Celestine's fics (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} celescribbles) wrote,@ 2007-12-21 18:28:00 |
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| Current mood: |  jolly |
| Entry tags: | vincit |
Vincit Qui Se Vincit
Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Chapter summary : Ron gave her a small but decidedly pleased smile. “Well, come on, I have to give you your birthday present,” he said, making his way around the table. Hermione followed him, feeling suddenly nervous. Of course, Ron would never get try to get racy with her – he was… Ron. Clumsy and a bit gruff, but deep inside, she knew him to be sweet and considerate. But what if she wanted him to – well, be a bit racy? Should she ask him? The very thought made her shudder.
A loud knock sounded on the bathroom door, startling Ron from his thoughts and making him scramble for his shirt.
“What?” he called, stubbing his foot against the base of the toilet and biting back a curse. “What is it?”
“Ron, you’ve been locked up in here for an hour,” his father’s voice said from the other side of the door. “I need to use the loo!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he mumbled, hastily buttoning up his shirt and giving his hair one last look before opening the door. “No need to get tetchy about it,” he muttered, slipping past his father.
“Well, you certainly look nice,” his father remarked, bemused. “I didn’t know you owned anything that wasn’t a tee-shirt.”
“Yes, well – now you know,” Ron replied lamely, red in the face. Before his father could say anything else, he clambered up to his room and shut the door tightly.
Now that he was ready, there was nothing else to do but wait. He checked his breath and wondered if he should have put on some cologne – no, that would’ve been overdoing it. Besides, the only cologne in the house belonged to his father and had been a gift from Auntie Muriel several years ago – something called Eau de Chimère. He wouldn’t risk it. And after all, he didn’t want Hermione to think he was trying to … seduce her or anything. Besides, hadn’t that part already been done? He wasn’t sure.
Ron paced around, not knowing what to do with himself, and picked up one of his comic books with the vague intention of reading it, but set it back down immediately. According to his watch, Hermione was a bit late. What if she didn’t come at all? Feeling slightly panicky, he grabbed his copy of Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches and flipped through it. He’d found some passages of it very enlightening, especially the one on personal appearance: Always look your best, it read, but don’t look like you put too much effort into it. Witches are sensitive to a natural, manly type of sex-appeal that doesn’t need to be overwhelming. Unfortunately, it was silent on the subject of what to do once you had charmed a witch into being your girlfriend. Of course, technically, he’d already had a girlfriend, but in the end it had been much easier with Lavender than it was with Hermione – for some reason, it hadn’t been that important to please her. Things were different now.
It was strange to think of it like that: Hermione was his girlfriend. It seemed to Ron that he’d been fumbling achingly towards that goal for ages, and now that he’d finally done it – now that they’d kissed, and more than a couple of times too – he felt even more nervous and awkward than before. Would Hermione have expected him to get her some flowers or candy or something like that? The gift he’d got her for her birthday wasn’t very romantic… On the other hand, he reasoned, Hermione had never really been that type of girl – it seemed unlikely that she would change now, just because they were going out. But on the other hand… girls were so unpredictable and strange. You never really knew what they were thinking, and it felt as if every word they spoke had a hidden meaning. If they wanted a bloke to say or do something, they had a roundabout way of getting it out of him that was both deeply uncanny and terrifying.
“Ron! Hermione’s here!”
Ron jolted up from his bed, nearly knocking over his night table. His heart gave big leaping thumps as he bolted down the stairs before slowing down to a halt. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and took a moment to recover. What was wrong with him? This was just Hermione – his best friend, the bossy, brilliant girl he’d known for years. He’d seen her a thousand times before in a thousand different states. There was no need to get all jittery now.
Slightly calmed, Ron continued towards the living room. He could hear Hermione chatting with his parents and his treacherous heart made another somersault in his chest, making all sensible, rational thoughts fly out of his mind.
“ – but they’re fine now. Actually, they told me that they’d like to have you over to dinner…”
“Really? They did?” his father asked excitedly. “How wonderful – I’ve been wanting to see how a stove works for ages!”
“Yes, that would be lovely, my dear. Oh, and here’s Ron.”
And there she was. Tan, radiant, and looking more lovely than he could remember ever seeing her.
“I, urm – hi.” It seemed to Ron that his throat was both dry and incapable of producing a more witty turn of phrase. Thankfully, his mouth seemed to know exactly what to do, and he could feel it stretching into a smile. He was so incredibly happy to see her, it was almost a bit ridiculous.
