Fic Request Fulfilled for kalanadiangirl
Title: The Gift
Author: lunalovepotter
Beta: the_vixxmeister
Rating: PG-13
Word count: About 2,400+
Summary: All Hermione Granger wants for Christmas is Ron Weasley.
Warnings: fluffiness, lots of fluffiness
Disclaimer: JKR’s characters, my imagination.
Author's Notes: As always a huge thanks to my fantastic beta the_vixxmeister! Hope you all enjoy the fic.
The Gift
Hermione Granger awoke on Christmas morning to the sight of snowflakes drifting down outside the bedroom window. Judging by the soft grayish light, she guessed that it was still very early. So she contentedly snuggled farther under the blankets and pulled the handmade quilt up to her chin. Then she drew her knees up to her stomach and curled into a ball like she used to as a child while waiting for her parents to come wake her up to open Christmas presents. In reality, of course she would have already made the trip downstairs to check on her gifts; but she never told them that, because she knew it made them happy to watch her ‘discover’ the colorfully wrapped boxes beneath the tree.
The older she’d grown, the less time she’d spent at home with her parents. Most Christmases were now spent at the Burrow with the Weasleys and Harry; which of course she loved, since it was her second home. She loved the smells of fresh baking that permeated the house, the sounds of laughter and music, and the constant flow of hot cocoa (which they sometimes spiked with a touch of rum when Molly wasn’t looking). And this would be the first Christmas that they wouldn’t have the shadow of Voldemort hanging over them. It promised to be the best Christmas ever.
At least, it could be. Hermione closed her eyes, then stretched her body out to its full length and sank into the mattress, willing sleep to overtake her once again. She heard the sound of bedsprings groaning as Ginny shifted in her bed on the other side of the room. They’d stayed up late talking the night before, so it would be at least a good couple of hours before she woke up.
What had they talked about, but the boys, of course. Ginny and Harry were happily coupled now. Harry was almost a completely different person now that the war was over, and he no longer had the weight of the prophecy on his shoulders. He loved life, loved his friends, and of course, loved Ginny. It was sweet to see them together, so comfortable and easy with one another; not overly affectionate, but once in awhile Harry would run his fingers through Ginny’s fiery red hair, or Ginny would lean against him with her head on his shoulder. More than once, they’d been caught having a quick snog in the broom shed or behind a tree in the garden. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were thrilled to pieces, but at the same time they were already cautioning Harry and Ginny not to rush into anything.
Meanwhile, Hermione and Ron continued their game of flirtation. They were like clockwork; Ron would playfully rib her about something, she would act annoyed by making a smart remark, while she really enjoyed the fact that he was paying attention to her. If they brushed against each other even in the most casual way, like when she passed him a plate, or when he picked up something of hers off the floor and handed it to her, she felt heat pour through her body. She sensed that Ron felt it, too; whenever their eyes met in a moment like that, Ron’s cheeks would flush crimson and he would smile quickly before looking away. They’d come close, more than once, to a kiss. So close, but yet so far. Neither of them had been able to lean forward to cover that extra quarter-inch of space between them, to bring their lips together. It was maddening.
Like any good girlfriend would, Ginny had offered on more than one occasion to give her older brother a swift kick in the arse to get him moving. “Honestly,” she’d said, “I knew he was a little dense when it comes to love, but this is bloody ridiculous.” But Hermione always politely refused. When it happened, she wanted it to be completely real and natural. Ron would have to realize it on his own, and only then would they really be together.
Bloody hell, would he ever realize it? She didn’t know how much longer she could live like this; maybe it was time for her to get the ball rolling. After all, they’d been best friends for seven years - they’d fought battles together, and helped each other through everything from exams to relationships. He knew her probably better than just about anyone, even her own parents, and Harry. But if he knew her so well, why was it taking him so long to figure out how she felt, and that it was okay for him to acknowledge it? The tension between them was palpable; whenever they were alone together, even for a few seconds, she felt it. She wanted him to grab her and snog her face off, but still, he waited.
