Short Story: Shades of Purple
Title: Shades of Purple
Characters: Hermione/Ron, Fleur, Lavender, Krum mentioned; OCs too!
Prompt: My prompt was purple at the_puff_housefic exchange here. And it's for redhairedflame
For: 060. Evening at 100_women: my table here
hp pairings
Rating: G
Genre: Romance/Fluff; Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: ye gads FLUFF
Word Count: 2,715
Summary: Their third anniversary is coming up, and Ron wants to buy something special for his wife.
Notes: 20 bonus points if you know which book I read in 10th grade English the name Madame Defarge comes from.
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me and I make no money off of them, etc.
It was impossible for Ron to contain his excitement any longer.
His plan had been to surprise his wife with her anniversary gift at dinner tonight, but he wanted to see her open it right now. Their anniversary was still a week away, but she needed open her present beforehand. And now would be just as good a time as any.
“Hermione!” called Ron as he straightened the blue ribbon on the silver-wrapped box.
“What is it, dear?” answered his wife from upstairs.
“Could you come down here for a minute, love?”
“I’m right in the middle of something, dear. Can it wait a minute?”
Ron sighed. When he called Hermione pet names, he was being sincere, but when she called him dear, it was her little way of saying, “do not bother me right now.” Waiting, trying to be patient, Ron carefully examined the box from all angles. Satisfied that the shop girl had done an acceptable job wrapping it, he sat down at the kitchen table.
He considered summoning Hermione again, but when his wife was busy, dear could quickly escalate into sweetheart. The threat of a minor tiff was enough for Ron to bite his tongue and wait. She’d be down in a minute. Ron’s leg jiggled, and his hands stiffly combed back his red hair. Hermione really had no idea how much he hated waiting when he got excited like this.
An eternity later, Ron could hear Hermione’s footsteps as she reluctantly left the study. Ron jumped up and snatched the present to go stand at the foot of the stairs. Hermione gave him her indulgent it’s a good thing you’re cute smile and trotted down the stairs.
Seeing the present, Hermione paused three steps from the bottom and moved slowly. In a suspicious voice, she asked, “What’s going on, dear? Our anniversary is a week away. Remember?”
Ron sighed. “Yes, Hermione, I remember. This is our third one, and I haven’t forgotten either of the others, have I?”
Hermione rolled her eyes sheepishly. “I apologize. You know I get snippy when I’m stressed.” Taking the box from him, her tone became more excited, “Is it a pre-anniversary present, Ron? Do I get to open it now?”
“Yes, you can open it. You’ll need it for our anniversary.”
Hermione shot him a suspicious glance, and held the present away from her body.
“Honestly, Hermione; I’m not George. What do you think it’s going to do? Explode?”
Hermione laughed, “I’m sorry again, Ron. I just don’t know what to make of this. You know I don’t like surprises, but for your entire family’s sake, I am trying to! Here hold this.” As Ron took the box, Hermione untied the blue ribbon and slowly to not tear it, peeled off the silver paper. Ron sighed. “Sorry!”
Underneath the wrapping was a grey box, unmarked. Hermione bit her lip with a smile as she lifted the lid off. Sheets of tissue paper were pushed aside. Trembling slightly with curiosity, Hermione’s fingers dipped inside and pulled out a purple, floor-length evening gown.
Ron grinned widely and stepped back.
Approximately, twenty hours earlier Ron found himself hesitating outside another high-class shop, this one being called Elegant Robes for Every Witch and Any Occasion. A week ago, he had gotten the idea to take Hermione to a fine restaurant, the type with white tablecloths and blokes playing violins, for their third anniversary. He knew that these types of places made her nervous, no matter how she tried to hide and, and having something new to wear would put her at ease.
The other six stops he tried had not worked out for various reasons. Was it that hard to believe that a man would want to buy his wife a pretty dress? They seemed to either not believe him or be too busy. This last shop was just going to have to work - there was nowhere else around Diagon Alley.
