76Introduction: Real quickly, I want explain what this story is about. It's AU, though totally canon compliant minus the epilogue. But even then, the changes aren't too extreme and will be revealed as the fic progresses.
I got the idea for this fic from Harry/Hermione shippers who point out all the qualities that (on the surface) can at times make it seem like Ron and Hermione are less than perfect for one another. It got me thinking: how would their relationship turn out if those traits remained an issue between them? Would they be able to work through it? Would they stay together if they continued to fight and bicker the way they did as kids, long after it stopped being fun? If Hermione stayed her rigid, critical self, if Ron never outgrew his immaturity and insecurities?
So I think of my portrayal of their characters in this story as a big WHAT IF, and encourage all readers to do the same. Which is why I've also tagged the summary with 'maybe a bit OOC.' I've done this not because I think I've made Ron and Hermione into people that don't fit JKR's portrayal of them, but because I don't want to waste my time debating with reviewers about whether or not Ron would really 'do this' or if Hermione would ever 'say that.' I am writing this story without knowing the ending ahead of time, something that's very exciting for me, and I like having the freedom to let the characters go where they want to.
The whole fic should be about fifteen chapters long, plus an epilogue maybe. It's set over the course of just one week in their lives in September of 2004
Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. I am not a woman nor English nor rich nor a brilliant writer. And Harry Potter does not belong to me. And honestly I wouldn't want him to as I could never have done as wonderful a job with his story as Jo did.
And thanks to my beta superfan24 for putting up with my bizarre, angst-fueled mind on yet another fic. She is brilliant. Truly.
Apart
The falling out of lovers is the renewing of love.
Robert Burton
Prologue: Saturday Night
She's in the bedroom when she hears the door of their flat open. She sighs.
"You're late," she calls out.
She hears Ron's voice shout back, "I know."
She fixes her hair and grabs a pair of earrings. "I hate being late," she informs him, looking out of the mirror in front of her as he walks in the room, trying to pull his shirt off without removing a chicken leg from either his hand or mouth.
"I know," he mumbles thickly.
"This whole thing is for you and you're not even ready. If you didn't want to go—"
"I'm sorry, okay?" he says, finally getting the shirt off and swallowing what's in his mouth. He sits on the bed and starts on his trousers, undoing the belt first.
Hermione sighs. "Where were you anyway?"
"With Harry."
She could've guessed. "Doing what?"
"We took Teddy flying. Wanted to bring James but…he's only four months old."
She sighs. At least they have some sense. "Does Andromeda know?"
"Would you tell her if she didn't?"
No. "Yes."
"Liar."
He's smirking and it's too much. She can't glare at him effectively from a mirror and she turns to face him.
"I don't know why you had to spend the day with him. We'll see him at brunch tomorrow."
"Yeah, but today was his day off. He only gets four a month, and I'll probably miss the rest."
Boys, that's what they are. Boys who are supposed to be grown men but continue to act like children, as if goofing off with one another is the most important thing they could've done today, even though she can think of a thousand things at home she could use Ron's help with.
"Honestly, sometimes I wonder where I'd be if I'd never met you two."
He's still smirking as he stands and walks toward her, leaving his trousers behind. He tosses the chicken bone at the rubbish bin and misses so it lands on the floor. She winces in disgust and worries if it'll leave a stain.
"I know. You would've gotten ten Outstandings instead of just nine on your O.W.L.s," he said cheekily. "But you'd be even more of a bossy little swot than you are now without me and Harry ('Harry and me' she corrects him) to keep you young. And you'd have married a prat like Percy who probably would've turned out to be a poof or something."
"Did you just call me old?" she asks, knowing that's nowhere close to what he's really said.
"Well, you are."
"And how, exactly, do you figure that?"
"Well you're are turning twenty-four in a few days." She glares at him but he only laughs at her. "I'm not saying you're old. I'm saying you're you." He kisses her. "And I love you." He kisses her again and she lets him this time, encourages him with her tongue as she licks his lips, slides it inside his mouth. They break apart and she's just the slightest bit disappointed. "Even if you're starting to wrinkle."