Finally Hermione gave up on the idea of sleep, and decided instead to take advantage of the quiet house and enjoy some time to herself. She moved aside the covers, put on her robe and slippers and headed downstairs for a mug of hot chocolate. It was possible that Mrs. Weasley would be awake, since she took to rising early to start breakfast - but thankfully, when Hermione reached the bottom of the stairs she noticed the kitchen was dark and quiet.
The Christmas tree twinkled brightly in the corner, lit up with white fairy lights and adorned with a motley collection of ornaments; most were handmade by the Weasley kids throughout the years, or had been purchased at craft fairs, but there were a handful of shiny red, gold and green aluminum balls dangling from the branches as well. Then there was the angel perched at the top; she was made of wood, hand carved and painted, with flowing golden hair, beautiful gold-plated wings and a long white gown, and a gold halo shimmering over her head. Hermione loved to look at that angel; the sight of it made her feel inexplicably happy. Her idea of perfect happiness would involve her and Ron snuggled on the sofa while she gazed at the angel.
“Hey, Hermione, I didn’t know you were up.” Ron came up next to her. She had been so absorbed in the tree that she hadn’t heard him on the stairs. His sleeve brushed her wrist as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his robe. “No matter how old I get, I still can’t sleep late on Christmas Day,” he said with a chuckle. “Looks like we got a pretty good haul this year.”
“Looks like it,” Hermione said quietly as she looked at the cluster of gifts under the tree, all the while acutely aware of his proximity to her. Her heart was throbbing in her chest.
“So, what’d you get me?” he nudged her, and winked.
She smiled vaguely. “You’ll just have to see,” she said. “I was going to get some hot cocoa. Want some?”
“Yeah, sure.” Ron smiled tiredly, and he followed her into the kitchen. She felt his eyes on her the entire time; there was a fleeting moment when she thought she felt something brush against her neck, but she didn’t dare turn around.
Once in the kitchen, she busied herself getting the hot water and the cocoa, all the while conscious of Ron’s movements as he first got the mugs from the cupboard, then napkins and spoons from the drawer
“I’m surprised mum isn’t up already,” he said.
Hermione started the flame under the tea kettle and took a deep breath. “Actually I’m glad she’s not,” she said. When she turned around, she saw Ron looking at her with a somewhat confused expression.
She hesitated, questioning herself; part of her couldn’t believe she’d said it. But no, this had to be done. It was time. “Ron, we have to talk.”
“Yeah, all right,” Ron said, sounding uncertain. “What’s going on?”
“Do you like me?”
“Huh? Of course I like you. Hermione, what’s this about?”
“No, I know you like me as a friend. But what I mean is, do you really like me…?” Before Ron could answer, she went on. “I feel that strange prickly sensation whenever we touch each other, I see the way you blush when I look at you…Whenever I see Harry and Ginny together, I wish that was us. Ron, really, if something is going to happen with us it needs to happen now. It’s been far too long. Of course, if you don’t like me that way, it means you’re leading me on, which of course would be deplorable, but at least now we’d get it out in the open…”
“I’m not leading you on,” Ron blurted. He took a large step, and cut the distance between them in half. “I do like you, really. In that way. I have for a long time. It’s just…” his cheeks flushed.
“Just what?”
“I don’t want to make a mess of it, that’s all. You’re one of my best friends. You and Harry mean everything, and I couldn’t stand it if I drove either one of you away. Bloody hell, you know how much rubbish I am with girls; I can never tell if what they’re saying is what they really mean, and I can’t buy a romantic gift to save my life. It’s…well, I guess it’s safer to be just friends with you. Because you’re important to me, Hermione. More important than any other girl could ever be.”
Tears stung the back of Hermione’s eyes, but she forced them back. “Actually, I think you’re quite good at the romantic gifts,” she said. “Especially when you’re not trying too hard. Like that perfume you got me in our sixth year - I still have it, and I still wear it. For special occasions. Or when I want to be reminded of you.”
“Reminded of me? We’re together almost all the time. I’d think you’d be ruddy sick of me by now.” Ron’s face relaxed into a soft smile.