Slowly, Ron stepped past the entrance and into the shop. He blinked in the pale pinks and whites, and wrinkled his nose against the strong scent of some kind of flower. Desperately, Ron looked around for help or, maybe, a sign that said, “Dresses to Buy for your Wife for that Special Evening.” No such luck with the sign, but a sharply-dressed, older witch approached him at once. Ron was immediately reminded of both McGonagall and Rita Skeeter all at the same time, and considered running for the door.
“Sir, with what may I help you?”
Her quick speech stopped Ron in his tracks, and he stumbled to form a response. “Uh, I’m looking for, um, for a dress for my, uh, wife.”
“Of course, sir; do come this way,” the older woman took his arm and half-dragged him to the back of the shop, and seated him on a white couch. As Ron tried to sit up straight and to avoid falling backwards into the plush cushions, the woman called, “Jen, tea. Tell the girls to get ready.”
The woman turned to him, with a serpentine smile, pulled out a pad of paper and a quill. “Now, sir, my name is Madame Defarge. What may I call you?”
“Er, Ronald Weasley.”
Jen arrived with the steaming tea and poured Ron a cup.
“Very well, Monseiur Weasley,” continued Madame Defarge. “I have a few questions to ask you. What sort of dress are you looking to buy for your wife?”
Ron desperately tried to remember, “Um... a long dress?”
The corners of Madame Defarge’s mouth twitched slightly. “Where would your wife be wearing this dress?”
“Oh! I want to take her to a very nice dinner for our anniversary. Fancy place.”
Madame Defarge wrote something quickly on her note book. “Good, sir. Will the pair of you be going outside?”
“I thought maybe a carriage ride or a walk.” Ron tried to think as he gingerly clasped the porcelain cup.
“Then she will also need some sort of wrap and comfortable shoes. We can help you with those as well. Now, do you know what size your wife is?”
Ron’s face screwed up. “I didn’t think to ask...”
“Of course not, sir; it is a surprise, after all. We’ll figure it out. What color is your wife’s hair and eyes?”
Ron was confident about this question. “She has brown hair and brown eyes.” Carefully, he dared to take a sip of the steaming tea.
“Excellent. So, we are looking for a long evening gown with matching wrap and shoes that will match your wife’s coloring.” At Ron’s nod, she called, “Jill, Kate, and Eve.” Three girls arrived from the back each dressed in different gowns. Ron wondered how they knew what to wear.
“First, Mr. Weasley, let’s figure out what size your wife is. How does she compare in size to these girls?”
Ron stood up, feeling awkward, and walked around the girls, “She’s about, um, Kate’s height, but more of Eve’s shape. I think.”
“Very good sir...”
Ron remembered something, “Oh! and she’s pregnant. Only a few months, hardly showing.”
Madame Defarge smiled, “Well, that makes all the difference, sir. You’ll need an empire waist. We have some gowns that are even charmed to allow for expansion. Girls.” The three turned and walked back behind the curtain.
Ron sat down again. Within a minute, the three emerged, wearing different dresses. Ron noticed that the empire waist would hide his wife’s growth. “Those are better.”
Madame Defarge nodded, “Yes, now tell me how you feel about these three.”
Thirty-three dresses, seventeen wraps, and six pairs of shoes later, Ron had finally found the perfect gown. It was a deep plum, empire-waist, floor-length silk, with a sweetheart-neckline and beaded spaghetti straps. Ron had learned more than he ever wanted to know about dresses. In fact, he was anxious to head to a pub and promptly forget everything he just learned. But no, he had floo straight home and hide Hermione’s present some place safe.
Madame Defarge handed Ron his change. He had worked overtime for weeks for this dress, but it was absolutely worth it. Jen handed him the careful wrapped present, and Ron breathed a sigh of relief.
Madame Defarge took Ron’s arm as he walked to the door. She stopped him, stating, “Thank you so very much, Mr. Weasley for visiting my boutique today.” Leaning closer she murmured, “I wanted to thank you personally for your heroic efforts in the war. Your actions saved more people than you’ll ever know. Please convey sincerest regards for Madame Weasley.” With that, she ushered a surprised Ron out the door.
Ron chuckled as the shop door dinged merrily behind him. Feeling that all was right in the world, he strolled down the road.
