Fic Request Fulfilled for lunalovepotter
Title: Hermione Granger’s Spelling Bee
Author: naiad8
Beta: gwen1170 (otherwise known as superbeta)
Rating: R (but only just, due to a knickers reference)
Word count:5,155
Summary: In a moment of contentment, Hermione asks Ron to marry her…he doesn’t say yes. He’s got other plans.
Warnings: Excessive fluff (poor beta had to brush her teeth afterwards)…possible problems with characterization
Disclaimer: I own only my one weirdness…JKR’s magic is all her own.
Author's Notes: Sorry this is so late. I had a lot of health problems, and lots of work to catch up on…and then I had to figure out what might stand for each of the letters involved…..
Ron paused in the doorway, and rubbed at his eyes sleepily. It was just past three AM according to Hermione’s Muggle gidital clock. On his proper clock, it read “Too damn late, or too bloody early.” That seemed to fit the situation very well, he thought. Frankly, he was surprised he could sleep at all, given his plans for the upcoming holiday tomorrow, but in his usual fashion he’d fallen asleep not too long after his head hit his pillow, despite the fact that his girlfriend had not yet come to bed.
He knew she was prepping a brief for her mentor’s case tomorrow, and in typical Hermione fashion, she’d gone all barmy again. There was ink smudged on her fingers and one cheek, her eyes were bloodshot, her lower lip slightly swollen from being bitten in concentration. She wore her most ragged pajamas and slippers her mum had given her with little dog heads at the toes. They looked suspiciously like crups to him, and he’d often wondered if he should be offended that she wore his Patronus around on her feet. At least they kept her feet warm; there was nothing like having her icy toes wake him from a deep sleep.
Their kitchen table was covered with books, briefs and random bits of parchment, and Hermione’s soft hands were clenched tight around a battered quill. Even in exhaustion she was lovely. He bustled around the kitchen a bit, unsurprised when Hermione made no notice of him until he set the plate of biscuits and a cup of tea next to her neat stack of parchment.
“Oh, Ron!” she practically squeaked, her voice hoarse from lack of water and lack of use over the long night. “Whatever are you doing up, I know you have a big case….”
“Shh, love,” he stood behind her chair, and set his hands on her exquisitely tense shoulders. He began to rub them, not too firm and not too softly, just as he knew she liked. She hummed appreciatively, and he could feel her begin to melt just a little under his ministrations. In the two years they had lived together since she’d come out of St. Mungo’s , they’d helped each other through the intricacies of becoming magical solicitors, and Ron had learned where each knot of nervous tension hid in Hermione’s neck and shoulders, and how to chase it away. Now that he had his own practice, being close to a year ahead of Hermione due to the extent of her injuries, things were a bit calmer for him, and he enjoyed being able to pamper her a bit whenever she’d let him. Although the moans she was making were driving him mad, he wanted to cart her off into their bedroom and assure himself that she was completely relaxed in every way. Best put that off until tomorrow, when this case of hers was over, and he’d set his whole plan forward and she’d said yes….she would say yes, wouldn’t she? And then they could shag ‘til they were completely exhausted.
Dropping her quill, she reached her hands up to cover his loosely. She tilted her head back, her eyes closed, a beautiful smile on her flushed face. “I love you, Ron.” He smiled; he could never hear that often enough. He bent to kiss her tangled curls, when she whispered something else, almost as though it had escaped without her knowing. “Marry me?”
He froze, head still bent over hers, his eyes wide and his thought racing. Oh, gods, what was he supposed to do? Say yes? Stall? He’d had everything planned for….
Her eyes popped open to stare up at him once she had realized what she’d said. He realized too late what it would look like to her: that he was frozen with his mouth opening and closing like a bloody fish, and he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. She, in her fashion, would take it completely the wrong way. She hopped out of her chair, grabbed her stack of notes and her wand and whisked down the hall to their bedroom, the choked sounds of her tears following in her wake. He blinked a few times, and then raced after her, cursing the fact that he’d left this wand on the bedside table as he banged on the locked door.
“’Mione, I’m sorry! Hermione, let me in!” She’d locked the door, and apparently put on a Silencing charm to boot. By the time he’d worked himself up into enough of a state to perform wandless Alohamora, she was gone, drawers left open and clothes scattered about. She’d left him.
***
Tap, tap, tap. Hermione woke groggy and a bit confused that her companion in the too small bed was Basil, her teddy bear, and not Ron. Why was she in her old bedroom? Then the events of earlier that morning washed over her, and a new bout of tears threatened. She struggled out of the cocoon of sheets she’d built around herself, and glancing at the clock on the bedside table, was grateful to the owl at the window for waking her at seven thirty. Otherwise, she’d be late for the Wizengamot session, and there would be hell to pay with Mr. Garond, her mentor. Focusing her mind on her work rather than the sad state of her personal life, she absentmindedly opened the window to the unfamiliar owl, which dropped a small parcel on her well worn childhood desk and flew back out the open window with a polite hoot.
Ron would have sent Pig, so this is most likely from work. She picked up the small package, casting a few simple detection charms more out of habit that need, one did not go through the Horcrux hunt and escape Death Eaters half a dozen times and end up in St. Mungo’s for a year and a half without becoming cautious by nature. There was nothing suspicious, other than the package was not the right size for the documents Mr. Garond so often sent her first thing in the morning.
She undid the fine wrapping paper and gasped a bit at the name on the small box. Smythe-Fortuna was the finest jeweler in the Wizarding world. Surely, Ron wouldn’t have...
She opened the box, but instead of the piece of jewelry she had thought it contained, she blinked a bit at the small elegant brooch the box contained. It was a beautiful thing, something she could wear everyday, but still something special and lovely. A small cursive letter “W”, made up of tiny iridescent fragments of Chinese Fireball shell set in gold, with the first curl of the letter wrapped around a small bright sapphire, her birthstone. It was thoughtful, it was perfect. But a “W”? She pushed the thought away, not ready to be disappointed again. It was almost beyond believing that Ron could have found something so…so marvelous at this hour of the morning. Had he Flooed to the Minsk store? Had he begged it from one of his brothers, who might have gotten it as a gift for his wife, or even their mother?
