3G Ron-A-Thon fic
Just under the wire! The challenge was too good to let pass without any fic at all, so here’s my contribution to the 3G Ron-A-Thon.
Title: Hunger
Author: Anguis (anguis_1)
Summary: In which Ginny talks, and Hermione’s mind wanders.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: JK Rowling and her publishers own Harry Potter and his world. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Hunger
As Ron and Harry wandered off in companionable silence to inspect the latest line of broomsticks, their wives lingered over coffee. The service at The Weary Wyvern was rather slow, and Ginny shook her head at the dirty dishes stacked haphazardly on the other side of the table.
“I see my brother’s still quite the glutton. I bet you have to keep a close eye on his food intake.”
Hermione didn’t bother to correct her sister-in-law. Ron had matured into rather more of a gourmand than a glutton, but this probably wasn’t the occasion to educate Ginny in the finer points of semantics. Instead, she murmured distractedly, “Oh, I certainly watch what he eats.”
~~~
“Mmm, Hermione, I still don’t know where you find the time, but you could teach my mum a thing or two around the kitchen.” Her eyes followed the curl of his tongue as he licked out his bowl, swiping the last daubs of caramel sauce from the glass in between small, satisfied exhalations.
“Your mum’s a good cook!”
“Yeah,” Ron agreed amiably while wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his robes. “But you’re better. Why do you think I married you?”
“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione’s voice squawked, and she fisted her hands on her hips in mock indignation. She couldn’t maintain the facade long with his mouth twitching to restrain a fond smirk, though, so she bumped his knees affectionately under the table and heaved an exaggerated sigh.
When she regained enough of her composure to safely articulate a Summoning Charm, a flick of her wand brought a small tray of homemade chocolate truffles floating in from the kitchen. With deliberate care, she selected one and slid it between his lips, nudging his teeth apart to deposit it on his tongue. His eyelids drifted closed, and he rolled it around in his mouth, savouring the sweet glide of melting chocolate. Entranced by the rhythmic hollowing of his cheeks and the smudges of chocolate darkening his full lower lip, she leaned across their small table to feed him another, and the rest of the truffles disappeared in like fashion.
When no more sweets were forthcoming, Ron reopened his eyes with languid appreciation. “Did I--?” He gestured at the empty silver salver. Regret dampened his previous enthusiasm. “You didn’t get any. I’m sorry.”
Hermione snorted indelicately. “Do you think I just met you yesterday? I know what I’m up against--I ate what I wanted when I made them.”
“You know me too well.” He ducked his head and grinned ruefully.
As Ron eased out of his chair, he pressed a hand to his midsection with a groan. “Oof. I think I’m too stuffed to move.” He slanted a speculative gaze at Hermione squirming in her seat. “Wanna come to bed now to see if you can prove me wrong?” His eyes sparkled boyishly beneath his shaggy red fringe as she sent the remaining dishes scrambling towards the kitchen. The tablecloth had barely shaken itself out when she clamped her fingers around his wrist and pulled him towards the bedroom.
~~~
“I always said it would catch up with him sooner or later. When we were at Hogwarts, it went into sprouting upwards, I guess, but the only direction he’s grown lately is out . . . and out and out. People are going to start asking if he’s in the family way if he doesn’t learn to control himself! I’m so glad Harry’s kept in shape. I don’t know how you can stand to share a bed with Ron anymore.” Ginny wrinkled her nose in disgust, then added, “Not that I ever really understood. And please don’t even think of trying to enlighten me! There are some things a sister just shouldn’t know.”
“Okay,” Hermione acquiesced indifferently, her thoughts already skittering away.
~~~
She’d collapsed into bed just a scant hour before. Ron had just arrived home, having stayed late with George trying to sort out a large order that had been disintegrated by a batch of defective Flashbang Powder. He’d tossed his robes on the floor and had been sitting on the edge of the bed for the past ten minutes, his head bowed, apparently lost in thought. The guttering candle on his nightstand cast long and wavering shadows about the room.
