in her place for a moment as if she expected something more. Ron stared up at her. It wasn’t that he minded her company; in fact, despite the awkward air between the two of them, he craved her presence whenever she was wasn’t around. This was quite often lately, as she was usually off with Ginny helping with wedding preparations, something she had been tasked with soon after setting foot in the Burrow a little over a week ago. If there was one thing he had learned during the months he and Hermione had spent not speaking to one another, it was that his life with her in it was infinitely more …
What? More what?
… interesting, for starters.
She’s supposed to be your best friend. And Harry won’t take kindly to his two best friends snogging across Britain while we all hunt horcruxes, now will he?
“I thought it might be a good idea for us to talk.” Hermione said, shaking Ron out of his reverie. Her tone was hushed, and she kept glancing behind herself. “You know, while we have a moment alone.”
“Yeah, all right.” Ron nodded, not entirely sure what it was she wanted to discuss. “How did you manage to get out from under Mum anyway? I’d have thought she’d have you conjuring bows or transfiguring turtle shells into napkin holders by now.”
“I told her I had a headache and needed to lay down,” Hermione said, looking a bit guilty. “She said she’d be up to check on me in a bit, so we ought to hurry, don’t you think? We have a lot of planning to do and I just don’t feel we can wait until Harry is here to begin.”
Ron nodded again, and Hermione crossed the threshold into his bedroom. He leaned back against his headboard, folding his long, lean legs up so that there was room at the end of the bed for her. Every other available surface - including the floor - was covered in robes, clothes, faded issues of the Prophet and crumpled Honeydukes wrappers. She stood in the middle of his small bedroom, awkwardly, eyes darting around the room for another place to sit.
Two years ago, she would have dropped down onto his bed without hesitation. Now, things were… well, they were different, even if neither of them were going to admit it out loud. It was easier when Harry or Ginny was around - they fell into easy, practiced patterns. Ron felt much more at ease when he could wax philosophical with Harry about the Cannons' Quidditch Cup chances, or harp on Ginny for her stupid taste in boys; Hermione could disappear behind a book, only coming up for air when she had something relevant (in her mind, anyway) to share with the others. They could ignore the huge, crackling wall of electric tension between them, and not feel the threat of life as they knew it coming unraveled if they so much as brushed fingers or held the other’s gaze a bit too long.
But now it was just the two of them and -
Merlin’s beard!
- his bed, which he found himself suddenly wishing he had made once or twice in the last ten years. He could let her stand there, shifting uncomfortably as she tried to prop herself against his bedroom wall. But then that was like acknowledging that she couldn’t sit on his bed.
That’s basically admitting you’re hot for her. He thought. Besides, it’s perfectly normal to offer your best friend a seat on your bed. Your best friend who is, at least, thankfully wearing a very not-revealing pullover and jeans and not her stupid pyjamas. He swallowed.
“You should sit, maybe,” he said, patting the mattress so that his meaning was clear and sounding far less confident than he had planned before he opened his mouth. “So we can whisper. If Mum realizes you’re in here -”
“- she’ll see to it we don’t have a moment alone again, you’re right.” Hermione nodded as she crossed the room and sat down. Ron was sure her cheeks were redder than usual, but she dragged her feet into an Indian-style sitting position and faced him anyway. “I have noticed she’s been keeping us deliberately separate from one another since you gave her the news.”
“Oh, you’d noticed?” Ron couldn’t help the grin on his face, despite his frustration. Molly Weasley had not taken kindly to Ron’s announcement that he, Hermione and Harry would not be returning to Hogwarts in the fall. Ever since then, she’d done her best to keep Ron and Hermione apart, thus limiting the time they could spend preparing for their journey. She was trying to prolong the inevitable, and Ron had to admit it had worked - the longest period they had spent in one another’s exclusive company had been in the hallway that morning, and that was only for about fifteen seconds before he ducked into his bedroom to collect himself after stammering good morning and forcing his eyes away from her stupid, stupid pyjamas.
“I feel sort of bad dropping this on her with everything else going on. She’s likely to have a right conniption between the wedding and Dumbledore and You-Know-Who and now us running off -”
“Can you blame her?” Hermione said, a cold air in her voice as she looked down at her lap, nervously twirling her wand in between her fingers. “It’s nice to have someone to fuss over us, at least, for a bit longer.”
