#happy birthday ron! 🧡 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

voldemorts-tap-shoes · 2 years

Text

Happy birthday to the amazing @be11atrixthestrange ! Christmas in July is overrated so I wrote Halloween in July instead 🧡🖤

(Also nsfw)

Haunted

“This is barmy,” Ron grumbles as the queue inches forward. Hermione nudges him in the side, and Ginny disentangles herself from Harry just enough to shoot Ron a glare over her shoulder.

“It’s just for fun,” Hermione replies, looping her arm through his as she glances at the eclectic crowd around them. They’re surrounded by witches, vampires, and magical creatures—or at least, Muggles dressed as such. The back end of a drunk unicorn stumbles into Ron, contradicting Hermione’s statement.

“Right,” Ron snorts with a roll of his eyes. “Fun.”

The entrance looms above the four of them, the words Hugo’s House of Horrors spelled out in giant letters that have the grotesque appearance of being written in dripping blood. It reminds Ron of the message scrawled outside the Chamber of Secrets in their second year, though ironically, it was Ginny’s idea to spend Halloween at a Muggle haunted house after one of her teammates had recommended the experience. Harry and Hermione had both readily agreed, but Ron found the whole concept a bit ridiculous. After all, weren’t there enough real horrors in their lives without this manufactured bullshit?

“Oh, hush,” Ginny chides, extending her arm to the zombie bellboy who waits at the entrance with a handful of neon orange wristbands. “We’ll go to the pub after.”

“Should’ve gone there first,” Ron mutters as the attendant affixes a wristband to him.

“Beware the terrors that await you inside,” the zombie says in an over-dramatic greeting. “Four of you will enter, but take care that all four of you exit.” He adopts what Ron assumes is meant to be an evil laugh as the front door of the building swings open to admit their group. The spiderwebs strewn above the door are clearly store-bought, but Ron can’t help giving them a scrutinizing look before ducking beneath them, Hermione’s hand clutched tightly in his.

The door slams behind them, leaving them alone for the moment in complete darkness. Ron knows that the fear a haunted house is meant to instill is based on shock and awe more than anything else, but the anticipation fills him with unexpected dread. It’s all fake, he knows, but there must be a reason these things are so popular among Muggles.

Across from them, a door appears in a sudden glow of green light around its edges before swinging open with an eerie creak. Ginny and Harry lead the way into a room filled with more zombies like the one at the entrance. The characters groan and make a show of reaching for them as they pass through, though none of them come nearly close enough to try and eat the brains they’re moaning about.

The next rooms feature a chainsaw wielding maniac, a deranged butcher, and a mad scientist, all of whom keep a very safe distance from their guests.

“It’s a liability issue,” Hermione leans up to whisper to Ron, though she jumps as an animatronic monster rises from the scientist’s table. “So no one gets hurt for real.”

“How terrifying,” Ron replies sarcastically. “Remind me not to let Ginny make plans for us anymore.”

“I know it’s a bit silly,” Hermione agrees. “It was just something for the four of us to do together.” They exit into an empty hallway lit only by the light show of cartoon ghosts that move across the walls. Ginny and Harry have gotten ahead of them, apparently not realizing that they’ve left Ron and Hermione behind.

“It’s okay,” Ron concedes, reaching for Hermione with one hand and the next doorknob with his other. “Just hard to find this stuff scary when we went to school with real ghosts and shit.”

“I’d say the ghosts were the least of our worries at school.” Hermione chuckles as she follows his lead, but Ron stops short just inside the room. It’s clearly part of the haunted house, but it looks more like storage than an active segment of the route. A scarecrow missing its head is propped up in a corner, a mess of plastic headstones stacked on top of one another lines the wall beside them, and the room lacks the cheesy light and sound effects that permeate the rest of the structure.

“You’d think they would have this door locked.” Ron shakes his head as he turns to leave, only to find Hermione leaning against the door, blocking their path out. “What are you doing?”

“I think we just found a way for you to enjoy yourself on this little outing,” Hermione whispers.

The sultry look in her eyes is unmistakable, but Ron still finds himself asking in disbelief, “Here?” The haunted house isn’t exactly ideal for romance, surrounding them in a facade of death and destruction...but then again, their first kiss was in the middle of a war. Sod it, he thinks as Hermione throws her arms around his neck, and he responds to her kiss with matching enthusiasm.

She tears her lips from his just long enough to mutter a locking charm on the door before propping herself on the nearest tombstone—belonging to a Zom B. Hunter—to wrap her legs around his waist. Ron groans as his arousal presses against her, his trousers already tight. He’s not sure how far she intends to take this spooky romp, but he’s excited to find out.

He unfastens the buttons of her coat and slips his hand under her sweater, pushing the cup of her bra aside to palm the soft skin of her breast. Hermione lets out a moan as his thumb finds her nipple, only to clap a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t cast a silencing charm,” she whispers between her fingers.

“We’re in a haunted house,” Ron murmurs in reply as his other hand slides around to her back, popping the clasp of her bra with practiced fingers to give him better access. “You could just be a very randy ghost.”

Hermione glares at him as she reaches for his belt, releasing the buckle in one easy motion. “Or we could just go back to said haunted house and finish the tour,” she says even as she unfastens his jeans, letting her fingers drag behind his zipper and causing Ron to see stars.