“Lie down.” It was the middle of the night, in the middle of a long week, and all Hermione wanted was to burrow back under the duvet with the remnants of her rather pleasant dream.
“Uh-huh,” he grunted, but made no move to do so. Without relinquishing her horizontal position, Hermione scooted across the bed. Eyes squinched shut against the dim light, she reached out to persuade him. As she shaped her hands over the flare of his love handles, he shivered, protesting, “Hey, that tickles!” Her fingers crept around his waist and tucked up under the modest paunch nestling in his lap. He shifted uncomfortably as a rush of blood reddened his back and swept up his neck and ears. “Yeah, I know I’ve, uh, put on a few lately.”
She stifled a giggle in a patch of freckles on the small of his back and mumbled sleepily, “S’more than a few.”
She felt his stomach jerk with a sharp intake of air, and then his voice strained tight and strangely brittle, as though he were walking along the edge of a high and windy cliff and trying very hard not to fall off. “Too much of your good cooking, I guess, and not enough exercise. Harry’s been ragging me to join him in that amateur Quidditch league he’s trying to start, but he’s not wearing himself out working two jobs. I’m sorry--”
“Shhh,” Hermione hushed, pulling him down to the mattress. Even as he let his body slump over, his hands snatched the sheets up to his chin. The motion caught her attention, its strangeness piercing her fatigue. Ron had never been known for his modesty (in fact, she’d had to charm the windows soon after they moved in because certain habits he’d acquired in the Gryffindor showers scandalised the neighbours), but lately he’d grown a bit . . . shy was the only word for it, and the realisation startled her. Perhaps she should have noticed sooner, but she’d been no less exhausted than he was.
She rose to her knees next to him, flinging the sheets back. “No,” she ordered a bit more sharply than she had intended. He cringed and fumbled with his large hands, trying to settle them across his torso in the most concealing position and finding that they were wholly inadequate for the task. Her infuriatingly brazen husband was cowering. It was too late for her heart to ache like this--too late and too tired, and tomorrow was coming too quickly, but she couldn’t just roll over and leave him lying there like that.
“Oh, Ron,” she sighed, noting the pink of his cheeks clashing violently with his hair and his eyes sliding away from her gaze. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” She pressed her lips gently to the swell of his belly, eliciting a startled hitch in his breathing.
“Hermione.” Her name faltered, high and thin and fragile. He propped himself up on his elbows and stared at her, eyes dilated and his ever-expressive face wavering between hope and anxiety. “You don’t have to--”
Interrupting him, she said forcefully, “No, I don’t have to. I want to. Is that really so hard to believe?” Her forefinger circled his navel lazily. “I’m the one who should apologize. I don’t often tell you how much I like watching you . . . how much I like touching you. Every time I see you again after we’ve been apart, even if only for a few hours, it still takes my breath away.” That admission did not come easy, and her face was now nearly as red as his, but she tilted her chin up and held his gaze.
Ron shifted his hips back and forth under her caress as his bewilderment was replaced by an incredulous realisation. “You, er, actually like this?” He jostled his belly with one hand, observing her undisguised interest as it wobbled to and fro. “You’re daft,” he said mildly and then quirked a hesitant smile. “But I suppose that’s one of the things I love about you.”
She whispered, “Love you, too,” and snuggled her cheek against his stomach, the cloud of her unruly hair settling softly around her.
~~~
“Hermione! Hermione!”
“What?”
Ginny laughed. “I don’t know where you were just now, but it certainly wasn’t here.” She held up a hand to forestall Hermione’s half-hearted protest. “I should know better than to bring him up. For reasons best left obscure for the sake of my peace of mind, you’re still hopelessly besotted with him, despite everything.” Her expression softened. “I wish all my brothers happy, but Ron . . . well, he’s always had the hardest time just being happy. I think you’re finally teaching him, and I wanted to thank you.” As Harry and Ron approached their table sniggering quietly at Ron’s rather unflattering impression of the Falcons’ new Seeker, she finished in a rush, “But if you breathe a word of that to him, I swear you’ll be the first test subject for that Tangle Tongue Hex I’ve just developed.”