Ron felt a pang of something, a cross between a protective urge and a sharp pain in his heart as he stared at the bushy haired witch. Hermione had not said much about the lengths she had gone to in order to insure her parents’ safety, but he could tell it had been immensely difficult for her the moment she had walked in the door by the slightly deadened look on her face. He wanted to make her feel better.
“Your parents,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Will have plenty of time to fuss over you when this is all over.”
She mustered a thin smile. “I can only imagine how furious they’ll be with me when they realize I altered their memories. They’ll probably do a lot more than fuss. Lecture, shout, carry on…”
“So that’s where you get it from. Knew you came by it honestly.”
Hermione attempted a glare, but Ron was pleased to see the smile on her face had reached her eyes.
“I’m really very even tempered.” She said haughtily. “I’ll have you know the only person I’ve ever carried on with is you.”
Something about the way she emphasized the words "carried on" made something stir deep inside Ron. Images of him and Hermione carrying on in an entirely different capacity flew into his mind before he could stop them. He ducked his head, pretending to pick at a gnome bite on his ankle as he tried to slow his racing heart. He desperately wracked his brain, searching for a way to change the course of the conversation.
“Speaking of… you know, your mum and dad,” he said quickly. “I’ve been thinking. They’re in Australia, that’s great… chances are they won’t be found, but what if the Death Eaters decide to keep looking for you anyway?”
“Well, lots of Muggle-borns are going into hiding, it’s not at all unusual -”
“Yes, but most Muggle-borns aren’t close friends with the Chosen One.” Ron said firmly. “I’m sure You-Know-Who will have at least a couple of his cronies sniffing around for us. We need something else that keeps them off our trail for as long as possible… and keeps them from harassing Mum and Dad for information.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised at the depth of thought Ron had put into this. “Perhaps.” She folded her lips together as she thought.
Why are you looking at her lips? Don’t look at her bloody lips.
“Maybe if they believe I’m… I’m ill, or indisposed in some way.”
Ron leaned forward. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. Like dragon pox, maybe?”
Hermione shook her head. “It has to be something that would keep me out of school for a long period of time. Something like -” She straightened up a bit, her cheeks flushing once more. “Well.”
“What?”
“No, it wouldn’t -”
“Blimey, Hermione, we’re just throwing ideas out here. Anything is better than what we have.”
She looked down. “Well, we could have it leak out that I’m…” she blushed harder. “I’m with child. That would certainly take me out of school and what with how dangerous everything is these days, it wouldn’t be so unbelievable that I would be hiding away for safety’s sake.” She shook her head. “But no one would believe - I mean - I’m clearly not the type of girl that would easily find herself in that kind of… situation.”
Ron swallowed a groan, hoping she didn't hear. Here he was, trying basically every second to forget that the girl in front of him was a sexual being and she kept forcing his mind into the gutter. He had to admit, though, that it was a pretty fantastic idea, despite how uncomfortably hot his skin felt at the idea of Hermione doing things that could lead to.. well, that. And given the amount of time he had spent brooding as he imagined Hermione in various stages of undress with the handful of wizards who had shown interest in her over the last few years, he knew exactly how to make it believable, too.
“Krum.” He said, his voice heavy. “I mean, wasn’t there that story about you two in the Prophet? So if he said… you know, maybe they’d believe it.”
Hermione looked at Ron, a look he’d never seen before in her eyes. She seemed hesitant, but at the same time pleased, though he couldn’t for the life of him think why. “Yes, maybe.” She said. “I’m sure if I told him it was for my own safety, he’d be more than willing to go along with it.”
Oh, there it was. Rage, anger, jealousy; that familiar block of emotions that accompanied the mere mention of Bludger-for-brains Vicky Krum and his so-called feelings for Hermione.
She thinks he’s worried about her safety? I’m the one sitting here helping her make up stories about him knocking her up even after -
Ron took a deep breath. That’s what best friends do. He reminded himself. They help look out for each other. They don’t want to throw a couple nasty curses at any bloke who tries to manhandle…
“Right. Good.” He managed out. Hermione’s eyebrow raised higher than he had ever seen it, but she said nothing to indicate why.