“You don’t want that.” He retaliates by sliding his hand down between her legs. He can feel the heat even through her corduroy and he knows he’s right.

“No, I don’t.”

Ron ducks his head to fuse their lips together again. Their hands are a flurry of motion as fabric is pushed aside and buttons unfastened. They’ve had a lot of practice at making the most of hurried opportunities for sex in less than ideal locations, between time spent at the Burrow and Hermione’s last year at Hogwarts—his father’s tool shed and the potions cupboard on the third floor both immediately spring to mind—but Ron has to admit that a haunted house is not one he’d ever thought they’d check off.

They’re both undressed in short order—or, as undressed as is strictly necessary for a haunted house quickie—and matching sighs of satisfaction escape them as Ron buries himself inside her. Hermione crosses her ankles behind his bum, pulling him deeper and urging him on. Their surroundings fade to the background as they move together, and it’s not long before Ron feels his release approaching.

Wanting to make sure Hermione gets as much out of this as he does, he slips a hand between them, fingers working furiously to bring her to her peak. She moans out his name as her walls clench around him, and that’s all it takes to send him tumbling over the edge with her.

They both take a moment to catch their breath before Ron slips out of her and plants a soft kiss on her lips. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Hermione smiles as she casts a quick cleaning charm on them both. “I just thought this might make a more enjoyable evening for you.”

“Mission accomplished.” Ron plucks her knickers off the headstone where they landed and hands them to her. “Let’s get out of here and hit the Leaky.”

Harry and Ginny are both wearing knowing looks when they catch up to them outside, though Ginny’s expression is more akin to a grimace.

“Starting to worry you two had gotten attacked by a werewolf or something,” Harry teased.

“Not exactly.” Hermione shoots Ron a grin, her cheeks still flushed and her curls coming loose from her hair clip.

Ginny rolls her eyes with a groan. “Now I need a drink,” she says as she turns and starts up the street. “You two are more horrifying than any haunted house.”

#romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron x hermione #romione fanfic #halloween #haunted house #cemetery smut

100 notes · View notes

sybill-the-seer · 1 year

Note

If you’re a fan of Ron Weasley share one positive headcanon about him

Happy birthday Ronniekins!🧡

I headcanon Ron loves reading aloud to his kids when they’re young — something Hermione never gets tired of watching :)

#ron weasley #asks

17 notes · View notes

ch-4-eri · 1 year

Note

hi! in celebration of ron's birthday tomorrow i was wondering if you could write one fluff and one smut of the reader spending the day with ron. i'm sure it would would make all us ron stans v happy <33

I’ll do my best for my Ron girlies 🧡

#mals anons

3 notes · View notes

adenei · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday Accio-broom!

It's @accio-broom's birthday tomorrow, but she's going to be busy off gallavanting doing fun things so I'm gonna drop this little gag gift early! This is part ONE of your gift. The other will actually come tomorrow!

Happy birthday to the best beta and internet friend out there. I'm so glad to know you! 🧡

And now, I give you Miracles Happen, Ron's POV (and if you haven't read the real Miracles Happen, you'd best get on that right now. kthanks)

Sunday, October 13, 1996, 00:12 am

Dear Diary er, Journal?

Eh, whatever, this is stupid anyway. I’m only using an extra stack of parchment, which doesn’t even come close to that bloody book Hermione has her nose stuck in all the time. Oh, right, Hermione. That’s the whole reason I’m writing this down.

She’s been acting strange lately. I feel like I barely see her anymore, she’s acting stressed—YES, more stressed than usual, and what’s worse? She won’t tell me anything. It’s almost as bad as the time turn—oh, no, I hope she’s not dabbling in that again! She doesn’t need it.

Harry says I shouldn’t worry, but he never thinks she’s acting out of the ordinary. Sometimes I wonder if his glasses even do anything since he doesn’t notice half the shit that goes on if it’s not related to his hero complex…

Huh, maybe there is something to be said about writing your thoughts down…

This is the third Saturday where Hermione’s disappeared. Ever since Tonks showed up, Hermione can’t be found for hours at a time. Something is going on with her, but I just don’t know what. It can’t be the time turner, she promised she’d never do that again, and it’s not like she’s added any classes. So, I guess I’ll rule that out. Maybe I should make a list of possibilities. That’s what Hermione would do, right?

Things Hermione could be doing when she disappears

Time turner (Nah, we sort of destroyed them all last year at the Ministry—accidentally, of course!)

Getting extra help from a teacher? (no, not likely)

Helping the house-elves in the kitchens (ha, not that they would let her)

Tutoring younger students?

Having tea with the Queen? (yeah, right. I doubt Hermione even knows wizards and witches have royalty).

Meeting up with a secret boyfriend?

Fuck.

That has to be it. If it was anything else she’d tell me, right? But why wouldn’t she want me to know about it? Okay, so maybe I overreacted a bit with the whole Viktor thing during our fourth year. But he was too old for her! I was just looking out for her!

She can date whoever she damn well pleases. But why is she keeping it a secret? It doesn’t make sense.

At least now I have an idea. Maybe I’ll try and ask her questions, see if she lets anything slip. I’ll be back with more if I can get anything out of her.