Title: Hunger
Author: Anguis (anguis_1)
Summary: In which Ginny talks, and Hermione’s mind wanders.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: JK Rowling and her publishers own Harry Potter and his world. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Hunger
As Ron and Harry wandered off in companionable silence to inspect the latest line of broomsticks, their wives lingered over coffee. The service at The Weary Wyvern was rather slow, and Ginny shook her head at the dirty dishes stacked haphazardly on the other side of the table.
“I see my brother’s still quite the glutton. I bet you have to keep a close eye on his food intake.”
Hermione didn’t bother to correct her sister-in-law. Ron had matured into rather more of a gourmand than a glutton, but this probably wasn’t the occasion to educate Ginny in the finer points of semantics. Instead, she murmured distractedly, “Oh, I certainly watch what he eats.”
~~~
“Mmm, Hermione, I still don’t know where you find the time, but you could teach my mum a thing or two around the kitchen.” Her eyes followed the curl of his tongue as he licked out his bowl, swiping the last daubs of caramel sauce from the glass in between small, satisfied exhalations.
“Your mum’s a good cook!”
“Yeah,” Ron agreed amiably while wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his robes. “But you’re better. Why do you think I married you?”
“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione’s voice squawked, and she fisted her hands on her hips in mock indignation. She couldn’t maintain the facade long with his mouth twitching to restrain a fond smirk, though, so she bumped his knees affectionately under the table and heaved an exaggerated sigh.
When she regained enough of her composure to safely articulate a Summoning Charm, a flick of her wand brought a small tray of homemade chocolate truffles floating in from the kitchen. With deliberate care, she selected one and slid it between his lips, nudging his teeth apart to deposit it on his tongue. His eyelids drifted closed, and he rolled it around in his mouth, savouring the sweet glide of melting chocolate. Entranced by the rhythmic hollowing of his cheeks and the smudges of chocolate darkening his full lower lip, she leaned across their small table to feed him another, and the rest of the truffles disappeared in like fashion.
When no more sweets were forthcoming, Ron reopened his eyes with languid appreciation. “Did I--?” He gestured at the empty silver salver. Regret dampened his previous enthusiasm. “You didn’t get any. I’m sorry.”
Hermione snorted indelicately. “Do you think I just met you yesterday? I know what I’m up against--I ate what I wanted when I made them.”
“You know me too well.” He ducked his head and grinned ruefully.
As Ron eased out of his chair, he pressed a hand to his midsection with a groan. “Oof. I think I’m too stuffed to move.” He slanted a speculative gaze at Hermione squirming in her seat. “Wanna come to bed now to see if you can prove me wrong?” His eyes sparkled boyishly beneath his shaggy red fringe as she sent the remaining dishes scrambling towards the kitchen. The tablecloth had barely shaken itself out when she clamped her fingers around his wrist and pulled him towards the bedroom.
~~~
“I always said it would catch up with him sooner or later. When we were at Hogwarts, it went into sprouting upwards, I guess, but the only direction he’s grown lately is out . . . and out and out. People are going to start asking if he’s in the family way if he doesn’t learn to control himself! I’m so glad Harry’s kept in shape. I don’t know how you can stand to share a bed with Ron anymore.” Ginny wrinkled her nose in disgust, then added, “Not that I ever really understood. And please don’t even think of trying to enlighten me! There are some things a sister just shouldn’t know.”
“Okay,” Hermione acquiesced indifferently, her thoughts already skittering away.
~~~
She’d collapsed into bed just a scant hour before. Ron had just arrived home, having stayed late with George trying to sort out a large order that had been disintegrated by a batch of defective Flashbang Powder. He’d tossed his robes on the floor and had been sitting on the edge of the bed for the past ten minutes, his head bowed, apparently lost in thought. The guttering candle on his nightstand cast long and wavering shadows about the room.
“Lie down.” It was the middle of the night, in the middle of a long week, and all Hermione wanted was to burrow back under the duvet with the remnants of her rather pleasant dream.