There was no note, no explanation, but her heart was a tiny bit lighter. Perhaps she had overreacted. Ron never did very well with surprises. And, she hadn’t been completely certain what had made her say such a thing anyway. Other than the fact that she had longed for the same closeness, the same happiness she’d seen on Harry and Ginny’s faces when they’d gotten married this past summer. Somehow, that wish had just bubbled out of her last night, just has Ron had confessed he loved her when she’d fixed his homework paper so very long ago. It was those unguarded moments when all was revealed and all barriers dropped that were most wonderful, or most dangerous to a relationship as fiery as her and Ron’s.
She could still feel a small twinge of hurt clench at her heart, but she was a bit more resigned that there was still a shred of hope for them. Maybe someday Ron would be ready to grow up and do more than play at keeping house. They were still very young, no matter what they’d been through. She opened the valise she’d haphazardly packed earlier and took out a horridly wrinkled set of court robes that she set right with some deft wand work. She pulled them on, and tried to make some semblance of order out of her hair with a tiny brush left in the small dresser, and did some cleansing charms and a glamour to cover over her sorry appearance and the evidence of tears and lack of sleep. When there was a knock, she started, but when her mother pushed open the door, she couldn’t hold back the tears as she fell into that comforting embrace.
Many tears, a few more glamour charms, and some half an hour later, Hermione sat with her parents looking at her push some bland bran cereal around with a spoon. Hermione was distracted, and she felt unable to fully confess her reasons for her sudden return to her parents’ home. She knew they were worried, but she could only sit and stare distractedly at the dull bowl of brown muck and wish that Ron was here to make her a proper fry-up and swear just the right amount of jam on her toast. Tears threatened again, when there was another round of tapping at the kitchen window, and Helen Granger walked over to let in yet another mysterious post owl.
This one had not yet learned the dignity of the Smythe-Fortuna delivery owl, and hooted happily as Helen dared to stroke his feathers. This parcel was almost the same size as the last had been, but quite a bit heavier, and Hermione tore through the wrapping to discover a bottle of her favorite indigo ink. She took out the cork, and the exotic smell of neroli rose wafted out, coaxing a smile from her lips.
Again, there was no note, but she could not help but think that the ink was from Ron. Perhaps he understood how much he’d hurt her…and although gifts wouldn’t heal her heart completely, knowing that he’d gotten himself up early to try and make it up to her was something. But, she still needed to talk to him, and he hadn’t even sent a note.
David Granger cleared his throat, “That’s a bit of an odd gift for one’s fi…one’s girl on Valentine’s.”
Hermione blinked for a moment. Oh. She’d completely forgotten it was Valentine’s today. Not that she’d ever cared much at all for it. But, Ron sometimes liked to make a fuss out of it, if he happened to remember, or they weren’t in mortal peril at the time. Maybe these packages had been ordered days ago, and he hadn’t done anything at all about what happened last night. Fear and sadness settled in her stomach again, and she gave up on having any breakfast, instead rising listlessly to gather her briefcase and give a kiss to her parents.
“We’re meeting at the Leaky for lunch at half past noon as usual, yes?” Helen asked, before Hermione prepared to Apparate. They’d met every Friday at the Leaky Cauldron since she’d gotten out of St. Mungo’s.
“Yes, Mum. Thanks for…breakfast.”
She gave her obliviously worried parents a wan smile and then Disapparated, headed to the office of Garond and Mokki, Solicitors at Law.
Her office…well, it was more a closet than an office, was neat and tidy, everything organized to within an inch of its’ life, so, she noticed the two sugar quills lying across her Muggle desk calendar immediately. She couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips, wondering how Ron had gotten them there…had he snuck past Radpok, the goblin legal secretary, or had he somehow managed to get an owl to drop them with such perfect alignment. One was the palest shade of yellow, and one was a light green and sure enough, when she indulged with a couple of licks, they were her favorites, lemon and lime.
Her earlier question was answered when Radpok stuck his head in abruptly. “About time you got here. Mr. Garond wants his brief, and your Weasley was here…I’m to give you these at 8:15.”
He thrust forward a handful of bright yellow daffodils, and she took them out of instinct. She sat down heavily in her chair, and tried to figure out what Ron was about. No note, no visit, but flowers? And candy, and ink and jewelry? She felt under her robe to the brooch she had put inside the pocket of her blouse. She couldn’t bring herself to wear it, not when it raised so many questions, but she couldn’t leave her parents’ house without it either. At least now she knew that these gifts weren’t all prearranged, that he’d actively participated even after…after her silly, stupid words.
She didn’t have time for this, at least not now. Mr. Garond and the current case deserved her full attention. She unpacked the brief from her case, and set out to knock on Mr. Garond’s door.
The Wizengamot session wasn’t for another hour, so after talking briefly with Mr. Garond, she sat down again at her tiny desk, and tried diligently not to think about Ron and what had happened and what all the gifts meant. She opened her desk drawer to get out a sheet of self-replicating triplicate paper in order to work on some contracts, but resting on the top of her paper supply was a single, perfectly round and scrumptious-looking orange.
Her stomach grumbled in appreciation, and she picked it up, puzzling over the man she loved. She began to peel it, and sure enough, it was a cara cara orange, her favorite, in England, in February. She popped a slice of the pink flesh into her mouth, and was surprised to find there were tears in her eyes, and they weren’t necessarily sad ones. Her heart didn’t ache quite so much either.
She honestly tried to do some work once she’d cleaned her sticky fingers, but she found herself instead scribbling her name, Ron’s name, little pictures of the gifts she’d received, and generally being a complete ninny, worse than she’d been in fifth year at Hogwarts! She’d had to take great pains to make sure that Ron had never seen her absentminded doodles of “Hermione Jane Weasley” or “Hermione Granger-Weasley” or “Mrs. Ronald Weasley”. She’d thought herself foolish then, and it was equally foolish now, more so when the topic was so serious! She was so caught up in her musings, she was almost hit in the head with the box that an irate owl was holding over her head.
It squawked impatiently, and Hermione hurried to take the large box from it’s talons. It flapped away in a huff, and she nervously opened the purple wrapping paper and raised the cardboard lid of the large but light box, only to slam it shut with a bright blush suffusing her cheeks. He couldn’t! He didn’t! At work no less, the git.