Until next time...or not.

Ron

#tw: strong language #happy birthday accio-broom!#romione #ron weasley #miracles happen #princess diaries romione AU #but I'm not the real author #accio deserves all the credit #she's the best #birthday fic

36 notes · View notes

samirafee · 6 years

Note

Ron is so cute and dapper with the bow tie 😭 looks very much like my half blind Tiggie- turning 14 this summer! Happy birthday to him, another handsome old boy!!

Thank you very much Anon😊and best wishes and greetings to you and Tiggie🐈🐾lets hope they may live 4ever...🧡🧡

4 notes · View notes

remedialpotions · 3 years

Link

A/N: So, I started this fic over a year ago (in the beforetimes!), and had originally planned on posting it for Ron’s 40th birthday. But I think was just too deep into it and simply didn’t feel ready to post, so I took a step back and let it percolate for, well, a year. Now, though, the time feels right to share, and so I dearly hope you all enjoy it.

Summary: (v.) To do something with soul, creativity or love; to put something of yourself into your work.

In which Ron finds his calling.

Word Count: 10.4k

Rating: G (though you can expect the occasional strong language because, um... Ron)

#happy birthday ron! 🧡#ron weasley #hermione granger #second fic of the day!#because ron deserves it #it's just too long to post the whole thing on tumblr

37 notes · View notes

ch-4-eri · 1 year

Text

Happy birthday to the loml Ron Weasley I love you my fabulous favorite ginger you’re my world 🌍🧡

#Ron weasley #sweetest boy

3 notes · View notes

remedialpotions · 4 years

Text

Monday at the Ministry

ffn | ao3

The weather charms at the Ministry had been malfunctioning for weeks. Ron had lost count of the number of times he had walked through the Auror Department, on his way to a training seminar or a morning briefing, only to find himself suddenly knee-deep in snow or in the vortex winds of a tornado. Once, he’d been caught in a hailstorm so powerful that the ice had left bruises over his shoulders. But the issue ranked significantly lower on Minister Shacklebolt’s list of priorities than rounding up the remainder of Voldemort’s supporters and eliminating lingering corruption within the Ministry itself, so Ron, along with Harry and the rest of the junior Aurors, had simply accepted the unpredictability of the climate as their new normal.

It made the training seminars a lot more interesting, anyway.

The morning of the first of March was fairly mild, relatively speaking. As Ron rode the elevator with Harry to the second level of the Ministry, the sun shone brightly in on them, though it was oddly punctuated by distant bolts of lightning and howling winds.

“Why does this meeting have to be so early?” asked Ron as the doors to the lift jangled open and they stepped into the corridor.

Harry shrugged. “It’s not like anyone listens anyway, maybe they just reckoned they’d get it out of the way.”

Ron bit back a yawn as they wound their way through the maze of cubicles. He’d been up late writing a letter to Hermione, like most nights, and just as he’d been about to attempt to sleep, Harry had burst into his room to inform him that a department-wide meeting had been scheduled for the following morning at eight. While Ron hadn’t expected much from his birthday, with Hermione away at Hogwarts, but listening to Robards drone on about proper wand protocol still wasn’t what he’d have preferred to do.

“I’m gonna grab a cup of tea,” said Harry as they reached the compact row of cubicles that comprised their workspace. “You want anything?”

“Yeah, tea sounds good actually. Thanks.”

As Harry strode in the direction of the kitchen, Ron stepped around the wall of his cubicle - and nearly swallowed his tongue.

Hermione sat curled up in his desk chair, one finger held to her lips to silence him, mischief glinting in her eyes. As Ron stood, shellshocked and gawking at her, she rose to her feet and soundlessly approached him.

It didn’t quite feel real, even when her hands came to rest on his robes-covered waist, even as she stood on tiptoe to bring her face level with his.

“Happy birthday,” she breathed, a massive grin on her face.

He opened his mouth, only to find that no coherent words would come. “Wh - I - wh - how?”

“McGonagall’s Floo.”

“You snuck out?!”

“No.” She looked so dismayed by this that Ron would have laughed were he not still overwhelmed by her presence. “I asked, and she let me go. But I do need to be back in time for the afternoon classes, so-“

He kissed her, and something akin to relief rushed through him at their touch. Weeks without her, with only the familiar curve of her handwriting on weathered parchment to hold him over, had left him with a sort of permanent ache - but she was here. One hand diving into her bushy hair, the other at her back, he pulled her closer, disregarding the voice in his head reminding him that the Ministry likely frowned upon snogging in the workplace.

Somewhere in the building, thunder rumbled.

“Dammit,” he mumbled, unwilling to move his lips too far away from hers. “I’m so sorry, I’ve got this stupid meeting to go to in a minute-“

“No, you haven’t.”

She was back to grinning at him again.

“What?”

“I told Harry to make that up - I just needed a reason for you to be here early-“

“You are amazing,” said Ron emphatically. He dipped his head, intent on kissing her again when hinges creaked from across the department, and he turned to see none other than his direct supervisor emerging from his office.

”Shit.” He grabbed Hermione’s hand, yanking her down to crouch behind the wall of his cubicle. “Robards is over there.”

“So?”