Hermione was about to say, “I could never be sick of you,” but then heard the shrill whistle of the tea kettle; before she could react, Ron had silenced it with non-verbal magic.
“So, erm, what do we do now?” he asked. He took a few steps closer.
“You mean, ‘now’ now, or ‘now’ as in ‘going forward’?”
Ron hesitated. “Both, I guess.”
“Well, as for the future I suppose we could start, you know, going out, doing things as a couple. Spending more time alone together. But as for right now...” Hermione toyed with the sash on her robe, her eyes shifting from Ron’s face, to the table just beyond him which was set with their two mugs, a spoon set beside each one, and a napkin beneath the cup. But gradually her eyes settled on Ron who, she noticed with a start, had moved directly in front of her. She could smell him, and felt his warm breath on her face. She could even detect subtle highlights in his hair, which she’d never noticed before.
“How about we start with this?” he said, and curled a finger beneath her chin. He tilted her head upward, then leaned in; his lips hovered over hers for a few seconds, excruciatingly close. Despite her best efforts, Hermione couldn’t sustain the light whimper that escaped her throat.
“Please, Ron,” she murmured, “just kiss me already.”
Then his mouth came down blissfully on top of hers. They were tentative at first, testing the waters; Hermione moved closer, gently leaning against his chest. Ron reciprocated by putting his hands on her waist, then slowly sliding them around to her back.
She then felt the sharp thrill of his tongue sliding through her lips and into her mouth. After that, the world fell away. All she knew was the warmth of his arms against her body, the rhythm of his breathing against her chest, and the fact that after years of waiting, he was finally kissing her. It was a long, deep, soft kiss that seemed to last for ages. It was the kind of kiss she had dreamed about more times than she could possibly count. Best of all, it was with Ron.
When the kiss ended, she leaned against him, settling her head comfortably against his shoulder. She was so at ease, she felt that she could almost fall asleep right there in his arms.
“Wow, that was bloody amazing,” he breathed. “If I’d known it was going to be that good, I would have done it a long time ago.”
“Very funny,” Hermione replied, but smiled.
“No, really I’m dead serious. In fact, how about we continue it in the broom shed?” Ron raised his eyebrows suggestively. “I’ve heard it’s the place to be for those in the mood for a bit of a snog.”
“Well, everyone will be up soon and they’ll be wanting to open gifts.” Yet even as she said this Hermione felt a rush of excitement. Snogging with Ron. Wow. She still couldn’t believe it. Part of her thought it had to be a dream, and feared that any moment she would wake up back in Ginny’s room.
“Oh, they won’t be up for hours.” Ron smiled. “Come on, are you game?”
“But we’re not dressed for the snow.”
Ron cocked his head. “So, it’s not snowing hard and the shed’s just outside.”
The boyish look in his eyes was impossible to resist, so Hermione agreed. With her hand clasped tightly in his, she allowed him to lead her out the kitchen door. The snow was falling steadily now, although not so hard that they couldn’t see their way to the broom shed. Hermione held on to Ron’s hand, trying her best to keep her footing even as the cold seeped through her slippers and socks. Then, without warning, Ron abruptly stopped; her eyes focused on the ground, Hermione ran into him. But he caught her in his arms, as the two of them went tumbling into a snowbank.
Hermione let out a squeal. “Goodness, it’s freezing! Ron, what on earth did you stop for?” But when she tried to get up, she met with resistance in the form of Ron’s hand on her arm. He guided her back down against him, and against her feeble protests of being cold and wet, he took her face in his hands and silenced her with a kiss.
Needless to say they never made it to the broom shed.
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: A fluffy holiday fic in which Ron and Hermione get flirty, Hermione confronts Ron about their "relationship" and they finally get together
Preferred Rating: PG-R
OBHWF Inclusion: No
Holiday Choice (Christmas, New Year's, Both, or Unimportant): Christmas
If both, when would you like the fic to be posted? n/a
Other Holidays to incorporate (optional, maximum of three): None
One to three specifics you want (optional): A kiss, something involving snow, H/G relationship
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): Horror, Non-con, OOCness
Thank you for participating in the Winter Exchange! Happy Holidays!