Back at the house and with a huge smile of accomplishment Ron watched his wife’s face as the purple gown slipped out of the box and flowed down the floor. In awe, she held it up and looked it over. Hermione stood silently; Ron watched nameless emotions flit across her face. Hermione just had to like it; maybe, it was all too much.
Ron jumped when Hermione thrust the dress back into the box, sat down on the first stair step, and burst into tears.
For a minute, Ron stared, racking his brain trying to think of what was wrong, what he had done, and what he could possibly do to fix it. Maybe she was just overwhelmed with happiness? His mum and Ginny did that a lot - bursting into tears when they should be jumping for joy. Carefully, he folded the dress back into the box and set it on a nearby table. He’d just wait out the storm for a few minutes.
Hermione kept crying. She was getting louder - horrific sobs were shaking her body.
Distressed, Ron rambled, “What’s wrong, Hermione? You don’t need to cry; I know it means a lot to you.” No response, except more sobs. Ron tried another approach. “Sweetheart, it wasn’t too expensive. I made sure we could afford it. Don’t worry about it.” No response. “Look, the dress lady said it would fit, even though you’re getting f-more pregnant. It’s charmed to expand, and it’s a flattering style. I had a lot of help.” No response. Ron asked, hesitantly, “You like it, don’t you Hermione?”
At that Hermione looked up, her face streaked with tears, and choked out, “Of c-course, I do, Ron. It’s a l-lovely dress.”
Happy that he gotten some response out of her, Ron sat down on the step beside her. “What’s wrong, love?”
Hermione’s brown eyes were swimming. “Nothing.” She bit her lip; they’d reached a compromise long ago that “nothing” did not count as an acceptable answer. “I’m sorry, Ron. It’s just so stupid.”
“Ah, sweetheart.” Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You’re not being stupid. Tell me all about it.”
“It’s l-lavender.”
“Lavender what?”
“Lavender who,” corrected Hermione automatically. Seeing Ron’s confusion, she restated, “Lavender Brown.”
Ron was lost. “What about Lavender Brown?”
“The dress is lavender.”
Ron shook his head; he knew this one. “No, the dress is a deep plum.”
Hermione was growing impatient. “Lavender and plum are both shades of purple.”
“So it’s a purple dress?”
“Ron, you don’t get it! Have you ever seen me wear purple or lavender or plum?”
“Um…”
“The answer is ‘no.’”
“You don’t like to wear lavender, because...” Ron trailed off baffled.
Hermione scrunched her face up and confessed quickly, “I don’t wear lavender, because I don’t want you to be reminded of your first girlfriend.” A tear trickled down her red face. “I know I’m being a jealous fool, but I just hate the idea that you might be thinking of her; that you might be comparing the two of us.” Hermione covered her face once more with her hands.
Ron held Hermione tight and leaned his back, thinking, trying to understand where his wife was coming from. Finally, he spoke, quietly, “Hermione, do I watch Quidditch games?”
Hermione looked up at, “What? Of course, you do; too much, in fact.”
Ron ignored that last bit, “Have you ever seen me not watch a game when I’ve had the chance to? For example: did I not watch the Bulgarian National Team play last Friday?”
Hermione frowned, “I see what you’re trying to say-”
“Which is?” Ron interrupted.
“That you’re not jealous of Viktor, and so I should be jealous of Lavender. But, honestly, it’s different with me.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Hermione. I am jealous of Krum.”
Hermione’s head whipped up, “What?”
“Let me explain. He was your first boyfriend. He was your first date, your first dance, your first kiss. You know I was jealous then, and, I admit, I’m still a little jealous now. You shared things with him that I missed out on, and that’s just the way it is. However, the important part is that I trust you. You are mine now - all of you, in the same way that all of me belongs to you. I don’t worry about you comparing me to Krum or anyone else, simply because I never, ever compare you to anyone else. There is nothing that any woman could offer me that could ever tempt me away from you.”
There was complete silence for a minute.
Hermione leaned against Ron and wrapped her arms around his waist. Ron’s grip tightened around her shoulders. For a long time, they did nothing more than hold each other, sitting on the bottom step of the stairs.