“So?” he hissed, staring incredulously at her. “So I’m not supposed to be snogging my girlfriend in the middle of the office-“

“Oh, that.” From her back pocket, she withdrew her enchanted beaded bag and began to rummage around inside of it. She had one arm in up to her shoulder when her face lit up, and she dragged out the silvery expanse of Harry’s invisibility cloak.

“How do you-”

“Don’t ask questions,” she whispered back. “Or would you rather get told off?”

She flung the Cloak over their heads, and as it billowed around them, Ron tipped toward her and found her lips with his again. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop. Since September, he had wired his brain to anticipate weeks without her, and the fact that she was right in front of him, on a day he had expected to spend missing her - well, he had to take advantage of the moment while it lasted.

“Wait ‘til he’s gone,” Ron muttered, his ears trained on the footsteps in the aisle between the cubicles, “and we’ll go somewhere more private.”

They held their breath as Robards’ robes-covered legs moved past the gap in the cubicle wall, and soon the department fell silent again, punctuated only by the occasional scratch of a quill.

“We could stay here, y’know,” said Ron with a grin, shifting his weight so that he knelt in front of her. “Cloak’s pretty private on its own-“

Hermione shot him a withering look. “It isn’t soundproof.” At his concessionary nod, she added, “I actually thought we could go have breakfast together, or-“ Pink rose in her cheeks. “Or just go back to yours-“

“Yes,” he nodded fervently. “Yes, let’s do that. Let’s get out of here.” He peered around the wall of the cubicle. “I think he’s gone.”

Rising carefully to their feet, they started down the narrow aisle. The cloak only just covered them all the way down to their feet, so Ron stepped up close behind Hermione so that her back pressed against his chest. Unable to resist, he looped an arm around her torso.

“I always wanted to do this,” he muttered in her ear as they shuffled along.

She craned her neck to look at him. “Really? This, specifically?”

“Anytime we’d have to cram under the cloak with Harry, I always wanted to-“ At the sound of hinges again, he paused, glancing around, but it was just Dawlish stepping into his office. “To touch you. I never could until now.”

“You can be sweet later,” she told him, though she was plainly trying to fight a smile. “Let’s just go.”

But they'd barely taken another step when they saw Harry rounding the corner, a paper cup of tea in each hand. Which would not have been cause for alarm - Harry had assisted in orchestrating the whole thing, and for that, Ron would forever be grateful - but then Harry said, "oh, good morning, sir" and Ron looked behind him to see Robards approaching from the opposite direction.

"Good morning, Potter," said Robards as he strode up to Harry. It was only by the power of Ron's quick reflexes that he pressed himself and Hermione up against the wall before Robards collided with them. "I'm just on my way to see you and Weasley, is he in yet?"

Ron's heart jumped into his throat. Hermione's whole body went completely rigid.

"Erm-" Harry let out an anxious cough. "Er - what's it about?"

"Just wanted to discuss the results of your latest mission," said Robards easily. "You both did quite well, but you'll need to testify before the Wizengamot."

"Oh. Right." Harry's eyes darted around the department. "Well, he, erm - he won’t be in today. He's - he's ill."

"Is that so?" Robards' brow wrinkled curiously. "Then why have you got two cups of tea?"

Harry looked down like he'd forgotten he was even holding them, then forced out a chuckle. "Oh, I just - er - I'm particularly thirsty this morning."

As if to prove his point, he lifted one of the cups and drank deeply from it, still meeting Robards' skeptical gaze.

"Mhmm." Robards regarded Harry for several long, tense moments, during which Ron's heart beat so furiously that he thought it might escape his body entirely. "Well, when Weasley’s... recovered... we'll need to discuss your testimony."

"Yes, sir, absolutely."

Robards walked off in the direction of his office, Harry ducked into his cubicle, and Ron sagged with relief against the wall. In his arms, Hermione spun to face him.

"I shouldn't be here," she whispered. "I'll go, and then you'll come along a few minutes later and say you're feeling better and decided to come in."

"No, no, don't." He kept his hands on her hips, memorizing the warmth of her body, the soft feel of her. They had so little time together lately, and he wasn't keen on squandering what they did have. "It’s not a big deal, they probably just think I’m hungover. It’s fine."

"I don't want you to get in trouble."

"It's fine, really-" He broke off; a faint trickling noise was growing steadily louder. "You came all this way, please don't go yet."

"As long as you're sure-" She tilted her head. "Can you hear that?"

"Yeah, it's probably just the weather charms again, they've been off lately. Come on."

He gave her a gentle nudge, and they resumed inching down the aisle. But as much as it was fulfilling one of the many fantasies he'd had about her during his teenage years, he didn't need those fantasies anymore. He had all of her now, and he only had a few hours in which to make the most of it.

“Know what,” he said quietly, giving the department a quick scan, “we probably don’t need the cloak anymore, I reckon we can make it to the elevators. And the sooner we’re at the elevators, the sooner we’re at Grimmauld Place-“

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Whisking off the cloak, Hermione grasped his hand in hers, and they set off again. As they rounded the corner, the door to the department came into view - as did a wall of water, knee-deep and flooding tsunami-like toward them.