“But it wouldn’t be enough to simply say I’m pregnant, even if Victor complied. Medical documentation would have to be forged -”
“Wait,” Ron blurted out. “If you were … you know, I mean wouldn’t you just be expected to pop in every once and awhile for a check-up at St. Mungo’s? What’s going to stop the Death Eaters from tearing the place apart looking for you?”
Hermione shook her head. “There are places, sort of hideaways for witches that need to get away from their husbands or boyfriends or parents, you know, if they might hurt them. A lot of young witches end up there, too, if they have to leave school because they’re pregnant. Each hideout is protected by a Fidelius charm, like with Grimmauld Place, so they’re nearly impossible to find.”
Ron looked at her incredulously. “How is it that you know everything, Hermione? I’ve lived in the wizarding world ages longer than you and I haven’t heard of half of this stuff.”
Hermione looked down at her lap again. “Actually, there was a rumor going around last year that Lavender Brown was pregnant and she was leaving Hogwarts in disgrace. You know, after the two of you ended things.” She was back to not looking him in the eye again. He hated that. “I think she started it herself, personally, the rumor. But that’s where I learned of them.”
“Oh.” Ron studied Hermione’s face. He wasn’t always able to understand the things that went on in her head, but he could feel there was a purpose behind what she had just revealed that surpassed simple clarification. Her brow was furrowed, and it reminded him very much of the expression he knew he must have worn a few moments ago when trying not to imagine her and Krum together. And suddenly he understood.
Ron kept his eyes on Hermione, feeling bolder than he had in her presence in quite some time. “It couldn’t have been true.”
Hermione looked up at him, confusion on her face.
“The rumor. I mean, no matter who started it, if it was her or not. There’s no way that would have been true.” He was blushing a bit again, but he didn't care. “If she was… you know, it couldn’t have been from me.”
Now they were both red in the face, and the air had changed in the room. They had rarely approached discussing their respective love lives with one another so directly. In fact, they had somehow made it through six years by only concretely acknowledging that they had the capability to interact with the opposite sex through arguments and fits of unexplained jealousy. They never sought details. Ron, for one, remained willfully ignorant of the murmurs about Hermione and the International Quidditch star, or that moron McLaggen. He knew more about the sexual exploits of Hufflepuff fifth years than he did about Hermione; that was half the reason why hearing she had snogged Krum had come as such a shock.
It’s because knowing she even looked at anyone else drives you mad and you know it.
So if that’s how he felt - and if she felt how he felt…
Look at her, her hands are shaking.
Well, he had to be sure she understood.
“Lavender and me, we never.” He shook his head. “I - I never.”
An expression flashed across her face - was it relief? It had to have been. She smiled, wider than he had seen in months and then let out a shaky sigh. After a moment of charged silence, she spoke, a bit breathless. “Well, for the sake of disclosure I should make it clear that there is no way I could be, either.” She was looking at him intently, now. “Not from Victor, or anyone else for that matter.”
It was definitely relief he’d seen in her eyes because he felt it now, too; an extreme, overpowering release as he let go of fears he hadn’t even fully let himself realize he’d had.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
And just like that, the tension that had built up between them over the years seemed to melt away. Ron felt only pure, sparking electricity as they stared at one another from across the bed. There was a slightly starry, almost alluring quality in the way her eyes lit up as she held his gaze, and he knew he was wearing one hell of a goofy grin. While the last few years had been a blur of stolen glances, he now found himself almost defiantly unwilling to look away from her.
Just moments ago, his bed had seemed like a threat to his very sanity and the precarious balance of their friendship. Now it seemed like a safe haven from everything they were facing and a provocative invitation all rolled into one. Somehow, they had communicated some kind of silent promise to one another in that last short exchange of words. He knew she understood without him having to tell her that he had waited, without even wholly realizing it and despite the tantalizing combination of hormonal lust and a willing partner, for the same reason that she had. The exact same reason. And in that moment, he truly let himself accept that they were not just best friends anymore and probably had not been for quite some time. All that was left was to act on it, and the matter of who would finally break down and make the first move.
We can’t keep this up much longer.
Ron thought how easy it would be to move just a few feet, finally, finally stop pretending he didn't want to snog Hermione and just bloody do it. He suddenly found it hard to swallow and his pulse was now racing as if he was rounding hour twenty in an intense Quidditch match, but for the first time in his memory he didn't try to push the thought away.