Hermione smiled back and her cheeks tinged with pink. Ron wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her – that was the kind of greeting he was longing for, but of course he would never do that in front of a third party, especially not his parents.
His mother, amazingly, seemed to understand this. “Well, we’ll leave you two, then,” she said, slipping Ron a furtive, mischievous look and patting Hermione’s shoulder before retreating in the kitchen and shooing Arthur away towards the garage. “I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.”
Hermione and Ron both laughed, awkwardly, then she turned towards him again – was that expectancy he saw on her face? It didn’t matter. In one sweeping motion he’d gathered her into his arms and her lips where on his. His heart was knocking so hard against his chest he was sure she would feel it. And it all seemed to add up perfectly again – there was no need to be nervous or worried or anxious. All he had to do was fit his mouth against hers and hold her tightly and everything came as naturally as could be.
“Well, hi,” she said, a bit breathless, when she broke away.
“Hi,” he replied, trying to keep the burning ache her kiss had ignited under tight control. “I missed you.”
Hermione nestled her head in the crook of his neck and stayed there for a moment. “I missed you too.” Then she looked up, smiling, and walked over to the window, looking at the garden. “I’m so glad to be back – and here, of course. It’s funny, but I realised that it’s been years since I’ve been away so long from The Burrow during the holidays. It felt a bit strange, believe it or not.”
“Really? I’d give my left hand to travel to Australia instead of staying here for two months… I mean, it was nice to be with the family and all, but… I don’t know, I need a break.”
Hermione took his hand. “Well, you’ll be moving in with Harry soon – won’t it be grand when the three of us are living in London?”
Ron bit his lip. “I don’t know how long George expects me to stay with him,” he said hesitantly. Of course, his brother would never keep him from going away, but he didn’t want George to feel too lonely.
“George probably won’t want a little brother hanging around his flat if he has some friends over – or worse,” Hermione pointed out with a little laugh. “And as soon as Grimmauld Place is all ready, you won’t want to live anywhere else.”
“Ready? What do you mean?”
She grinned mischievously. “I can’t tell - it’s a secret. Sorry.”
He brought her closer to him again and she squealed, fighting him off. “I’ll wring it out of you. You’ll have no secrets from me.”
“Every woman’s got secrets,” she said with an air of mystery, then kissed the corner of his mouth. Ron felt as though he was a heavy metal clock being wound up from the inside. He blushed, feeling suddenly awkward.
“So – um – you’re staying here tonight, right?”
“Yes, that’s what I told you.” She frowned, puzzled. “Why, do you have other plans? Did you have something in mind? I mean -”
“No, no, not at all. I just thought maybe – you’d changed your plans, or maybe your parents didn’t want you to – since they don’t really know me all that well and…” He raked a hand through his hair, not knowing what to say anymore. There was one notion that was taking up all the place in his head and he couldn’t work his way around it.
Hermione looked at him, silent, as though she was waiting for him to pick up the conversation again. He noticed at that moment that there was a discreet hint of colour on her eyelids, which surprised him, and she was wearing a rather elegant blouse. Maybe she was waiting for him to mention the change, though she’d never shown any concern about her appearance in front of him or Harry before. Perhaps he should’ve complimented her on tan, or told her she looked beautiful? Was she angry that he hadn’t said anything?
“Well – uh…” He looked her up and down, then, realising what he was doing, looked straight back up, embarrassed, his eyes itching to linger over her body a smite longer. “You look really pretty. It’s a nice change.” Merlin, that sounded absolutely awful. Realising his blunder, he tried to recover, very red in the face. “I mean, it’s not like you usually don’t, but…”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Well – I wouldn’t recognise you if you were full of tact and suaveness all of sudden,” she said, but there was no anger in her voice. In fact, she seemed rather amused, and let out a little laugh.
Ron laughed as well. “Sorry. That came out all wrong. What I meant was, you look pretty all the time, but tonight you look… extra pretty.”
“To be honest, I felt like trying something different,” Hermione said, a bit uncertainly. “I bought this new blouse in Australia. I mean, I don’t usually go for the lace-trimmed stuff, but I thought, you know, now that I’m out of school I ought to dress more my age, and besides, I was hoping you’d like it.”