It was eight o’clock, and Ron was waiting for Hermione at the foot of the stairs once more. They really needed to leave within ten minutes or they would never make their eight-thirty reservation at Chez Mystère. According to his French sister-in-law, it was the finest restaurant in all of London, at least among wizarding circles. Ron was far enough from his comfort zone that trying to eat with Muggles was just a step too much.
Fleur had coached Ron on a few French phrases and common menu items. She said his pronunciation was horrible, but no one would dare laugh seeing the cross face he made when trying to say them. All in all, Ron felt as prepared as possible. If he could just relax, he might even have a good time.
Looking in the hall mirror, Ron straightened his formal robes. Unlike Hermione’s, they were not new, but had been bought for Harry and Ginny’s wedding last year. They were still nice, and, he smirked, he certainly wouldn’t shame Hermione. He looked good.
A rustle at the top of the stairs immediately turned his attention from himself. Ron spun around and looked up to see his wife.
Hermione stood proudly, one hand resting on the banister. The evening gown curved charmingly around her chest and from there flowed elegantly to the floor. The plum brought out rich chocolate in her hair and made her eyes sparkle amber. Blushing at Ron’s perusal, Hermione began down the stairs. He caught a glimpse of the gold flats as she lightly kicked the dress forward out of her way.
Ron’s throat was tight as she arrived next to him. He could not make his mouth form words, but the happy flush across her checks told him that she understood. She turned away from him and held her arms out slightly. Ron took the wrap from where he had folded it on the table and moved directly behind her. Placing it across her shoulders, Ron noticed that Hermione’s skin seemed to have a golden glow about it. Unable to resist, Ron placed a soft kiss on her neck in between a few curled strands that had escaped from her coiled.
Hermione sighed gently, “Do we have to go tonight?”
Ron exhaled loudly; now that was what he should have said. “Come, my love. It’s our anniversary; we’re supposed to celebrate.”
Hermione turned toward him and looped her arms around his neck. She smiled as she stared upwards into his eyes. She was perfectly content.
Ron cleared his throat. Hermione smiled and took his arm. As one, they walked to the door. They
stood for a few moments admiring the purple-night sky.
Hermione whispered, “Thank you for this wonderful evening.”
Characters: Hermione/Ron, Fleur, Lavender, Krum mentioned; OCs too!
Prompt: My prompt was purple at the_puff_housefic exchange here. And it's for redhairedflame
For: 060. Evening at 100_women: my table here
hp pairings
Rating: G
Genre: Romance/Fluff; Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: ye gads FLUFF
Word Count: 2,715
Summary: Their third anniversary is coming up, and Ron wants to buy something special for his wife.
Notes: 20 bonus points if you know which book I read in 10th grade English the name Madame Defarge comes from.
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me and I make no money off of them, etc.
It was impossible for Ron to contain his excitement any longer.
His plan had been to surprise his wife with her anniversary gift at dinner tonight, but he wanted to see her open it right now. Their anniversary was still a week away, but she needed open her present beforehand. And now would be just as good a time as any.
“Hermione!” called Ron as he straightened the blue ribbon on the silver-wrapped box.
“What is it, dear?” answered his wife from upstairs.
“Could you come down here for a minute, love?”
“I’m right in the middle of something, dear. Can it wait a minute?”
Ron sighed. When he called Hermione pet names, he was being sincere, but when she called him dear, it was her little way of saying, “do not bother me right now.” Waiting, trying to be patient, Ron carefully examined the box from all angles. Satisfied that the shop girl had done an acceptable job wrapping it, he sat down at the kitchen table.
He considered summoning Hermione again, but when his wife was busy, dear could quickly escalate into sweetheart. The threat of a minor tiff was enough for Ron to bite his tongue and wait. She’d be down in a minute. Ron’s leg jiggled, and his hands stiffly combed back his red hair. Hermione really had no idea how much he hated waiting when he got excited like this.
An eternity later, Ron could hear Hermione’s footsteps as she reluctantly left the study. Ron jumped up and snatched the present to go stand at the foot of the stairs. Hermione gave him her indulgent it’s a good thing you’re cute smile and trotted down the stairs.
Seeing the present, Hermione paused three steps from the bottom and moved slowly. In a suspicious voice, she asked, “What’s going on, dear? Our anniversary is a week away. Remember?”
