...Though my views may be wrong

Fic: Written for hp_drunkenff: Prim and Proper My Arse

Sun, 27 Sep 2009 12:02:45 GMT

Your LJ Name: belladonna803
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Prompt: "Muggle beer suits me just fine."
Title of Fic: Prim and Proper My Arse
Number of Words (We really want to see who does this): n943 ast lllast count.
Actual word count: 1019.
What you drank and how much you drank: Wine. A bottle. Ina bottle. Didn't rink an actual botle. That would be fpainful. Ah fuckit.
Author’s Note (if you’re coherent enough to think): seriously so sorry for all the errors. Red wavy oloines all over the place in this document...
Sober Author's Note: Drunken fingers make for LOTS of typos!!! LOL!

“Hermione, how c'n you drink that Hippogriff piss?” asked Ron. He was cradling a bottle of Ogdenssss in the crook of his laft arm, and held a rather dirty looking glas loosely in his right hand.

“Muggle beer suits me just fine.” She gazsed at Ron over her bottle of Wyhchwood, eyeing his navel in the triangle of tflesh exposed by the bottom of his button-down shirt. She could tell that he was fairly drunk from the droop in his eyelids, and the relaxed grin that curved his lilps upwards. God, he was sexy.

Best part? He was oblivious to this fact, somehow.

His chest was shaking in silentl aughter. “What's so funny over there?” she asked.

“I'm horny, but I dunno if I should tellyou or not.”

She blinked at him. He cflearly hadn' realised he'd said that aloud . “And,” she said, rising from her armcxhair and settling beside him on the sofa, “what do you want todo?”

He swung his head towards her, and she stifled agiggle. It seemed like his head was attached to his shohoulders with string, the way his head lolled back and forth.

“Wanna fuck you into themattresssss,” he slurred.

She bit her lip. “What's stopping you?”

He blinked owlishly and scratched his neck with his thumb. “'cause you're not gona go for that.”

Hermione closed her eeys and exhaled. “What makes yout hink that?”

He considered a reply, though it llooked more like he was convgemplating his toes, the way he was stduying them. “Cause you're Hermione.”

The words hit her in an unexpected way. Instead of getting angry, or offended, she smiled and laughed silentlyh. “So, what you're saing is, Prim and Proper Hermione woul dnever want to be debauched by a drunkard, even ifhe was her boyfriend, right?”

“Right,” he said, with an overemphatic nod.

Sap on one of the fire logs ignited and sizzled, and Hermione watched the blue and pink flames mingle togeht erfor aminute beore answwering him.

“Come here, Ron.”

His head swung towards her, eyes wide. She took the botttle and glas from him, and sat them on the side table. Her hands found his chin and she lifted it so that he could watch her as she tugged her shirt over her head.

Ron's eyes flew wideer still, and he scootched to the edge of the sofa. His hands flew up, clumsily, to glide across the plane of her belley, and up to her breasts.

“What would you do to me, if you could do absolutely anythign?” she asked.

'Take you from behind until you screamed my name. I love that your arse iss oo full and round.”

“Anhythnig else?” she asked, reaching behind to unclasp her bra.

“I'd fuck you till y9ou came and then you'd suck me off and swallow me down.”

“All right then,” she said, and she tugged him to hsis feeet. They bumped and skittered up the stairs to the bedroom, and Hermione felt herself growing wetter when Ron threw her down otnto the bed.

“You really want me to--” he started.

“Do wahtever you want, Ron,” she said impatietnly.

He fell ontop of her with an, “Oomph,” and then somehow he managed to flipe her over. Her skirt was shoved up around her waist and her knicker swere yanked down wiwth enough force to rip them in half.

“Love you,” he said in her ear, and then he slammed into her all in one go.Thankfuly, she was ready.

“YES!” she shouted, and he began to pound his hips into her arse. No foreplay, no warning. They'd never done this before, such raw and animalistic sex. Hermione planted her hands firmly and swung her hips back towards him, to encourage him to go deeper.

“FUCK!” he shouted, the sound of him driving into her echoing off the walls of their bedroom.

Hermione snaked her hand down to her clit, and began rubbing furiously6, knowing that Ron would not last long in this state. Her arousal had been building since before everyone had left, so she felt confident that she'd achieve orgasm before he was able to finish. But it wa sa close thing..

“Oh!” she shouted, as his bony hips slammed into her arse again and again. He'd never been quite this forcefuol before. She hoped that this wasn't an isolated incident.

“So sexy, Hermione” he said into her back, having lost theenergy to remain upright.

The slap-slap of Ron against her sounded so hot tonight....maybe it was the fact that he was drunk, and had relievd himself of those last few inhibitions, or maybe it was the fact that she herself had let go, and all of her massive concentration was focused on simply feeling him.

Whatever the reason, Hermione had never been this turned on in her bloody life. And she had Ron to thank for that. Of course.

“Fuck me,” she whispered into the pillow in front of her, but he must've heard what she'd said, beccause he began slamming into her even harder. The force of his thrusts wer practically knocking the wind out of her, but she didn't care. Ron had let go of all restraint and she was going to ride it forall they were worth.

Her orgasm was building, the heat of it dancing across her skin as he fucked her. Yes, she thought, yes, as she felt her walls clench around him. Her finger sped across her clit and then she was coming so hard. “RON!”” she shouted.

He made a strangled noise and then he pulled out, flipping her over as if she weighed nothing and shoving his cock in her face. She swallowed it greedily ad withing moments his come was flooding her throat.

Ron collapsed next to her and lay there panting as the room spun aroudn on itself.

“mmm,ng” said Hermione, one eye trained on him.

“Exactly,” said Ron, and he nodded off to sleep.

Drabble 12 for round 2 of rwhg_ldws: Torment

Sun, 27 Sep 2009 11:55:37 GMT

Title: Torment
Rating: Strong R.
Word Count: 444
A/N(optional): Ron insisted, folks. Who am I to argue? ;)

He watches from the doorway of the loo as she piles her hair atop her head, exposing a tantalising view of the nape of her neck. Her mad mass of curls struggle to escape the confines of the elastic they're being subdued with, and he laughs quietly when he hears her swear under her breath.

Ron advances towards her slowly, enjoying the way the fabric of her dress drapes over the ample curves of her hips. Sheer white stockings cling to her legs and disappear under the hem that's brushing the backs of her thighs. She knows full well that these gauzy things are his favourite, and he wonders if she's trying to torture him. Or maybe it's a dare.

Can you keep your hands to yourself, Ron?

Hermione's the guest of honour at the dinner party. Tonight the Burrow will be overflowing with people wishing her farewell as she takes her new job in Magical Law Enforcement. They absolutely have to be there, but resisting the urge to lift her dress off that supple arse and take her there against the sink is becoming as hard as, well, he is.

Warm brown eyes catch his blue ones in the mirror. She tells him, “We can't. We'll be late.” But those eyes of hers are practically begging for him to do it.

It only takes a heartbeat to cross the remaining distance between them. He presses himself into her back and bends to run his hands up her thighs. He lingers for a moment at the bands of lace that top those damned stockings, before continuing up to trace the swell of her arse.

“Hermione,” he says as he brings his hands to her hips and slides them towards her front, “where are your knickers?”

Her breath is coming faster now, but she grips the sink with determination. “Must've forgotten them.” The provocative sound of her voice has him nearly undone.

“Naughty witch,” he growls into her ear. “You're not going anywhere dressed like that!”

“No one will know except you,” she teases. He watches her reflection as her eyes slide closed and her mouth opens. She can do amazing things with that mouth. She's still using it torment him after all these years, but now it's a blazing, wet, delectable kind of abuse, and he hopes it never ends.

“We can't,” she says again, but he can see the real meaning written all over her face. She's planned for this all along. Merlin, he couldn't possibly love her more.

“We are,” is his demanding reply, and he gets his way with no further protest.

Drabble for the hp_canon_fest ABC Drabbles and Drawbles Challenge

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 02:48:38 GMT

Title: Futility
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Author: belladonna803
Rating: R, for pre-smuttiness
Summary: Written for the hp_canon_fest ABC Drabbles and Drawbles Challenge. Prompt: Muffliato
Word Count: 500
Beta: None
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete.

Glancing both ways, Harry padded quickly down the hall towards the twins' old room, and darted inside. He clicked the door shut behind him and dropped the damp towel that rode his hips into the chair by the bed to don his boxers. The elastic had just snapped against his waist when the door flew open and Ginny hurried inside.

“Muffliato,” she said with a jab of her wand, and then she advanced on him. The grin she wore...and the way she was staring at him...

His wand was in his hand and cancelling her spell before his brain caught up with him.

Her smile fell. “What did you do that for?” she demanded.

Harry boggled at her. “Ginny, we...your parents are downstairs!”

“Hence the--” Her eyes took in his water dappled skin, and she licked her lips. “--Muffliato,” she said again, pointing her wand over her shoulder.

He took a step backwards. “Finite.” Ginny's eyes flared wide in frustration, and he noticed that she was wearing that damned jumper he liked. It showed off all her curves, and it never failed to...his cock twitched.

Shit.

“Muffliato.” Her voice was eerily calm; smooth like glass. That was never good.

“Finite.” It wasn't that he didn't want to. Fuck, he wanted to! But here? Now? The image of being ripped to shreds by Molly Weasley was too lucid in his mind.

“Stop. Doing. That.” She'd kept moving and now she stood directly in front of him. Her fingers glided up his arm and dipped into the damp hair at his temple. He felt his determination slip a notch when she lifted her head and planted a wet kiss on his collarbone. She looked him in the eye and cast the blasted spell again.

“Fini--”

“Expelliarmus!”

Harry's wand lurched out of his hand and he snatched at the end of the handle with his fingertips, but it was no good. It popped neatly into Ginny's hand, right alongside her own wand, as if the two strips of wood had conspired together.

That hadn't just happened.

It couldn't possibly...

“You disarmed me,” he croaked in shock.

“Yes, I did. Muffliato.”

It was futile, he could see that. He chose to ignore the implications of what she'd just done, in light of the fact that the soft swell of her breasts were now smashed against his chest. His traitorous arms wrapped themselves around her so that he could slip his hands beneath her jumper.

“It's the Christmas hols. I've been a very good girl, studying hard, getting good marks. Don't I deserve to spend time with the man I love?”

“You disarmed me,” he repeated in one last ditch effort to cling to sanity.

She smirked.“And now I'm disrobing you.” Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers.

“M'not wearing a robe,” he said stupidly.

“Shut up and kiss me, Harry.”

"Yes, ma'am."

Drabble 11 for round 2 of rwhg_ldws: By Degrees

Sun, 20 Sep 2009 15:26:33 GMT

Title: By Degrees
Rating: PG
Word Count: 300 + 300 = 600
A/N(optional): None.

It wasn't an immediate thing, falling in love with Ron.

No overwhelming brainwaves of certainty came, no heart-tipped arrows struck, and time did not stand still. Even friendship seemed unlikely.

Just as I can resolutely, unequivocally, incontrovertibly tell you today that Ron is the love of my life, and I would be lost without him, I can also say that it was a slow thing, growing and maturing by degrees.

What Ron and I did have from the very start was a sort of chemistry; the ability to get under each other's skin, whether we were actively trying to or not. And maybe that was the building block. It's hard to say. The art of love is a wondrous and sometimes frightening thing, but the how and why of it will always remain a mystery.

So we bristled, jostled, and jockeyed, building a connection little by little. More than once that link was dashed apart. The pain of it was sharp edged and ruthless, but sometimes learning to fall in love is like that.

I said falling in love with Ron wasn't immediate, and that's the truth. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, then, to realise that I had, right? Yet another lesson: being in love, and knowing it? Two entirely different things.

I began to catch myself enjoying the way he towered over me, the way he made me laugh, the way his eyes shined with enthusiasm when he was happy. I wanted him to look at me like that.

But we hadn't quite bridged our insecurities just yet. Being and knowing are part of it, yes. But it also takes believing that you're good enough for that love.

Belief took longer for Ron than for me, but that was all right. He was absolutely worth the wait.

~*~

Hugo was right where Ron'd expected him to be. It was little more than snow-dusted mud, but Hugo was tossing pebbles into the pond. They clickety-clacked against the ice, and Ron could tell by the force with which they were being thrown that something was wrong. Ron thought he knew what it might be.

“Hey,” said Ron, stooping to pick up a few pebbles. Hugo's expression confirmed Ron's suspicions. The Burrow was practically vibrating with noise and people. Not a good place to contemplate your love life.