Checking the door to make sure no one was coming, she opened the box once again to examine the pair of pure white lacey silk knickers inside. She should be more indignant about receiving such a thing at work, but in truth, she was a bit tickled at the naughtiness of the whole thing. They reminded her of the first time they’d been alone in Ron’s bright, if small, new office of Weasley at Law: he’d closed the window shades with a flick of his wand and set her up on his desk and proceeded to tear off said knickers. He’d said at the time that he’d buy her new ones, but given the intensity of the passionate encounter that had followed, she wouldn’t have bet that he would have remembered.
Apparently he had.
She looked at the time, and gasped and how many minutes had passed while she indulged in thoughts of Ron. She shrank the lingerie box, and put preserving charms on the sugar quills and the flowers before shrinking them and stuffing them into her case as well. Then she whirled about and Apparated to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, ready to observe her boss at work.
Sometimes, even after hours of study and seeming days spend in the back of the courtroom, Hermione still couldn’t understand the legal system of Wizards. Even after all the fuss and bother made in the Daily Prophet for weeks about this case, the entire hearing for Nigella Wrinklespurt, the poor Hag who’d been charged for harboring a dangerous animal because she’d tried to help an ailing Hippogriff in its last days, the whole hearing took less than half an hour. Not nearly enough to write more than two feet of notes, and certainly not enough to take her mind away from trying to figure out what on earth was going on between her and Ron. As the final procedural routines were being cleared up and Ms. Wrinklespurt being completely cleared (Mr. Garond was very good as his job, of course), Hermione went to put her notes away in her case, when her eyes fell upon the sheet of nothings she’d been scribbling in her office. A sudden odd thought occurred to her. A “W”, then ink, and then lemon and lime quills. And then the daffodils, they didn’t quite fit, but then, they were a happy shade of yellow. And then the orange, and the underwear….oh, she was mad. Just simply mad. It was all much too elaborate for Ron, renowned for having the emotional capacity of a teaspoon.
Still, if the next gift began with an “M”, she would be convinced that she was losing her mind. That, or Ron was spoiling her.
So, when Dobby met her outside the doors to Courtroom Number Six, she gave him an enormous smile when he handed her a jar. Mr. Garond paused by her side as she hugged the jar to her chest.
“My dear girl, if I had known you liked Seville marmalade so much, I would have had Radpok but some in the work pantry ages ago,” he said with a smile.
She tried to regain her composure, but she was much afraid that her answer was simply more confusing to him, “Oh, but Ron hates it. He knows it’s my favorite though.”
Mr. Garond ran his fingers through thinning gray hair and simply chuckled. “Your young man seems to be a fine fellow. In fact…,” he felt around his robes for a moment, and came up with a small box, which he handed to her with a smile. “See you after lunch, Ms. Granger.”
Hermione opened the box, her hands almost shaking, wondering if her theory would prove true. Inside was a small pebble, a luminescent warm brown. It was amber, and inside was preserved a tiny leaf. Amber, which started with “A”. She found herself bouncing down the halls to the stairway, and humming all the way through the Atrium, the pebble clutched warm in one hand, her case in the other, and the jar of marmalade in her packet.
She Apparated to Diagon Alley, though it was too early to meet her parents. The street was decorated in full regalia for Valentine’s Day, with heart and flowers, cupids and arrows. The shop window of WWW was plastered with ridiculously fake-romantic gag gifts in the most atrocious shades of pink, and Hermione uncharacteristically laughed in glee at the sight. She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but the morose woman who’d woken up in her childhood bedroom that morning had been replaced by a romantic fool who had to use every ounce of her willpower not to Apparate to Ron’s office in Hogsmeade and tackle him with kisses and an enthusiastic, “Yes!”. He’d said he also had a big case today, and, well, she wanted to see what else he could come up with. That, and a not insignificant part of her was still worried that he was angry at her for running out, and that he wouldn’t finish the whole enterprise…that he would recant and she’d be left heartbroken.
Eventually, she made her way to the Leaky, where Mum and Dad were waiting, a large box setting on the table and mildly worried smiles on their faces.
Hermione greeted them, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the box. “Is that….?”
Helen smiled, “Ron left it with us yesterday afternoon. He knew we’d be seeing you around this time of day. He said the timing was very important.”
She lifted the lid off the sturdy cardboard box, and found something puzzling. It was a sweater, in a lovely rose pink, in a complicated cable knot pattern. It didn’t fit with the rest of the gifts, though it was beautiful, and looked handmade. She picked it up, and a note fluttered to the floor.
“Welcome to the family! (It’s about time he asked!) M. Weasley”
Tears formed in her eyes. It was a Weasley jumper. Her very own Weasley jumper. She glanced down, and realized that under her jumper there were not one, but two more. These however, were Ron’s. One was tiny, and must have been the first one she’d ever seen on him, from that first Christmas at Hogwarts. And the other, he must have nicked from her closet. It was from what would have been seventh year, and she’d stolen it from him almost immediately, as soon as he’d worn it enough for it to carry his scent. It was enormous on her, and she loved it, loved its giant ‘R’ and its soft maroon wool; loved that she could lay claim to his clothes and his kisses. The two R’s of the sweaters swam in front of her eyes, and she broke down in happy tears, her mother patting her back in anxious puzzlement until Hermione beamed a smile through her tears.
“It’s alright, Mum. I’ll be just wonderful by the end of the day, I’m certain of it.”
She forced herself to go to work, amazed at how difficult it was to do the responsible, mature thing. Ron must have been rubbing off on her all these years. She giggled at the thought of exactly how much she knew he liked to, “rub off” on her, and how very much she liked it as well. She slipped two of the boxes out of the collection of things she had shrunk in her case, and went to the lavatory. When she returned to her office, she had on a lovely new jumper, and under it all, a lacey set of knickers that she planned to show Ron at the first opportunity. She threw caution to the wind, and pinned the beautiful W brooch on her robes. She sat at her desk, wondering how the clock could move so slowly, and stared intently at the stack on contracts that she needed to peruse. She took a deep breath, pushed aside her emotions, and waded into the legalistic morass.
Two hours later, she was done, and just as she was beginning to wonder when the next gift would arrive, in flew Pig, buzzing around Radpok’s head and causing a general uproar. She waved him into her office, and he hooted happily at her.
“Silly bird! You think fatherhood would have calmed you down a bit….”
She took the roll of parchment from his talons and he flew off again, back to Ron most likely, where Hermione most definitely wanted to be herself. She unrolled the parchment, and a picture fell out.
