Well, here's another little something I thought up about Ron and Hermione...they're just too darn cute ::grins:: Let me know what you think, pwease?
"Oh, come on, Mione, I don't feel like doing this now," Ron complained, making faces at the blank sheet of parchment that Hermione shoved under his nose. They had an essay in History of Magic due Wednesday, and Hermione knew that if he wasn't pushed, Ron would just skive it off and focus on something less important, like Quidditch, for instance. Granted, Ron's skill as a Keeper was in need of some improvement, but Hermione was not about to admit that to him for two reasons: 1.) It would hurt Ron's feelings, and 2.) Ron would take that declaration as permission to fetch his broom and leave her with the parchment, ink, and quill to do as she would with his nonexistent essay. She was quite used to 'correcting' Ron's and Harry's homework by now, but in this instance, there was a matter of principle involved. Ron would have to learn eventually to write his own papers, and now was as good a time as any to start.
"But it's simple! We covered the Goblin Revolution in detail for the past week, so the information should be fresh, I dare say." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "I am not writing a single word on that parchment until you give me something to work with, Ronald Weasley, so you are just going to have to be a big boy and do it."
Using a very nasty tactic, Ron leaned in and kissed her so sweetly that she felt quite flustered indeed when he broke away, topping it all off with a puppy-eyed look. "I was too busy admiring your new blouses to pay attention to old Binnsy, mummy dear." Ron said, a lecherous smile on his face. He wrapped an arm around her and whispered in her ear, "quite educational, if you ask me."
Hermione felt her cheeks flame, and she smacked Ron hard on the arm. "You are such a git," she laughed, secretly rejoicing that Ron liked her new wardrobe. She had gotten the more form-fitting outfits for him anyway, in hopes that she would solicit such a reaction as the one she had just received. However, she was still adamant about not letting him walk away from his schoolwork, praise or no praise. Ron was getting ready to lean in and kiss her again when his mouth met with a quill that Hermione held out at the last second.
"I hate you, I hope you know," Ron growled, plucking the quill out of her hand in defeat. "You make my life so much more difficult than it has to be." He continued grumbling under his breath as he flipped open his book and attempted to make sense of the blathering that the pages contained. Hermione only smiled, and continued to work on her own essay, which was already close to a foot and a half long, occasionally stealing glances at Ron, whose tongue poked out between his teeth in concentration.
He really is too adorable for my own good, she thought, some rather naughty images coming into her head of what the two of them could be doing together now instead of homework, and she immediately blushed. Stop it! That line of thinking will only get you into trouble, and you know it! Goblins, Hermione, goblins. Goblins...Did goblins usually have red hair and freckles? She did not seem to remember that written anywhere...
"AUGH!" She burst out loud, startling Ron so much that he sent an inkpot flying into the fireplace, which emitted a loud, popping noise as the ink caught flame.
"Bloody hell!" Ron cried, his voice cracking. "Are you barking mad?" He waved his hands about in a frantic manner. "What in the hell was the AUGH for, huh?"
Hermione stared at the fireplace, her mouth gaping. She had not intended for that to happen. "Oh my," she said, wincing. "I'm sorry!"
Ron looked at her as if she had sprouted three heads, and heaved a rather theatric sigh. "I will never, in all the days I live, understand women. Never. You make absolutely no sense, the lot of you." With that, he went back to his work, deciding that he did not want to know what had been running through Hermione's mind. It would be much easier on his nerves to just let it go.
The rest of the night went off without any further mishaps, and Ron was able to produce a somewhat legible essay, much to Hermione's pleasure. She did not have to mark it up nearly as much as some of his other work, most of which was dismal, to say the least. It was quite late by the time the pair headed up to bed, the thoughts that Hermione had tried to shoo away returning in full battle mode, ready to defend themselves if she attempted to kick them out again. Ron took his time in kissing her before he allowed her to go to her dormitory, which did not aid matters in the slightest. Her willpower since she and Ron had become a couple was on the decline, and more and more often, she found herself in some sticky situations that almost always involved the near shedding of articles of clothing that should not be removed if she planned on remaining a virgin until marriage. She had not progressed to the point that she couldn't call things to a halt at the right time, but at this rate, she was not sure how much longer that would last.
"Night, love," Ron said with a wink when he released her, and waited at the bottom of the steps to the girls' side of the staircase until she reached the top, partially because the tight skirt she wore gave him a nice view of her hindquarters, one of Hermione's best attributes, he believed. She looked over her shoulder at him, and, as if she had known what he was doing, slapped her rear and raised an eyebrow before disappearing through the door. Ron shook his head, chuckling as he took the stairs two at a time to his own dorm.
Three goblins sat together in a small pub, sipping from cracked mugs and laughing about some vulgar jokes that the largest of the three, who had a mop of red hair, was telling with aplomb. The two males and lone female had been friends for ages, and they often met together in this pub to drink and laugh and plot how to take over the Ministry of Magic, an organization that they detested.