“Sorry. Needed some air.”

Ron nodded. “Donna?” he chanced.

Hugo winced. Right in one. “She's dating an arrogant git who thinks he's better than everyone else.” Hugo shook his head. “He doesn't really fancy her, and I...” he trailed off.

“When I was fifteen,” Ron started.

“S'not the same, you and Mum are a perfect match.”

Ron laughed so loud that Hugo dropped his pebbles. “We were like oil and water for years before we learned how to be together.”

Hugo looked gobsmacked.

“We were friends—not at first, mind—but we were always, y'know, rowing, and then there'd be weeks where we wouldn't speak--”

“You still row, Dad.”

“Well, yeah,” said Ron with a smile, “but not like then. It was ugly. Ask Uncle Harry.”

“Then how did you...?”

“It took time, is all. We built a solid foundation. It's not easy,” he said. “But if you really want it, you'll work at it.”

Hugo stared at the pond. “Should I tell Donna?”

“Only you know that, Hugo.”

Ron watched as his words sunk in. Hugo stood and brushed his gloves against his cloak. “Thanks, Dad. So, when did you tell Mum that you liked her?”

“Didn't,” said Ron. “She jumped me.”

“Eurgh! Dad!”

Ron laughed all the way back to the Burrow.

Drabble 10 for round 2 of rwhg_ldws: So Much Love

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 16:19:32 GMT

Title: So Much Love
Rating: G
Word Count: 500
A/N(optional): None.

Hermione felt buoyant, like she was being supported by invisible ocean waves. It was warm, and the searing, awful pain was gone. What had it been? Her mind stretched out around her, searching. She sorted through the fuzzy, tangled bits of thought...wait...there it was.

Her body was so frail, lying on the bed at St. Mungo's. Her hair, once rich and thick, was a matted, stringy grey mass. Overly prominent cheekbones and sunken eyes made her face almost unrecognisable. But it was her...wasted away by InFlooenza. The Fire Flu, they'd called it. It had become an epidemic, and Rose too had fallen ill, mending quickly. Hermione had not been so fortunate.

Hermione looked down at her family, and the body that'd been hers. It had been her body; this should be a terrifying notion. Somehow, it wasn't.

Rose stood and bent over Hermione's face. She kissed her Mum's forehead, and Hermione was not surprised when the sensation of it didn't come. “Rest now, Mum. Okay?” she said, and relief flowed from Rose, mingled with such love and sadness.

“Bye Mum. I love you,” said Hugo. He reached for his sister's hand and squeezed, tears streaking his cheeks. He couldn't bear to touch his Mum, because that would make it real. Hermione knew this like it'd come from her own mind. Her children...grown, with families of their own. They will be all right, she realised. It gave her peace.

Ron was in a chair by the head of her bed, looking more haggard than he had ever done. His grief rippled off of him like heat waves on the air, and they washed through her. She wanted to take away his pain, but knew that she couldn't...that was not the way of things. Hermione watched as Rose stooped and wrapped her arms around him. He stood and embraced her more tightly, her head tucked under his chin.

They stayed like that for a few moments, and then Ron pulled Hugo into an equally fierce hug. Hugo sobbed into his father's shoulder...and then time seemed to skip a beat, because suddenly her children were gone, and Ron was alone.

All vestiges of strength were gone, and he was beside her bed again. Her bony hand looked so tiny in his larger one.

“Hermione...” he said again and again in a shaky whisper. “Hermione...Hermione...”

His shoulders shook with anguish, and the desire to ease his suffering came from all around her. It surged into tangibility, and she reached out with it to touch Ron's cheek. He gasped and his eyes searched the empty room.

Her energy was waning. She must go, she knew. Summoning every particle of herself that she could gather, she projected it towards him. All at once she felt him, every fibre of him. So much love. He closed his eyes and she could see the joy in his smile.

And then she was fading; traveling. His voice reverberated within her. “See you soon, luv.”

Drabble 9 for round 2 of rwhg_ldws: All His Fault

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 17:17:37 GMT

Title: All His Fault
Rating: PG
Word Count: 500
A/N(optional): My squick is Hermione mulling over the possibility that she has romantic feelings for Harry. Set during Deathly Hallows, after Bathilda Bagshot's...attack. Also based on comments that JKR made to Melissa Anelli, during an interview for Harry, A History.

Oh, but this hurt. *goes off to wallow in R/Hr nirvana*

Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath, exhaling through puckered lips. She wiped an errant tear from her cheek. Now was not the time to cry.

She glanced at the mangled wand on the floor beside her and pursed her lips against the whimper that tried to escape. It had most definitely been her fault. The knowledge thudded dully like a heartbeat in her mind, feeding into the quagmire of thoughts she'd been wrestling with since Ron had left them.

A sickening ache spread throughout her gut as his face flashed to the forefront. She wanted to blame him for everything, for the mistake of Godric's Hollow, for the bungled hunt, for the things she'd been feeling.

She couldn't help it. At least, that's what she told herself. Maybe some part of her was just trying to get back at Ron, cut him as deeply as he'd cut her, by thinking of Harry in that way. Her fingers worked mechanically on their own, easing Harry's grimy T-shirt off so that she could heal him. He was mostly unconscious, and she'd had to Hover him into his bunk.

His chest was heaving, and she watched him for a few moments. Harry'd grown tall, though he still fell quite short of Ron's height. Since they'd not eaten properly in so long, his ribs protruded shockingly. Her eyes traced the dip his belly took before his hips jutted up, right before the rest of him was obscured by his filthy trousers. She'd always known Harry was attractive, but it'd never mattered to her. It'd just been an observation. Her friend Harry was an attractive boy.

Now, though...was it the stress of the situation? She'd heard that surviving a traumatic ordeal gave the illusion of intimacy that some people mistook for reality. But it hadn't been just the one ordeal. She could no longer count the number of narrow escapes they'd shared.

She looked at the snake bite on his forearm. It didn't look terribly deep, but the blood leaking from it was dark, and she cleaned the wound as best as she could, sealing it over with dittany.

Was she truly feeling something for Harry? Was it real? Anger rose like bile in her throat at the knowledge that she wouldn't have this to contend with if Ron hadn't gone.

Her hand grazed the locket on Harry's chest, intending to brush it aside, but it didn't move. She tugged at it, but it was no use. She was going to have to cut it from him. She did it quickly, with as much steadiness as she could muster. He thrashed slightly and shouted, “NO!” His hand reached up and latched onto her wrist, pulling her close. He was shivering, clinging to her. Her heart ached, and she reached up to brush the hair away from his forehead.

As she let Harry hold her, his pained moans echoing around the dim tent, she had one thought: 'Ron, this is all your fault.'

Fic: This Kind of Woman

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 21:24:54 GMT

Title: This Kind of Woman
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Author: belladonna803
Rating: NC-17, baby! And unapologetically plotless. *wink*
Summary: This is a R/Hr first time fic, and writing it got me into quite a compromising position. *looks pointedly at Ron* He is entirely to blame. Heh.
Word Count: 3830
Beta: All my thanks to the absolutely wonderful shocolate for beta reading, Britpicking, and squeeing! *loves*
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete.

“It's such a shame that this bed is so small. S'pose we'll just have to squeeze onto it together.”

Ron acted about as put out about this fact as a cat would in a room full of mice. Hermione smirked and rolled her eyes at him, but sat down on the bed, all the same.

Since the two of them had returned from Australia earlier in the summer, they'd fallen into a comfortable, yet exciting routine. While Ron spent his days helping George to restock and reopen Wheezes, Hermione divided her time between visiting with and helping her parents, and revising like mad for her imminent return to Hogwarts.

The notion evoked mixed feelings. While Hermione simply relished the idea of completing her education (Oh the smell of the library, and fresh parchment! And no crises greater than cramming for her NEWTS! Perish the thought!), the separation from Ron left her feeling small and cold.

She shook the feelings off. Best to focus on the here and now. There were still a few blissful weeks left in which to feign ignorance, and indulge in having daily access to her boyfriend. In some ways Hermione felt it was scandalous to enjoy this time so much. Or, at least a tiny portion of her brain chimed in that she should feel it was scandalous. Ridiculous, she thought back to that nagging voice, and it shut up. Why should she feel dirty for wanting Ron? Hadn't they put their relationship on hold for the noblest of reasons? Hadn't they all suffered enough? Wasn't it time to enjoy the stark normality of being intimate with someone she loved?

You're damned right.

“Now,” said Ron, as Hermione settled onto her back, “where were we?” He slid into bed next to her and propped his head on his hand, leaving one hand free to pick up where it'd left off the day before. His fingers dipped to the hem of her shirt and popped the first button out of its hole.

She loved the look on his face in these moments. It was like he was intent on devouring her. A surge of heat sparked across her skin as the second button came free.

“Come down here,” she said in a hushed tone, and she snaked a hand up into his hair, pulling him closer. He met her kiss eagerly, and she felt his weight shift as he pressed himself into her thigh. How easy and natural it had been, days earlier, to spread her knees and invite him to settle between them. It had been so erotic, feeling his heft, even through the few layers of clothes that stayed put. She was anxious to do so again, sans superfluous layers, but bit down on her aching impatience. Didn't good things come to those who could wait?

Hermione concentrated on the feel of his mouth, the slippery tangle of his tongue against hers. He really was good at this, and she happily found that she was able to ignore the reasons why. The journey had led them here, to this moment, after all. Ron belongs to me. His tongue was now tracing the curve of her ear. Oh, he was good at that, too.

She'd been too distracted to noticed that he'd managed the rest of the buttons, and was now sliding his fingers beneath her back to pluck open her bra. She grinned as he pulled away, a small frown creasing his brows.

“It clasps in the front.”

Ron's eyes grew pleasingly wide as he looked down at the base of her cleavage. His mouth hung open a little, and she could feel his hot breath on her skin. His reaction spurred her on. She shrugged nonchalantly. “Easier access.”

“Her--” He choked and she could tell that he was holding his breath. After a very audible gulp, he tried again. “Hermione, you thought about that?” His voice sounded breathy and a bit slurred. Rather like all of the blood had left his head and rushed south. Oh yes, she could feel how hard he was becoming. Hermione wondered if he realised that he was now thrusting himself against her thigh, slowly, but rhythmically.

She licked her lips and nodded. It amazed her that though the focus of their energy had shifted, it was still the same dynamic between them. That urge to provoke had transformed itself from the only release they'd been able to find in their youth, to this raw, burgeoning sensuality. The rows were still there, but they'd changed. They had a new edge; a new goal.

Click.

The bra sprang open. “Hello again,” Ron said as he eased the cups out of the way with his free hand. She couldn't help but laugh.

“They don't talk or do tricks, you know,” she said, palming her breasts and giving them a light squeeze. He stopped breathing again.

“Oh my God, do that one more time? Please?” he croaked after a moment.

Hermione blinked up at him, the picture of innocence. “What, this?” she asked, pinching and teasing her nipples into hard peaks.

It was his turn to nod. He watched her for a bit, entranced by her hands. She could feel her knickers clinging to her damp skin. Ron had made her wet like this before, but something was building, and she wanted it. Oh, how she wanted it! It had been building for weeks now, and every nerve in her body was ready. They'd come close the other day, and of course she was prepared with the necessary precautions, but Hermione knew that this was not the moment for timetables and step-by-step outlines. Sex with Ron—Merlin, just the phrase itself made her even wetter—would happen naturally, when it was right.

He freed her right breast from her grip, twining his fingers with hers, and pressing her arm down beside her head. The sensation of being pinned by him made her ache inside. She felt almost hollow. She pressed her thighs together and a jolt of pleasure zinged across her clit. She thought she would burst apart like a supernova when he dipped his head and took her nipple in his mouth.

His tongue was hot, and it felt better than it had the last time, though that hardly seemed possible. She'd thought it had been pretty brilliant then. Ron sucked more of her into his mouth, and she moaned. She moved her unpinned hand to the back of his head, urging him on. She could feel him tracing wet circles around and around. It was bloody amazing!

“D'zit feel good?” he asked, releasing her breast to nip at it with his teeth.

“Nnnnggh.”

“Fuck, Hermione!”

“Yes, please.”

He froze. “Yes what?”

She looked up at him. A second's contemplation told her that yes, she'd really meant it.

“Yes what?” he asked again, panting and sounding hoarse. His eyes were a deep blue. She'd always loved the colour. It was nearly her favourite, second only to the gorgeous ginger of his hair.