She stomps her foot in frustration and turns away from him again. "You're incorrigible."
Another laugh. "How was your day, love? Good to have the flat all to yourself? Nice and quiet, yeah?"
No. "Yes."
"Get any work done?"
No. "A bit."
"That's my girl."
She's about to tell him to finish getting ready when his arms wrap around her waist and he kisses her neck. He's hard (of course) and she can feel him pressing into the crease of her bum.
"Ron, we don't—"
"Is this what you're wearing?" he asks between bites of her neck and she almost forgets to worry about how embarrassing it would be to show up tonight with a necklace of love bites around her throat. Almost.
"Yes." The word comes out too much like begging for her liking. "What's wrong with it?"
"I think you should change," he whispers, his breath hot on her ear as one had slides up to squeeze her breast while the other moves down to lift her dress so he can cup her sex, pressing into her through her knickers which are suddenly damp and uncomfortable.
"We don't have time. And you should shower. You smell like—" She's cut off when a moan escapes her throat as he pinches her hard nipple through two layers of clothing and shifts her knickers aside to dip two fingers inside her folds.
"Like freshly mown grass?" he finishes, teasing her. "Maybe you want to help me get cleaned up?"
She's tempted, and can't help herself from grabbing his hair to turn his head and find his mouth with hers once more. "We're already late," she says when they come up for air. He's already circling her clit and pumping into her slowly, teasing her, his dick rubbing against her arse, the friction building dangerously. She grabs his wrists and pulls his hands off her. She thinks better with a bit of space between them. "I've hung your clothes on the back of the door." Twenty-four and she still has to pick his clothes out like she's his mum.
"Who cares if we're late?" he asks.
"I do," she says sternly. "I don't want to have people asking why we're late and have to lie to them."
"Only because you're a terrible liar. You'd just blush and stammer and they'd know exactly why without you having to say anything."
Exactly. "Which is why we're not doing this now."
"So…later?" he asks on his way to the shower. She watches his shorts fall to the floor in the mirror and almost turns around to follow that perfect arse into the loo where she can touch it, squeeze it, bite it.
She slides her knickers off and opens the door to grab a clean pair. "If you're good," she relents, knowing he can't see her grin.
Hermione Apparates into the alleyway, Ron appearing a moment later. He takes her hand to lead her across the street, and she stumbles as he pulls her along, his stride too long, her heels too tall to keep up with him. Ron doesn't notice.
On the stoop Ron goes to press the call button.
"Wait," she says.
He turns to her, his look questioning.
She moves close to him to straighten his collar and tie and she admits Ron cleans up nicely. If only it happened more frequently.
"Hi," he says, and pulls her close when she tries to move away.
"Hi," she says back.
"That dress really does look good on you," Ron tells her, meaning it. "Have I said that yet?" He leans in and kisses her. She laughs, his short stubble tickling her face and reaches around him to press the buzzer, unwilling to be distracted again.
"Yeah?" a voice comes out the speaker.
Ron groans and releases her lips to answer. "It's Ron."
"You got that wife of yours with you?"
"Nah, brought a hooker. Don't mind, do you? Pretty sure she's had all her shots." He turns to Hermione, grinning like the devil, his finger still on the call button. "You did say you're clean, right? Housebroken too?" he asks her.
Hermione pushes him out of the way, not amused. "Please let me up Jude. I promise I'll leave the git outside."
The speaker laughs. "Nah, better bring him up. Someone might come along and grab him if he's left alone and I know you wouldn't want that."
"It'd be a blessing," she says as she hears the lock click. Ron does a great job acting hurt, before making a show of opening the door and bowing to her.
"After you, Milady."
"Why thank you," she says moving inside and he follows.
"What, no tip?" he asks as they climb the stairs to Jude's flat.
"Blame my husband. He's very frugal. Hardly leaves me any allowance."