She picked it up, and gasped audibly. It must have been from sixth year, though probably after the poisoning incident, since they were in the same room together. She was sitting reading in a chair at the far end of the Common Room, and Ron was in the foreground. He was working on some homework assignment, until he turned his head and looked longingly at her, desire and sadness evident on his face. She glanced up for a moment, and gave him a tiny smile, and he beamed back. Then the frame restarted, with Ron working and her reading.
She looked at the parchment, and was simply floored.
Yearning
Do you know how it feels like to wait for a kiss from you?
Do you know what my heart endures?
Your ever so soft kisses as you take me in your arms and hold me so tight.
How I long for you to return.
I think of you every hour, minutes and seconds that go by.
I love you and admire your hard work.
You are my forever love.
As darkness, falls close your eyes and dream of me.
I am forever yours. *
*(poem by Stacey Chilemi)
She stood up, grabbing her case and racing out the door, the parchment still held tight in her hand. Before she’d even knocked on his door, Mr. Garond had opened it, and was waving her away.
“Come back on Monday, Ms. Granger. You deserve a bit of a mini-break.”
“Thank you, Mr. Garond!” she smiled, too happy to explain any further.
With a pop, she’d arrived in the parlour of their flat, but it wasn’t Ron waiting for her. It was Harry and Ginny.
“Oh!” she couldn’t help the disappointment in her voice, and the matching set of raised eyebrow she got from Mr. and Mrs. Potter made her giggle.
“We spend a romantic holiday waiting around her flat to give her some barmy gifts from my git of a brother, and this is the thanks we get!” Ginny exclaimed, laughter in her voice.
“We should really just leave then, I’m sure she’s not interested.” Harry sighed, failing in his attempt to act disinterested.
Hermione stood on her tiptoes and bounced, unable to contain her nervous energy. “What’s the M?”
Ginny gave her a shocked stare. “How did you know it was an ‘M’?” And Ginny brought forth a box from a Honeydukes, with a large M shaped in their best chocolate. Hermione grabbed it, holding the poem and the photo and the box of chocolate all together and smiling ear to ear.
“Thank you for being here. It wouldn’t be complete without the two of you.” She held back the tears that threatened again, mad at herself for being so emotional. She hadn’t cried this much in years, and certainly not so many happy tears. “Now, where’s Ron with ‘E’?”
“What’s with the letter theme?” Harry asked.
Sighing, Hermione let out a long streaming explanation that neither Harry nor Ginny understood very well. “The brooch was a ‘W’, and the ink was ‘I’, the two quills were two ‘L’s’. Then the lovely yellow flowers were ‘Y’, and the orange was an ‘O’, and the knic…well, let’s just say there was a ‘U’. And then the marmalade for the ‘M’, and the little amber stone for ‘A’, and the two Weasley jumpers for ‘R’s’, and then this lovely poem for ‘Y’, and then the chocolate for the ‘M’. There’s only the ‘E’ left!”
They stared at her, Harry befuddled, and Ginny thoughtful. Ginny bit her lip, then muttered, “Will You Marry…oh! Oh!” She grinned, “We knew he was asking tonight, but we didn’t know this was…oh! The prat did something romantic, wonders will never cease.” She elbowed Harry, who wrinkled his nose.
He held up a deck of Exploding Snap cards, and said, “I suppose this is the ‘E’?”
Hermione was a bit disappointed, but she reached out to take the deck. Harry let go quickly, and she caught the deck. The tug behind her navel meant that it was more than just a deck of exploding cards.
She arrived none too gracefully, falling on the floor, her case and the chocolate and all the other odds and ends scattered around her. Once she had taken a deep breath, she looked around, her hand scrambling to find her wand, when she saw Ron standing in front of her, anxiety all over his face.
She said the first thing that came to mind. “Yes!”
Of course, he said, “Yes!” at the exact same moment.
He was adorable of course, tousled red hair and bright blue eyes and the scar across his cheek. “Really?” He practically squeaked like he had in third year.
“Really truly.” She enveloped him in a hug, and it felt like she had come home. They lost themselves for a time in the sweetest of kisses.
Finally, hair mussed, robes askew, and being pressed firmly into the flower chintz couch which was the only object of furniture in the large room, Hermione regained enough of her senses from Ron’s drugging kisses to wonder aloud, “Where are we?”
Ron’s lips were pressed firmly against her neck, and she could feel his words more than here them, “Flat above the office in Hogsmeade.”
She arched against him as he began to nibble on her earlobe, “The giant one with three bedrooms and the lovely kitchen and…”
“That ruddy big bathtub, yes,” he whispered against her ear, before pulling away a bit. “Twins forwarded me an advance to put a down payment.”
“Oh! Ron, that’s…why?” Hermione wasn’t quite sure she wanted to know why the Twins were loaning them money.
“They’ve hired us on as their attorneys. And they said, ‘Only if it’s the both of you’.” Ron grinned sheepishly, “I suppose we could be Weasley and Weasley.” He ran a long finger over the dragon shell brooch. “But, it could be Weasley, Granger-Weasley if…”
She cut him off, “Weasley and Weasley sounds just lovely, Ron.” She tried to pull him back down to her, but he resisted.
He looked worried again, “I would have said yes last night, love. But…”
“You didn’t want to ruin the surprise. I think I understand.” She smiled, and he gave a groan and began attacking her neck, and the buttons on her robes, with enthusiasm. She gave a soft laugh, “How long have you been planning all this?”
“Six months…,” he mumbled against her collarbone. “Ever since…”
“Harry and Ginny’s wedding,” she smiled, satisfied that this man knew her like no other. Soon enough, their soft sighs and murmured endearments were all the words being said, as Ron welcomed Hermione into their new home in the most thorough way possible. A month later, on the first day of Spring, Ron slid the a warm gold and amber ring on Hermione’s finger, and by summer, Hermione had finished her year of mentorship, and the magical law firm of Weasley and Weasley was born. A year after that, Hermione supposed that with the amount of time Reginald spend crawling on the floor of the office, it should be Weasley, Weasley and Weasley.
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: A romantic fluff-fest. Ron has decided to finally pop the question to Hermione on Valentine’s Day.