She stared back into those eyes. She'd never felt so beautiful as she did in this moment. “Yes. Please. Fuck. Hermione,” she said.

Ron blinked and his jaw dropped open in a silent groan. He bent and kissed her reverently. “Are you sure?”

Slowly, decisively, she took his free hand and brought it to her zip. “You just want to hear me say it again,” she said, smiling with a boldness that practically oozed from her pores. She could see his spine straighten as his surprise and awe melted into that utter Ronness, for lack of a better word. He was rising to the challenge. In more ways than one, she thought with an internal snigger.

“I think you just really want an excuse to say that naughty word again.”

In a flash her jeans were undone, and his palm was flat against her belly as he probed inside her knickers. Merlin, but his fingers were long! This wasn't new information, of course, but for his middle finger to be teasing her like it was, while most of his hand was still exposed...

Ron's expression was playful, if a bit intense, but she could see in his eyes that he was concentrating fiercely on what she'd told him the few times they'd gone this far. Not too much pressure; explore, but always return to this spot; around and over, around and over.

She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath, trying to shift to give him more room in the confining denim. He sensed her goal, because he slipped away from her, and then his hands were lifting her arse off the bed. Her jeans seemed to glide off of her skin like silk, but maybe that was just the intoxication of finally being in this moment.

It was really happening.

Hermione's heart pounded in her ears. A few of those old niggling insecurities tried to swim to the surface of her mind: her arse was too big, her hips too wide, her breasts too small. She gave them a shove and told them to fuck off, and they faded away like echoes in mist, leaving only the feel of Ron's hands behind. He was right. She had wanted to say it again.

He was caressing her legs, but seemed to have stopped moving otherwise. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her knickers. The material was a pale, thin blue, and her wetness must be clearly visible, for him to be entranced like that. At this rate they were never going to have sex.

“You,” she said, sitting up to shrug off her shirt and unclasped bra, “are entirely too overdressed for this party.”

Ron snapped out of his stupor at that, and grinned. He stood and pulled his shirt over his head. Hermione took the opportunity to admire him. The trim, flat plane of his stomach was dusted with freckles, though less so than on his face and arms. A fine ring of copper hair encircled his navel and traveled south, where it became more coarse and dark. It disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers, begging to be followed.

As he reached for the button and obscured her view of that lovely trail of hair, she moved. “Wait,” she said, and he let his arms fall back at his sides. She slid to the edge of the bed and framed his hips with her hands, pulling him closer. She opened her legs and he stepped between them. She felt it again, that surge of boldness pulling her forwards like a magnet.

She tugged forcefully at his belt, sliding the silver prong from its notch and then coaxing the leather to slither slowly into her hands. The sight of Ron's stomach muscles trembling and clenching in front of her told her that this had been the right move. Hermione had never been a fussy, frilly kind of girl. But she found as she stared up into his eyes and saw him looking back at her with such wonderment and desire, she found that she could absolutely be this woman.

With practice, she had a sneaking suspicion that she could become very, very good at it.

His zip was straining outwards, and she took special care to ease it open. Ron was breathing heavily through his nose, and she could tell that her pace was driving him mad. Taking pity on him, she undid the button and pulled his jeans down his legs. Apparently she'd been right, because as soon as her hands reached his knees, he hopped from foot to foot, kicking the denim off his feet, and toeing his socks off hurriedly, so that he stood there in nothing but his tented boxers.

Ron moved to shove her back down onto the bed, but she was determined to keep the upper hand. She gripped him by the hips, stopping him in his tracks. He'd been silent since she'd told him to wait, but now he made a sort of strangled quacking noise and cleared his throat.

“You...you're--”

“Hush,” she said, and his jaw snapped shut. While he was still able to comply, she slid his boxers down in one smooth motion and let them pool at his ankles. She tapped her foot against his, and he obediently stepped out of them. The skin on his thighs was raised in gooseflesh, but she barely registered this fact, what with his newly exposed cock staring her in the eye.

Penises, well, not penises, but specifically Ron's penis...she found it quite fascinating. In the last few weeks, she'd gained more and more access, grown more familiar with it. Him. It. This angle was new, though, and it had never been so close to her face. Her fingers were itching to just lay Ron down under a bright light and really explore it. Take her time. Watch it change and find out all of its secrets. But the present moment didn't lend itself to such careful, meticulous scrutiny.

Instead, she paused to admire the way it jutted out from its nest of burnt copper hair, stretching itself out towards her. It was a pleasing size, or at least it'd felt pleasing in her hand. She was quite thankful, too, that it didn't seem obscenely large. Throughout her Hogwarts years, she'd overheard all sorts of off-colour remarks from various boys with regard to their equipment, and hadn't known what to expect when she'd first laid eyes and hands on Ron's.

Yes, very nice, she thought as she wrapped a hand around the base of his shaft.

“Fuck,” Ron moaned.

This was the part she was less sure about. Relax, she told herself, this is new for Ron, too. She knew that he wasn't expecting perfection. And even though she hadn't really even done anything yet, he was still reacting as if it was the best feeling in the world.

A small bead of moisture was nestled in the small opening on the head of his cock. She could see it glistening in the yellow lamplight. The moment seemed to slow, writing itself into her memory, and then time sped up all at once as she leaned forwards and took him into her mouth.

Ron's knees buckled slightly and he reached upwards to grab onto one of the exposed beams of the ceiling for support. He tucked his head into his straining bicep, and she could hear his ragged breath echoing around the small room.

The basic how and what of sucking him off came naturally, she found, but it was technique that she was unsure of. Once, he squeaked, “Teeth!” at her, so she brought her lips down over them and was rewarded with a muffled, “Hmmmmng.”

His shaft, slickened with her efforts, slipped back and forth in her hand more easily than it had done previously. She let him fall from her mouth and sat back to watch his expression, experimenting with different speeds. To her, it made sense to go more quickly, but when she picked up the pace a bit, he grabbed her wrist and slowed her down.

Soon, though, he began to thrust into her hand, gasping each time the head breached the tight circle of her fingers. “Shit, Hermione...so good...” The sound of his voice made the ache that had been building inside her burn. She felt so wet, and her need to be pinned to the bed beneath him was like nothing she'd ever known.

Ron seemed to read her mind, or maybe she had been reading his, because he growled and then she was on her back, knickerless and legs spread wide. He moved more slowly now as he stretched out on top of her, but the sense of urgency they both felt was still right there, like a third person in the room.

“You're sure?” he asked again, voice deep, but gentle.

“Yes, Ron. I want all of--”

You, she finished in her head as he kissed her into silence. It was deep and intense, his tongue mimicking what his cock wanted to do. She ran her hands up and down his back, dragging her nails along his spine. His hand reached between them and he gasped when his fingers discovered just how much she wanted him.

“Fuck, so wet,” he groaned, as he bent his head towards her breasts again. The combination of his mouth on her, and the finger he'd slipped inside of her was making her light headed.

“Your fault,” she bit out, spreading her legs further apart, encouraging him onwards. Any moment now...any moment he'd be inside her, really inside her, and she'd have given all of herself to him. She couldn't wait for it any longer.

She pulled him back up into a kiss, and fisted both hands in his hair. Chills crept across her skin as he shifted his weight so that she was taking more of it and moved to grip her hip. His body was literally pressing her into the mattress, and instead of being overwhelming, it was...hot. He was right there...she could feel him right at her entrance. He'd only have to push forward and he'd be right where she needed him to be.

“Take me, Ron.”

He bent down, and turned his mouth to her ear. “What about--”

“I've been on the potion for over a month,” she said in one long breathless sound. She half expected him to laugh. He didn't.

Instead, it was all the encouragement he needed. Propping himself up on an elbow, he reached down with a shaking hand to better align himself. Oh! He was thrusting forward, tentative and slowly, and it pinched a bit. She squeezed her eyes shut against the foreign sensation. This feeling would pass, she knew. With a twitch of his hips Ron was buried completely inside her.

“Ohmigod!” he said, hovering above her. “Hermione?” Warm bursts of his breath were ghosting into the hollow of her neck. She could almost hear him holding still for her.

She opened her eyes. “I'm okay,” she said, though her voice sounded tiny and far away. He kissed her softly. The pinching had given way to a slight stinging; not nearly as uncomfortable. But he needed to move if it was going to go away. She grazed her fingertips down to the small of his back, stroking him encouragingly. After a moment, he began to pull out, and the stinging increased. As he surged back in for a second and third time, each more deeply, the pain began to recede.

Unfortunately, so too did most of the other sensations she was feeling. A warm numbness was spreading within her as his pace increased. It was okay, though, she realised. It meant that she could focus entirely on Ron, which was exactly what she wanted to do.

He was gazing down at her like she'd invented sex. He seemed incapable of further sound, and he'd sucked his entire bottom lip into his mouth. His thrusts were growing erratic, his hair was wet and clinging to his temples and forehead. He looked completely gorgeous. She had put this look of pleasure on his face. She had made him hard, had made him moan her name. The thoughts were sparking that urge to provoke again, to claim him as hers.

She shifted her hips and then he was thrusting still deeper. What's more—she could feel it. And it felt good. “Oh,” she whispered. Emboldened by his expression, and the tingling sensitivity that was beginning to rise inside her, she moaned his name. “Oh Ron!”

With a few final shuddering pumps of his hips he came, groaning through gritted teeth into her hair. The air surrounding them was humid, and pungent with the smell of sex. Their sex. Happiness and a feeling of--well she didn't quite approve of naming it ownership, but it was honest—bubbled up from within her, and she wrapped her arms more securely around him. This feeling of closeness to Ron, of oneness was more humbling and beautiful than she'd imagined.

Everything, everything had led to this.

After another few moments of silently being wrapped up in each other, Ron pulled his hips back, and his softened cock slipped out. Now that was a sensation that would take some getting used to. He eased himself onto his side and gathered her to him, cushioning her head with his bicep, and brushing her unruly hair back from her face.

They were both sticky, and the narrow bed seemed to have shrunk by miles, but it was perfect.

Ron's free hand found her arse, and he squeezed it affectionately. He was looking at her in wonder and incredulity. She suspected her eyes echoed the same. “I just shagged you,” he said, as if this was news.

She couldn't help but laugh. “I know, Ron. I was there.”

“I'm sorry it hurt,” he started in all seriousness. But then he added quickly, “WhenIshaggedyou.”

Hermione blinked pointedly at him for a few seconds, but then her expression softened. “It's all right, it started to feel good there at the end.”

“When I--”

“When you shagged me, yes. Honestly,” she tutted, but she was grinning. This was part of what she loved about him. His ability to make her take herself, and life, less seriously.

Once again, he appeared to have picked up on her thoughts, because his mischievous grin slowly unraveled itself into a small, tender one. “All joking aside though, d'you have any idea how amazing you are?”

She arched her back to look more closely at him. As he'd said, all traces of joking around were gone. Suddenly, even after what they'd just done, she felt herself blushing. “I think you're pretty amazing too,” she said.

“Me?” It looked as if she wasn't the only one who was capable of blushing in the afterglow.

“Yes, you,” she said firmly. “I love you.” It wasn't the first time she'd said it, but it felt bigger somehow. Deeper.

“I love you too, Hermione.”

She closed her eyes and savoured the moment, storing it away for the coming months when she would need a respite from her Ronless school year. Thank Merlin for Hogsmeade weekends!

His lips tickled her temple as he planted a kiss there. “Y'know, we just shagged,” he whispered.

“You're not going to stop doing that, are you?” she asked, trying to look stern.

He scratched his chin and pondered for a moment. “Nope, don't reckon so.”

“Oh good lord,” she muttered.

But, she thought, I wouldn't want it any other way.

Drabble 8 for round 2 of rwhg_ldws: A Few Slight Modifications

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 03:17:59 GMT

Title: A Few Slight Modifications.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 300
A/N(optional): I don't know what he's going to do with them. Honest.

“Ron?”

The house was unusually quiet. Frowning, Hermione sat down the steaming bag of takeaway and opened the hall cupboard. No, his broomstick was there, hanging in wait on its hooks. Both the lounge and the back garden were empty.

She found what she was looking for upstairs. Hugo was fast asleep atop his bed, fingers draped over his eyes to block out the fading evening light. Ron was sitting on the floor, bent over a mound of brightly-coloured objects in a jumble between his outstretched legs.

Hermione smirked. “Food's downstairs.”

Ron grunted.

“Where's Rose?”

“With Al.”

“What're you doing?”

Ron finally glanced up guiltily. “Checking out these Leggy things.”

