This is my lame attempt at writing a Harry Potter Fanfic. Actually I shouldn't be calling it a Harry Potter fic at all because Harry doesn't even make an appearance. His name is mentioned, but that's about it. So, I will call it a Ron Weasley fic. That sounds better.
My senseless rambling aside, if Ron or Hermione are a little OOC it is because I have not read the books in almost two years. Quick calculating tells me that was first semester of my senior year in high school. But this came to me, and I had to write it.
It takes place probably a few months before the epilogue in the last book.
So, enjoy my lame attempt, please review if you can, and I will go away now
I was at the kitchen table, nose deep in paperwork I had been neglecting for weeks (when the Chudley Cannons win three games in a row paperwork is the furthest thing from my mind), when I heard a sigh from behind me. Bloody Hell, here we go again.
The only times I have ever heard that sigh were when Hermione wanted to discuss something. She wanted kids: one sigh. She wanted to get a new cat for Crookshanks to play with: a second sigh. She wanted to add bookcases to our attic so she could have her own library: a third. She needed me to move her makeshift library to the cellar because Hugo wanted his room in the attic because apparently attics were cool. Before every single discussion she would sigh.
At first I thought she wanted another baby. We had an extra room, mostly for guests, that would be perfect for it. Why after nine years she wanted a third child was beyond me; she never showed any interest in a baby before. Personally, I didn't want another kid, especially when ours hated me for the first year of their lives. Hermione told me I was being paranoid, but when Rose cried every time I held her and Hugo-with teeth and without-tried to bite me on several occasions there was only one explanation. Whatever the reason, baby or not, I had to answer her.
I put my quill down. Hermione had been pushing us to use these muggle contraptions called 'pens' but nothing can beat the classics. Dad, however, jumped at the chance to use yet another muggle tool and soon started collecting these 'pens'. He said he liked the various colors they came in, even though he could easily buy color changing ink for his quills. I will never fully understand that man.
"Yes Hermione," I said giving her my undivided attention, something she apparently liked. I think she mentioned it once, a long time ago, but most of the time I really don't take in what she says.
"I was thinking…"
"That's never good," I muttered hoping she didn't hear me. I'm guessing she did, I can't be sure. Do women usually cross the room to smack their husbands' arms?
"Listen," she said sitting in the chair next to me, knocking a couple pieces of parchment to the floor-which reminds me of the 'paper' fiasco (a different story for a different time). "I like travelling by Floo Powder-sort of. And apparating is fine sometimes, but…"
"Well, I mean when I was fifteen my parents had me take classes over the summer for driving. I really didn't want to, I had homework to do and O.W.L.s to study for." only Hermione (and I guess Percy) would study for an exam a year in advance. Heck, I think she started studying for them our first year. "But I did the lessons because my parents wanted me to and it turned out to be an interesting experience."
"Hermione, what are you getting at?" she always did this, even back at school. Rambling on and on about something I could care less about before getting to the real point. Hugo was slowly starting to pick this up too, and if I had to listen to him talk once more about some program on the 'telebox' thingy Hermione's parents got us for Christmas last year I will break it. I swear I will.
"I signed you up for driving lessons," she blurted out, resting her clasped hands on the table.
"What?" I hated when she did this. First it was muggle birthing classes (useless if you asked me), then she wanted to have our kids in a muggle hospital so her parents could be there (an experience I would like to forget), then it was couples book club (an hour, every Wednesday, where we sat in a circle talking about a stupid book. Funny thing was we only went once because Hermione didn't like the book they were reading-some book about apples, or that was what I thought it was about), and I can't forget the wine tasting class she dragged, not only me, but Harry and Ginny to, too. Okay, that one I admit was a little fun-and the only reason we have Hugo; and, if I think about it, why Harry and Ginny had Lily.
"I just think you'd enjoy driving."
"Hermione." She was wearing me down. It was always the same, I just can't say 'no' to her. Okay, I can, but it never sticks. It's the exact reason we named our children after her grandparents (people she met once when she was six), why Crookshanks ended up with a friend named Melinda (who turned out to be part kneazle, too), why Harry and I had to lug twenty-seven boxes of books up and down stairs, and why the following Tuesday I found myself in a classroom packed full of muggles learning to drive something I probably never would. What is it with women, anyway?
Hermione is many things to me: my wife, my partner, my best friend when Harry isn't around, the mother of my children. She can also be controlling, stubborn, scary, driven, difficult, and a thousand other things. But I wouldn't trade her for anyone because I love her… and she would probably kill me. I just hope she doesn't read this, or Hugo will have a roommate…