Sorry Harry, he thought dazedly. Looks like we might be snogging across Britain after all -
“But what if it takes us longer than nine months.” Hermione was a bit breathless when she finally found her voice and it was hard not to see how flustered she was.
Ron didn't quite understand what she was saying. “Nine months?”
“The gestational period of a fetus. That’s the absolutely maximum amount of time I’d have before they started to wonder why I hadn’t turned up somewhere, and with a child no less. If we can’t be sure that we can locate all and destroy all the horcruxes - not to mention Voldemort - then we very well can’t go spreading that sort of rumor. Besides, we don’t want to put all those witches in danger. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Right. We’re talking about saving lives now. That is important, too.
He had to admit, given this new development, that he was perfectly fine with letting the world continue to think that Hermione Jean Granger was nothing more than a brilliant, studious witch who feared for her life in the wake of all of the Muggle attacks.
“Maybe we can talk with Kingsley about making sure you’re ‘seen’ somewhere, you know, remote… off the beaten path. Romania, or something. Maybe Canada. Send whoever will be out for us on a real wild hunt for a bit.”
Hermione nodded, “Brilliant. I hadn’t thought of that.” She studied his face for a moment, and the look - the look - moved back into her eyes. “So that settles me. But what are we going to do about you? Maybe we could pull the illness route with you… but surely they’ll come looking for you here and when they can’t find you -”
He tried to respond to her, but found he couldn’t form words. The throaty tone of her voice coupled with the way she was staring him down rendered him basically useless to the cause. In that moment, Ron Weasley didn't care if an army’s worth of death eaters stormed into his bedroom. His mind was very deeply focused on other things. Just as Ron let his eyes begin to explore her face again and contemplate exactly how perfectly easy it would be to lean in and snog her, Hermione leapt off the bed. “Your mum!”
Ron heard it, too. His mother’s voice, faint some five floors below them, as she approached the stairs.
“If she sees me in here -” Hermione looked panicked, and Ron wondered fleetingly if it had anything to do with the way she had been looking at him and the way they had been -
Carrying on!
- moments ago.
“- I know, so get out!” He insisted.
“Try to come up with something to throw them off your scent, too. I’ll try too,” she whispered on her way out the door. She stopped for just a moment, and their eyes locked again. “We should meet again soon.”
It was a promise, and he knew it. He grinned at her.
“Plan on it.”
And she was gone.
Ron lay back on his bed, trying to find his bearings. Mum would barge in any moment, he was certain, to make sure he was there and to see if there were any signs Hermione had been with him. The air around him still seemed to crackle with the electric energy they had created between them; he was entirely sure Mum would feel it the second she walked in the door.
He exhaled, and a lazy smile settled on his face. In the sudden silence, he felt so in tune with his body and the feelings tingling through him that he could hear everything around him; Ginny’s bedroom door, floors below, squeaking open; Mum’s voice, a bit louder now, as she called on Hermione; Fred and George laughing somewhere downstairs in the skullery; a groan, followed by the clanging of some pipes in the attic above.
Ghoul, he thought absently. But then something clicked. Perhaps his brain was feeding off the adrenaline still coursing through his veins; maybe it was the fact that Hermione’s revelation had finally freed him from the suffocating images of her locked in another wizard’s embrace. Whatever it was, it was awesome. Ron Weasley sat straight up on his bed as he had the greatest idea of his young life.
Ghoul!
He grinned.
Brilliant.
-end-
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Genre: Romance, Drama
Timeline: Takes place during Deathly Hallows, prior to Harry coming to the Burrow.
Word Count: 3,829
Summary: Ron and Hermione come to an understanding and leave the events of their sixth year at Hogwarts behind them as they begin to plan for their journey with Harry.
Notes: This is my first-ever fanfiction! I welcome all feedback, good or bad!
Carrying On
“Vestis reparo.”
Hermione Granger stood in the doorway of Ron Weasley’s bedroom, her wand pointed at the sock that hung limp in the air, mocking him with its unwillingness to repair itself. Mum had sent him upstairs twenty minutes ago to tend to his laundry, but he had been too preoccupied to do much more than lackadaisically wave his wand in circles as he attempted to patch various items of clothing.