"All a bunch of prats, that's what I say," growled the red-haired goblin.
"Hear, hear!" Snorted the other male, who had a curiously shaped scar on his forehead. "We should just eat all of them and get it over with. Human flesh always tastes the best, in my opinion."
The female, while she was aware that something about this situation was off, merely laughed along with her companions and slogged down the rest of the contents in her cup. "I need more, I'm not drunk enough yet." She said, and stumped up to the bartender, knocking people out of her way as she went. Her friends roared with laughter and called to her to get them another round as well. "We should open our own pub," she said when she returned with three full mugs. "This place is going to the dogs."
"Now there's an idea," the scarred goblin said, propping his feet up on the table. The red haired goblin made a face. This batch of firewhisky was below par.
"Blech," he spat. "I agree."
The scenery changed suddenly, and the three goblins were replaced with one boy and one girl, both dressed in quite archaic looking costumes. The girl, young woman, more like, sat at a desk cluttered with papers and inkpots and quills, while the young man pouted in a chair next to her.
"I do not wish to do such tiresome work! How shall I ever improve my Quidditch skill if I am stuck inside? Tis cruel of you!"
Hermione smiled sweetly at him, and shrugged. "I am ever so sorry, Ronald, but I am afraid that you are not going to be able to do anything until you have finished this. I do not understand what you are talking about with your passage about lingerie. Emmiline Markovitch is responsible for the creation of exploding ink, not panties!"
"Oh," Ron said, raising an eyebrow, "how careless of me. Please forgive my mistake, foul temptress. I believe my head must have been elsewhere when I was writing that. Perhaps if you did not wear such revealing gowns, I would be able to focus more on my studies." He punctuated that with a wicked grin.
"I shall wear whatever I please, thank you," Hermione replied primly, and gave Ron a sultry look. "If it bothers you that much, my dear, you should keep your eyes to yourself."
"Nay, I could do no such thing. My eyes quite enjoy what they see." Ron leaned forward and began lavishing kisses down her neck. He had just started to undo the laces that held her corset in place when a large, ginger cat with round glasses perched on his nose and a scar digging a track through the fur above his eyes jumped atop Hermione's lap.
"Now, now, you should not even dream about things like this, you naughty little girl," the cat yowled, managing to sound mischievous. He began to clean a paw with his tiny pink tongue. Ron looked at the cat with raised brows, and then he glanced at Hermione, his eyes sparkling.
"So, you are a temptress even in your sleep. How amusing."
Before she could become any more embarrassed, the scene changed yet again, and Hermione was at the Burrow, attempting to fix dinner for her precocious child, who was now zipping through the house on his toy Firebolt, and he was aiming a Quaffle with Harry's face at the laundry hamper in the corner. Every time he scored, the Quaffle would shout, "OUCH!" in Harry's voice, and after the fortieth time of hearing the same thing repeated, Hermione spun around, slopping batter for a cake all over her front.
"RON! CUT IT OUT, OR I'LL SEND YOU STRAIGHT TO YOUR ROOM!"
"But mummy dearest, I need to practice! Harry still hasn't said anything other than 'Ouch!' and I can't stop until he does. Don't you understand?"
Hermione was just about to reply that she did NOT understand, but before she could, she was interrupted by a loud, beeping noise that seemed to be going off right in her ear. The beeping continued for a few seconds longer before Hermione's eyes cracked open.
The alarm clock next to Hermione's bed screamed at her until she flung a hand over and switched it off. "What on earth was that all about?" She said out loud, the images of her dreams playing through her head. The more she thought about them, the sillier it all became, and she started giggling helplessly before dragging herself out of bed. She was still laughing when she went down to breakfast, and seeing Ron and Harry only made her giggle more.
"How come you're so cheerful?" Harry asked, blearily reaching across Neville to swipe a few pieces of toast off of a platter. "It's too blasted early."
Ron raised an eyebrow at her. "Something trip your trigger this morning?"
Buttering a scone, Hermione looked at Ron through her lashes and smiled the smile she only reserved for him. "Why don't we just say it's you, and leave it at that?"
"Ah," Ron replied, understanding her implication and grinning. "That's fine, then."
After breakfast, when Harry ran back up to his room for his books, Ron pulled Hermione aside and wrapped an arm around her. "Having dreams about me, eh? I always knew you were a minx underneath that straight-laced act you put on," he said, kissing her on the top of her head.
"Someone has a high opinion of himself," Hermione retorted impishly. "I never said what kind of dreams they were, now did I? You need to get your head out of the gutter."
Harry joined them then, and Hermione did not elaborate any further, instead making sure that her robes were left open enough in front to torture Ron. These games she played were ever so much fun, and she would deal with the consequences as they came. Besides, if her dreams continued to be as wacky as last night's, she would have a constant reminder to keep herself under control. She hoped.