“Leg-O,” she said, squinting at the discarded box. It was the set with the dragon. She should've known. It was then that she noticed his wand.

“Look, I've done Harry and you.” He held up two Lego people. One had black hair and an eensy pair of specs, and the other had lumpy brown hair and--

“You've...given me breasts?”

“Of course,” he said, turning slightly pink. “You-you've got them, so Leggy-you--”

“Leg-O.”

“--should too.”

She scrubbed a hand over her face, torn between amusement and exasperation. “Dare I ask to see Lego-you?”

Up popped another tiny figure, though his alterations only consisted of a pair of enlarged hands. Seeing the questioning look on her face, Ron tapped Lego-him and Lego-her together. Lego-his hands fit precisely around Lego-her breasts.

Hermione spluttered and said the first thing that popped into her mind. “You'll have to change those back before Hugo can have them.”

Ron looked sheepish. “I'll, er, buy another set.”

"What're you going to do with those?”

Dead silence.

“Oh, nevermind.”

Drabble 8 for round 1 of rwhg_ldws: Expletive Deleted

Sun, 17 May 2009 20:41:36 GMT

Title: Expletive Deleted
Rating: PG-13, for bad language
Words: 500
Author's Note (if any): Based on actual events!

“Then I said, 'Harry, that's mental!' Wouldn't listen, though. Your uncle's quite stubborn.” Ron's voice peaked and valleyed dramatically as he spoke to the toddler tucked against his side. “So,” Ron said, looking down into his son's upturned face, “what d'you think, Hugo?”

Hugo's wispy burnt copper brows furrowed in concentration. “Meh.”

Ron nodded sagely. “Right, right. Should I try again?”

“Meh.”

All of the specialists who'd seen Hugo said that developmentally there was nothing wrong with him. He was perfectly capable of speech. Rose'd started talking at nine months—just like Hermione had done.

So why was two-year-old Hugo choosing not to?

Both Ron and Hermione had grown increasingly concerned, even with his Mum telling them it'd be all right. “Children do these things. He'll talk when he's got something to say.”

But it appeared that he did have things to say. Or, rather, one thing. 'Meh' was Hugo's answer for everything from demanding pumpkin juice to what Ron assumed were attempts to tattle on his older sister.

That was another thing they couldn't figure out. Somehow Rose always understood exactly what he wanted. “He lost his teddy bear,” she'd say in the tonal equivalent of, “Can't you tell?”

In an effort to do something, Ron dedicated every spare moment to conversations with Hugo. He relayed the antics of their many cousins, problems at work, and Quidditch statistics with enthusiasm. If Ron had anything to say about it, Hugo's first word would be Quaffle, though he admitted to himself that it was a stretch.

“C'mon, mate. Time to eat!” said Ron as he blew a raspberry into his son's belly. He slipped the giggling boy into his highchair and then scooped Rose up. “And you too!” Rose squirmed and protested, but Ron could tell that she was pleased.

“Mum and Dad just pulled up. Grab the bread, would you Ron?” Hermione stooped down in front of Hugo's chair. “And how are you, little man?” she asked, placing a cup of cold milk on his tray.

“Meh,” he replied happily.

She looked wistful as she stood and patted him on the head.

Dinner passed pleasantly. Hermione had just brought in pudding when Hugo's cup suddenly clattered to the floor with a wet thud. Ron saw the boy's expression and assumed that a frustrated, “MEH!” would soon follow.

Not even close.

“Fuck!”

The room went silent. He didn't—not—no! Ron was a dead man—Hermione was gonna kill him. His eyes automatically shifted to his wife's wand hand.

It was then that his in-laws started to laugh. Jean's mouth was hidden behind her napkin, tears leaking down her cheeks. David, on the other hand, sniggered open-mouthed while staring directly at Ron.

Fuuuuuck!

Taking a fortifying deep breath, surely his last, Ron glanced at Hermione.

To his overwhelming relief, she was laughing too as she plucked Hugo from his seat. “You are your father's son, little man.”

Indeed.

Drabble 4 for round 1 of rwhg_ldws: New York Style Chocolate Cheesecake

Sun, 19 Apr 2009 20:58:49 GMT

Title: New York Style Chocolate Cheesecake
Prompts:Chocolate, Cheese, and Coke--must be from Hermione's POV.
Rating: R, for innuendo.
Words: 500
Author's Note (if any): ~~None.~~ Now that the voting's over, I can say: the brunette with the Coca-cola? Is totally me! *giggle*

“Mmmm.”

Hermione was completely enthralled, watching as Ron's eyes slid closed. He let the chocolate creaminess roll around on his tongue, a look of utter bliss on his face.

“It isn't like any cheesecake I've ever tasted. New York, was it?”

Hermione nodded, too busy being all tingly to answer properly. Besides, she thought her bottom lip might be permanently tucked between her teeth. She was rather afraid of the sounds she might make if it became untucked. This was a pubic place, after all.

In their youth, watching Ron shovel food into his mouth from every angle, garbled speech forcing its way out of the cracks—it hadn't been pleasant. But now she found that she had to sit on her hands to keep from jumping up and Apparating them straight to her flat.

She glanced around the restaurant to see just how public it was, only to discover that she was not the only one enthralled with Ron. A brunette seated nearby was drinking a Coca-cola, but the straw was currently pulled free of its moorings, forgotten and stuck to her bottom lip as she stared unabashedly at Ron.

Upon spotting Hermione, the brunette's seatmate elbowed her in the ribs, and the 'spell' was broken. Hermione quickly turned back to find Ron holding a cheesecake-laden fork in front of her nose.

Hermione shook her head again, her teeth releasing their prisoner. “Full. You enjoy it.” Her voice sounded strained to her ears, but Ron didn't seem to notice. Instead, he continued his slow, meticulous appreciation of the confection in front of him.

She couldn't help it—her mind wandered to what else he could be slowly, meticulously appreciating, if they could only get back to her flat.

A corner of Hermione's mouth turned upwards as she thought about when they had first become lovers. It had amazed him to discover that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

“But I'm all arms and legs! I'm covered in freckles, my hair's orange, for Merlin's sake, and look at me,” he said, lifting his shirt, “I'm skin and bones!”

She had stepped forwards and framed his hipbones with her hands. “I know,” she'd said, and she'd finally seen in his eyes that he got it.

His clattering fork brought her back to the present. The plate was clean, except for a small bit of chocolate near her hand. She swiped her finger in it and lifted it to her mouth, but Ron grabbed her wrist.

“Hey,” he said teasingly, “You said you didn't want any.”

He pulled her finger into his mouth and lapped the chocolate away, his tongue gliding thoroughly around for the last drop.

Throwing a wad of who knew how much money on the table, Hermione grabbed a handful of his shirt and vaulted from her seat.

“Home. Now,” she said over her shoulder.

She could feel his low, sexy chuckle on the backs of her fingers.

Drabble 3 for round 1 of rwhg_ldws: Crucio!

Sun, 12 Apr 2009 22:46:45 GMT

Prompt: Ron's hands
Title: Crucio!
Rating: PG, for violence.
Words: One hundred!
Author's Note (if any): Deathly Hallows missing moment (Chapter 23--Malfoy Manor).
Additional Author's Note: Skin. Of. Mah. Teef, y'all!
Additional-additional Author's Note: *meep*

Hermione was surely about to die.

Bellatrix's wand flashed and the pain was sheer agony, like she had suddenly burst into dagger-filled flames.

Then it lifted and Bellatrix demanded the truth, but Hermione's brain shrieked, “Lie!” and the words flew from her mouth on their own. More pain. More questions. On it went, and the sound of her own screams grew distant as she shrank inside herself, away, away.

And then Ron's voice was in her ear. “I'm here,” he said.

His fingers dug painfully into her arms, but she didn't care.

He had come. She was safe.

Drabble 2 for round 1 of rwhg_ldws: Sunshine, Daisies, Butter Mellow...

Tue, 07 Apr 2009 03:35:16 GMT

Title: Sunshine, Daisies, Butter Mellow...
Rating: G
Words: 472 or 481, depending on how you count the hyphenates.
Author's Note (if any): None.

“I'm home!” shouted Ron, doffing his cloak and bounding up the stairs two per stride.

He found Hermione standing in the nursery staring at a freshly coloured wall. Several small cardboard squares in varying shades of yellow were fanned out on a shelf beside her. “I just can't decide. What do you think? Lemon sorbet? Or--” Tugging her wand from the messy bun knotted at the back of her head, she flicked her wrist. “Sunflower?”

Ron was hesitant to answer, seeing as how he thought the wall in front of them had just gone from yellow to...really the same yellowy...yellow. He decided that distraction was the best option.

“Brought you those sweets you wanted.”

It worked. Hermione took the brown paper sack from his outstretched hand. She reached in and pulled out a long thin Muggle sweet wrapped in, of all things, yellow paper. She tore at the wrapper with her teeth, and took a bite of the exposed chocolate. Her eyes slid shut. “Oh god, Cadbury Flake.” She must've sensed his amusement, because she opened one eye at him. “Don't tell my parents.”

“Your secret's safe with me,” he replied, sniggering before he could stop himself.

She paused mid-chew, a sliver of the flaky bar clinging to her chin. Her free hand went from smoothing the material of her easy-to-get-into-but-nothing-to-look-at dress, to trying to tame the bushy strands at her temple. “I must look awful.”

Ron immediately felt guilty, and stepped to her side. He hadn't meant to make her feel bad. He rather liked seeing her indulge her secret sweet tooth. “Of course not. You're gorgeous,” he said, tenderly rubbing her swollen belly. “And chocolate coated.” He leaned in and nipped the flake from her chin. Ah, there was the smile he'd been aiming for. “As far as I'm concerned, you're so perfect you've got sunlight streaming from every orifice.”

“Oh I'm sure, Ron!” She laughed and popped the last of the bar into her mouth. “Now,” she said, backing out of his embrace, “about that colour--”

Suddenly there was a loud boom, not unlike what ten or so Errols crashing against a window all at once might sound like. Ron's head whipped around in all directions, searching out the source of the racket, but nothing seemed amiss. And then he looked at Hermione.

She stood stock still, her wand palmed against one side of her belly; her other hand spread flat against the wall. A small, cloudy puddle of water was spreading outwards from her feet, and her calves were damp beneath her dress. Wide eyed, she glanced from the floor to Ron's face.

Realization slammed into Ron's gut like a Bludger, and he suddenly felt lightheaded.

“That's not sunlight,” he croaked.

Drabble 1 for round 1 of rwhg_ldws: Learning

Sun, 29 Mar 2009 18:09:26 GMT

Title: Learning
Pairing: Ron/Hermione -- Written for rwhg_ldws, Round 1, Challenge 1
Prompt: Tents are not the most comfortable of places.
Author: belladonna803
Rating: PG, I guess, for a drop of swearing.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 441
Beta: None.
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete

Tents are not the most comfortable of places.

By nature—whether Wizarding or Muggle--they're damp and draughty, and smell of rotten leaves and burnt toast and old socks. They're cumbersome and clumsy, and try as you might, they never quite feel like home.

You reflect on simpler days, when the worst that your boggart could manage to conjure was a failed homework assignment. You long for the library, the warm common room fire, and (you sigh) just the act of learning something for the joy of it, rather than because the fate of the world hangs in the balance. What you wouldn't give to hear even the drone of Professor Binns' voice echoing off the walls of his classroom.

And then slowly you realize that tents can be classrooms.

Tents teach you that intimacy has many meanings. He's there with you every minute of every day, and it isn't always easy, but it's natural, and right. You learn to like the stubble that peppers his chin, and think about telling him so. Even though his hair hasn't been truly clean in months, and it looks much darker than it used to, it's still your favourite colour.

It's in that tent where you learn that warmth isn't a state of being, but rather a living, breathing presence that leaves you when he does. The world goes tarpaulin grey, and your throat is sobbed raw for weeks. It's just you and Harry and the damned hunt. The tent feels less like a safe haven, and more like an empty husk as the days tick by. His smell lingers on everything. Your eye spots a copper strand left behind on his pillow, and you wonder if things will ever feel normal again.

It's also in that tent where slowly, by degrees, you learn to forgive him, once he's finally returned. When he's suddenly there you just want to pound all of your pain into him. You try to do it with your fists. He deserves it. But even so, you realize that you can breathe again, and that you're bone-tired. You sleep through the night for the first time in an age.