“Thanks.” Ron nodded at her as the sock flittered down the ground, good as new. He knew he could have done the incantation himself easily, but secretly didn't mind the smug look that passed across her face. He liked that after everything that had happened over the last year, she still seemed to have an instinct to look after him, even if it was born out of her insufferable need to always get the better of him.
Besides it only seemed right that it was Hermione who came to his rescue; it had been her he had been thinking so intently about, after all. He’d been able to do little else since he had stumbled, half-awake, right into her this morning in the upstairs hallway of the Burrow. She had been on her way back from the bathroom, still wearing her pyjamas - her girly, lovely pyjamas that clung to her in places that drove him to distraction.
Stupid pyjamas.
Hermione folded her arms across her thin frame, an expression on her face she had been wearing a lot lately. If Ron had to put a name to that look, he would call it “boggled.” But maybe he was projecting, as lately that was all he felt whenever she was around.
She stood rooted in her place for a moment as if she expected something more. Ron stared up at her. It wasn’t that he minded her company; in fact, despite the awkward air between the two of them, he craved her presence whenever she was wasn’t around. This was quite often lately, as she was usually off with Ginny helping with wedding preparations, something she had been tasked with soon after setting foot in the Burrow a little over a week ago. If there was one thing he had learned during the months he and Hermione had spent not speaking to one another, it was that his life with her in it was infinitely more …
What? More what?
… interesting, for starters.
She’s supposed to be your best friend. And Harry won’t take kindly to his two best friends snogging across Britain while we all hunt horcruxes, now will he?
“I thought it might be a good idea for us to talk.” Hermione said, shaking Ron out of his reverie. Her tone was hushed, and she kept glancing behind herself. “You know, while we have a moment alone.”
“Yeah, all right.” Ron nodded, not entirely sure what it was she wanted to discuss. “How did you manage to get out from under Mum anyway? I’d have thought she’d have you conjuring bows or transfiguring turtle shells into napkin holders by now.”
“I told her I had a headache and needed to lay down,” Hermione said, looking a bit guilty. “She said she’d be up to check on me in a bit, so we ought to hurry, don’t you think? We have a lot of planning to do and I just don’t feel we can wait until Harry is here to begin.”
Ron nodded again, and Hermione crossed the threshold into his bedroom. He leaned back against his headboard, folding his long, lean legs up so that there was room at the end of the bed for her. Every other available surface - including the floor - was covered in robes, clothes, faded issues of the Prophet and crumpled Honeydukes wrappers. She stood in the middle of his small bedroom, awkwardly, eyes darting around the room for another place to sit.
Two years ago, she would have dropped down onto his bed without hesitation. Now, things were… well, they were different, even if neither of them were going to admit it out loud. It was easier when Harry or Ginny was around - they fell into easy, practiced patterns. Ron felt much more at ease when he could wax philosophical with Harry about the Cannons' Quidditch Cup chances, or harp on Ginny for her stupid taste in boys; Hermione could disappear behind a book, only coming up for air when she had something relevant (in her mind, anyway) to share with the others. They could ignore the huge, crackling wall of electric tension between them, and not feel the threat of life as they knew it coming unraveled if they so much as brushed fingers or held the other’s gaze a bit too long.
But now it was just the two of them and -
Merlin’s beard!
- his bed, which he found himself suddenly wishing he had made once or twice in the last ten years. He could let her stand there, shifting uncomfortably as she tried to prop herself against his bedroom wall. But then that was like acknowledging that she couldn’t sit on his bed.
That’s basically admitting you’re hot for her. He thought. Besides, it’s perfectly normal to offer your best friend a seat on your bed. Your best friend who is, at least, thankfully wearing a very not-revealing pullover and jeans and not her stupid pyjamas. He swallowed.
“You should sit, maybe,” he said, patting the mattress so that his meaning was clear and sounding far less confident than he had planned before he opened his mouth. “So we can whisper. If Mum realizes you’re in here -”
“- she’ll see to it we don’t have a moment alone again, you’re right.” Hermione nodded as she crossed the room and sat down. Ron was sure her cheeks were redder than usual, but she dragged her feet into an Indian-style sitting position and faced him anyway. “I have noticed she’s been keeping us deliberately separate from one another since you gave her the news.”