“I do – I do like it. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
He almost gave a sigh of relief at having corrected his mistake, but Hermione didn’t give him the chance. They were still kissing when Molly called them to the table. Ron thought he’d never have more readily skipped a dinner in his life, and hoped it would be over fast.
“Here, dear, have some more.”
Hermione pushed her plate back and smiled gratefully at Mrs Weasley. “Thank you, but I’m full. The dinner was delicious.”
“Well, Ron, won’t you have another slice?”
Ron glanced at the remaining half chocolate cake that was sitting in the middle of the table, and seemed to hesitate. Mrs Weasley had made enough for twelve. No doubt he and Harry could’ve eaten what was left all by themselves – Hermione had experienced first-hand during their long camping trip the seemingly endless capacity of teenage boys to wolf down anything edible – but tonight Ron didn’t seem to have much appetite. She was secretly grateful for it, even though she was reluctant to admit it to herself. Mr and Mrs Weasley were so nice to welcome her to The Burrow like that, and she had so much to tell about her trip… It seemed a bit impolite to want to go upstairs right now – even worse, to want nothing more than be with Ron alone in his room with the door shut tight. Hermione shifted on her seat. What would Mr and Mrs Weasley think if they went up together? Perhaps Mrs Weasley would be resentful that she didn’t show more gratitude, or perhaps she would think she was trying to… to… to what, exactly? She and Ron were dating. There was nothing Hermione could do to him that she hadn’t done already. Almost.
“Thanks, Mum, but I’m done. Three slices is my limit. It was bloody fantastic, though.”
“Well, should I help you do the washing up, Mrs Weasley?” Hermione said quickly. “And then perhaps we could – play a game or something like that.”
Mrs Weasley laughed and flicked her wand to pile up the empty plates. “Oh, don’t bother, dear. I’ll get it done in a jiffy. But I’m afraid I won’t join in the festivities, I have some sewing to do.”
Arthur stood up and tugged his napkin from his collar. “Well, better get to work on my electric fan – it’s almost finished. Picked it up in a dump, can you believe it? It’s amazing, really, the treasures people will throw out.”
Hermione felt her heart crawl up her chest. What was this conspiracy? Did Mr and Mrs Weasley think she was just dying to be alone with Ron to snog him? Well. She was – but that wasn’t the point.
Ron gave her a small but decidedly pleased smile. “Well, come on, I have to give you your birthday present,” he said, making his way around the table.
Hermione followed him, feeling suddenly nervous. Of course, Ron would never get try to get racy with her – he was… Ron. Clumsy and a bit gruff, but deep inside, she knew him to be sweet and considerate. But what if she wanted him to – well, be a bit racy? Should she ask him? The very thought made her shudder.
She’d thought about it a lot, when she was in Australia. For what seemed like the first time in all her teenage years, she’d had the time to think about something else than studies and books and saving the world. Of course, there had been that little thing she had with Viktor, but that was so long ago it almost didn’t count. And that date with that prat McLaggen – what had she been thinking? But with Ron, things were different. Her own feelings seemed to be expanding out of control and it felt as though a whole unexplored region of herself was opening up. It was unsettling. She prided herself in keeping a cool head at all times, but thinking of Ron just made her thoughts blurry and dizzy and wonderful. And when he’d kissed her earlier that evening… It felt a bit like the time when he’d come back after disappearing for so long – there was the same feeling of release, of achievement, of power and extreme vulnerability all at once. But while she certainly didn’t feel angry now, she was still reeling from it.
“I made up Ginny’s bed for you, dear,” Mrs Weasley called from behind her as they exited the kitchen. Hermione thanked her shakily, feeling rather mortified.
When they got to Ron’s room, he closed the door carefully behind him and Hermione sat on the bed, just on the edge, keeping her back very straight.
“It’s not much,” Ron told her with a lop-sided smile as he started to rummage through his drawer. Hermione watched the long strands of fiery hair fall down over his cheek and Ron push them back behind his ear, tugging on his plump bottom lip with his teeth as he peered into the drawer. She sat up a bit straighter.
“Ah, there it is,” he said finally, taking out a small box. “Here you go. Happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” she said, intrigued. She opened the box to find a small, delicate pocket watch strung on a golden chain. It looked like a miniature version of the Weasleys’ clock.
