Author's Notes: Credit for the pillow of doom goes to Opalish. Ditto for all correct grammar/punctuation/spelling. Because she's just m-azing like that.
And now for the pointless, plotless, pure-fluff fic entitled Oh, Ron. I seem to be cranking these out lately, don't I? Ah, well. Call it post-GoF euphoria.
So, with no further a-d-o…
That's what is.
I mean, it's one thing to say it once, or even twice, but I've just counted in my head and I've said 'Oh, Ron!' four hundred and seventy-two times in the past year. That means I'll have said it every day of the year, and at least twice on some days.
Which is irritating. And somewhat ridiculous.
I'm shocked to learn that I say 'Oh, Ron!' as often as Ron says 'Bloody hell!' I wonder if it's as annoying to him when I say 'Oh, Ron!' as when he says 'Bloody hell!' to me?
Well, at any rate.
I'll just have to break myself of the habit. It's sort of like being an alcoholic, I suppose.
I wonder if they have a Twelve Step Program for this sort of thing? I can see it now:
The Twelve Step Program: An Easy Guide To Deleting The Words "Oh" and "Ron" From Your Vocabulary.
They have Twelve Step Programs for lots of things, you know. There's even one for being a better boyfriend, and defeating evil warlords.
It's the same program, actually. The boyfriend-warlord one. Strange combination if you ask me, but what do I know? Maybe there's a strange/logical reason for it. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, perhaps Harry ought to join. It might help his relations with Ginny.
Not to mention Voldemort.
Speak of the devil (literally), Harry is off right now explaining to the redhead just why he's leaving. He mentioned something about chaining her to the bed so that she couldn't follow; I'm assuming it was just a bit of dry humor.
Ron is sitting on the bed next to me, looking about as nervous as I feel about the whole affair. Of course, I've managed to distract myself by calculating the exact number of 'Oh, Ron!'s I've uttered in the past year; he's been stuck with his own thoughts.
"Hermione," he says, biting his lip, "I'm scared out of my mind."
I smile, touched that he feels comfortable revealing his feelings to me. "Oh, Ron." I say gently (no! damn! that's four hundred and seventy-three!). "We all are."
He sighs heavily and turns to look at me. "What if - what if things don't go as planned? What if something happens to one of us?"
He's right, of course. There's a very real chance that one or all of us could die. Still, it's a chance that Harry seems willing to take, and it's not like we're uncaring enough to let him go on his own.
Kindest boy you'll ever meet, but dumb as a fence post.
Speaking of which, I hear Ginny give a distraught cry. Apparently, all's going as expected upstairs.
"Then something happens," I say with a shrug. "There's no controlling fate."
Ooooh. Deep, Hermione. Very deep.
I exasperate myself sometimes, I really do. Here I am having a perfectly serious, charming conversation with Ron and all the time I'm thinking ridiculous thoughts and biting my tongue to keep from saying 'Oh, Ron!' for absolutely no reason at all.
Ron frowns at me, appearing confused. "...Hermione? Are you ... talking to yourself?"
"What?" Did I say some of that out loud? Oh, dear. "Er - sorry. I was just ... you know. And stuff."
Brilliant, Hermione. You once again prove your expansive vocabulary and fine grasp of the english language.
Ron rolls his eyes. "I'm glad I can always count on you to clear things up for me," he says sarcastically. "Because it's really obnoxious when people aren't obvious in what they're trying to say."
"Oh, you're one to talk," I snipe back.
"I always say just what I think! You're the one who muddles everything up by getting mad at me - and stuff."
...Well, I have to admit he threw that one at my face with impeccable aim.
"That's because what you think is usually unforgivably dense or insensitive," I return easily, grinning in triumph. "For example: 'Hermione, you're a girl.'"
Ron pulls a face, laughing at himself wryly. "Not one of my finer moments," he agrees with a shrug. "But how about you, little miss Queen of the Obvious? 'The homework is due tomorrow!' Honestly, Hermione, I know it's due tomorrow; if it weren't due 'till Friday I wouldn't be asking to copy yours, now would I?"
"You could just do it yourself," I point out.
And then feel quite stupid because it's our last year at Hogwarts and we won't be attending.
I wonder if we'll have to go to summer school once this is all over?
If it's all over, that is.
Honestly. I make it sound like we're just popping off on holiday.