Preferred Rating: PG-13 (or “R” if author is legal age)
Specifics you want (optional, maximum of three): Hermione has to say ‘yes’ (I know, but still, I felt it needed to be said anyway. ;)
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): n/a
Thanks for participating in the exchange! Happy Valentine’s Day! ♥
Author: naiad8
Beta: gwen1170 (otherwise known as superbeta)
Rating: R (but only just, due to a knickers reference)
Word count:5,155
Summary: In a moment of contentment, Hermione asks Ron to marry her…he doesn’t say yes. He’s got other plans.
Warnings: Excessive fluff (poor beta had to brush her teeth afterwards)…possible problems with characterization
Disclaimer: I own only my one weirdness…JKR’s magic is all her own.
Author's Notes: Sorry this is so late. I had a lot of health problems, and lots of work to catch up on…and then I had to figure out what might stand for each of the letters involved…..
Ron paused in the doorway, and rubbed at his eyes sleepily. It was just past three AM according to Hermione’s Muggle gidital clock. On his proper clock, it read “Too damn late, or too bloody early.” That seemed to fit the situation very well, he thought. Frankly, he was surprised he could sleep at all, given his plans for the upcoming holiday tomorrow, but in his usual fashion he’d fallen asleep not too long after his head hit his pillow, despite the fact that his girlfriend had not yet come to bed.
He knew she was prepping a brief for her mentor’s case tomorrow, and in typical Hermione fashion, she’d gone all barmy again. There was ink smudged on her fingers and one cheek, her eyes were bloodshot, her lower lip slightly swollen from being bitten in concentration. She wore her most ragged pajamas and slippers her mum had given her with little dog heads at the toes. They looked suspiciously like crups to him, and he’d often wondered if he should be offended that she wore his Patronus around on her feet. At least they kept her feet warm; there was nothing like having her icy toes wake him from a deep sleep.
Their kitchen table was covered with books, briefs and random bits of parchment, and Hermione’s soft hands were clenched tight around a battered quill. Even in exhaustion she was lovely. He bustled around the kitchen a bit, unsurprised when Hermione made no notice of him until he set the plate of biscuits and a cup of tea next to her neat stack of parchment.
“Oh, Ron!” she practically squeaked, her voice hoarse from lack of water and lack of use over the long night. “Whatever are you doing up, I know you have a big case….”
“Shh, love,” he stood behind her chair, and set his hands on her exquisitely tense shoulders. He began to rub them, not too firm and not too softly, just as he knew she liked. She hummed appreciatively, and he could feel her begin to melt just a little under his ministrations. In the two years they had lived together since she’d come out of St. Mungo’s , they’d helped each other through the intricacies of becoming magical solicitors, and Ron had learned where each knot of nervous tension hid in Hermione’s neck and shoulders, and how to chase it away. Now that he had his own practice, being close to a year ahead of Hermione due to the extent of her injuries, things were a bit calmer for him, and he enjoyed being able to pamper her a bit whenever she’d let him. Although the moans she was making were driving him mad, he wanted to cart her off into their bedroom and assure himself that she was completely relaxed in every way. Best put that off until tomorrow, when this case of hers was over, and he’d set his whole plan forward and she’d said yes….she would say yes, wouldn’t she? And then they could shag ‘til they were completely exhausted.
Dropping her quill, she reached her hands up to cover his loosely. She tilted her head back, her eyes closed, a beautiful smile on her flushed face. “I love you, Ron.” He smiled; he could never hear that often enough. He bent to kiss her tangled curls, when she whispered something else, almost as though it had escaped without her knowing. “Marry me?”
He froze, head still bent over hers, his eyes wide and his thought racing. Oh, gods, what was he supposed to do? Say yes? Stall? He’d had everything planned for….
Her eyes popped open to stare up at him once she had realized what she’d said. He realized too late what it would look like to her: that he was frozen with his mouth opening and closing like a bloody fish, and he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. She, in her fashion, would take it completely the wrong way. She hopped out of her chair, grabbed her stack of notes and her wand and whisked down the hall to their bedroom, the choked sounds of her tears following in her wake. He blinked a few times, and then raced after her, cursing the fact that he’d left this wand on the bedside table as he banged on the locked door.
“’Mione, I’m sorry! Hermione, let me in!” She’d locked the door, and apparently put on a Silencing charm to boot. By the time he’d worked himself up into enough of a state to perform wandless Alohamora, she was gone, drawers left open and clothes scattered about. She’d left him.
***
Tap, tap, tap. Hermione woke groggy and a bit confused that her companion in the too small bed was Basil, her teddy bear, and not Ron. Why was she in her old bedroom? Then the events of earlier that morning washed over her, and a new bout of tears threatened. She struggled out of the cocoon of sheets she’d built around herself, and glancing at the clock on the bedside table, was grateful to the owl at the window for waking her at seven thirty. Otherwise, she’d be late for the Wizengamot session, and there would be hell to pay with Mr. Garond, her mentor. Focusing her mind on her work rather than the sad state of her personal life, she absentmindedly opened the window to the unfamiliar owl, which dropped a small parcel on her well worn childhood desk and flew back out the open window with a polite hoot.
Ron would have sent Pig, so this is most likely from work. She picked up the small package, casting a few simple detection charms more out of habit that need, one did not go through the Horcrux hunt and escape Death Eaters half a dozen times and end up in St. Mungo’s for a year and a half without becoming cautious by nature. There was nothing suspicious, other than the package was not the right size for the documents Mr. Garond so often sent her first thing in the morning.
She undid the fine wrapping paper and gasped a bit at the name on the small box. Smythe-Fortuna was the finest jeweler in the Wizarding world. Surely, Ron wouldn’t have...
She opened the box, but instead of the piece of jewelry she had thought it contained, she blinked a bit at the small elegant brooch the box contained. It was a beautiful thing, something she could wear everyday, but still something special and lovely. A small cursive letter “W”, made up of tiny iridescent fragments of Chinese Fireball shell set in gold, with the first curl of the letter wrapped around a small bright sapphire, her birthstone. It was thoughtful, it was perfect. But a “W”? She pushed the thought away, not ready to be disappointed again. It was almost beyond believing that Ron could have found something so…so marvelous at this hour of the morning. Had he Flooed to the Minsk store? Had he begged it from one of his brothers, who might have gotten it as a gift for his wife, or even their mother?
