Here it is, my second ever attempt at a Harry Potter fanfiction. Nothing but complete and utter fluff (well, with a touch of angst) ahead, so I hope you like that kinda stuff. This little plot struck me last month as I was about two seconds away from falling asleep, but it has for some reason taken me ages to actually write and post the thing. The ending went through several re-writes, but personally I like the current one best. Here's to wishing you all will too. I don't own Harry Potter, enjoy!
And it wasn't so much that he was offended by the words, because he had heard them, said them himself even, many, many a time before. After all, growing up as the younger brother of the likes of Fred and George, one couldn't possibly expect to maintain virgin ears for long. Especially not after the twins found out how fun it was to "babysit" the youngest Weasley boy and then watch Mum's face turn the color of her hair when ickle baby Ronnie proudly spouted off a string of profanity.
Still, it would be a lie to say that he wasn't at least somewhat surprised to hear such language permeating though his bedroom door, especially when it was coming from a voice so frustrated, so fervent, so furious, so...
"Oh Bloody Hell!"
There it was again, even louder this time, and, admittedly, more frightening. Peeking his head out of his room, Ron glanced nervously up and down the upstairs hallway. It was silent once more, and as it seemed the mystery girl and himself were the only two people left upstairs, no one else seemed to have noticed the offensive bursts of noise.
Then again, that didn't come as much of a shock. The noise level at the Burrow had reached new and astounding heights that week...even for the Weasley's. Right now the downstairs was absolutely alive with the kind of pure and unbridled chaos which can only accompany a wedding. Especially that of Fleur soon-to-be Weasley. With only hours left until the bride walked down the aisle, everything was an absolute blur of sisters, fathers, mothers, grandparents, friends, schoolmates, co-workers, and that distant assortment of cousins, aunts and uncles that only seem to materialize at births, deaths, and well, weddings, of course.
As a matter of fact, just as Ron hesitantly neared the head of the stairs to see if the shouts had had any effect on the crowd below, another sort of exclamation assaulted his eardrums, one that was sure to drown out any racket from down the hall.
"Ab-zolutely not! I do not care eef you like eet, I do not care eef you love eet, zis ees not your wedding! Eet is MY wedding, and I say zere will be NO PINK HAIR! NONE!"
Grimacing, he backed away from the stairs as quietly as he could before he could hear Tonks's rebuttal. If only his Mum had let him go out with the rest of his brothers last night to celebrate Bill's last night of bachelorhood, but noooo. Darling Mum had insisted that he was far too young to go out cavorting with the guys, because heaven only knows what perverted levels of sinfulness they could expose him to. Nevermind the fact that he had been exposed to, oh, I don't know, sure and imminent DEATH many times over, god forbid he saw a boob or booze.
Ugh, Mothers. Now here he was, the only man under forty (Harry, the treacherous little prat, wouldn't be arriving until later that day) stuck in a houseful of women. And at that, wedding women, the most mental women of all.
One of whom, by the sound of it at least, appeared to be quite unhappy.
Curiously, he cocked his heard reflexively in the direction of the scream. It seemed to be coming from Ginny's room, where several of the females who had invaded his home had taken up residence. The noise could be originating from any one of them, and in spite of his better judgment, he began edging over towards her door.
He had to find out what was going on in there.
And so, with his fair share of second and third thoughts, Ron put a tentative hand to the wood and rapped cautiously.
"Err, you alright in there?"
However, at that same moment that he offered up his question, the anguished girl decided to deliver and emphatic "ARGH!" superseding his voice with the sound of her own.
After waiting a moment and pondering his options (none of which sounded appealing), Ron swallowed hard and furrowed his brow. If ever there was a time for Griffendor bravery, you know besides when his life was on the line at the hands of dark magic, this was when he needed it most.
He waited a long moment, then gripped the doorknob determinedly and turned slowly. A narrow sliver of pale light began to seep through the crack in the door, and when it grew wide enough, he peering in and asked again,
"Is everything okay? I don't mean to intrude or anything, but- Oh bloody hell, HERMIONE!"
