Apple Crumble, Apple Tart: Part IV
Apple Crumble, Apple Tart (Ron/Hermione, 12+)
Author: akissinacrisis
IV: Once Upon a Time
June, 1998.
Index || Part I || Part II || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII || Part VIII
APPLE CRUMBLE, APPLE TART
IV
Once Upon a Time
June, 1998
It’s cold, much colder than it should be on the last day of June, but getting the Dementors rounded up hasn’t been very successful, and the fogs are only just starting to lift. In a pre-war world, this sort of weather would only have been found on particularly wet and blustery days in April, but as Ron well knows, you can’t have everything in life.
Standing in his back garden and staring into the distance, Hermione looks as if she could be a part of the nature surrounding them: Ron suspects that if he touched her hair, it would be damp with dew. She’s huddled in a big woolly jumper, and he thinks she only refrained from wearing a scarf on principle. It is the summer, technically.
‘What are you doing out here?’ he asks.
‘I needed to get away from it all.’ She wraps her arms around herself. ‘Clear my head.’
‘Yeah. It’s …’ He waves his arm around. ‘Stuffy’ doesn’t seem like the right word. ‘Claustrophobic, in there.’
‘How did you know I was out here?’
‘Saw you through the window. I have got eyes, you know.’
She smiles. ‘I was hoping to blend in.’
‘You do, sort of.’
She shoots him an enquiring look. It makes her look a bit like McGonagall.
‘You look all …’ he tries. ‘Y’know. At one with nature. Like a tree person.’
‘A tree person. How nice. An imp? A Bowtruckle?’
‘You know what I mean,’ he says as she rolls her eyes. ‘Like you just grew out of the ground.’
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling.
The wind buffets them; she hunches her shoulders up to her ears.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he says. She looks up at him in surprise as he offers her his hand. ‘Come on.’
‘But … where?’ she asks as she slips her little cold hand into his bigger, freckled one, that sports a few golden hairs below the knuckles, and he feels a wave of protectiveness.
‘Not far, just round here - we used to play up here, come on,’ he says, tugging at her hand, and dragging her out of the garden and through the gate.
He expects her to complain, but she doesn’t. They set off, past the orchard and down the hill. When they reach a stile, she lets him help her over it, and he feels only a momentary flash of regret that she isn’t wearing a skirt.
They keep walking, hand in hand, until they reach a tree, and Ron stops. Hermione gives him a strange look.
‘Wait - I think this might be it -’
‘Might be what?’ she asks.
‘Where we used to come all the time … I don’t really remember …’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yeah, I wanted to show you this place … Me and Ginny used to play up here a lot, the year before I went to Hogwarts …’
He stares at the tree. There was a tree, he remembers - they used to climb it, and once they made hammocks - but there are hundreds of trees down here, all looking the same. Under the trees, the grass is long, lush and dew-soaked, with a few flowers dotted around.
‘Oh, look, daisies!’ Hermione cries gently, hand slipping out of his as she darts forward to pick one. ‘I used to make daisy chains … Did you ever do that? Look, if you use your nail to slit a hole, then you can thread them together …’
‘I’m a boy, Hermione,’ he says, amused by her childlike fascination with the flowers in her hands, ‘and we would probably have kicked Ginny out of the house if she’d ever expressed an interest in daisies.’
‘Oh, I can’t make it work, anyway,’ she says in annoyance, tossing her mutilated daisies back into the grass. ‘My fingers are too big now …’
He stares at the assortment of trees spread out before him.
‘Ron?’
His head snaps round to see her staring at him and looking slightly concerned.
‘It’s just,’ he huffs, ‘I can’t remember. I have this really clear picture, but none of it seems to fit - let’s keep going, we’ll find it eventually -’
‘Ron,’ she says softly, taking a step closer, ‘let’s stay here.’
‘Huh?’ Her lips are suddenly looking incredibly soft and inviting.
‘Let’s just … stay here, for a bit,’ she whispers, and then she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him.
Ron’s kisses with Hermione are rarely soft or gentle or tender - he doesn’t really understand how you can kiss anyone you’re in love with like that. Their first kiss seemed to set the tempo, and now they always kiss like it’s the last time, as if at any moment they’re about to be interrupted - which, to be fair, they usually are. Before he knows it, he’s backed her up against the tree, and her hands are in his hair.
He breaks away from her lips, breathing raggedly. ‘God, Hermione.’
‘I know,’ she whispers, nipping at his lower lip, making him groan and pull her closer to him.
‘I miss you,’ he murmurs into her hair.
And she doesn’t say ‘Why?’ or ‘But we see each other every day, silly’; what she whispers is, ‘So do I,’ and that’s why, he thinks as he kisses her again, that’s why he loves her.
She pulls out of his arms and drags him towards the grassy bit, off the dirt track. ‘Come on, let’s -’
‘Let’s …?’ he asks, allowing himself to be dragged off into her beloved daisies. The earth beneath his feet is squelchy.
‘Let’s - I don’t know -’
‘Never go back?’ he puts in hopefully.
She laughs, pulls him to her and kisses him again. He wraps his arms around her; after a second, he starts to feel her hands, tightly fisted into his jumper, dragging him down.
He follows her down until he finds himself sitting in a muddy meadow, a Hermione entangled in his arms.
As she pulls him down into the long grass, her hands insistently tugging at his collar, she whispers, ‘Please, Ron, let’s - let’s not go back - let’s … Let’s stay here forever …’
‘Well,’ he rasps, ‘I reckon we’ve got a good half an hour.’
She giggles; then, she places a finger to his lips.