“Shit,” Ron spat as the water rose and flooded toward them, soaking into the carpet and filing cabinets and stacks of supplies. “Dammit, not this - not now-“

“Isn’t there a-“ Hermione took a few steps back as the water lapped at her shoes. “A spell, or anything?”

“No, I told you, they’re not working-“

Quickly, he weighed his options. He couldn’t go running all over the department lest Robards catch a glimpse of him, and he didn’t want to go wading with Hermione into a wall of water. There was nothing else for it: he wrenched open the door to a supply closet a few steps away and closed them both inside.

It was dark and cluttered and tiny, and Ron found himself shoved uncomfortably against a shelf bearing quills and notebooks. Pulling his wand from his waistband, he lit the tip and propped it on top of a cardboard box so that it glowed upon them.

“It’ll pass in a few minutes,” explained Ron. “It’s usually snow that does that, but I guess that it’s warmer out now-“

“So now you’ve got rivers,” Hermione concluded, cracking a smile. “I suppose there are worse places to wait it out.”

“I’m sorry that we’ve got to wait anything out at all.”

He reached out towards her, and she linked her fingers with his. The wand light had cast her partially in shadow, so he stepped closer, wanting to see as much of her as he could, while he could.

“It isn’t your fault, you’re not in charge of these charms.”

“I know, but...” He tugged her toward him, and she dropped his hands to wind her arms around his waist. “I’m just sorry that it has to be like this at all. And that I couldn’t go back to Hogwarts with you, you know I would have done if I thought there was any way that I could.”

Her hands slid up his back, small fingertips pressing into him. “I don’t blame you for that. Do you blame me for being at Hogwarts?”

“No, but that’s different, you’re meant to be there-“

“Just like you’re meant to be here. Besides, this isn’t for forever, right? It’s already March, and soon it’ll be June, and then I’ll be back.”

“I know.” He brushed a lock of hair away from her face and kissed her. “I know, but I still wish it could be different.”

“So do I.” She kissed him again, a bit more deeply, like she was struggling to hold herself back. “It’s really not so bad in here.”

He looked down at her, befuddled. “We’re standing in a puddle of ink right now.”

“I’m not really worried about that.”

She rose up on her toes and locked her lips onto his, and he forgot everything else. He forgot the corner of the shelf poking into his back, and the flood of water just outside the door, and the moment three hours from now when she’d have to leave. She was here. All he could think was that she was here, she had ducked out on classes, she had gone to McGonagall to use the Floo. All for him.

He couldn’t possibly imagine a better way to spend the day.

Hermione broke away, breathless, and looked up at the ceiling. “Did you... feel something?”

“No, feel wh-“ A drop of water splattered on his cheek. Then another, on the top of his head. Unfettered, he wiped them away. “Oh, it might be a leak - that’s been happening lately too-“

But as he reached for his wand, hoping for more light, the ceiling opened up. The rain poured down upon them, icy-cold and sharp, instantly soaking them down to the skin. Thunder rumbled, accompanied by flashes of light, and a gust of wind nearly knocked Hermione into a shelf.

“God, this bloody building,” Ron grumbled, clearing water from his eyes. “Are you all right? I’m so sorry-“

Her head tipped back, her shoulders shaking: she was laughing. Absolutely cracking up, as a matter of fact, though she couldn’t be heard over the sound of raindrops pummeling the walls. Still, it was infectious, and Ron couldn’t stop himself joining her. It just felt so good to be happy with her.

Still giggling, Hermione leaned her head on his sodden chest. “Can’t we just have one thing go right?”

“Wouldn’t be us if we did,” Ron told her cheerfully. “The flood outside might be gone by now, though. I can check.”

“If you want.”

She lifted her face to meet his eyes, drops of water clinging to her eyelashes and her lips. When she kissed him, her mouth was cool and soft, and he couldn’t tear himself away.

It was just a little rain, after all.

#happy birthday ron! 🧡#ron fest 2020 #ron weasley #hermione granger #romione #rhr #this idea's been rolling around in my head for ages #it's so silly #just roll with it

102 notes · View notes

remedialpotions · 5 years

Note

Hey, don't know if you're still doing the things you said prompts but if so 11. things you said when you were drunk? :)

A/N: Thanks for the prompt! I’m posting this today for Ron’s birthday even though it’s not birthday-related... hope you like it!

Word Count: 1,898

Warning: Discussion of injuries.

***

when you were drunk

Ron was just so used to bad news at this point. Already prone to anxiety, his nerves had essentially fried over the past year, and now he simply expected that what could go wrong, would. His family was in hiding. Voldemort had the Elder Wand. Bellatrix had taken Hermione, not him - and though they’d escaped, they had lost Dobby in the process. Bill and Fleur could no longer go to work at Gringotts, couldn’t even leave the bounds of the Fidelius Charm, and with so many houseguests, it was just a matter of time before Shell Cottage ran out of food. The world was ending, and - Harry’s absurd plan notwithstanding - there was so little hope in sight. Most mornings, Ron awoke in a sleeping bag on his brother’s sitting room floor, amazed to still have air in his lungs.

So when Lupin had burst through the door to the cottage on the twenty-eighth of April, Ron’s stomach had sunk like a stone. Someone was dead, surely, or kidnapped. Or perhaps Hogwarts was on fire, or Voldemort had found them and was on his way. Members of the Order didn’t usually come charging through doors unannounced with good news.