Ron laughs at the joke. He finally has a bit of money and can't see the sense in holding onto it, buying anything and everything that catches his eye. Of course that leaves her to go searching through his coat pockets looking for receipts to explain where their gold goes each month.
A house elf lets them in and takes their coats.
"You made it!" Jude says, swooping in on them. He's short and stocky, with a strong jaw, dark hair and a widow's peak. He's a Beater. "Well come in, come in. Thank god you're here. Benson's been talking my ear off for an hour. Here, help yourselves to whatever."
"You'll regret that one," Hermione tells him thinking of Ron's bottomless stomach.
"Nah, Coach'll keep him in line."
Ron whistles. "Nice place Jude."
Hermione shoots him a disapproving look but he's too busy looking around the flat to notice. Of course any place is nice to Ron, at least compared to their flat. "You have a lovely home," she tells their host.
"Oh stop," he says in mock flattery, brushing her arm. She smiles. Jude is her favorite of Ron's teammates, past or present. "Something to drink, you two? Where's that elf?"
Hermione opens her mouth but Ron gets there first. "You better be paying the little bugger or this one will have your head."
Jude looks back, having not caught Ron's words. "What? Look, tell me what you want and I'll tell him."
Again Ron speaks for her. "White wine and an Ogden's."
"Thank you," Hermione says sharply after Jude vanishes.
He doesn't catch her tone, or chooses to ignore it. "No problem. C'mon." He puts his hand on her waist and drags her over to coach Benson.
"Ronald, my boy," the overweight wizard says jovially as he notices them. "And the Missus Ronald. Always a pleasure." They've only met once before. "My wife, Lindsay."
Hermione introduces herself, knowing Ron would forget and the women shake hands before Ron raises Lindsay's to his lips and kisses it. Always the charmer. Jude arrives, followed by the elf with their drinks a moment later, and Hermione wonders how much Jude is paying him as the five of them start to chat.
"So Hermione, what do you do? You don't look like the rest of these trophy wives and girlfriends I see," Lindsay asks, gesturing around the room.
Hermione doesn't know whether to feel flattered or insulted. "I'm a writer."
"Oh? Anything I might've read?"
She blushes, embarrassed. "Oh, no. I doubt it. It's mostly articles, things for the Prophet and journals. Silly things like that—"
"She's got a book," interrupts Ron.
"Ron," Hermione scolds him quietly, pinching his arm hard to make her point.
"Have I heard of it?" asks Lindsay.
"Probably not. It wasn't particularly well-received—"
"It's brilliant," Ron interrupts again. "And she's working on another. Guaranteed to be a best-seller."
"Yes, well…" She hates the look Lindsay is giving her.
"You must remember to send me a copy. I'm terrible at keeping track of things and it's likely to sell out before I make it to a shop."
"Now Hermione, you must keep an eye on your man here," says Benson, clearly bored with the talk of books. "I need him fit this week."
"Ron's got a wooden leg. Two of them, actually. I don't think Jude has enough liquor here to get him pissed."
"I was talking more about keeping him from gorging himself on cocktail weenies. I've seen his appetite."
"Easier said than done. You should see him at home. I can't keep him away from my cooking. Don't know where he puts it."
"You? Cook?" Ron said, turning to her with surprise and laughing. She pinches him again, but his skin must be made of steel. "Burns water, this one," wrapping his arm around her lovingly. "Quite a talent actually. Never seen anything like it." Hermione's scowl goes unnoticed by the rest.
"So you're the cook in your house?" asks Lindsay with a thin smile. "How modern."
"I am when we don't feel like starving," Ron says and all the rest laugh while Hermione gives a small smile and finishes her wine.
"Excuse me. Need to visit the ladies' room. Get me another?" She hands Ron her empty glass before stalking off.