Index || Part I || Part II || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII || Part VIII
Notes: I’m a tease, sorry! Next chapter soon! :)
Author: akissinacrisis
IV: Once Upon a Time
June, 1998.
Index || Part I || Part II || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII || Part VIII
APPLE CRUMBLE, APPLE TART
IV
Once Upon a Time
June, 1998
It’s cold, much colder than it should be on the last day of June, but getting the Dementors rounded up hasn’t been very successful, and the fogs are only just starting to lift. In a pre-war world, this sort of weather would only have been found on particularly wet and blustery days in April, but as Ron well knows, you can’t have everything in life.
Standing in his back garden and staring into the distance, Hermione looks as if she could be a part of the nature surrounding them: Ron suspects that if he touched her hair, it would be damp with dew. She’s huddled in a big woolly jumper, and he thinks she only refrained from wearing a scarf on principle. It is the summer, technically.
‘What are you doing out here?’ he asks.
‘I needed to get away from it all.’ She wraps her arms around herself. ‘Clear my head.’
‘Yeah. It’s …’ He waves his arm around. ‘Stuffy’ doesn’t seem like the right word. ‘Claustrophobic, in there.’
‘How did you know I was out here?’
‘Saw you through the window. I have got eyes, you know.’
She smiles. ‘I was hoping to blend in.’
‘You do, sort of.’
She shoots him an enquiring look. It makes her look a bit like McGonagall.
‘You look all …’ he tries. ‘Y’know. At one with nature. Like a tree person.’
‘A tree person. How nice. An imp? A Bowtruckle?’
‘You know what I mean,’ he says as she rolls her eyes. ‘Like you just grew out of the ground.’
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling.
The wind buffets them; she hunches her shoulders up to her ears.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he says. She looks up at him in surprise as he offers her his hand. ‘Come on.’
‘But … where?’ she asks as she slips her little cold hand into his bigger, freckled one, that sports a few golden hairs below the knuckles, and he feels a wave of protectiveness.
‘Not far, just round here - we used to play up here, come on,’ he says, tugging at her hand, and dragging her out of the garden and through the gate.
He expects her to complain, but she doesn’t. They set off, past the orchard and down the hill. When they reach a stile, she lets him help her over it, and he feels only a momentary flash of regret that she isn’t wearing a skirt.
They keep walking, hand in hand, until they reach a tree, and Ron stops. Hermione gives him a strange look.
‘Wait - I think this might be it -’
‘Might be what?’ she asks.
‘Where we used to come all the time … I don’t really remember …’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yeah, I wanted to show you this place … Me and Ginny used to play up here a lot, the year before I went to Hogwarts …’
He stares at the tree. There was a tree, he remembers - they used to climb it, and once they made hammocks - but there are hundreds of trees down here, all looking the same. Under the trees, the grass is long, lush and dew-soaked, with a few flowers dotted around.
‘Oh, look, daisies!’ Hermione cries gently, hand slipping out of his as she darts forward to pick one. ‘I used to make daisy chains … Did you ever do that? Look, if you use your nail to slit a hole, then you can thread them together …’
‘I’m a boy, Hermione,’ he says, amused by her childlike fascination with the flowers in her hands, ‘and we would probably have kicked Ginny out of the house if she’d ever expressed an interest in daisies.’
‘Oh, I can’t make it work, anyway,’ she says in annoyance, tossing her mutilated daisies back into the grass. ‘My fingers are too big now …’
He stares at the assortment of trees spread out before him.
‘Ron?’
His head snaps round to see her staring at him and looking slightly concerned.
‘It’s just,’ he huffs, ‘I can’t remember. I have this really clear picture, but none of it seems to fit - let’s keep going, we’ll find it eventually -’
‘Ron,’ she says softly, taking a step closer, ‘let’s stay here.’
‘Huh?’ Her lips are suddenly looking incredibly soft and inviting.
‘Let’s just … stay here, for a bit,’ she whispers, and then she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him.
Ron’s kisses with Hermione are rarely soft or gentle or tender - he doesn’t really understand how you can kiss anyone you’re in love with like that. Their first kiss seemed to set the tempo, and now they always kiss like it’s the last time, as if at any moment they’re about to be interrupted - which, to be fair, they usually are. Before he knows it, he’s backed her up against the tree, and her hands are in his hair.
He breaks away from her lips, breathing raggedly. ‘God, Hermione.’
‘I know,’ she whispers, nipping at his lower lip, making him groan and pull her closer to him.
‘I miss you,’ he murmurs into her hair.
And she doesn’t say ‘Why?’ or ‘But we see each other every day, silly’; what she whispers is, ‘So do I,’ and that’s why, he thinks as he kisses her again, that’s why he loves her.
She pulls out of his arms and drags him towards the grassy bit, off the dirt track. ‘Come on, let’s -’
‘Let’s …?’ he asks, allowing himself to be dragged off into her beloved daisies. The earth beneath his feet is squelchy.
‘Let’s - I don’t know -’
‘Never go back?’ he puts in hopefully.
She laughs, pulls him to her and kisses him again. He wraps his arms around her; after a second, he starts to feel her hands, tightly fisted into his jumper, dragging him down.
He follows her down until he finds himself sitting in a muddy meadow, a Hermione entangled in his arms.
As she pulls him down into the long grass, her hands insistently tugging at his collar, she whispers, ‘Please, Ron, let’s - let’s not go back - let’s … Let’s stay here forever …’
‘Well,’ he rasps, ‘I reckon we’ve got a good half an hour.’
She giggles; then, she places a finger to his lips.
Index || Part I || Part II || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII || Part VIII
Notes: I’m a tease, sorry! Next chapter soon! :)