“Uh-huh,” he grunted, but made no move to do so. Without relinquishing her horizontal position, Hermione scooted across the bed. Eyes squinched shut against the dim light, she reached out to persuade him. As she shaped her hands over the flare of his love handles, he shivered, protesting, “Hey, that tickles!” Her fingers crept around his waist and tucked up under the modest paunch nestling in his lap. He shifted uncomfortably as a rush of blood reddened his back and swept up his neck and ears. “Yeah, I know I’ve, uh, put on a few lately.”
She stifled a giggle in a patch of freckles on the small of his back and mumbled sleepily, “S’more than a few.”
She felt his stomach jerk with a sharp intake of air, and then his voice strained tight and strangely brittle, as though he were walking along the edge of a high and windy cliff and trying very hard not to fall off. “Too much of your good cooking, I guess, and not enough exercise. Harry’s been ragging me to join him in that amateur Quidditch league he’s trying to start, but he’s not wearing himself out working two jobs. I’m sorry--”
“Shhh,” Hermione hushed, pulling him down to the mattress. Even as he let his body slump over, his hands snatched the sheets up to his chin. The motion caught her attention, its strangeness piercing her fatigue. Ron had never been known for his modesty (in fact, she’d had to charm the windows soon after they moved in because certain habits he’d acquired in the Gryffindor showers scandalised the neighbours), but lately he’d grown a bit . . . shy was the only word for it, and the realisation startled her. Perhaps she should have noticed sooner, but she’d been no less exhausted than he was.
She rose to her knees next to him, flinging the sheets back. “No,” she ordered a bit more sharply than she had intended. He cringed and fumbled with his large hands, trying to settle them across his torso in the most concealing position and finding that they were wholly inadequate for the task. Her infuriatingly brazen husband was cowering. It was too late for her heart to ache like this--too late and too tired, and tomorrow was coming too quickly, but she couldn’t just roll over and leave him lying there like that.
“Oh, Ron,” she sighed, noting the pink of his cheeks clashing violently with his hair and his eyes sliding away from her gaze. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” She pressed her lips gently to the swell of his belly, eliciting a startled hitch in his breathing.
“Hermione.” Her name faltered, high and thin and fragile. He propped himself up on his elbows and stared at her, eyes dilated and his ever-expressive face wavering between hope and anxiety. “You don’t have to--”
Interrupting him, she said forcefully, “No, I don’t have to. I want to. Is that really so hard to believe?” Her forefinger circled his navel lazily. “I’m the one who should apologize. I don’t often tell you how much I like watching you . . . how much I like touching you. Every time I see you again after we’ve been apart, even if only for a few hours, it still takes my breath away.” That admission did not come easy, and her face was now nearly as red as his, but she tilted her chin up and held his gaze.
Ron shifted his hips back and forth under her caress as his bewilderment was replaced by an incredulous realisation. “You, er, actually like this?” He jostled his belly with one hand, observing her undisguised interest as it wobbled to and fro. “You’re daft,” he said mildly and then quirked a hesitant smile. “But I suppose that’s one of the things I love about you.”
She whispered, “Love you, too,” and snuggled her cheek against his stomach, the cloud of her unruly hair settling softly around her.
~~~
“Hermione! Hermione!”
“What?”
Ginny laughed. “I don’t know where you were just now, but it certainly wasn’t here.” She held up a hand to forestall Hermione’s half-hearted protest. “I should know better than to bring him up. For reasons best left obscure for the sake of my peace of mind, you’re still hopelessly besotted with him, despite everything.” Her expression softened. “I wish all my brothers happy, but Ron . . . well, he’s always had the hardest time just being happy. I think you’re finally teaching him, and I wanted to thank you.” As Harry and Ron approached their table sniggering quietly at Ron’s rather unflattering impression of the Falcons’ new Seeker, she finished in a rush, “But if you breathe a word of that to him, I swear you’ll be the first test subject for that Tangle Tongue Hex I’ve just developed.”