"RON! Oh dear!" gasped one startled Miss Granger, blushing fiercely and furiously attempting to...cover herself.
Because when Ron opened the door to his sister's room, he found that the person responsible for the loud proclamations of profanity to be none other than his prim, proper, perfect, prefect pal, Hermione Granger.
Who, at the moment, was looker rather, well, indisposed.
She was wearing dress robes again, different from the ones she wore to the yule ball, but nonetheless instilling the kind of awkward tightness in his chest as they had on that night years ago. Especially since this time they weren't exactly...on all of the way.
As far as her bottom half, the skirt was pulled up into place and covering all it was supposed to, but as for the top. Well, unfortunately it was unzipped down to her waist as sort of flopped over limply, and though Hermione was now clutching it fearfully to her chest, Ron did not fail to notice an abundance of previously unseen skin now exposed to him.
Which, he realized with a start, he had been blatantly staring at.
"Err, umm, sorry Hermione. I, uh, I'll just be, well, going now." He stuttered, ducking his head ashamedly and turning to leave.
"Oh honestly Ron!" she exclaimed in the same exasperated tone, one which made him cringe and mentally prepare himself to be berated viciously, but her response came as a surprise. "Let's not be foolish about this. The simple fact of the matter is that my zipper is dreadfully stuck, and being as I am obviously not having any luck with it by myself, so why don't you stop being a prat and come help me!"
He stared at her in shocked silence for a bit, then nodded his flaming head mutely and shuffled over towards her with leaden feet. He could feel his own face burning, and hers was quite flushed as well, making her appear that much more intimidating. She turned around briskly when he neared, and with one fist lifted the yet-untamed mass of browns curls off of the back of her neck. This, of course, revealed a daunting expanse of creamy white skin and the subtle black band of a (gasp) bra, which naturally made him stumble just a bit. When he regained his composure he stood there behind her blankly for a moment, scared to touch her, until she stamped her foot impatiently and ordered.
"Well, get on with it! Pinch the fabric together on top and pull the zipper down a bit then back up. Be careful you don't rip it!"
With hands that shook some, Ron did as she said and succeeding in tugging the zipper through after a few tries. Then, when the back of the dress had come to a close about halfway up her shoulder blades, he...
Well, he's not quite sure why he did it, or what he was thinking at the time, but for some reason he didn't remove his hand. Instead, he let his fingers slide slowly up the small bumps of her spine, traveling smoothly over the little mounds one at a time, and then back down. The movement was fleeting, their flesh connected for only a moment or two, but the impact undeniable.
She stiffened noticeably at his touch...but not in a bad way. He could feel every muscle in her back tense at his contact, and he even thought (he had to have been imagining it though) that her small frame began to tremble just a bit.
"But why! Hermione was one of his best mates! This didn't make any bloody sense at all!
"Err, right then. There you go Hermione. Umm, well, I suppose I'll see you at the wedding." He muttered finally, shoving his impetuous hands deep down inside of his pockets where they couldn't cause any further damage and staring out the window.
"Really now? Hmm, fancy running into you there." She quipped, releasing her hair and turning back around to face him. She was glad his averted gaze wasn't there to take in the bounty of goosebumps his touch had left her with, and she tried her best to mentally collect herself once more.
"Yeah. Okay, see you later." He finished lamely, striding quickly towards the door.
But then, a thought struck him, and he stopped.
"Why didn't you use magic to fix your zipper? I mean, we are of age and all now."
It was quite a strange effect Ron's question had on Hermione. Her face began to rapidly acquire a shade of crimson to rival the infamous Weasley red, her eyes shot down to study the hemline of her gown with intense scrutiny, and her jaw tensed as if she had just been caught in a lie. Swallowing hard, she said in the tiniest of voices.
Is Hermione of age? I'm not quite sure, but I thought that probably yes since she got her apparating license or whatever. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but bear with me for the sake of the story. If you had anything besides utter apathy towards the story, despite which end of the spectrum your feeling may lie, let me know with a review!