Ron sighed. “Yes, Hermione, I remember. This is our third one, and I haven’t forgotten either of the others, have I?”
Hermione rolled her eyes sheepishly. “I apologize. You know I get snippy when I’m stressed.” Taking the box from him, her tone became more excited, “Is it a pre-anniversary present, Ron? Do I get to open it now?”
“Yes, you can open it. You’ll need it for our anniversary.”
Hermione shot him a suspicious glance, and held the present away from her body.
“Honestly, Hermione; I’m not George. What do you think it’s going to do? Explode?”
Hermione laughed, “I’m sorry again, Ron. I just don’t know what to make of this. You know I don’t like surprises, but for your entire family’s sake, I am trying to! Here hold this.” As Ron took the box, Hermione untied the blue ribbon and slowly to not tear it, peeled off the silver paper. Ron sighed. “Sorry!”
Underneath the wrapping was a grey box, unmarked. Hermione bit her lip with a smile as she lifted the lid off. Sheets of tissue paper were pushed aside. Trembling slightly with curiosity, Hermione’s fingers dipped inside and pulled out a purple, floor-length evening gown.
Ron grinned widely and stepped back.
Approximately, twenty hours earlier Ron found himself hesitating outside another high-class shop, this one being called Elegant Robes for Every Witch and Any Occasion. A week ago, he had gotten the idea to take Hermione to a fine restaurant, the type with white tablecloths and blokes playing violins, for their third anniversary. He knew that these types of places made her nervous, no matter how she tried to hide and, and having something new to wear would put her at ease.
The other six stops he tried had not worked out for various reasons. Was it that hard to believe that a man would want to buy his wife a pretty dress? They seemed to either not believe him or be too busy. This last shop was just going to have to work - there was nowhere else around Diagon Alley.
Slowly, Ron stepped past the entrance and into the shop. He blinked in the pale pinks and whites, and wrinkled his nose against the strong scent of some kind of flower. Desperately, Ron looked around for help or, maybe, a sign that said, “Dresses to Buy for your Wife for that Special Evening.” No such luck with the sign, but a sharply-dressed, older witch approached him at once. Ron was immediately reminded of both McGonagall and Rita Skeeter all at the same time, and considered running for the door.
“Sir, with what may I help you?”
Her quick speech stopped Ron in his tracks, and he stumbled to form a response. “Uh, I’m looking for, um, for a dress for my, uh, wife.”
“Of course, sir; do come this way,” the older woman took his arm and half-dragged him to the back of the shop, and seated him on a white couch. As Ron tried to sit up straight and to avoid falling backwards into the plush cushions, the woman called, “Jen, tea. Tell the girls to get ready.”
The woman turned to him, with a serpentine smile, pulled out a pad of paper and a quill. “Now, sir, my name is Madame Defarge. What may I call you?”
“Er, Ronald Weasley.”
Jen arrived with the steaming tea and poured Ron a cup.
“Very well, Monseiur Weasley,” continued Madame Defarge. “I have a few questions to ask you. What sort of dress are you looking to buy for your wife?”
Ron desperately tried to remember, “Um... a long dress?”
The corners of Madame Defarge’s mouth twitched slightly. “Where would your wife be wearing this dress?”
“Oh! I want to take her to a very nice dinner for our anniversary. Fancy place.”
Madame Defarge wrote something quickly on her note book. “Good, sir. Will the pair of you be going outside?”
“I thought maybe a carriage ride or a walk.” Ron tried to think as he gingerly clasped the porcelain cup.
“Then she will also need some sort of wrap and comfortable shoes. We can help you with those as well. Now, do you know what size your wife is?”
Ron’s face screwed up. “I didn’t think to ask...”
“Of course not, sir; it is a surprise, after all. We’ll figure it out. What color is your wife’s hair and eyes?”
Ron was confident about this question. “She has brown hair and brown eyes.” Carefully, he dared to take a sip of the steaming tea.
“Excellent. So, we are looking for a long evening gown with matching wrap and shoes that will match your wife’s coloring.” At Ron’s nod, she called, “Jill, Kate, and Eve.” Three girls arrived from the back each dressed in different gowns. Ron wondered how they knew what to wear.