“It’s not real gold or anything, but… I thought you might like to have a wizarding watch of your own. It’s not like mine or Harry’s, it’s like the one in the kitchen – here, look, I put a few hands in already, but you can add more, as many as you want.”
Hermione looked closer, delighted with the gift, and saw that indeed there were already three hands in place – Ron and Harry, who were both “at home”, and Ginny who was “on the Quidditch pitch.”
“Oh, Ron, this is wonderful,” she said, holding it up, admiring it as it glinted softly in the light of the lamp. “Simply wonderful.” Then she carefully put in back in the box and stood up to wind her arms around his neck.
Ron held her tightly for a moment and when they pulled back, their lips met instinctively. Hermione closed her eyes against the feeling, trying to convey all of her delight and her gratitude through her kiss, but delight and gratitude soon shifted towards a deeper, nameless feeling that clutched at her senses. Ron’s hands were pressing against the small of her back as if he didn’t dare budge them for fear of where they would go on their own accord. He leaned over her and she stepped back, the back of her knees soon bumping against the bed and making her legs buckle under her. They fell in a heap on the bed.
“Oof!”
Ron’s elbow had found its way into her stomach and when she let out a grunt, he pulled back suddenly, rather alarmed.
“Are you -”
“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just… your elbow.” She hitched herself on her forearms and took a deep, shaky breath, then met Ron’s eyes again. He was looking at her in a way that made her stomach coil around itself. He scrambled back.
“Sorry about that. I mean, not the kissing – the elbow.” He looked at his hands. “So, I was wondering – have you read any good books lately?”
“Books?” Hermione sat up completely, frowning. “Why on earth are you asking me about books?”
“Just trying to make a conversation,” Ron said, a bit sheepishly. “I mean, there’s so much you must want to tell me about Australia, and… books and stuff.”
“Ron, are you out of your mind? We talked at the dinner table, didn’t we? And there sometimes are other things on my mind than books, you know,” she added, rather annoyed. It was all fine and dandy that he didn’t take her for Lavender Brown, but his question was like a cold shower. Didn’t he want to kiss her?
“Yes, I know,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. He looked a bit annoyed too, now. This was not going the way she had expected. “I just thought you might want to talk, and not just… well, you know.”
“Well, do you want to talk?”
“No! I mean, yes. Of course! I always like talking with you.”
“Do you want to talk now?”
“Not really, but… Look, I didn’t want you to think I brought you up here just to snog, all right? And if we go on like this - ” He let out a big sigh and gave Hermione a grave look. “I bloody don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep my hands entirely to myself.”
Hermione considered this for a moment and shrugged her shoulders, feeling her face go very red. “Well… Did you hear me say anything about keeping your hands to yourself?”
Ron looked at her wide-eyed. “Are you – are you asking me to -”
“I’m not asking you anything!” Hermione replied, the blush brutally rising to its peak. “But for heaven’s sake, Ron, we’re eighteen and we’ve been dating for almost four months now – there’s nothing to have a fit over. No, I won’t smack you if you try to put your hands somewhere other than my back, so stop questioning every move you make and get on with it!”
“Wow.” Ron’s bewildered expression relaxed into a smile. “I always thought you were really pretty when you get bossy like that.”
Hermione took on a dignified air, trying not to laugh, and scooted closer to him. “Now, do you think we could try this again without the interruption?”
“Whatever you say.”
Ron leaned in and Hermione sensed that her anger had fuelled more than quieted her longing. His heavy, compact presence pressed against her and she felt herself fall back against the bed. Ron strayed from her mouth to kiss the curve of her neck and she shivered. His hand was stroking her waist and his fingers were curling against the edge of her blouse, edging up inch by inch. It was thrilling, scary, amazing that he wanted to touch her that way. There was so much caution and desire intermingled in his attempt that Hermione instinctively arched into him, as if to show him the way. Ron gently cupped her breast under her blouse, his breath hot against her throat.
“Do you like that?” he whispered, his voice altered to a lower, more uncertain key.
All the nerves in her body seemed to have converged to that one point, his hand lifting and stroking the curve of her chest, the tip of his fingers brushing her skin over the edge of her bra. Hermione kissed his forehead and stroked his hair, willing him closer, willing herself to feel nothing but the closed circle they formed together, in the dimly lit room, against the dark of the night and the rest of the world.
“Hermione… Tell me… Should I go on?”
“Yes.”