“Oh, you’d noticed?” Ron couldn’t help the grin on his face, despite his frustration. Molly Weasley had not taken kindly to Ron’s announcement that he, Hermione and Harry would not be returning to Hogwarts in the fall. Ever since then, she’d done her best to keep Ron and Hermione apart, thus limiting the time they could spend preparing for their journey. She was trying to prolong the inevitable, and Ron had to admit it had worked - the longest period they had spent in one another’s exclusive company had been in the hallway that morning, and that was only for about fifteen seconds before he ducked into his bedroom to collect himself after stammering good morning and forcing his eyes away from her stupid, stupid pyjamas.
“I feel sort of bad dropping this on her with everything else going on. She’s likely to have a right conniption between the wedding and Dumbledore and You-Know-Who and now us running off -”
“Can you blame her?” Hermione said, a cold air in her voice as she looked down at her lap, nervously twirling her wand in between her fingers. “It’s nice to have someone to fuss over us, at least, for a bit longer.”
Ron felt a pang of something, a cross between a protective urge and a sharp pain in his heart as he stared at the bushy haired witch. Hermione had not said much about the lengths she had gone to in order to insure her parents’ safety, but he could tell it had been immensely difficult for her the moment she had walked in the door by the slightly deadened look on her face. He wanted to make her feel better.
“Your parents,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Will have plenty of time to fuss over you when this is all over.”
She mustered a thin smile. “I can only imagine how furious they’ll be with me when they realize I altered their memories. They’ll probably do a lot more than fuss. Lecture, shout, carry on…”
“So that’s where you get it from. Knew you came by it honestly.”
Hermione attempted a glare, but Ron was pleased to see the smile on her face had reached her eyes.
“I’m really very even tempered.” She said haughtily. “I’ll have you know the only person I’ve ever carried on with is you.”
Something about the way she emphasized the words "carried on" made something stir deep inside Ron. Images of him and Hermione carrying on in an entirely different capacity flew into his mind before he could stop them. He ducked his head, pretending to pick at a gnome bite on his ankle as he tried to slow his racing heart. He desperately wracked his brain, searching for a way to change the course of the conversation.
“Speaking of… you know, your mum and dad,” he said quickly. “I’ve been thinking. They’re in Australia, that’s great… chances are they won’t be found, but what if the Death Eaters decide to keep looking for you anyway?”
“Well, lots of Muggle-borns are going into hiding, it’s not at all unusual -”
“Yes, but most Muggle-borns aren’t close friends with the Chosen One.” Ron said firmly. “I’m sure You-Know-Who will have at least a couple of his cronies sniffing around for us. We need something else that keeps them off our trail for as long as possible… and keeps them from harassing Mum and Dad for information.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised at the depth of thought Ron had put into this. “Perhaps.” She folded her lips together as she thought.
Why are you looking at her lips? Don’t look at her bloody lips.
“Maybe if they believe I’m… I’m ill, or indisposed in some way.”
Ron leaned forward. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. Like dragon pox, maybe?”
Hermione shook her head. “It has to be something that would keep me out of school for a long period of time. Something like -” She straightened up a bit, her cheeks flushing once more. “Well.”
“What?”
“No, it wouldn’t -”
“Blimey, Hermione, we’re just throwing ideas out here. Anything is better than what we have.”
She looked down. “Well, we could have it leak out that I’m…” she blushed harder. “I’m with child. That would certainly take me out of school and what with how dangerous everything is these days, it wouldn’t be so unbelievable that I would be hiding away for safety’s sake.” She shook her head. “But no one would believe - I mean - I’m clearly not the type of girl that would easily find herself in that kind of… situation.”
Ron swallowed a groan, hoping she didn't hear. Here he was, trying basically every second to forget that the girl in front of him was a sexual being and she kept forcing his mind into the gutter. He had to admit, though, that it was a pretty fantastic idea, despite how uncomfortably hot his skin felt at the idea of Hermione doing things that could lead to.. well, that. And given the amount of time he had spent brooding as he imagined Hermione in various stages of undress with the handful of wizards who had shown interest in her over the last few years, he knew exactly how to make it believable, too.
“Krum.” He said, his voice heavy. “I mean, wasn’t there that story about you two in the Prophet? So if he said… you know, maybe they’d believe it.”