“First, Mr. Weasley, let’s figure out what size your wife is. How does she compare in size to these girls?”
Ron stood up, feeling awkward, and walked around the girls, “She’s about, um, Kate’s height, but more of Eve’s shape. I think.”
“Very good sir...”
Ron remembered something, “Oh! and she’s pregnant. Only a few months, hardly showing.”
Madame Defarge smiled, “Well, that makes all the difference, sir. You’ll need an empire waist. We have some gowns that are even charmed to allow for expansion. Girls.” The three turned and walked back behind the curtain.
Ron sat down again. Within a minute, the three emerged, wearing different dresses. Ron noticed that the empire waist would hide his wife’s growth. “Those are better.”
Madame Defarge nodded, “Yes, now tell me how you feel about these three.”
Thirty-three dresses, seventeen wraps, and six pairs of shoes later, Ron had finally found the perfect gown. It was a deep plum, empire-waist, floor-length silk, with a sweetheart-neckline and beaded spaghetti straps. Ron had learned more than he ever wanted to know about dresses. In fact, he was anxious to head to a pub and promptly forget everything he just learned. But no, he had floo straight home and hide Hermione’s present some place safe.
Madame Defarge handed Ron his change. He had worked overtime for weeks for this dress, but it was absolutely worth it. Jen handed him the careful wrapped present, and Ron breathed a sigh of relief.
Madame Defarge took Ron’s arm as he walked to the door. She stopped him, stating, “Thank you so very much, Mr. Weasley for visiting my boutique today.” Leaning closer she murmured, “I wanted to thank you personally for your heroic efforts in the war. Your actions saved more people than you’ll ever know. Please convey sincerest regards for Madame Weasley.” With that, she ushered a surprised Ron out the door.
Ron chuckled as the shop door dinged merrily behind him. Feeling that all was right in the world, he strolled down the road.
Back at the house and with a huge smile of accomplishment Ron watched his wife’s face as the purple gown slipped out of the box and flowed down the floor. In awe, she held it up and looked it over. Hermione stood silently; Ron watched nameless emotions flit across her face. Hermione just had to like it; maybe, it was all too much.
Ron jumped when Hermione thrust the dress back into the box, sat down on the first stair step, and burst into tears.
For a minute, Ron stared, racking his brain trying to think of what was wrong, what he had done, and what he could possibly do to fix it. Maybe she was just overwhelmed with happiness? His mum and Ginny did that a lot - bursting into tears when they should be jumping for joy. Carefully, he folded the dress back into the box and set it on a nearby table. He’d just wait out the storm for a few minutes.
Hermione kept crying. She was getting louder - horrific sobs were shaking her body.
Distressed, Ron rambled, “What’s wrong, Hermione? You don’t need to cry; I know it means a lot to you.” No response, except more sobs. Ron tried another approach. “Sweetheart, it wasn’t too expensive. I made sure we could afford it. Don’t worry about it.” No response. “Look, the dress lady said it would fit, even though you’re getting f-more pregnant. It’s charmed to expand, and it’s a flattering style. I had a lot of help.” No response. Ron asked, hesitantly, “You like it, don’t you Hermione?”
At that Hermione looked up, her face streaked with tears, and choked out, “Of c-course, I do, Ron. It’s a l-lovely dress.”
Happy that he gotten some response out of her, Ron sat down on the step beside her. “What’s wrong, love?”
Hermione’s brown eyes were swimming. “Nothing.” She bit her lip; they’d reached a compromise long ago that “nothing” did not count as an acceptable answer. “I’m sorry, Ron. It’s just so stupid.”
“Ah, sweetheart.” Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You’re not being stupid. Tell me all about it.”
“It’s l-lavender.”
“Lavender what?”
“Lavender who,” corrected Hermione automatically. Seeing Ron’s confusion, she restated, “Lavender Brown.”
Ron was lost. “What about Lavender Brown?”
“The dress is lavender.”
Ron shook his head; he knew this one. “No, the dress is a deep plum.”
Hermione was growing impatient. “Lavender and plum are both shades of purple.”