There was no note, no explanation, but her heart was a tiny bit lighter. Perhaps she had overreacted. Ron never did very well with surprises. And, she hadn’t been completely certain what had made her say such a thing anyway. Other than the fact that she had longed for the same closeness, the same happiness she’d seen on Harry and Ginny’s faces when they’d gotten married this past summer. Somehow, that wish had just bubbled out of her last night, just has Ron had confessed he loved her when she’d fixed his homework paper so very long ago. It was those unguarded moments when all was revealed and all barriers dropped that were most wonderful, or most dangerous to a relationship as fiery as her and Ron’s.
She could still feel a small twinge of hurt clench at her heart, but she was a bit more resigned that there was still a shred of hope for them. Maybe someday Ron would be ready to grow up and do more than play at keeping house. They were still very young, no matter what they’d been through. She opened the valise she’d haphazardly packed earlier and took out a horridly wrinkled set of court robes that she set right with some deft wand work. She pulled them on, and tried to make some semblance of order out of her hair with a tiny brush left in the small dresser, and did some cleansing charms and a glamour to cover over her sorry appearance and the evidence of tears and lack of sleep. When there was a knock, she started, but when her mother pushed open the door, she couldn’t hold back the tears as she fell into that comforting embrace.
Many tears, a few more glamour charms, and some half an hour later, Hermione sat with her parents looking at her push some bland bran cereal around with a spoon. Hermione was distracted, and she felt unable to fully confess her reasons for her sudden return to her parents’ home. She knew they were worried, but she could only sit and stare distractedly at the dull bowl of brown muck and wish that Ron was here to make her a proper fry-up and swear just the right amount of jam on her toast. Tears threatened again, when there was another round of tapping at the kitchen window, and Helen Granger walked over to let in yet another mysterious post owl.
This one had not yet learned the dignity of the Smythe-Fortuna delivery owl, and hooted happily as Helen dared to stroke his feathers. This parcel was almost the same size as the last had been, but quite a bit heavier, and Hermione tore through the wrapping to discover a bottle of her favorite indigo ink. She took out the cork, and the exotic smell of neroli rose wafted out, coaxing a smile from her lips.
Again, there was no note, but she could not help but think that the ink was from Ron. Perhaps he understood how much he’d hurt her…and although gifts wouldn’t heal her heart completely, knowing that he’d gotten himself up early to try and make it up to her was something. But, she still needed to talk to him, and he hadn’t even sent a note.
David Granger cleared his throat, “That’s a bit of an odd gift for one’s fi…one’s girl on Valentine’s.”
Hermione blinked for a moment. Oh. She’d completely forgotten it was Valentine’s today. Not that she’d ever cared much at all for it. But, Ron sometimes liked to make a fuss out of it, if he happened to remember, or they weren’t in mortal peril at the time. Maybe these packages had been ordered days ago, and he hadn’t done anything at all about what happened last night. Fear and sadness settled in her stomach again, and she gave up on having any breakfast, instead rising listlessly to gather her briefcase and give a kiss to her parents.
“We’re meeting at the Leaky for lunch at half past noon as usual, yes?” Helen asked, before Hermione prepared to Apparate. They’d met every Friday at the Leaky Cauldron since she’d gotten out of St. Mungo’s.
“Yes, Mum. Thanks for…breakfast.”
She gave her obliviously worried parents a wan smile and then Disapparated, headed to the office of Garond and Mokki, Solicitors at Law.
Her office…well, it was more a closet than an office, was neat and tidy, everything organized to within an inch of its’ life, so, she noticed the two sugar quills lying across her Muggle desk calendar immediately. She couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips, wondering how Ron had gotten them there…had he snuck past Radpok, the goblin legal secretary, or had he somehow managed to get an owl to drop them with such perfect alignment. One was the palest shade of yellow, and one was a light green and sure enough, when she indulged with a couple of licks, they were her favorites, lemon and lime.
Her earlier question was answered when Radpok stuck his head in abruptly. “About time you got here. Mr. Garond wants his brief, and your Weasley was here…I’m to give you these at 8:15.”
He thrust forward a handful of bright yellow daffodils, and she took them out of instinct. She sat down heavily in her chair, and tried to figure out what Ron was about. No note, no visit, but flowers? And candy, and ink and jewelry? She felt under her robe to the brooch she had put inside the pocket of her blouse. She couldn’t bring herself to wear it, not when it raised so many questions, but she couldn’t leave her parents’ house without it either. At least now she knew that these gifts weren’t all prearranged, that he’d actively participated even after…after her silly, stupid words.
She didn’t have time for this, at least not now. Mr. Garond and the current case deserved her full attention. She unpacked the brief from her case, and set out to knock on Mr. Garond’s door.
The Wizengamot session wasn’t for another hour, so after talking briefly with Mr. Garond, she sat down again at her tiny desk, and tried diligently not to think about Ron and what had happened and what all the gifts meant. She opened her desk drawer to get out a sheet of self-replicating triplicate paper in order to work on some contracts, but resting on the top of her paper supply was a single, perfectly round and scrumptious-looking orange.
Her stomach grumbled in appreciation, and she picked it up, puzzling over the man she loved. She began to peel it, and sure enough, it was a cara cara orange, her favorite, in England, in February. She popped a slice of the pink flesh into her mouth, and was surprised to find there were tears in her eyes, and they weren’t necessarily sad ones. Her heart didn’t ache quite so much either.
She honestly tried to do some work once she’d cleaned her sticky fingers, but she found herself instead scribbling her name, Ron’s name, little pictures of the gifts she’d received, and generally being a complete ninny, worse than she’d been in fifth year at Hogwarts! She’d had to take great pains to make sure that Ron had never seen her absentminded doodles of “Hermione Jane Weasley” or “Hermione Granger-Weasley” or “Mrs. Ronald Weasley”. She’d thought herself foolish then, and it was equally foolish now, more so when the topic was so serious! She was so caught up in her musings, she was almost hit in the head with the box that an irate owl was holding over her head.
It squawked impatiently, and Hermione hurried to take the large box from it’s talons. It flapped away in a huff, and she nervously opened the purple wrapping paper and raised the cardboard lid of the large but light box, only to slam it shut with a bright blush suffusing her cheeks. He couldn’t! He didn’t! At work no less, the git.
Checking the door to make sure no one was coming, she opened the box once again to examine the pair of pure white lacey silk knickers inside. She should be more indignant about receiving such a thing at work, but in truth, she was a bit tickled at the naughtiness of the whole thing. They reminded her of the first time they’d been alone in Ron’s bright, if small, new office of Weasley at Law: he’d closed the window shades with a flick of his wand and set her up on his desk and proceeded to tear off said knickers. He’d said at the time that he’d buy her new ones, but given the intensity of the passionate encounter that had followed, she wouldn’t have bet that he would have remembered.