Except… it had been good news. Tonks had had the baby, and she was fine. And the baby was fine. And Lupin was happy. He’d appointed Harry as godfather as though that fight at Grimmauld Place had never happened. As bottles of wine emerged from cupboards, uncorking themselves and patiently waiting to fill goblets, Ron had simply watched the scene unfold from his seat at the kitchen table, relief gushing through him with such strength that his limbs felt weak.

It was Hermione who handed him a glass, their fingers brushing as he accepted it.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling up at her. Her eyes met his, and God, it was all he wanted, to touch her, to reach out and pull her into his arms, to kiss her and not care about anything else.

But that, too, seemed like another thing that would go horribly wrong upon attempt, so he contented himself with a stolen glance at her as she settled into the chair beside him. He was surely still allowed to admire her, wasn’t he, and be grateful that she was still alive, that her muscles were regaining strength with every passing day and that her mind was as razor-sharp as it had always been. At least he had that left. At least he had her at all.

As Lupin, his audience rapt, told the story of little Teddy’s birth - evidently, Tonks’ hair had been constantly changing color the entire time during her delivery - Hermione extended her legs in front of her, under the table. Her toes brushed against the side of Ron’s ankle, but she didn’t jerk back, and neither did he, and soon she had set the arches of her feet on the tops of his, as though he were some sort of footrest. As though this was a perfectly normal thing for them to be doing. As though they were some sort of couple or something.

Ron took a gulp of red wine and tried to fix his attention back onto Lupin - he really was happy for him - but he was only aware of Hermione. Whenever he was with her, everything else seemed to recede into the background, irrelevant when compared with her.

He let himself look over at her again. A pretty flush had crept into her cheeks, and a tendril of hair was curling at her temple; Ron had the near-irresistible urge to brush it behind her ear.

“Hey,” Ron whispered, not wanting to interrupt the very detailed description of Teddy Lupin’s first set of tiny wizarding robes. Hermione turned toward him; her lips were tinged with purple. “How much wine have you had?”

She shrugged, a little spark of mischief in her eyes, then picked up the bottle sitting on the table and upended it into Ron’s glass. The last little splash remaining into the bottle went into her own glass.

“You’re twice my size,” she whispered back. “You can handle it.”

Actually, he wasn’t sure if he could. He hadn’t eaten much at dinner, thanks to his unending worry over the food supply at Shell Cottage, and the wine had gone right to his head.

But he thought, for once in his life, that he wouldn’t argue with her.

“I don’t know about twice your size.” All right, so maybe he’d argue a little. “C’mere, let’s compare.”

He pressed his palm flat against the table, and she immediately aligned her hand on his. This was already better than expected; he thought they’d compare side-by-side, and her skin was pleasantly warm and smooth against his.

“See?” She pressed the tips of her fingers down onto his, just below the first knuckle, and involuntarily Ron hissed. “What? What did I-“

“No, nothing,” he said quickly, but Hermione, unconvinced, took his hand between both of hers to study it. “Seriously, it’s fine-“

“It’s not fine.” She ran the pad of her thumb gently down the length of his middle finger. The abrasions on his knuckles had finally scabbed over, though here and there were bits that remained raw and angry, even weeks later. “Are these scrapes still bothering you?”

“No, no, it’s fine-“

“I wonder if there’s any dittany left-“

“Dittany isn’t going to help,” said Ron before he could stop himself. The wine was definitely kicking in.

“Then what-“

“Oh, no, no, thank you,” came Lupin’s voice from the end of the table, and Ron saw him politely declining another goblet of wine. “No, I must be getting back, they’ll start to worry-“

And the matter of Ron’s aching hands was dropped, at least for the time being, in favor of seeing Lupin off and helping tidy up the kitchen after the festivities. With Harry roped into a conversation with Bill - and one that didn’t sound terribly fun, from the sound of their voices - Ron and Hermione retreated to the safety of the sitting room, where a fire crackled in the hearth. Emboldened by the wine, and grateful that they were actually alone, Ron found himself sitting much more closely beside Hermione on the sofa than he would have done with anyone else.

“Let me see your hands again,” she demanded, angling toward him so that her knee rested atop his thigh.

“See?” He held his hands up, palms out. “There they are. All in one piece.”

He actually doubted that last bit, but the wine didn’t have him that far gone yet.

“Mmhmm,” she said skeptically. “Then make a fist right now.”

Looking her directly in the eye in an attempt at defiance, Ron slowly curled the fingers of his right hand toward his palm, only to find that they stopped halfway there, too stiff and swollen to move.

“Ron!” Hermione’s face bore a mixture of half-indignance, half-horror. “What happened?!”

He hadn’t considered it before, but he supposed she wouldn’t know. There had been so much going on in the immediate aftermath of Malfoy Manor, and Ron had been so focused on Hermione’s recovery, that he had hardly given a thought to his own injuries. And looking back, he thought he should have known better than to pound on concrete walls and try wandless Apparition, but he’d lost control of himself. For once in his life, he hadn’t had a strategy. He hadn’t been able to see three, four, five, ten moves in advance. All he’d seen was the girl he loved being dragged away by the hair, and himself, powerless to stop it.