Hermione looked at Ron, a look he’d never seen before in her eyes. She seemed hesitant, but at the same time pleased, though he couldn’t for the life of him think why. “Yes, maybe.” She said. “I’m sure if I told him it was for my own safety, he’d be more than willing to go along with it.”
Oh, there it was. Rage, anger, jealousy; that familiar block of emotions that accompanied the mere mention of Bludger-for-brains Vicky Krum and his so-called feelings for Hermione.
She thinks he’s worried about her safety? I’m the one sitting here helping her make up stories about him knocking her up even after -
Ron took a deep breath. That’s what best friends do. He reminded himself. They help look out for each other. They don’t want to throw a couple nasty curses at any bloke who tries to manhandle…
“Right. Good.” He managed out. Hermione’s eyebrow raised higher than he had ever seen it, but she said nothing to indicate why.
“But it wouldn’t be enough to simply say I’m pregnant, even if Victor complied. Medical documentation would have to be forged -”
“Wait,” Ron blurted out. “If you were … you know, I mean wouldn’t you just be expected to pop in every once and awhile for a check-up at St. Mungo’s? What’s going to stop the Death Eaters from tearing the place apart looking for you?”
Hermione shook her head. “There are places, sort of hideaways for witches that need to get away from their husbands or boyfriends or parents, you know, if they might hurt them. A lot of young witches end up there, too, if they have to leave school because they’re pregnant. Each hideout is protected by a Fidelius charm, like with Grimmauld Place, so they’re nearly impossible to find.”
Ron looked at her incredulously. “How is it that you know everything, Hermione? I’ve lived in the wizarding world ages longer than you and I haven’t heard of half of this stuff.”
Hermione looked down at her lap again. “Actually, there was a rumor going around last year that Lavender Brown was pregnant and she was leaving Hogwarts in disgrace. You know, after the two of you ended things.” She was back to not looking him in the eye again. He hated that. “I think she started it herself, personally, the rumor. But that’s where I learned of them.”
“Oh.” Ron studied Hermione’s face. He wasn’t always able to understand the things that went on in her head, but he could feel there was a purpose behind what she had just revealed that surpassed simple clarification. Her brow was furrowed, and it reminded him very much of the expression he knew he must have worn a few moments ago when trying not to imagine her and Krum together. And suddenly he understood.
Ron kept his eyes on Hermione, feeling bolder than he had in her presence in quite some time. “It couldn’t have been true.”
Hermione looked up at him, confusion on her face.
“The rumor. I mean, no matter who started it, if it was her or not. There’s no way that would have been true.” He was blushing a bit again, but he didn't care. “If she was… you know, it couldn’t have been from me.”
Now they were both red in the face, and the air had changed in the room. They had rarely approached discussing their respective love lives with one another so directly. In fact, they had somehow made it through six years by only concretely acknowledging that they had the capability to interact with the opposite sex through arguments and fits of unexplained jealousy. They never sought details. Ron, for one, remained willfully ignorant of the murmurs about Hermione and the International Quidditch star, or that moron McLaggen. He knew more about the sexual exploits of Hufflepuff fifth years than he did about Hermione; that was half the reason why hearing she had snogged Krum had come as such a shock.
It’s because knowing she even looked at anyone else drives you mad and you know it.
So if that’s how he felt - and if she felt how he felt…
Look at her, her hands are shaking.
Well, he had to be sure she understood.
“Lavender and me, we never.” He shook his head. “I - I never.”
An expression flashed across her face - was it relief? It had to have been. She smiled, wider than he had seen in months and then let out a shaky sigh. After a moment of charged silence, she spoke, a bit breathless. “Well, for the sake of disclosure I should make it clear that there is no way I could be, either.” She was looking at him intently, now. “Not from Victor, or anyone else for that matter.”
It was definitely relief he’d seen in her eyes because he felt it now, too; an extreme, overpowering release as he let go of fears he hadn’t even fully let himself realize he’d had.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
And just like that, the tension that had built up between them over the years seemed to melt away. Ron felt only pure, sparking electricity as they stared at one another from across the bed. There was a slightly starry, almost alluring quality in the way her eyes lit up as she held his gaze, and he knew he was wearing one hell of a goofy grin. While the last few years had been a blur of stolen glances, he now found himself almost defiantly unwilling to look away from her.