Apparently he had.
She looked at the time, and gasped and how many minutes had passed while she indulged in thoughts of Ron. She shrank the lingerie box, and put preserving charms on the sugar quills and the flowers before shrinking them and stuffing them into her case as well. Then she whirled about and Apparated to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, ready to observe her boss at work.
Sometimes, even after hours of study and seeming days spend in the back of the courtroom, Hermione still couldn’t understand the legal system of Wizards. Even after all the fuss and bother made in the Daily Prophet for weeks about this case, the entire hearing for Nigella Wrinklespurt, the poor Hag who’d been charged for harboring a dangerous animal because she’d tried to help an ailing Hippogriff in its last days, the whole hearing took less than half an hour. Not nearly enough to write more than two feet of notes, and certainly not enough to take her mind away from trying to figure out what on earth was going on between her and Ron. As the final procedural routines were being cleared up and Ms. Wrinklespurt being completely cleared (Mr. Garond was very good as his job, of course), Hermione went to put her notes away in her case, when her eyes fell upon the sheet of nothings she’d been scribbling in her office. A sudden odd thought occurred to her. A “W”, then ink, and then lemon and lime quills. And then the daffodils, they didn’t quite fit, but then, they were a happy shade of yellow. And then the orange, and the underwear….oh, she was mad. Just simply mad. It was all much too elaborate for Ron, renowned for having the emotional capacity of a teaspoon.
Still, if the next gift began with an “M”, she would be convinced that she was losing her mind. That, or Ron was spoiling her.
So, when Dobby met her outside the doors to Courtroom Number Six, she gave him an enormous smile when he handed her a jar. Mr. Garond paused by her side as she hugged the jar to her chest.
“My dear girl, if I had known you liked Seville marmalade so much, I would have had Radpok but some in the work pantry ages ago,” he said with a smile.
She tried to regain her composure, but she was much afraid that her answer was simply more confusing to him, “Oh, but Ron hates it. He knows it’s my favorite though.”
Mr. Garond ran his fingers through thinning gray hair and simply chuckled. “Your young man seems to be a fine fellow. In fact…,” he felt around his robes for a moment, and came up with a small box, which he handed to her with a smile. “See you after lunch, Ms. Granger.”
Hermione opened the box, her hands almost shaking, wondering if her theory would prove true. Inside was a small pebble, a luminescent warm brown. It was amber, and inside was preserved a tiny leaf. Amber, which started with “A”. She found herself bouncing down the halls to the stairway, and humming all the way through the Atrium, the pebble clutched warm in one hand, her case in the other, and the jar of marmalade in her packet.
She Apparated to Diagon Alley, though it was too early to meet her parents. The street was decorated in full regalia for Valentine’s Day, with heart and flowers, cupids and arrows. The shop window of WWW was plastered with ridiculously fake-romantic gag gifts in the most atrocious shades of pink, and Hermione uncharacteristically laughed in glee at the sight. She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but the morose woman who’d woken up in her childhood bedroom that morning had been replaced by a romantic fool who had to use every ounce of her willpower not to Apparate to Ron’s office in Hogsmeade and tackle him with kisses and an enthusiastic, “Yes!”. He’d said he also had a big case today, and, well, she wanted to see what else he could come up with. That, and a not insignificant part of her was still worried that he was angry at her for running out, and that he wouldn’t finish the whole enterprise…that he would recant and she’d be left heartbroken.
Eventually, she made her way to the Leaky, where Mum and Dad were waiting, a large box setting on the table and mildly worried smiles on their faces.
Hermione greeted them, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the box. “Is that….?”
Helen smiled, “Ron left it with us yesterday afternoon. He knew we’d be seeing you around this time of day. He said the timing was very important.”
She lifted the lid off the sturdy cardboard box, and found something puzzling. It was a sweater, in a lovely rose pink, in a complicated cable knot pattern. It didn’t fit with the rest of the gifts, though it was beautiful, and looked handmade. She picked it up, and a note fluttered to the floor.
“Welcome to the family! (It’s about time he asked!) M. Weasley”
Tears formed in her eyes. It was a Weasley jumper. Her very own Weasley jumper. She glanced down, and realized that under her jumper there were not one, but two more. These however, were Ron’s. One was tiny, and must have been the first one she’d ever seen on him, from that first Christmas at Hogwarts. And the other, he must have nicked from her closet. It was from what would have been seventh year, and she’d stolen it from him almost immediately, as soon as he’d worn it enough for it to carry his scent. It was enormous on her, and she loved it, loved its giant ‘R’ and its soft maroon wool; loved that she could lay claim to his clothes and his kisses. The two R’s of the sweaters swam in front of her eyes, and she broke down in happy tears, her mother patting her back in anxious puzzlement until Hermione beamed a smile through her tears.
“It’s alright, Mum. I’ll be just wonderful by the end of the day, I’m certain of it.”
She forced herself to go to work, amazed at how difficult it was to do the responsible, mature thing. Ron must have been rubbing off on her all these years. She giggled at the thought of exactly how much she knew he liked to, “rub off” on her, and how very much she liked it as well. She slipped two of the boxes out of the collection of things she had shrunk in her case, and went to the lavatory. When she returned to her office, she had on a lovely new jumper, and under it all, a lacey set of knickers that she planned to show Ron at the first opportunity. She threw caution to the wind, and pinned the beautiful W brooch on her robes. She sat at her desk, wondering how the clock could move so slowly, and stared intently at the stack on contracts that she needed to peruse. She took a deep breath, pushed aside her emotions, and waded into the legalistic morass.
Two hours later, she was done, and just as she was beginning to wonder when the next gift would arrive, in flew Pig, buzzing around Radpok’s head and causing a general uproar. She waved him into her office, and he hooted happily at her.
“Silly bird! You think fatherhood would have calmed you down a bit….”
She took the roll of parchment from his talons and he flew off again, back to Ron most likely, where Hermione most definitely wanted to be herself. She unrolled the parchment, and a picture fell out.