Author: lunalovepotter
Beta: the_vixxmeister
Rating: PG-13
Word count: About 2,400+
Summary: All Hermione Granger wants for Christmas is Ron Weasley.
Warnings: fluffiness, lots of fluffiness
Disclaimer: JKR’s characters, my imagination.
Author's Notes: As always a huge thanks to my fantastic beta the_vixxmeister! Hope you all enjoy the fic.
The Gift
Hermione Granger awoke on Christmas morning to the sight of snowflakes drifting down outside the bedroom window. Judging by the soft grayish light, she guessed that it was still very early. So she contentedly snuggled farther under the blankets and pulled the handmade quilt up to her chin. Then she drew her knees up to her stomach and curled into a ball like she used to as a child while waiting for her parents to come wake her up to open Christmas presents. In reality, of course she would have already made the trip downstairs to check on her gifts; but she never told them that, because she knew it made them happy to watch her ‘discover’ the colorfully wrapped boxes beneath the tree.
The older she’d grown, the less time she’d spent at home with her parents. Most Christmases were now spent at the Burrow with the Weasleys and Harry; which of course she loved, since it was her second home. She loved the smells of fresh baking that permeated the house, the sounds of laughter and music, and the constant flow of hot cocoa (which they sometimes spiked with a touch of rum when Molly wasn’t looking). And this would be the first Christmas that they wouldn’t have the shadow of Voldemort hanging over them. It promised to be the best Christmas ever.
At least, it could be. Hermione closed her eyes, then stretched her body out to its full length and sank into the mattress, willing sleep to overtake her once again. She heard the sound of bedsprings groaning as Ginny shifted in her bed on the other side of the room. They’d stayed up late talking the night before, so it would be at least a good couple of hours before she woke up.
What had they talked about, but the boys, of course. Ginny and Harry were happily coupled now. Harry was almost a completely different person now that the war was over, and he no longer had the weight of the prophecy on his shoulders. He loved life, loved his friends, and of course, loved Ginny. It was sweet to see them together, so comfortable and easy with one another; not overly affectionate, but once in awhile Harry would run his fingers through Ginny’s fiery red hair, or Ginny would lean against him with her head on his shoulder. More than once, they’d been caught having a quick snog in the broom shed or behind a tree in the garden. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were thrilled to pieces, but at the same time they were already cautioning Harry and Ginny not to rush into anything.
Meanwhile, Hermione and Ron continued their game of flirtation. They were like clockwork; Ron would playfully rib her about something, she would act annoyed by making a smart remark, while she really enjoyed the fact that he was paying attention to her. If they brushed against each other even in the most casual way, like when she passed him a plate, or when he picked up something of hers off the floor and handed it to her, she felt heat pour through her body. She sensed that Ron felt it, too; whenever their eyes met in a moment like that, Ron’s cheeks would flush crimson and he would smile quickly before looking away. They’d come close, more than once, to a kiss. So close, but yet so far. Neither of them had been able to lean forward to cover that extra quarter-inch of space between them, to bring their lips together. It was maddening.
Like any good girlfriend would, Ginny had offered on more than one occasion to give her older brother a swift kick in the arse to get him moving. “Honestly,” she’d said, “I knew he was a little dense when it comes to love, but this is bloody ridiculous.” But Hermione always politely refused. When it happened, she wanted it to be completely real and natural. Ron would have to realize it on his own, and only then would they really be together.
Bloody hell, would he ever realize it? She didn’t know how much longer she could live like this; maybe it was time for her to get the ball rolling. After all, they’d been best friends for seven years - they’d fought battles together, and helped each other through everything from exams to relationships. He knew her probably better than just about anyone, even her own parents, and Harry. But if he knew her so well, why was it taking him so long to figure out how she felt, and that it was okay for him to acknowledge it? The tension between them was palpable; whenever they were alone together, even for a few seconds, she felt it. She wanted him to grab her and snog her face off, but still, he waited.
