Author Note's: This story was born at 3AM on a Friday night during a random conversation involving RHr prompts. I was intrigued enough by the phrase "married at fourteen." Plus, I'm a sucker for fluff. As always, thanks to Norma for her help.
We had our own little routine at breakfast.
Every morning, I would sit at Hermione's right. She would butter two slices of toast and slide one over to me. I would serve myself a large bowl of porridge and pour a great deal of sugar on it before sliding the sugar bowl over to her. She would barely glance up from whatever book she was reading as she sprinkled sugar on her cornflakes. When the morning post arrived with her copy of the Daily Prophet, she would hand me the comic section before turning to whatever was on the front page. I would peruse the latest adventures of Stephen the Super Squib while sliding the crusts of my toast to Hermione. She ate these with her eyes firmly fixed on the newspaper while I ate my bacon. Once she was done with the Prophet, she'd close it, drink what was left of her pumpkin juice, and look at me expectantly. We would head off to class as soon as I finished my eggs.
Basically, I've been married since the age of fourteen.
Well, not literally. But that's what it feels like. Ever since I saw her enter the Yule Ball on Krum's arm, I knew I never wanted her on anyone else's arm but mine. I wanted her to smile at me the way she smiled at Krum. I wanted to hear that exasperated note in her voice for the rest of my life.
For a long time, I tried to deny that I'd found my soul mate when I was merely fourteen. The Lavender fiasco was a prime example of that.
Over the Christmas holiday I'd asked Dad just how he knew Mum was the one. He'd gotten a faraway look in his eye and smiled wistfully. "I knew I'd marry Molly when she hexed my collection of spark plugs into attacking me."
"I kept badgering her while she was trying to finish up an essay for Charms until she lost her temper."
That sounded very familiar. "How old were you?"
"Oh, about fifteen or so."
Close enough. "What did you do when she attacked you?"
"I asked her to come with me on the next Hogsmeade trip, of course. She thought it over for some time before finally calling the hex off and saying yes, that would be lovely. We've been together ever since." Dad grinned fondly. "Ron, I've been married since I was fifteen. My heart has been Molly's for a long time." He looked at me keenly. "Why do you ask?"
I felt the tips of my ears burn. "No reason," I muttered before retreating to my room.
I mulled Dad's words over for a long time. He'd taken a step at fifteen. I had done nothing but row with Hermione. I ruined my chance with her when I started dating Lavender.
I planned to gather up the courage to make my move after I finally ended things with Lavender but everything got muddled after Dumbledore's death. At Bill and Fleur's wedding Hermione had been brave enough to kiss me while we were dancing.
Smart girl, that Hermione.
Of course, now that we were officially a couple didn't mean that the fighting stopped. At least once a day Hermione would throw her hands up in exasperation and say, "You're so pigheaded. I feel sorry for whatever woman ends up with you, Ron!"
I tried to keep from smirking whenever she said this. Obviously, she had no idea.