She picked it up, and gasped audibly. It must have been from sixth year, though probably after the poisoning incident, since they were in the same room together. She was sitting reading in a chair at the far end of the Common Room, and Ron was in the foreground. He was working on some homework assignment, until he turned his head and looked longingly at her, desire and sadness evident on his face. She glanced up for a moment, and gave him a tiny smile, and he beamed back. Then the frame restarted, with Ron working and her reading.
She looked at the parchment, and was simply floored.
Yearning
Do you know how it feels like to wait for a kiss from you?
Do you know what my heart endures?
Your ever so soft kisses as you take me in your arms and hold me so tight.
How I long for you to return.
I think of you every hour, minutes and seconds that go by.
I love you and admire your hard work.
You are my forever love.
As darkness, falls close your eyes and dream of me.
I am forever yours. *
*(poem by Stacey Chilemi)
She stood up, grabbing her case and racing out the door, the parchment still held tight in her hand. Before she’d even knocked on his door, Mr. Garond had opened it, and was waving her away.
“Come back on Monday, Ms. Granger. You deserve a bit of a mini-break.”
“Thank you, Mr. Garond!” she smiled, too happy to explain any further.
With a pop, she’d arrived in the parlour of their flat, but it wasn’t Ron waiting for her. It was Harry and Ginny.
“Oh!” she couldn’t help the disappointment in her voice, and the matching set of raised eyebrow she got from Mr. and Mrs. Potter made her giggle.
“We spend a romantic holiday waiting around her flat to give her some barmy gifts from my git of a brother, and this is the thanks we get!” Ginny exclaimed, laughter in her voice.
“We should really just leave then, I’m sure she’s not interested.” Harry sighed, failing in his attempt to act disinterested.
Hermione stood on her tiptoes and bounced, unable to contain her nervous energy. “What’s the M?”
Ginny gave her a shocked stare. “How did you know it was an ‘M’?” And Ginny brought forth a box from a Honeydukes, with a large M shaped in their best chocolate. Hermione grabbed it, holding the poem and the photo and the box of chocolate all together and smiling ear to ear.
“Thank you for being here. It wouldn’t be complete without the two of you.” She held back the tears that threatened again, mad at herself for being so emotional. She hadn’t cried this much in years, and certainly not so many happy tears. “Now, where’s Ron with ‘E’?”
“What’s with the letter theme?” Harry asked.
Sighing, Hermione let out a long streaming explanation that neither Harry nor Ginny understood very well. “The brooch was a ‘W’, and the ink was ‘I’, the two quills were two ‘L’s’. Then the lovely yellow flowers were ‘Y’, and the orange was an ‘O’, and the knic…well, let’s just say there was a ‘U’. And then the marmalade for the ‘M’, and the little amber stone for ‘A’, and the two Weasley jumpers for ‘R’s’, and then this lovely poem for ‘Y’, and then the chocolate for the ‘M’. There’s only the ‘E’ left!”
They stared at her, Harry befuddled, and Ginny thoughtful. Ginny bit her lip, then muttered, “Will You Marry…oh! Oh!” She grinned, “We knew he was asking tonight, but we didn’t know this was…oh! The prat did something romantic, wonders will never cease.” She elbowed Harry, who wrinkled his nose.
He held up a deck of Exploding Snap cards, and said, “I suppose this is the ‘E’?”
Hermione was a bit disappointed, but she reached out to take the deck. Harry let go quickly, and she caught the deck. The tug behind her navel meant that it was more than just a deck of exploding cards.
She arrived none too gracefully, falling on the floor, her case and the chocolate and all the other odds and ends scattered around her. Once she had taken a deep breath, she looked around, her hand scrambling to find her wand, when she saw Ron standing in front of her, anxiety all over his face.
She said the first thing that came to mind. “Yes!”
Of course, he said, “Yes!” at the exact same moment.
He was adorable of course, tousled red hair and bright blue eyes and the scar across his cheek. “Really?” He practically squeaked like he had in third year.
“Really truly.” She enveloped him in a hug, and it felt like she had come home. They lost themselves for a time in the sweetest of kisses.
Finally, hair mussed, robes askew, and being pressed firmly into the flower chintz couch which was the only object of furniture in the large room, Hermione regained enough of her senses from Ron’s drugging kisses to wonder aloud, “Where are we?”
Ron’s lips were pressed firmly against her neck, and she could feel his words more than here them, “Flat above the office in Hogsmeade.”
She arched against him as he began to nibble on her earlobe, “The giant one with three bedrooms and the lovely kitchen and…”
“That ruddy big bathtub, yes,” he whispered against her ear, before pulling away a bit. “Twins forwarded me an advance to put a down payment.”
“Oh! Ron, that’s…why?” Hermione wasn’t quite sure she wanted to know why the Twins were loaning them money.
“They’ve hired us on as their attorneys. And they said, ‘Only if it’s the both of you’.” Ron grinned sheepishly, “I suppose we could be Weasley and Weasley.” He ran a long finger over the dragon shell brooch. “But, it could be Weasley, Granger-Weasley if…”
She cut him off, “Weasley and Weasley sounds just lovely, Ron.” She tried to pull him back down to her, but he resisted.
He looked worried again, “I would have said yes last night, love. But…”
“You didn’t want to ruin the surprise. I think I understand.” She smiled, and he gave a groan and began attacking her neck, and the buttons on her robes, with enthusiasm. She gave a soft laugh, “How long have you been planning all this?”
“Six months…,” he mumbled against her collarbone. “Ever since…”
“Harry and Ginny’s wedding,” she smiled, satisfied that this man knew her like no other. Soon enough, their soft sighs and murmured endearments were all the words being said, as Ron welcomed Hermione into their new home in the most thorough way possible. A month later, on the first day of Spring, Ron slid the a warm gold and amber ring on Hermione’s finger, and by summer, Hermione had finished her year of mentorship, and the magical law firm of Weasley and Weasley was born. A year after that, Hermione supposed that with the amount of time Reginald spend crawling on the floor of the office, it should be Weasley, Weasley and Weasley.
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: A romantic fluff-fest. Ron has decided to finally pop the question to Hermione on Valentine’s Day.
Preferred Rating: PG-13 (or “R” if author is legal age)
Specifics you want (optional, maximum of three): Hermione has to say ‘yes’ (I know, but still, I felt it needed to be said anyway. ;)
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): n/a
Thanks for participating in the exchange! Happy Valentine’s Day! ♥