“They’re just sore, is all,” he replied, tipping more wine into his mouth.

“Sore from what, exactly?”

“Well - it’s not easy planning a bank robbery, is it?” At Hermione’s glare, he relented. “It’s just from - from the Malfoys’.”

“Oh.” Hermione cast her eyes down at the point where their legs overlapped. “I suppose we’ve never really talked about what-“ She swallowed. “What they did when they took you.”

“It’s my fault,” Ron blurted out, regret and guilt bubbling up inside him like acid. “What happened, it’s all my fault.”

Because he hadn’t done enough, hadn’t been enough. Because instead of actually using his head and figuring out a way to save Hermione, he’d lost it entirely, pounding on cement walls as if that made any sense, as if he could use the force of his rage to burst through and get to her. Because he had dropped his wand when Bellatrix told him to, instead of fighting.

Because he’d left.

“No, it isn’t.” Hermione reached for him, her hand hovering millimeters above his, before reconsidering and resting her hand on his arm. Her fingertips brushed over the ligature marks on his wrists, relics from the brief time during which he was bound to Harry in that cellar. “None of it was your fault - if I remember correctly, and I know that I do, Harry was the one who triggered the Taboo, that’s how it all started.”

“But I failed you.” He could barely get the words out. “I should have done more, I - I should have made her take me instead-“

“She was never going to take you,” said Hermione, her voice quiet yet matter-of-fact. “It was always going to be me, because of who I am. What I am.”

“It should have been me.”

Ron didn’t have to look up to know that shock and confusion was registering on Hermione’s face.

“It should have been no one-“

“It should have been me. Out all of us, it should have - I mean, I’m the one who-“

“Don’t.” The force in her voice was enough to make his head snap up. “Don’t you dare say you deserved it. No one deserves to be tortured.”

At his core, he agreed with her: there was not a soul alive, save maybe Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange, who deserved an Unforgivable Curse cast upon them. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it would have been a form of penance, almost, to the friends that he had so deeply wronged all those months ago. He didn’t want to be the one who always got the easier end of the deal, and he definitely didn’t want to be the one using up all of the healing potions when Hermione had been through so much more.

“I know that,” he relented finally. “Doesn’t mean I don’t still blame myself.”

She gave his forearm a light squeeze. “I forgave you a long time ago, you know. Harry and I both did. I wish you would just forgive yourself.”

Ron felt his head swim, but not from the wine still in his bloodstream. He hadn’t considered that she might fully forgive him, that his worst transgression wouldn’t always be a stain on their friendship. That maybe not all was lost.

“I s’pose I could give it a go,” he said, corners of his lips twitching.

“And while you’re doing that, we’re going to do something about those hands of yours,” said Hermione decisively as she stood. “I’m going to get the Skele-Gro.”

“Skele - my bones aren’t missing-“

“It has healing properties too.” Shaking her head in exasperation, she strode out of the room, though not before tossing him a smile over her shoulder.

The good things, he thought, were even better when he didn’t expect them.

#happy birthday ron! 🧡#romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #romione fanfiction #rhr #things you said prompts #shell cottage #also fun fact for everyone:#I gave teddy lupin the same birthday as my dog #that is one of the highest honors that I could bestow upon anybody #ron fest 2019

189 notes · View notes

remedialpotions · 6 years

Text

Seven Minutes

A/N: Happy 38th birthday to Ronald Bilius Weasley, who carries the distinct honor of being the person in my life over whose birthday I become most excited. I wrote this little slice of fluff based on a headcanon I’ve had about Ron and I hope you like it! 🧡

***

“I wish this wasn’t such a short month,“ Hermione mumbled under her breath as her quill scratched furiously across the parchment before her. "All I need is a day, just one more day, and I can get this done.”

Ron watched from across their kitchen table as she set down her quill and raked her fingers through her hair before tying it into a fluffy knot at the top of her head. This, paired with her pajamas that consisted entirely of his old clothes, gave her the impression of being even more frazzled, and Ron bit down hard on his bottom lip to keep from all-out grinning at her.

“Yeah, why is it such a short month?” he wondered aloud, more to empathize with her than anything else.

“It actually has to do with the Roman calendar,” Hermione replied automatically, not looking up from her work. “Originally, the year only had ten months, but-“

"I wasn’t really asking,” chuckled Ron, though he reckoned he should have known, nearly three years into this relationship, that she would start explaining anyway.

“Oh.” Hermione dipped the point of her quill into an inkwell, frowning as errant drops splattered onto the table. Wordlessly, Ron picked up his wand and tapped the spots to clear them.

“Look, we don’t have do anything tomorrow,” Ron said, “I know you’ve got a deadline-”

“No, no, I want to,” Hermione replied, albeit distractedly, flipping through her pages of research on illness recovery stages in house elves. “It’s your birthday, we can’t do nothing.”

“We’ll just do something some other day, it’s not a big deal. I’d rather see the elves get paid sick leave,” he said with a vague gesture toward her work.

“Would you really?”

“Yeah. I would.”