Tents aren't very private, but you're thankful for this. Well, most of the time, anyway. You catch him looking as you pull that itchy jumper over your head. Though your hair's tangled, and you're scratched and bruised and ghostly pale, he's still looking at you with that warm smile.

You smile back, and realize you've learned something else: Tents might not be the most comfortable of places, but the one you're in is home, as long as Ron is there with you.

Chocolate Cocktails, for dragon_animagus

Sat, 14 Feb 2009 19:43:56 GMT

Title: Chocolate cocktails, written for the CM Valentine's Gift Fic Exchange
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Author: belladonna803
Rating: PG-13, but it was tough to keep it to that! :)
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 458
Beta: None
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete

Happy Valentine's, I hope you like it! :)

***

Ron thought the air smelled like they were standing at the molten crust of a chocolate volcano.

It was heaven.

He glanced up at Hermione, who was perusing the restaurant's menu with knitted brows. "Incredible, isn't it?"

She laughed, though she still looked a bit wary. "I don't know about this place, Ron. Where did you hear of it again?"

"Your parents! At Christmas, when you and Angelina were trying to remove those feathers from Victoire, your Dad told mine that this place was keeping them in business. He said, Every item on the menu, from starters to afters, contains chocolate!

Ron sat back and beamed, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

The waiter, dressed in a crisp white shirt and militantly pressed black trousers, approached with an air of house-elf style supplication. "Sir and Madam," he said with a bow, "May I be so bold as to suggest one of our decadent cocktails?"

Ron sniggered under his breath, but Hermione smiled and ran her finger down the list of possibilities. "I think I'll have the Chocolate Martini, please.”

The waiter bowed even lower and nodded, quickly turning towards Ron. “And for the gentleman?”

Ron still looked more amused than he knew Hermione would have liked, but he winked across at her and ordered the cleverly-named 'FerMINTed Hot Chocolate.'

The waiter stepped away, his chin deferentially tucked into his chest, and Hermione shook her head and grinned at Ron. “A chocolate restaurant.”

“Hey, you can't blame me for wanting my two favourite things together, can you?” Her hand found his on the silky cocoa-coloured table cloth, and squeezed.

Just then, the waiter reappeared with their drinks. Hermione eyed hers for a moment before taking a hesitant sip. Ron watched as her eyelids slid shut, and her head dipped back. “Oh...my...god, that's good.” Her lips were parted slightly, and the barest hint of chocolate still clung to her bottom one. The alcohol had flushed her skin, and the rosy tint was creeping down her neck, towards one of his favourite places. He forgot to breathe.

She fanned herself with a hand, and looked expectantly at him. “Well, how's yours?”

He blinked. “My what?”

“Your drink, silly!”

He glanced down at the dollop of chocolate-speckled whipped cream that adorned the mug in front of him. A lump formed in his throat as he suddenly imagined other places that dollop might find a home--

“Ron?”

His eyes snapped back up to her face, and he could tell that she could read what was in them, because when the waiter returned, Hermione quickly informed him that they'd changed their minds and wouldn't be staying for dinner. They would, however, be getting dessert.

To go.

Intense, for shocolate

Sat, 15 Nov 2008 07:16:12 GMT

Title: Intense
Pairing: Harry/Ron. Yes, you read that correctly! My first slash fic!
Author: belladonna803
Rating: I'd say NC-17.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 2,387
Beta: None
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete

shocolate, I feel like I should run from the room screaming, "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" since I know how protective you are of your boys! *is extremely nail-bitey* This bunny wouldn't leave me, though, and I knew I had to at least try to make it come out the way it played out in my head, for you. Happy, happy birthday dear! I love ya like mad!

It had started out to be such an unextraordinary moment. Truly it had.

Auror training?
Check.
New Charm to master?
Check.
Ron at Harry's side?
Mother fucking check.

Today's lesson was: get a handle on the Supersensory Charm. Pretty innocuous, at first glance. It was designed to heighten the senses, and potentially give you an edge when cornered, or when facing a hidden enemy in unfamiliar surroundings. Harry assumed that it'd be a bit tricky, maybe, but that overall, it'd just bring them one step closer to achieving full Auror status. Surely he and Ron had tackled shit of a higher degree of difficulty, right? Piece o'cake.

So how had things got so fucked up so fast?

Well, for starters, it turns out the Supersensory Charm isn't quite as easy to master as one might think. A person's body just isn't accustomed to taking in that much stimuli at one time, so the charm is practiced in a classroom setting, under Healer supervision, until such time as one feels comfortable enough with it to venture into a practical-use situation. Or in layman's terms: until you keep from throwing up and passing out.

There they were. Harry--wand out, feet firmly planted under his shoulders, knees slightly bent, and taking slow, steady breaths. Ron--about three paces behind him, wand out, and ready to cast a quick Cushioning Charm, should Harry go arse over elbow and see what the floor smelled like, first-hand.

The handful of other cadets were spaced around the room so that everyone had a wide berth, and the instructor, Braithwaite, gave out a few last minute orders.

"Spotters, watch your man for any sign of distress, and cancel the charm if you suspect they're going to fall." Braithwaite flicked his wand, conjuring a massive set of glowing red numbers, reading 0:00:00, which hovered in the air above their heads like giant watchful eyes. "All right, begin!"

The seconds started racing, and before the clock blinked a fiery :02, Harry'd muttered, "Supersensorum," and everything had gone to hell.

RonBreathPulseTeethSkinWandRightThereCockLipsHandsOhMyGod!It was...Harry'd never...his nerve endings roared with AllOfRonRightThere...the room...the room had gone suddenly empty save the two of them...just them...it was...too much...but...GodItWasGood and he didn't...

Harry's legs trembled, but he tried to take it all in, tried to focus on each tiny particle of Ron that was connected to him by what seemed like thousands of gossamer threads. Ron’s wand, pointed in readiness at Harry’s midsection, had now seemingly grown in length to breach the distance between them. The wand tip traced back and forth against Harry’s lower back, moving in time with Ron’s breathing.

Though Ron hadn’t moved from where he’d been standing, Harry clearly felt Ron’s hot breath moistening his neck. Every inch of Ron's body was singing against Harry's nerve endings, magnifying every sensation by an unfathomable number.

Side-along Apparition and Portkeys had fused them together more times than Harry could remember, but this was a universe away from those laughable things. The tattoo of Ron's pulse against him, thronging along with Harry's racing blood. The bob of Ron's Adam's apple as he swallowed. The heat of Ron's thighs as they pressed into Harry's arse. The curled knot that was Ron's cock, nestled in the small of his back.

Amid the barrage of tactile sensation, Harry's brain was being completely thrown for a loop, because the feel of totally and completely being wrapped in Ron, like a second skin--Harry liked it. No, he didn’t just like it.

He really fucking liked it.

A very Hermione-like whisper in his head told him to focus, that it was just Ron. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Ron wasn’t just Ron. That tiny whispering part of him wanted to end this madness and run away. But another part of him--most of him--wanted to turn around, walk the few paces to where Ron stood and—

Harry threw his face into his hands with such speed that the room began to spin.

“Easy, mate. I’m right here.”

Harry’s back snapped ramrod straight. RonsLipsOnMySkin...BreathInMyEar...want to...to...

The tiny whisper was back. "You love Ginny!" it said. His answer appeared like a billboard in his mind. But I loved Ron first.

And it was true.

Harry’d lost count of the number of Stags he'd sent forth from the end of his wand using Ron’s image as fuel, and the few times in his wizarding life that he and Ron had fought and been estranged were some of the darkest that Harry had known. Ron, his best mate, his rescuer, his sword-wielder, his partner, his...his... His.

It was all too much. The floor began to ripple, then churn violently like a stormy sea. Harry tried to speak, but his teeth felt as though they were cemented together. "F-f-f--" UCK! his brain shrieked.

Ron stepped closer, sending a shock wave of stimulation, a vast ocean of minuscule fingers caressing every nerve.

"F-f-fff-inite!" He bit out.

Harry felt, rather than heard Ron cancel the charm. The furnace blast of Ron's hands on him was the last thing he knew as his body sank to the rippling floor, and everything went dark.

~*~*~

"Harry! Harry! Open your eyes!"

Harry's skin was covered in a sheen of sticky sweat like he'd been running a marathon. He gulped down air, and stared up into Ron's worried eyes. God, Ron. He squeezed his lids shut tightly, focusing on breathing.

Right. It's no big deal. It was just the charm. Everything's fine. Everything's just fine.

But everything wasn't fine. As a matter of fact, everything felt as far from fine as it was possible to get.

"Harry, c'mon mate, let's get you up." Ron hoisted him up onto wobbly legs, and lead him over to one of the benches that lined the wall behind them. Harry blanched at Ron's touch, but it went unnoticed, he supposed because he most likely looked like shit. The bench felt cold, even through his robes and trousers, and he sank onto it gratefully. He rested his forearms on his thighs and hung his head down, doing his best to act more tired than freaked out.

Ron clapped him on the back, and Harry jumped.

"Sorry."

Harry nodded.

"So, er, what was it like?"

How to answer that? Should he tell Ron that it'd been fucking amazing and fucking awful at the same time? That he'd come out of it wanting to...to... Oh, bugger it all!

Harry cleared his throat of the lump that had taken root there. "Intense." It was the first word that popped into his head, and was the utter truth, regardless of what else it'd been.

"All right, you lot," barked Braithwaite. "Spotters, it looks like group A is in no fit state to spot you today, so we'll pick this up again tomorrow."

Murmuring voices and shuffling footsteps told Harry that the room was emptying out. Part of him hoped that the floor would indeed turn to water and swallow him up as it felt like it would have done earlier. Another part of him wanted to run, to Apparate to wherever the fuck Ginny was right now and shag her brains out. And still another part of him wanted to go home to his and Ron's flat, with Ron, and shag his brains out.

"Home," said Ron, dragging Harry to his feet. Harry felt so drained and confused. How on earth had one charm, one damned charm, done this to him? All the magic he'd performed, including two of the three Unforgivables, and now something like this happened?

His brain was still rattled when Ron told him he would Apparate them both. Harry just nodded and slumped against him, breathing deeply as if trying to absorb Ron one molecule at a time. With a twist and a few lung-squeezing moments, Ron'd brought them home, and guided Harry to the sofa.

When Ron let go of him, Harry almost reflexively reached out to pull him back, but managed to stop himself just in time. This was madness. Maybe some firewhisky could drown it.

"Ogden's," he heard himself say. His voice sounded thick, like he's just woken up from an extra long kip. Ron's footsteps retreated, and within a minute, Harry felt the glass being shoved into his hand. The bottle clinked noisily on the table in front of them as Ron plopped down beside him. Harry downed the burning liquid in one gulp and willed it to erase what had transpired.

As he felt the familiar heat wash down into his stomach, Ron spoke.

"I've never seen you like that before, Harry. Not even when--," but he didn't need to finish. Harry knew exactly what he was going to say. Not even when your scar burned.

Harry didn't want to relive any of that shit again, by any stretch of the imagination. But what he wouldn't give for something to get his mind off this feeling, this--

"I want to do it."

Harry's head snapped to Ron so fast that his neck audibly cracked. Ron was breathing hard, the remnants of the firewhisky still clinging to his bottom lip, glistening in the dimly lit room. Ron sat his glass down next to the bottle and shifted to face Harry on the sofa.

"Are you mad?"

Ron licked his lips and Harry's stomach tightened.

"I want to know what it feels like. Right now."

For a second, Harry thought that Ron had meant It it. Then it hit him that he meant the charm. "Ron, you can't! You'll get your chance tomor--"

"No. Now."

Harry met Ron's eyes and gulped. It was almost like he knew somehow, like Ron had suddenly mastered Legilimency and could see directly into Harry's mind. He shook the absurd thought off, and argued again.

"Look, I'm in no fit state to spot you, what if something goes wrong and you get hurt?"

Ron stood and drew his wand, using it to slide the sofa table out of the way. "You won't let anything happen to me, Harry. I know you won't."

Heat that had nothing to do with firewhisky flushed Harry's skin. All arguments would be futile, he knew that. Harry knew it just as he knew that nothing save Obliviation could erase what had been drawn forth within himself. He nodded, drew his wand from his pocket, and stood on shaky legs.

Ron bobbed his head once, then raised his wand. "Supsersensorum." Ron instantly lost his footing, and Harry stretched out his hand to steady him, but pulled back before their skin connected. Ron's eyes were shut tight, head thrown back, mouth open. Harry could hear his ragged breath and imagined what Ron was feeling.