“So it’s a purple dress?”
“Ron, you don’t get it! Have you ever seen me wear purple or lavender or plum?”
“Um…”
“The answer is ‘no.’”
“You don’t like to wear lavender, because...” Ron trailed off baffled.
Hermione scrunched her face up and confessed quickly, “I don’t wear lavender, because I don’t want you to be reminded of your first girlfriend.” A tear trickled down her red face. “I know I’m being a jealous fool, but I just hate the idea that you might be thinking of her; that you might be comparing the two of us.” Hermione covered her face once more with her hands.
Ron held Hermione tight and leaned his back, thinking, trying to understand where his wife was coming from. Finally, he spoke, quietly, “Hermione, do I watch Quidditch games?”
Hermione looked up at, “What? Of course, you do; too much, in fact.”
Ron ignored that last bit, “Have you ever seen me not watch a game when I’ve had the chance to? For example: did I not watch the Bulgarian National Team play last Friday?”
Hermione frowned, “I see what you’re trying to say-”
“Which is?” Ron interrupted.
“That you’re not jealous of Viktor, and so I should be jealous of Lavender. But, honestly, it’s different with me.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Hermione. I am jealous of Krum.”
Hermione’s head whipped up, “What?”
“Let me explain. He was your first boyfriend. He was your first date, your first dance, your first kiss. You know I was jealous then, and, I admit, I’m still a little jealous now. You shared things with him that I missed out on, and that’s just the way it is. However, the important part is that I trust you. You are mine now - all of you, in the same way that all of me belongs to you. I don’t worry about you comparing me to Krum or anyone else, simply because I never, ever compare you to anyone else. There is nothing that any woman could offer me that could ever tempt me away from you.”
There was complete silence for a minute.
Hermione leaned against Ron and wrapped her arms around his waist. Ron’s grip tightened around her shoulders. For a long time, they did nothing more than hold each other, sitting on the bottom step of the stairs.
It was eight o’clock, and Ron was waiting for Hermione at the foot of the stairs once more. They really needed to leave within ten minutes or they would never make their eight-thirty reservation at Chez Mystère. According to his French sister-in-law, it was the finest restaurant in all of London, at least among wizarding circles. Ron was far enough from his comfort zone that trying to eat with Muggles was just a step too much.
Fleur had coached Ron on a few French phrases and common menu items. She said his pronunciation was horrible, but no one would dare laugh seeing the cross face he made when trying to say them. All in all, Ron felt as prepared as possible. If he could just relax, he might even have a good time.
Looking in the hall mirror, Ron straightened his formal robes. Unlike Hermione’s, they were not new, but had been bought for Harry and Ginny’s wedding last year. They were still nice, and, he smirked, he certainly wouldn’t shame Hermione. He looked good.
A rustle at the top of the stairs immediately turned his attention from himself. Ron spun around and looked up to see his wife.
Hermione stood proudly, one hand resting on the banister. The evening gown curved charmingly around her chest and from there flowed elegantly to the floor. The plum brought out rich chocolate in her hair and made her eyes sparkle amber. Blushing at Ron’s perusal, Hermione began down the stairs. He caught a glimpse of the gold flats as she lightly kicked the dress forward out of her way.
Ron’s throat was tight as she arrived next to him. He could not make his mouth form words, but the happy flush across her checks told him that she understood. She turned away from him and held her arms out slightly. Ron took the wrap from where he had folded it on the table and moved directly behind her. Placing it across her shoulders, Ron noticed that Hermione’s skin seemed to have a golden glow about it. Unable to resist, Ron placed a soft kiss on her neck in between a few curled strands that had escaped from her coiled.
Hermione sighed gently, “Do we have to go tonight?”
Ron exhaled loudly; now that was what he should have said. “Come, my love. It’s our anniversary; we’re supposed to celebrate.”
Hermione turned toward him and looped her arms around his neck. She smiled as she stared upwards into his eyes. She was perfectly content.
Ron cleared his throat. Hermione smiled and took his arm. As one, they walked to the door. They
stood for a few moments admiring the purple-night sky.
Hermione whispered, “Thank you for this wonderful evening.”