A muffled shout from the room upstairs lets us know that Harry has told Ginny that she can't, in fact, come with us. Poor dear. She's going to be quite angry, and she's right scary when she's angry.
"'Course not, that's what you're for," he chirps with a grin and pats my leg.
Utter, utter prat.
I can't imagine why I feel anything for him at all.
Oh, Ron! indeed.
"Good to know I'm useful," I say dryly. "Well, if I'm the brains than you're clearly the lovable idiot."
He pokes his tongue out at me - in a lovably idiotic fashion, I might point out - and simply relaxes against the wall. He tucks his hands behind his head and shrugs. "Hey, it's served me well up to this point. Let's hope it sees me through the year."
"You think this will only take a year?" I ask, completely shocked. "We have to steal several well-protected Horcruxes which, might I add, we have no idea how to even begin looking for, we have to stay alive, and we have to save the world by defeating an evil war lord."
Note to Self: Look into that aforementioned program. Might be helpful.
Ron rolls his eyes. "See, Hermione, that's why everyone thinks you're so anal. You are."
If that's the way he's going to be about it.
"Aw, don't be like that. I only meant that this is Harry we're talking about. He can do anything. Sure, it's hard as hell for him, but he'll come back eventually. If I know anything, I know that my best mate can take what's coming and then some."
He's so cute when he gets all ... loyal and impassioned.
Perhaps I should teach him that word.
"Oh, Ron!" I throw my arms around him, hugging him fiercely. (Four hundred and seventy-four. Damn, damn, double damn!) "That was the sweetest thing I've ever heard you say."
He pats my back awkwardly, mumbling, "Er ... thanks?"
I pull away, smiling. He's so cute. And red. And cute. And red.
Focus, Hermione. Focus.
Great Evil. Life or Death. Pain and torture.
...Talk about killing the mood.
"Not a problem," I chirp, kissing his cheek. He grins broadly, because he loves me.
Not that he's said anything, but I'm sure of it.
Mysterious thumping from upstairs. A muffled 'ow'. Are Harry and Ginny fist fighting?
Hmmm. I am not entirely sure who I'd place my money on, if I were the gambling sort.
Which I'm not.
"So ... how do you think things are going with Harry and Ginny?"
We pause, listening.
Thump. Thump. Angry yet muffled shouting. Words 'knees', 'Voldemort', 'Bat bogey' distinguishable. Male voice yelping 'Ouch!' A snicker. More shouting. Four 'thumps'. Ginny's voice, something about a pillow of doom.
"Right," Ron says. "So, I'm thinking that I'd rather not be Harry right now. Ginny's right terrifying when she's angry."
Which is true. "Poor bloke," I sympathize. And, as an afterthought, "Poor Ginny. I'd hate to be the one who's getting left behind."
Ron grins crookedly. "We couldn't leave you behind, 'Mione."
Awww. That's so sweet. I could just -
"Who else would do all the boring research?"
- Smack him, he's so irritating.
No, really. I could.
"Emotionally retarded idiot!"
Oh my God.
I'm out of insults.
I mean, I could say that he's . . . that is, he's always . . . or that he never . . . why doesn't he just . . .
"Well - why don't you go flush your head down the toilet?"
Did I just say that?
Ron stares at me as though I have straight hair and then begins laughing hysterically. "And you call me immature?" He manages through his laughter. I glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Oh, shut up," I snap. "I hate you."
He pauses for a moment, and then turns to look at me. "Oh, you love me."
Thump. Thump. Distinguishable: can't, stay, coming with you.
I meet his eyes and find myself murmuring, "Maybe I do, at that."
A very distinct: ARE THOSE HANDCUFFS, HARRY POTTER?
There's a pregnant silence - well, sort of, as Harry seems to be chasing Ginny around upstairs - and then Ron slowly, slowly begins to lean in ...
To hell with that.
I grab him and kiss him.
He's a much better kisser than Viktor. MUCH better.
Silence from upstairs. Harry's foot steps as he dashes down the steps, yelling, "Ron! Hermione! Let's go - she'll break out of the handcuffs soon!"
We both pull back, unable to look away. Then Ron grins the biggest grin I've ever seen him wear and mutters, "Bloody hell!"
I roll my eyes exasperatedly. "Oh, Ron."