On impulse, Harry shifted so that his open palm passed along Ron's zip. The reaction was immediate. Ron gasped and arched his back, stretching out to meet Harry's hand again. Harry's cock twitched in his trousers, hardly daring to believe what has happening. He grew bolder then, and turned his palm upwards like a cup. He opened and closed his fingers slowly as Ron's head thrashed from side to side.

Ron's eyes were open again and his gasps were growing louder. Harry's cock wept against his y-fronts, desperate for something to happen, though he wasn't sure he could name it.

Ron lurched forward and raised his wand, and Harry could see that he was struggling to speak.

"Finite?" Harry asked. Ron nodded. A wave of selfishness washed over Harry as he stood with wand poised to act. After this, it would be over, and then where would they be? This moment would be gone, and Ron would be repulsed by what Harry had done.

After another moment's hesitation, Harry stepped forward, ready to catch Ron if he fell. "Finite Incantatem."

Within a split second, Ron's free hand reached out and clutched at Harry's outstretched arm. His eyes burned into Harry's, and Harry wanted to believe that what he saw there was a desire that matched Harry's own. Ron's weight shifted unsteadily, and Harry dropped his wand to grab him. Their faces were only a few inches apart now, each panting into the other's, eyes searching, seeking permission to move.

And then Ron's mouth was on his. Ron's fingers dug into Harry's scalp as their tongues met. It was clumsy, and their chins rubbed noisily against each other, but it was hot, and Harry could feel Ron's cock pressed tightly into his abdomen. Harry growled, pushing himself closer, desperate for that feeling of closeness that the charm had given him. He wanted to feel everything, all of Ron at once, everywhere.

Ron apparently wanted the same thing, because his hand stole down between them and ripped forcefully at Harry's belt buckle.

"More," he snarled, and Harry hastened to help him, fingers shaky and fumbling, and then Ron's cock sprang forth from his open zip. Harry palmed it, wrapping his fingers around Ron's shaft and tugging in his own favourite rhythm.

"God, that's--" growled Ron.

"Yeah." This was Ron, his Ron, hard and throbbing in his hand and he, Harry, wanted it so badly.

"FUCK!" Harry shouted as his own cock was freed from his trousers. They bit at each other, both yearning to feel as much as possible.

Ron pulled Harry's hand away long enough to entwine his long fingers with Harry's, trapping their cocks inside tightly and jacking them off in earnest. Ron's balls slapped against Harry's with each thrust, which were growing more and more erratic. Fuck yes!

Harry came first, biting down hard on Ron's shoulder as their hands and bellies were splattered.

"Mother fuck!" Ron's hand slid in the slickness, and he soon followed Harry, shouting and arching his head back as more pearly thick come covered them.

They fell to the floor in a heap of limbs before rolling onto their backs, panting and staring up at the ceiling in silence. Harry was the first to break it.

"You still love Hermione." It wasn't a question.

"And you still love--" Ron didn't seem able to say her name.

Harry nodded. "I do. This," he said, gesturing between the two of them, but he faltered.

"Our secret?" Ron pleaded, but it didn't quite sound like a plea for Harry's silence.

Harry nodded again and turned his face into Ron's shoulder. "Our secret."

His Chosen One

Wed, 06 Aug 2008 01:55:41 GMT

Title: His Chosen One
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Author: belladonna803
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry breaks the rules in order to contact Ginny, and incurs the wrath of a most dangerous foe: Gwenog Jones, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies. Just how bad could it be? ;) Written for the Singing Valentine challenge at catchmysnitch
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1927
Beta: My dear lnalvgd who rox with her lightning-quick beta skillz!
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete

"But Gwenog, I just—"

"No buts, Harry. I don't want anything to ruin our chances against Puddlemere." She jabbed her finger at his chest, emphasizing each word. "They've been playing a very fierce game this season and we need to be in top form. You can't see her." The hard, slightly menacing look on Gwenog's face told Harry that the discussion was over. He hadn't had much hope, to be honest. Damn.

She turned on her heel and slammed the heavy wooden door in his face, missing his nose by a hair's breadth. He slumped against its mottled surface in defeat. "But it's been two weeks," he muttered.

Even the golden talon of the Harpies logo that adorned the door seemed to be mocking him, shining brightly in the February sunlight. He only wanted to pass along a note; that was all. It wasn't as if he was asking to see her, though he'd jump at the chance, mind you. Giving the door one last defeated glance, Harry Apparated back to Grimmauld Place.

He plunked himself down into a chair in the kitchen; feeling more dejected than he had before he'd left for Harpies headquarters. Hermione and Ron glanced up from their reading; Hermione was pouring over what looked like a more advanced edition of Fantastic Beasts, and Ron was busily scratching numbers down into a violently green ledger that bore the Wheezes emblem.

"No luck, eh, mate?" Ron asked. He winced at Harry’s wordless reply. "I told you there’d be no talking to Gwenog. She’s the toughest captain in the league, according to Quidditch Weekly."

"There’s only two more days until the match, Harry. You’ve made it this far, I’m sure it will be here and over before you know it." Hermione smiled reassuringly, but Harry just shook his head.

"It’s just that the last time I saw her we had this huge row, and now she's been under bloody lock and key for two weeks!" He scrubbed a weary hand through his hair and exhaled. "Look, I just…I just need to apologize."

"Get mum to make her favourite meal on Sunday," offered Ron.

"Better yet, make it yourself," said Hermione.

Harry pulled his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I just want to get a message to her, but they’re not allowing any owl post, floo calls, or visitors. They’ve even put up anti-Apparition Charms—"

His eyes got large, and he quickly slipped his glasses back on. "Oh my god, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before! He could…I mean…he’s not…and they can do it at Hog—" He launched himself out of his chair as though it had suddenly burst into flames, and raced out of the room, punching the air in triumph as he went out the door.

Hermione looked over to see Ron sniggering into his ledger. "What's so funny?"

"He's just done a you!"

"Pardon?"

Ron sat his quill down and grinned at her. "He's just done a classic Hermione. Y'know, mumbling, shifty eyes, stopping mid-sentence, and then vanishing without explaining anything." She scowled. "Although," he added, "It has to be said: you look much cuter when you do it."

Hermione rolled her eyes and reached across the table to swat him on the arm, sending Ron into peals of laughter.

~~~

The sound of cards being slapped down forcefully could be heard in what amounted to a common room, of sorts, that the Harpies had set up for their sequestered players. Ginny was stretched out along the worn leather sofa, sipping butterbeer and trying her best to stay focused on the romance novel that was perched on her knee. They'd been having long, grueling practices all week, and everyone was anxious for Saturday to arrive. Their well established rivalry with Puddlemere had somehow managed to reach an even greater fervor, and everyone was feeling the pressure.

"Snap!" shouted the team's Keeper. A moment later, the cards exploded, sending plumes of acrid black smoke into the air at the center of the table.

"Dammit, Ethelda! That's the third t-time tonight!" A very slender witch with tightly plaited blond hair was spluttering and scowling, and waving at her nose.

Ethelda began to stand, the tension giving way to anger. "That's the game, Tilly. If you don't like it, stop playing. It's not like I did it on purpose!"

"QUIET!" Everyone froze in place as Gwenog strode down the stairs, her Beater's bat thrown threateningly over her shoulder. "Save it for the pitch!" She glanced around, staring each witch in the eye. "Now, we've got another hard practice ahead of us tomorrow. Lights out in ten minutes, no excuses!" Silence followed her back up the stairs, and the room collectively exhaled its held breath when they heard Gwenog's door shut behind her.

Ginny stood and stretched, tossing her book on the table beside the sofa. She was just about to collect the Butterbeer bottles from around the room, when a very loud cracking sound occurred just behind her. She whirled around, reaching for her wand on instinct, and was confused to find nothing there. Or, so it seemed, until she glanced down into the uncharacteristically timid face of a most unexpected visitor.

"Kreacher!" Ginny shrieked, unaware that all of her teammates had come to form a semicircle behind her. His bulbous eyes and cotton-haired ears were tremoring in an expression she'd never seen on the house-elf: one of utter nervousness. What on earth was Kreacher doing here? And what was Harry playing at, for it was surely his idea to send the elf. Didn't he realize how much trouble she would be in with Gwenog?

As if she'd sensed her name being invoked in Ginny's head, Gwenog again appeared on the stairs. "What's the meaning of—" She looked from Kreacher, who was very obviously staring at one particular person, to Ginny, who tried failingly to grin as if it was some colossal joke. "Heh. Sorry, Gwenog, I don't know what he's doing here."

"WELL? ASK HIM!"

Ginny bit her lip and looked down at Kreacher, silently plotting her revenge against a certain raven-haired, bespectacled git. "Kreacher, why has Harry sent you?"

Kreacher's gravel-filled croak echoed around the silent room. "Master Harry wanted Kreacher to deliver a message to Miss Weasley. Kreacher is to…is to…" The elf's eyes widened even further, and he gulped. "Kreacher is to sing it to Miss Weasley."

A few of the witches behind Ginny sniggered quietly, and Ginny could feel her face heating at the implication. A singing message from Harry? She shut her eyes for a moment as the date dawned on her. It's February tenth. Merlin, Harry, why now?

She glanced up at Gwenog, who was wearing an expression that Ginny couldn't fathom. There seemed to be a gleam in her eye as though they'd just trounced Puddlemere in the match. It did nothing to soothe Ginny's nerves. She nodded to Kreacher, who attempted to clear his throat. He opened his mouth and warbled:

Her eyes are brown like Honeydukes chocolate,

Her hair is bright like the sun.

I really miss her, and want to kiss her,

Oh Ginny, my Chosen One

The silence was deafening, and then the rest of the team cackled with laughter, slapping hands on her back, and dropping into chairs, holding their stomachs. Kreacher was muttering to himself, but Ginny couldn’t make it out over the din. She looked up at Gwenog and was startled to see the formidable witch standing right beside her.

"Use this elf to let Harry know that I will be paying him a visit tomorrow. There will be no need to make it rhyme." Ginny nodded numbly. The smile that Gwenog wore as she walked away was more menacing than any of the witch's notorious hotheadedness. Ginny only hoped that Harry was in one piece by the time the match was over on Saturday.

~~~

"Gwenog, can't we talk about this?"

"You said anything, Harry. Consider yourself lucky!"

"But—"

"No buts. You broke the rules, and it's time to pay the price. Now smile."

Instead of smiling, he rather looked like he’d eaten one too many stoat sandwiches. Which would be one, of course. He pulled unconsciously at the leather Quidditch padding that adorned his bare arms, hoping that it would magically expand and cover more of his flesh. He was also wearing an extremely tight pair of black uniform trousers, which were clearly meant for someone several sizes smaller than he was. He was sprawled on a fluffy white rug in front of a roaring fire, and the fuzz from the rug kept tickling his nose.

He felt completely ridiculous.

"C'mon, this is for charity, Harry. Don't look so pathetic. Think of all those underprivileged children you're helping to buy Quidditch supplies for! The wounded pride look isn't going to sell many calendars." Gwenog looked as though the view was the funniest thing she'd ever seen, and it was all Harry could do to keep from Disapparating on the spot.

"Actually, the wounded look—" began the photographer, but he was interrupted by a voice that made Harry's heart leap in his chest.

"If you know what's good for you, you won't finish that sentence." Ginny's tone carried a note of amusement, but also one of…ownership. Harry found it to be rather arousing. When Ginny finally came into view from amid the bright lights shining in his face, he couldn't help but smile. He bit his lip, feeling the heat rise in his skin. She looked absolutely amazing, and he momentarily forgot where he was.

The photographer was clearly thrilled with Harry's sudden change of expression. "That's excellent, Harry! Perfect!" The flash bulb continued to erupt in bursts of light, obscuring Harry's vision, but he stayed focused on Ginny.

"Sorry," he mouthed, and he could just make out her sly grin.

"This is…apology enough, Harry."