Finally Hermione gave up on the idea of sleep, and decided instead to take advantage of the quiet house and enjoy some time to herself. She moved aside the covers, put on her robe and slippers and headed downstairs for a mug of hot chocolate. It was possible that Mrs. Weasley would be awake, since she took to rising early to start breakfast - but thankfully, when Hermione reached the bottom of the stairs she noticed the kitchen was dark and quiet.
The Christmas tree twinkled brightly in the corner, lit up with white fairy lights and adorned with a motley collection of ornaments; most were handmade by the Weasley kids throughout the years, or had been purchased at craft fairs, but there were a handful of shiny red, gold and green aluminum balls dangling from the branches as well. Then there was the angel perched at the top; she was made of wood, hand carved and painted, with flowing golden hair, beautiful gold-plated wings and a long white gown, and a gold halo shimmering over her head. Hermione loved to look at that angel; the sight of it made her feel inexplicably happy. Her idea of perfect happiness would involve her and Ron snuggled on the sofa while she gazed at the angel.
“Hey, Hermione, I didn’t know you were up.” Ron came up next to her. She had been so absorbed in the tree that she hadn’t heard him on the stairs. His sleeve brushed her wrist as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his robe. “No matter how old I get, I still can’t sleep late on Christmas Day,” he said with a chuckle. “Looks like we got a pretty good haul this year.”
“Looks like it,” Hermione said quietly as she looked at the cluster of gifts under the tree, all the while acutely aware of his proximity to her. Her heart was throbbing in her chest.
“So, what’d you get me?” he nudged her, and winked.
She smiled vaguely. “You’ll just have to see,” she said. “I was going to get some hot cocoa. Want some?”
“Yeah, sure.” Ron smiled tiredly, and he followed her into the kitchen. She felt his eyes on her the entire time; there was a fleeting moment when she thought she felt something brush against her neck, but she didn’t dare turn around.
Once in the kitchen, she busied herself getting the hot water and the cocoa, all the while conscious of Ron’s movements as he first got the mugs from the cupboard, then napkins and spoons from the drawer
“I’m surprised mum isn’t up already,” he said.
Hermione started the flame under the tea kettle and took a deep breath. “Actually I’m glad she’s not,” she said. When she turned around, she saw Ron looking at her with a somewhat confused expression.
She hesitated, questioning herself; part of her couldn’t believe she’d said it. But no, this had to be done. It was time. “Ron, we have to talk.”
“Yeah, all right,” Ron said, sounding uncertain. “What’s going on?”
“Do you like me?”
“Huh? Of course I like you. Hermione, what’s this about?”
“No, I know you like me as a friend. But what I mean is, do you really like me…?” Before Ron could answer, she went on. “I feel that strange prickly sensation whenever we touch each other, I see the way you blush when I look at you…Whenever I see Harry and Ginny together, I wish that was us. Ron, really, if something is going to happen with us it needs to happen now. It’s been far too long. Of course, if you don’t like me that way, it means you’re leading me on, which of course would be deplorable, but at least now we’d get it out in the open…”
“I’m not leading you on,” Ron blurted. He took a large step, and cut the distance between them in half. “I do like you, really. In that way. I have for a long time. It’s just…” his cheeks flushed.
“Just what?”
“I don’t want to make a mess of it, that’s all. You’re one of my best friends. You and Harry mean everything, and I couldn’t stand it if I drove either one of you away. Bloody hell, you know how much rubbish I am with girls; I can never tell if what they’re saying is what they really mean, and I can’t buy a romantic gift to save my life. It’s…well, I guess it’s safer to be just friends with you. Because you’re important to me, Hermione. More important than any other girl could ever be.”
Tears stung the back of Hermione’s eyes, but she forced them back. “Actually, I think you’re quite good at the romantic gifts,” she said. “Especially when you’re not trying too hard. Like that perfume you got me in our sixth year - I still have it, and I still wear it. For special occasions. Or when I want to be reminded of you.”
“Reminded of me? We’re together almost all the time. I’d think you’d be ruddy sick of me by now.” Ron’s face relaxed into a soft smile.
Hermione was about to say, “I could never be sick of you,” but then heard the shrill whistle of the tea kettle; before she could react, Ron had silenced it with non-verbal magic.