Just moments ago, his bed had seemed like a threat to his very sanity and the precarious balance of their friendship. Now it seemed like a safe haven from everything they were facing and a provocative invitation all rolled into one. Somehow, they had communicated some kind of silent promise to one another in that last short exchange of words. He knew she understood without him having to tell her that he had waited, without even wholly realizing it and despite the tantalizing combination of hormonal lust and a willing partner, for the same reason that she had. The exact same reason. And in that moment, he truly let himself accept that they were not just best friends anymore and probably had not been for quite some time. All that was left was to act on it, and the matter of who would finally break down and make the first move.
We can’t keep this up much longer.
Ron thought how easy it would be to move just a few feet, finally, finally stop pretending he didn't want to snog Hermione and just bloody do it. He suddenly found it hard to swallow and his pulse was now racing as if he was rounding hour twenty in an intense Quidditch match, but for the first time in his memory he didn't try to push the thought away.
Sorry Harry, he thought dazedly. Looks like we might be snogging across Britain after all -
“But what if it takes us longer than nine months.” Hermione was a bit breathless when she finally found her voice and it was hard not to see how flustered she was.
Ron didn't quite understand what she was saying. “Nine months?”
“The gestational period of a fetus. That’s the absolutely maximum amount of time I’d have before they started to wonder why I hadn’t turned up somewhere, and with a child no less. If we can’t be sure that we can locate all and destroy all the horcruxes - not to mention Voldemort - then we very well can’t go spreading that sort of rumor. Besides, we don’t want to put all those witches in danger. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Right. We’re talking about saving lives now. That is important, too.
He had to admit, given this new development, that he was perfectly fine with letting the world continue to think that Hermione Jean Granger was nothing more than a brilliant, studious witch who feared for her life in the wake of all of the Muggle attacks.
“Maybe we can talk with Kingsley about making sure you’re ‘seen’ somewhere, you know, remote… off the beaten path. Romania, or something. Maybe Canada. Send whoever will be out for us on a real wild hunt for a bit.”
Hermione nodded, “Brilliant. I hadn’t thought of that.” She studied his face for a moment, and the look - the look - moved back into her eyes. “So that settles me. But what are we going to do about you? Maybe we could pull the illness route with you… but surely they’ll come looking for you here and when they can’t find you -”
He tried to respond to her, but found he couldn’t form words. The throaty tone of her voice coupled with the way she was staring him down rendered him basically useless to the cause. In that moment, Ron Weasley didn't care if an army’s worth of death eaters stormed into his bedroom. His mind was very deeply focused on other things. Just as Ron let his eyes begin to explore her face again and contemplate exactly how perfectly easy it would be to lean in and snog her, Hermione leapt off the bed. “Your mum!”
Ron heard it, too. His mother’s voice, faint some five floors below them, as she approached the stairs.
“If she sees me in here -” Hermione looked panicked, and Ron wondered fleetingly if it had anything to do with the way she had been looking at him and the way they had been -
Carrying on!
- moments ago.
“- I know, so get out!” He insisted.
“Try to come up with something to throw them off your scent, too. I’ll try too,” she whispered on her way out the door. She stopped for just a moment, and their eyes locked again. “We should meet again soon.”
It was a promise, and he knew it. He grinned at her.
“Plan on it.”
And she was gone.
Ron lay back on his bed, trying to find his bearings. Mum would barge in any moment, he was certain, to make sure he was there and to see if there were any signs Hermione had been with him. The air around him still seemed to crackle with the electric energy they had created between them; he was entirely sure Mum would feel it the second she walked in the door.
He exhaled, and a lazy smile settled on his face. In the sudden silence, he felt so in tune with his body and the feelings tingling through him that he could hear everything around him; Ginny’s bedroom door, floors below, squeaking open; Mum’s voice, a bit louder now, as she called on Hermione; Fred and George laughing somewhere downstairs in the skullery; a groan, followed by the clanging of some pipes in the attic above.
Ghoul, he thought absently. But then something clicked. Perhaps his brain was feeding off the adrenaline still coursing through his veins; maybe it was the fact that Hermione’s revelation had finally freed him from the suffocating images of her locked in another wizard’s embrace. Whatever it was, it was awesome. Ron Weasley sat straight up on his bed as he had the greatest idea of his young life.
Ghoul!
He grinned.
Brilliant.
-end-