He nodded, flipping over onto his side and cocking his leg up. Hmm, if Ginny's going to look at me like that, I might as well go for it.

~~~

The crowd of witches that swarmed around Flourish and Blotts had Harry perplexed until he got closer to the front window. There on display, for every passerby to see, was the calendar that he and several male Quidditch players throughout England and Ireland had posed for. Harry's face and torso graced the cover, the image winking flirtatiously at the witch that no one could see. Emblazoned below his navel was the phrase, Support Quaffles for Kiddies.

"Oh Harry," sniggered Ron beside him.

"Shut it," Harry replied. "It's for charity."

"I can't believe you sent Kreacher in there. You're lucky Gwenog let you off so easy, mate. You could be wearing a Beater's bat in a very painful place right about now."

"Yeah, yeah." Embarrassing though it was, Harry was secretly glad he'd done it. Putting that look on Ginny's face? Very, very, very worth it. Ooooh yeah.

Angsty drabble #3: Ron, wait!

Sun, 30 Mar 2008 18:38:55 GMT

Title: Ron, wait!
Prompt: Ron/Hermione, & a big fight and/or silent treatment, given by pili204
Author: belladonna803
Rating: G, I suppose
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 210
Beta: None.
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete.

*stomps ray of sunshine back into its hiding place* This one is threatening to move into the fluff zone, but at least it starts off without it, LOL!

"Ron, wait! I-"

The door slammed, sending her carefully organized parchment swirling to the floor. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as she scooted her paperwork towards the sofa with her foot.

She hadn't meant to imply that he wasn't doing anything to help. It was just that everything seemed to be falling apart around her. Her emotions were no longer her own, she couldn't take more than five steps without having to pee, and the baby was a week overdue.

She was about to give birth to his child, for Merlin's sake! Wasn't there a rule somewhere saying that husbands weren't allowed to get hurt by things their pregnant wives said during fits of hormone-induced insanity?

Hermione wasn't sure if he'd actually left, or if he was just out there stomping around in the garden, but she was determined to make things right. That, and he still hadn't done what she'd asked. After stretching out her fingers to scoop up the pile of parchment she'd have to re-sort, she used the sofa's arm for support and hoisted herself up onto her feet.

Shuffling to the door and pulling it open, she shouted, "Ron? I'm sorry, really I am. Would you PLEASE—"

And then her water broke.

Angsty drabble #2: Taste

Sun, 30 Mar 2008 18:03:58 GMT

Title: Taste
Prompt: George/Luna, an unsent owl, given by modestyrabnott
Author: belladonna803
Rating: R, for swearing.
Warnings: Very angry!George
Word Count: 289
Beta: None.
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete.

I adore George/Luna, but have never written it before, this was interesting! I hope you enjoy. :)

"George, I'm sorry to disturb you, but could you show me where the—" Luna stopped short when she felt how odd the energy in the shop's back room was. It tasted like cold fury.

"He wrote him a letter." George whirled around to face her, a scrap of parchment crushed in his white-knuckled hand.

"He wrote a fucking letter to Percy, and he never told me. Me! Never said a fucking word about it!"

Luna watched patiently as he paced the room. "He clearly intended to send it. I found it mixed in with the other outgoing post. Fred always handles—" He looked as though he might vomit, and then gulped down air like he'd just broken the water's surface after a dive. "He always handled the post." His furrowed brow shrouded his eyes, making them look black.

She noted the flavour of anguish on the air, mixing with his anger. Underneath the energy radiating from George, though, she could sense something else…something decidedly… "He's telling you now, George," Luna said simply.

George stared at her, and let the unsent letter hang limp at his side. Moving quickly, she reached out and caught him as he sank to the floor. He breathed raggedly against her stomach, the grief-fueled anger ebbing from him and dissolving like mist. She stroked his hair, while a small smile of empathy played on her lips.

After a while, George sat up awkwardly and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "I'm sorry, Luna. I don't know why I've told you all this."

"You're telling me because I'm here, and I'm listening." She poked her tongue out to taste the air and nodded sagely. "I think that's his doing, as well."

Angsty drabble#1: Wrong

Sat, 29 Mar 2008 04:02:55 GMT

Title: Wrong
Prompt: Harry/Hermione, dead!Ron, given by shocolate
Author: belladonna803
Rating: PG
Warnings: I think the prompt says it all!
Word Count: 100
Beta: None.
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete.

Well, I managed a drabble, but I think I'll be sleeping with Deathly Hallows under my pillow tonight. XD

The world has gone dark; lost all its colour.

How can it not, in a place where Ron no longer exists?

What does it matter if she is only kissing Harry to smother the numb, Dementoresque nothingness. This is her living, breathing Azkaban. A prison made of invisible, unyielding walls, where comfort from a friend becomes tainted and twisted like the leaden knot in the pit of her stomach.

Harry's glasses dig painfully into the bridge of her nose, and she feels his tears mingling with her own. One word screeches in her mind like a claxon: Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!

Drabble: Surviving the Distance

Fri, 28 Mar 2008 00:52:49 GMT

Title: Surviving the Distance
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Author: belladonna803
Rating: PG
Summary: This is a tiny little "missing moment" that's post- DH, in which Hermione has returned to school without the boys. Written for the Scribbulous forums.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 100
Beta: None.
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete.

Hermione wrapped the scarf more snugly around Ron’s neck. “Maybe I should walk you back to the gate.”

“But I just walked you back to the castle.”

Hermione smiled and glanced at her feet. “I know, but you’ll catch cold, it’s freezing out and you haven’t brought a proper cloak.”

Ron ran a soothing hand through her hair and smiled back. “I’ll cast a Warming Charm.”

“Here, I’ll do it.” She tugged at the scarf and brought his lips down to hers. “Better?” she asked as they parted a while later.

“Hermione, maybe you should walk me back,” said Ron.

Drabble for Spidergirl30

Wed, 26 Mar 2008 02:24:49 GMT

Title: Spider!
Featured Characters: Ron, Hugo, & a spider.
Author: belladonna803
Rating: G
Summary: Just a simple little story to cheer the lovely spidergirl30. *Hugs M*
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 283
Beta: None.
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete.

"Daddy! Daddy! Spider in my room!"

Hugo's doe-like eyes were wide, his tiny forehead furrowed in fear. Ron sprang up from his seat by the fire and scooped his son up into his arms.

"A spider, huh?" Hugo nodded into the crook of his daddy's neck, relaxing slightly when a large, warm hand began soothing his back.

Ron took the stairs two at a time and gingerly stepped into Hugo's bedroom. There on the wall above Hugo's headboard was a black, shiny, and quite big black spider.

Hugo pointed an accusatory finger at the bug. "Smash it, Daddy!"

Very tenderly, Ron eased Hugo into the rocking chair that stood next to the door, and crossed the room, drawing his wand. With three or four flicks, and a swish or two, he'd opened the window, Levitated the spider outside, and placed it on the nearest branch of the large tree that shaded the house.

Hugo came over to wrap his arms around Ron's leg, clearly confused. "Why you not squash it?"

Ron patted his son's head lovingly, and then helped tuck him back into bed. "Because she wasn't hurting anyone, and I'm sure she didn't realize you weren't interested in making friends with her. She'll be happier outside, where she can catch lots of bugs in her web."

Hugo looked up at his father in adoration. "You like spiders?"

Ron paused for a moment, considering his answer. A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth, and he scratched his neck absentmindedly. "Spiders aren't anything to be afraid of, Hugo. Remember that."

Hugo nodded, snuggled himself against his pillow, and was asleep before Ron made it back down to his seat by the fire.

Drabble: How to Tell Him? (Part one of two)

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 14:47:05 GMT

Title: How to Tell Him? (Part one of two)
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Author: belladonna803
Rating: PG-13
Summary: See title. :)
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 100
Beta: None.
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete.

Ginny smiled when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chin resting atop her head. Her hands were shaking a little as she entwined them with his.

How to tell him? She'd been going over scenarios in her mind all day, each more outlandish than the next.

Just say it.

"Ginny? You okay?" His voice was full of concern.

Shit. There was no fooling him. Damned perceptive, her Harry was.

She turned in his arms to face him, and suddenly her nervousness was gone. Pulling one of his hands between them, she pressed his palm to her belly.

Wasabi

Wed, 19 Mar 2008 13:25:00 GMT

Title: Wasabi
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Author: belladonna803
Rating: G
Summary: Written for the Checkmated Valentine's Day Gift Fic Exchange. Babybee requested a humorous drabble, with the prompt of: Date. :)
Warnings: Spices! Raw fish! Eating mishaps!
Word Count: 500
Beta: None.
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete.

Hermione enjoyed watching Ron as his wide eyes followed the Japanese chef's skilled hands. He was clearly amazed when the chef balanced a mushroom on his spatula and, with a flick of his wrist, flung it onto Ron's plate.

As several mushrooms joined their brethren, Ron leaned over and whispered in Hermione's ear. "And you said it's rude to throw food. Or is that the Muggle version of Wingardium Leviosa?"

She laughed. "You might have a point there. It does look as though it's all in the wrist."

Ron snorted and grinned back at her. Just then, a woman in a beautiful blue dress adorned with tiny embroidered birds approached with a tray. "Ooh, here comes the sashimi!"

"Sa-whaty?"

Hermione giggled. "It's called sashimi, and it's wonderful."

The waitress smiled kindly and gestured to each item on the tray. "Sake, Ebi, Maguro, and Hamachi. Enjoy." She placed a small bowl beside each of their plates and poured a little bit of soy sauce into each one before bowing and walking away.

Ron looked perplexed. "Er, Hermione. That looks like raw fish."

"That's because it is raw fish. Try it, I think you'll like it. Start with the salmon, it's got a sweet flavour."

He raised an eyebrow, but moved a piece of the salmon onto his plate, all the same. "Hey, I'm getting better with these," he said as he clicked his chopsticks together loudly.

"You certainly are. I'm very proud of you, Ron." She smiled back at him, marveling at how far they'd come, and thrilled at what their future together might hold.

"What's this green blob, then?" he asked, prodding the unknown substance with a chopstick.

"That's Wasabi, but be careful it's ver--" Hermione's voice caught in her throat as she watched him pop the entire Wasabi ball into his mouth in one go. Oh no! The next few seconds seemed to stretch on forever, but she knew it would hit him hard.

"GAH!" Ron's eyes immediately began to water, and his face turned beet red, which darkened his freckles. Before she could stop him, he reached for his glass of water and downed it in one massive gulp, which she knew would only intensify the burning sensation.

The chef laughed and shouted something to the waitress, who hurried over with a tall glass of milk. Hermione rubbed Ron's back as he gratefully drank it down, his color quickly returning to normal.

"Ron, I'm so sorry! I should've warned you sooner, that's only meant to be used sparingly!"

He nodded and put the glass back on the table, and much to her relief, started chuckling. "Wow, that's worse than an acid pop!"

Hermione saw his eyes narrow, a grin still on his face as he asked the waitress for more Wasabi. "What are you up to, Ron?"

He winked and placed the tiny lump of green paste into his napkin and pocketed it. "Oh nothing, just a meeting with George tomorrow morning."

She couldn't help but laugh.

Beautiful Man

Wed, 19 Mar 2008 13:15:29 GMT

Title: Beautiful Man
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Author: belladonna803
Rating: PG
Summary: Written for the Ron/Hermione Colorful Winter Quote!Fic Challenge. "There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness." -- Friedrich Nietzsche (color: green) JKR tells us that aside from his Auror work, Ron helped out George at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes because he needed the money. Here's my take on why he might have needed it. :)
Warnings: Fluff abounds!
Word Count: 2609
Beta: None.
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete.

A/N: For Adam—thank you for the frequent encouragement and muse-nudging! : )

~~~

"I really need the money, mate."

"Ron, if you need help, you know that I have—"

"No. Absolutely not."

There was a pause. The sound of weight being shifted from foot to foot as the kitchen floor creaked.

"Look Harry, I appreciate the offer. I really do, but this is something I’ve gotta do on my own."

Another pause.

"And, er, don’t mention it to Hermione, all right?"

"But she knows—"

"She knows I’m working for George, yeah. But I told her it was because he needed the help and didn’t trust anyone outside the family to work so closely on the new product line."

Dead silence.

"Don’t look at me like that, Harry. I haven’t lied to her. Lee’s already up to his dreadlocks in business at the Hogsmeade shop, Verity’s out on maternity leave for the next six months, and Clive’s too green in the gills to do more than run the till. Aside from them, I’m the only one he trusts."

An exhale of resignation.

"Okay, Ron. I won’t say anything. But if I can help—"

"Nope. I’ve got it all worked out."

---

If someone would have walked in on Hermione at the present moment, they would swear she’d been Confunded. She was staring off into space looking thoroughly perplexed with her hand splayed open on her chest. What on earth had she just overheard? It’s not like Ron to keep secrets. If he’s having trouble making ends meet, why can’t he tell me?

She bit her lip. Well, they had been going out to dinner rather a lot lately. And of course he refused to let her pay, which she thought was absolutely ridiculous. She certainly had the means to pay for a meal. This was her third year at the Ministry, after all.