He had long ago passed the point of caring about his own birthday (though he loved having an excuse to splash out for Hermione on hers). After a stretch of fairly pitiful ones - nearly dying on his seventeenth, living in a tent on his eighteenth, bogged down by Auror training and desperately missing Hermione on his nineteenth - he had determined that it wasn’t anything worth making a fuss over. It wasn’t as if he had particularly done anything to earn it, anyway. Everyone had one, and he could live with it if his went largely unacknowledged.

Hermione glanced up at Ron, her eyes narrowing momentarily, and then she turned another page in her research and sighed. “I wish I still had a Time Turner,” she said as she returned her quill to her parchment.

“No,” Ron said at once. “No, no, I will not watch you go through that again.”

“It’s just too bad it’s not Leap Day,” she added, tucking a misbehaving curl behind her ear. When it sprang free, Ron reached out and made his own attempt. “I could really use the extra day.”

“You know I was almost born on Leap Day?” Ron found himself saying, resting his chin in his palm as he shamelessly gazed at her. He knew he had to be irritating her - he had been sat here, nothing but a distraction, for a good hour or so - but he liked watching her work, and he knew she secretly enjoyed this little dynamic between them.

“Missed it by a day?”

“Missed it by seven minutes,” Ron clarified.

He had heard the story growing up a million times over as a child, typically during his mum’s annual reminiscence of the day he came into the world, but judging by the way Hermione’s head popped up, he had never bothered passing it along to anyone else.

“Really?”

“Yeah, my mum loves that story, how all day she thought she was getting a Leap Day baby and then, y’know, she didn’t. It used be one of those things, actually - well. Anyway.“

Hermione’s eyes pierced into him. "No, what?”

“S'nothin’,” he shrugged, rising from his seat and kissing her on the cheek as he walked toward the kitchen. “What do you want for dinner? I’ll cook.”

But Hermione had turned on her seat to face him, even as he’d begun searching through the cupboards for inspiration.

“Ron,” she said suspiciously, “what were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” he repeated, nonchalant as he knelt down to fetch a saucepan. “How do you feel about pasta?”

“No, it was definitely something-”

Ron straightened up to see that she had abandoned her work entirely. “Your law isn’t gonna write itself, you know-” The scowl on her face gave him pause; his offhand comment had clearly affected her. “It’s just something I used to think when I was younger, that I don’t anymore.”

“Which was?”

Letting out a slow, heavy breath through his lips, Ron leaned back against the work surface. Classic Hermione - once she had something in her head, she never let it go. And he loved her for it, he really did, but she still drove him mad sometimes.

“It’s just, when I was a kid, I used to think…” He pursed his lips, unsure how to word this, because the version of him who had thought these things almost didn’t exist anymore. “I thought that when I was born, my parents were hoping for a girl - the first girl in seven generations - and that I’d be born on Leap Day, and instead… y'know, all they got was a boy born in March. And it made me think that I was almost special, I was so close to being special… but then I wasn’t.”

Hermione looked as though all of the air in her lungs had been stolen from her. Mouth slightly agape, eyes wide, she gawked at him, sadness slowly crossing her face.

“I don’t - it’s just stupid kid stuff,” he hastened to reassure her. “Just something I used to think, that I wished I could be born that day so that people’d think I, I dunno, mattered or something.” At Hermione’s obvious disbelief, he felt compelled to repeat his new refrain: “It’s not a big deal.”

And then he ducked down behind the cupboard again, recovering a large steel pot from its depths. He hadn’t thought about this in ages, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to concern Hermione with it, because he had wished for a lot of asinine things in his youth - that he could be an only child, that he could receive even a sliver of the attention that Harry had, that the bossy, bushy-haired girl in his classes would just go away - and he had only wound up thankful when they hadn’t come true.

When he stood upright again, he saw Hermione approaching, her eyes filled a fierce, determined look that he had long come to associate with a social injustice crusade.

“Just so we’re clear,” she stated, pulling the pot from his hands and setting it on the stove so she could stand directly in front of him, “you have always mattered to me.”

Evidently, it made no difference how long they were together, or that he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she loved him. Words like that, spoken with such conviction, never failed to stun him, and though he felt the old impulse to deflect them with his favorite defense mechanism - humor - he resisted.

“Hermione, you really don’t-“

“And just so we’re clear,” she pressed on, forming each syllable slowly, carefully, “I don’t care when or how it happened, I’m just so glad you were born at all. Every day.”

The corners of Ron’s lips twitched upwards, and for a moment he fought it, not wanting to be the sort of person who basked in his own importance - but then, was it so bad if he did? That was sort of the point of one’s birthday, anyway, wasn’t it?

“Every day, huh?” he asked, letting himself grin as he set his hands on her waist.

“Of course,” she smiled back, and as she stood on her toes to bring herself closer to him, he gripped her sides and boosted her up to sit on the work surface.

“So then…” He stood between her knees, hands on her thighs, and found her meeting him halfway for a light kiss. “Then I reckon it doesn’t matter when we start celebrating, does it?”

She laughed, cupping his face in her hands, her fingers grazing over the copper stubble dotting his jaw, and pulled him down to press her lips more firmly to his.

“Doesn’t matter at all.”

#happy birthday ron! 🧡#romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #rhr fanfiction #ron weasley fanfiction #romione #my writing #ron fest 2018

292 notes · View notes