“So, erm, what do we do now?” he asked. He took a few steps closer.
“You mean, ‘now’ now, or ‘now’ as in ‘going forward’?”
Ron hesitated. “Both, I guess.”
“Well, as for the future I suppose we could start, you know, going out, doing things as a couple. Spending more time alone together. But as for right now...” Hermione toyed with the sash on her robe, her eyes shifting from Ron’s face, to the table just beyond him which was set with their two mugs, a spoon set beside each one, and a napkin beneath the cup. But gradually her eyes settled on Ron who, she noticed with a start, had moved directly in front of her. She could smell him, and felt his warm breath on her face. She could even detect subtle highlights in his hair, which she’d never noticed before.
“How about we start with this?” he said, and curled a finger beneath her chin. He tilted her head upward, then leaned in; his lips hovered over hers for a few seconds, excruciatingly close. Despite her best efforts, Hermione couldn’t sustain the light whimper that escaped her throat.
“Please, Ron,” she murmured, “just kiss me already.”
Then his mouth came down blissfully on top of hers. They were tentative at first, testing the waters; Hermione moved closer, gently leaning against his chest. Ron reciprocated by putting his hands on her waist, then slowly sliding them around to her back.
She then felt the sharp thrill of his tongue sliding through her lips and into her mouth. After that, the world fell away. All she knew was the warmth of his arms against her body, the rhythm of his breathing against her chest, and the fact that after years of waiting, he was finally kissing her. It was a long, deep, soft kiss that seemed to last for ages. It was the kind of kiss she had dreamed about more times than she could possibly count. Best of all, it was with Ron.
When the kiss ended, she leaned against him, settling her head comfortably against his shoulder. She was so at ease, she felt that she could almost fall asleep right there in his arms.
“Wow, that was bloody amazing,” he breathed. “If I’d known it was going to be that good, I would have done it a long time ago.”
“Very funny,” Hermione replied, but smiled.
“No, really I’m dead serious. In fact, how about we continue it in the broom shed?” Ron raised his eyebrows suggestively. “I’ve heard it’s the place to be for those in the mood for a bit of a snog.”
“Well, everyone will be up soon and they’ll be wanting to open gifts.” Yet even as she said this Hermione felt a rush of excitement. Snogging with Ron. Wow. She still couldn’t believe it. Part of her thought it had to be a dream, and feared that any moment she would wake up back in Ginny’s room.
“Oh, they won’t be up for hours.” Ron smiled. “Come on, are you game?”
“But we’re not dressed for the snow.”
Ron cocked his head. “So, it’s not snowing hard and the shed’s just outside.”
The boyish look in his eyes was impossible to resist, so Hermione agreed. With her hand clasped tightly in his, she allowed him to lead her out the kitchen door. The snow was falling steadily now, although not so hard that they couldn’t see their way to the broom shed. Hermione held on to Ron’s hand, trying her best to keep her footing even as the cold seeped through her slippers and socks. Then, without warning, Ron abruptly stopped; her eyes focused on the ground, Hermione ran into him. But he caught her in his arms, as the two of them went tumbling into a snowbank.
Hermione let out a squeal. “Goodness, it’s freezing! Ron, what on earth did you stop for?” But when she tried to get up, she met with resistance in the form of Ron’s hand on her arm. He guided her back down against him, and against her feeble protests of being cold and wet, he took her face in his hands and silenced her with a kiss.
Needless to say they never made it to the broom shed.
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: A fluffy holiday fic in which Ron and Hermione get flirty, Hermione confronts Ron about their "relationship" and they finally get together
Preferred Rating: PG-R
OBHWF Inclusion: No
Holiday Choice (Christmas, New Year's, Both, or Unimportant): Christmas
If both, when would you like the fic to be posted? n/a
Other Holidays to incorporate (optional, maximum of three): None
One to three specifics you want (optional): A kiss, something involving snow, H/G relationship
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): Horror, Non-con, OOCness
Thank you for participating in the Winter Exchange! Happy Holidays!