Then there was the fact that Christmas was only two weeks away, and he’d insisted on contributing towards gifts for her mum and dad. In addition to that (and to her secret self-reproachful annoyance) he’d spent what she considered to be way too much on his niece, Victoire. Yes, she’s a breathtaking little girl, but did she really need a real silver tea set? She’s only three, after all.

Ron had only just qualified as a full Auror a year ago, so his salary hadn’t had the chance to grow, quite yet. But she felt awful that things were truly this bad. He’d sounded so desperate. I really need the money, mate. And now he was hiding it from her.

Hermione couldn’t quite decide whether to feel hurt or angry by this news. Sure, she could march up to him and demand to know what was going on, but she knew all too well that it would get her nowhere. Not when he’d sounded so adamant with Harry. Also, she hadn’t got to spend any time with him this week, what with his moonlighting at Wheezes. The last thing she wanted tonight was a row.

She sank back into the sofa, frowning. There must be a way for me to help him without letting on that I overheard.

Ron and Harry bounded forcefully through the kitchen door at that moment, and she silently said a prayer of thanks that she hadn’t been caught eavesdropping. She rose to meet them as they approached, trying her best to clear her thoughts.

Ron threw the knapsack of laundry he’d come to pick up over his shoulder and pulled her close for a moment, kissing her lightly on the mouth. "Thanks for meeting me here." She nodded and smiled a little too largely, but it went unnoticed.

Harry hugged her in greeting and reached for his wand, hoisting his own bag of laundry onto his shoulder. "Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m meeting up with Ginny. Her road trip ended today, so we’ve got some, er…" He grinned and glanced at the floor, a bit embarrassed. "Ahem. See ya at Sunday dinner." With a wink and a slight pop, he had vanished.

"Wish he’d tell me how he manages to be that quiet," said Ron, green with envy. "Claims he doesn’t know how he’s doing it."

Hermione laughed and wrapped her arms around him, breathing him in. She’d really missed him this week, and it felt incredible to finally be able to sink into his warm embrace, and surround herself with his scent.

Ron kissed her temple gently and massaged her scalp with his fingertips. "How was work?"

"Mm…that’s nice. I didn’t get anywhere with Hodgkins this week. I still can’t convince him that there’s a need for a House-elf bill of rights. If I can’t get his support, I’m afraid I’m hexed into a corner."

He ran a soothing hand down her back. "You’ll win him over, love. You just have to put it to him in a way that will make it important to him."

She smiled against his chest and squeezed him more tightly. What a lovely thing to say. Rising onto tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. "What about you? Anything new at the shop?" She winced inwardly and hoped he wouldn’t get suspicious.

He looked away guiltily. "No, not really. Just busy getting the last of the overseas orders out. George really has his hands full, I’m glad I’ve been able to help him so much this year."

She knew that he was glossing over the issue, but she also knew better than to press him. "So, what’s on the agenda tonight, aside from picking up your wash?"

"I thought we could grab a late bite at the Leaky, and then y’know, pop round your flat for a while." He winked at her, and she felt her skin begin to warm at the thought of what they could get up to at her flat. It’d been a very long week, indeed. But she had to try to put him off going out, right? She couldn’t in good conscience contribute to the problem.

"Ron, we don’t have to eat out. I’ve got a few things at home; I could whip something up for the both of us."

He muttered something under his breath that sounded remarkably like, "Ruddy mushrooms," and said, "C’mon, I insist. I’ve a taste for Yorkshire pudding tonight, and you know Tom’s is the best." Stretching his arms above his head, he yawned and rotated his neck.

Hermione frowned. "You look absolutely knackered, Ron. Are you sure I can’t just pick us up some takeaway?"

"M’fine, really." Tugging her close, he grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her. "Side-along, then?"

She nodded and buried her head in his neck, and with a considerably louder pop than Harry had managed, they were gone.

---

The following week was proving to be as Ronless as the last, and Hermione was finding it increasingly more difficult to bite her tongue about what she’d overheard. As a way of distraction, and also to finish up the last of her Christmas shopping, she’d arranged to meet Ginny and Luna in Diagon Alley that Thursday evening.

It took all of ten minutes for Ginny to discern that something was wrong, and drag it out of her.

"I mean honestly, it’s madness! We’re together, and if we can’t share a burden like this now, then what will happen when we—" She closed her mouth abruptly, her teeth clacking together painfully. Best not to finish that thought at the moment. Instead, she continued to absentmindedly browse the shelves at Quality Quidditch Supplies, while Ginny purchased a pair of green leather flying gloves for Harry.

Suddenly, Luna turned from the cage full of flying Golden Snitches she’d been admiring to stare at Hermione with those owlish eyes. "Daddy says there is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness."

Ginny grinned appreciatively and looked at Hermione. "She’s right, you know. I’m sure he’s got a good reason for keeping it a secret, whatever it is. He’s got enough pride to choke a hippogriff, but I know that he’d never intentionally do anything to hurt you. He’s really grown up, Ron has."

Throwing an arm around Hermione’s shoulders, she winked and continued. "Besides, he’s always been a bit barmy when it comes to you, hasn’t he? And with the way you go round the bend when it comes to him, I’d say it’s a match made in heaven!"

"Ho ho." Despite herself, Hermione knew that they both were right. Luna might come across as more than a bit outlandish, but her heart was always in the right place, and she seemed to have a knack for stating things ways that Hermione never considered.

And Ginny did have a point. Ron wouldn’t keep something from her like this unless he thought it was really important. Hermione just wished that it felt okay to sit back and do nothing while he struggled with whatever the problem was.

Luna steered them toward the door. "I think I’m going to send Neville a pound of those Porlock droppings that were on sale back at the apothecary’s. They make excellent plant fertilizer."

Hermione smiled warmly at her friend. "I’m sure he’d love that Luna. I think I’ll send him some as well."

---

The tiny tree they’d bought together for her flat twinkled merrily from the corner as they snuggled on the sofa in front of the fire. Ron was tracing lazy circles on her knee, which felt absolutely delicious. It’d been a wonderful Christmas day at the Burrow, spent both with Ron’s parents, as well as Hermione’s, and of course the rest of the noisy and ever-growing Weasley clan.

Ron had bought her the lovely set of law books he’d caught her eyeing at Flourish and Blotts, and she’d given him a handsome new forest green traveling cloak, specially designed with all sorts of hidden pockets to conceal his Auror gear, and keep it within easy reach.

She was just about to drift off to sleep when Ron spoke. "Hermione?"

"Mm?" So warm. So happy. Love you, my Ron.

"Hermione, I…well…I’ve, um, got another present for you."

Her eyes fluttered, stubbornly refusing to open, and she took a deep breath, licking her lips. "Present? Didn’t have to…books were lovely…just what I wanted."

He sat more upright and tilted her head upward. "Open your eyes, love."

Hermione did as she was asked, sleep still pulling at her. He kissed her, tenderly at first, but it soon deepened and before long she was fully awake and panting as their lips parted.

She stared into his eyes and the thought that niggled at the back of her mind came to the forefront. Why had he bought her another gift? Another one, when he was already so desperate for money that he’d taken on a second job? The books hadn’t been cheap. She knew exactly how much they’d cost.

"You shouldn’t have got me anything else, Ron." It was time to come clean. "I overheard you telling Harry that you were working all those hours with George to make extra money. You said you really needed it." A weight lifted off her shoulders as she said it, and though she wasn’t sure how upset he would be, she knew it was the right thing to do.

She looked into his eyes, and was surprised to see him looking sheepish, rather than hurt or angry. "I’m sorry you heard that. I wanted to make this as perfect as I could."

Make…what?

He bit his lip and gently slipped from her grasp. Standing, he strode over to the Christmas tree, and reached for something within the evergreen branches. A million thoughts ran through her mind as he walked back over to her. Her eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he dropped down on one knee in front of her.

Oh my God!

He held out his hand, and slowly revealed what was now sitting in his palm. It was a ring. A very beautiful ring. She started trembling, and she noticed that he was, too.

Ron took her left hand and slipped the ring on her finger. Instantly, she felt a soothing warmth radiate from it and glide up her arm, saturating her skin as it went. It was gorgeous. The band itself was silver, but it shone like glass, and it was twisted with another metal that was almost pearlescent. The diamond in the middle wasn’t overly large, but it sparkled like nothing else she’d ever seen. How on earth…?

"Will you marry me, Hermione?"

For once in her life, Hermione was utterly gobsmacked. Tears sprang to her eyes and trickled down her cheeks as she looked at him. This is what he’d been doing for all these months? He hadn’t needed the money for himself. He thought he’d needed it to buy her an expensive ring. A ring that was absolutely gorgeous and suited her perfectly. But surely it had cost his entire Wheezes earnings! And probably more! Finally, she found her voice.

"Ron, it—it’s too much."

Again, he grinned at her sheepishly. "I knew you’d say that, but I don’t think it is."

"I know you love me, Ron. I don’t need an expensive ring to tell me that." She sniffed, staring back down at the wondrous thing on her finger, unable to quite wrap her mind around it all just yet.

"Look at me, Hermione." His voice was soft, and she looked up to see that the corners of his eyes were damp. His heart was completely open to her, she could see it there in his gaze, and it was incredibly humbling. Such an indescribable feeling, to be loved so much.

"I know I didn’t have to buy you something expensive, but I wanted to. I wanted to—" He wiped at his cheek and cleared his throat before continuing. "My whole life I’ve resented being given everyone else’s things to use. Toys, clothes, wands. Pets. But passing things down from person to person, in a family," he said, staring back at her, "I realized that it’s part of what makes a family strong." He scratched the back of his neck, and his cheeks flushed scarlet. "I reckon it’s only right to start our family with something special that can be passed down to our children, and their children, and so on."

Hermione had never been so moved. This was the man whom she’d once called an insensitive wart, whom she’d said had the, "Emotional range of a teaspoon."

"It’s goblin-made, y’know," he said.

Hermione fought to form words over the lump in her throat. She reached out and placed a hand on either side of his face, drawing him near. "You beautiful man." She kissed him with all the reverence that she could muster, wanting to convey how much this meant to her, that he’d worked so hard to start their family this way. Our family. Her heart leapt at the thought.

"Um, you haven’t given me an answer."

She laughed, hiccoughing through her tears. "Yes! Yes…yes."

She kissed him again, and pulled back to stare at him, still trying to fathom what had just happened.

"You’re absolutely mad, you do know, that, right?" Her voice shook with giggles now, it was uncontrollable.

Ron giggled, too. "Well, you seem to like my particular brand of madness, love."

Hermione’s heart felt as if it would burst. "That I do, Ron."

Waiting

Sat, 02 Feb 2008 05:22:42 GMT

Title: Waiting
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Author: belladonna803
Rating: PG
Summary: A sad little Ginny-misses-Harry missing moment from DH. Written for Courtney, who prompted me with the word frustration.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 350
Beta: None.
Disclaimer: JKR owns it, I'm just a fangirl playing around with the characters.
Status: Complete.

I miss you.

Some moments it feels unbearable, but mostly, it’s a dull pain. Like a piece of me has vanished, and the bit that’s left is reaching out to it, trying to call it back home. An echo of a phantom limb.

I can’t call you home, though. You’re gone, and I don’t know where you are, or how you’re doing. I wonder if you’re hungry, if you’re frustrated. Exhausted. I will energy to you with every ounce of my being and wonder if you can feel it.

Are you cold?

Do you think about me? I’m sure that you do. I want you to know that no matter what I’m doing, there’s always a part of me that’s focused on you, hoping and praying that you’re all right.

It’s amazing isn’t it? How we humans can function in chaos, how no matter how bad things get, there’s always something within us driving us forward? Some call it the will to survive. I think it’s the promise of what’s to come—the possibility that if you keep striving, keep focusing, that the reward is coming.

My reward will be to sink into your arms again, to snog you thoroughly for hours, to feel your chest rise and fall against my cheek, your heart beating strongly in my ear. To truly have time to be us.

Wouldn’t that be lovely? Nothing but us, for days and days. You and I, and a world of new things to discover together.

I want to hear you laugh first thing in the morning. I want to watch you stretch and get ready to hop in the shower. I want to feel the bed move as you inch closer to me in the night. I want to share a joke that only you and I get.

I want to simply be with you. No fancy clothes or exotic destinations. Just be with you.

I want so many things, and all it will take to make them real is for you to come home, and want them too.

Stay safe, my love. I’ll be waiting.