Minutes later, she's smoothing her dress as she leaves the loo, and looks around for where Ron's gotten to with her drink. She finds him standing in a corner chatting up some blonde thing with legs a mile long, sipping a glass of white wine that should've been Hermione's. Her eyes go to work, inspecting, attacking. Pouty lips, big tits, wearing a napkin for a dress, probably a complete airhead. Ron's type, in other words. Fat arse, she marks gleefully. If only it were true.
She joins them. She stands there almost a full minute before Ron notices.
"Where've you been?" he asks, reaching an arm around her and pulling her close to kiss her on the cheek.
She pries his fingers off her and drops his hand. She waits for Ron to introduce her.
"Hello, I'm Hermione," she says finally.
"Oh you're Hermione," says the blonde, her eyes popping.
"You don't miss a beat, do you?" Hermione remarks.
"Sorry, it's just…you're not what I expected. I'm Clarissa, by the way."
"Pleasure," Hermione says stiffly.
"Ron was just telling me how brilliant your book is. I've never read it but I'll have to pick it up."
"Oh, well, that's nice."
"Hey, need another?" asks Jude, her savior appearing from nowhere and handing her another glass of wine.
"Thanks," she says accepting, happy for the excuse to ignore Ron's spectacle.
"Be right back. Need to run outside for a mo'," he says, holding up a pack of smokes and walking off.
Hermione looks to Ron but he's been reabsorbed by Clarissa's bubbling laugher and shaking bosom. "I'll come with you," she says, catching Jude. He looks at her strangely, knowing how she detests smoking. "I could use a spot of fresh air."
"But Ron—"
"I'm sure he'll survive another minute alone." I'll bet.
"Well c'mon," he says, throwing an arm across her shoulders.
Outside, Jude lights up and Hermione leans back against the railing on his balcony, the lights of the city behind her.
"So how's Margaret?"
"She's fine."
"I haven't seen her tonight. How long have you been together again?"
"Four months." So not long at all. He takes a drag. "Actually we split last week."
"Oh Jude. I'm sorry." She rubs his arm consolingly. "I liked her."
"S'fine. I'm not too broken up about it. Pain in my arse, she was."
She laughs. "Then why'd you stay with her?"
He shrugs. "Wanted to see if I could do it."
"Do what?"
"Stick it out with a bird. Can't even make it six months with one before she drives me batty. Please tell me it gets easier."
She laughs again. "Easier? You haven't even made it to the hard part."
"Ah, don't tell me that," he says with mock drama, covering his ears. "Don't know how you and Ron manage not to kill each other."
An awkward pause follows as Hermione guzzles half her glass in one go. "So what's her story?"
"Who?" he asks, clueless.
"That woman. Talking to Ron." She nods toward the window.
He strains to look. "Oh her. Clarissa Highwater. She's a writer for Quidditch Weekly. Probably talking to Ron 'cause he's the newest signing. Big news and all since he's, you know…"
Famous. "So she'll be in Spain with you?"
"Sure. It's her job." A pause. "Hasn't Ron mentioned her before?"
No. "Maybe." Her eyes narrow. "Why?"
"Think she did an interview with him last week. Probably just following up on some things she forgot." She grinds her teeth. "So how's the book coming?"
"What book?"
"The one you're working on. Ron's told me a bit about it"
This surprises her as she hasn't told Ron a thing about it. "Has he?"
"Sure." He takes another puff. "So how's it coming?"
A pause. "Fantastic." She finishes her wine. "Ready for another? I think I need to check on Ron."
Of course it's not him she's worried about. Hermione doesn't wait for Jude's answer before heading back inside, drinking in the sight of Clarissa touching Ron's arm as they laugh over something moronic and childish.
Clearly he's fine. She turns away from the pair. Now, where's that elf with the wine gone to?
A/N: Well, what you guys think? Remember, this is just a lead-in to the real story. I plan to update every Wednesday, but this fic ranks third after my other fic 'Closer' and real life, so I might not always have a chapter ready. Thankfully I've already got the next 3 written, so we should be set for a while.
I should probably mention the film 'Last Night' starring Keira Knightley and Sam Worthington as the beginning of both that movie and this fic share a lot of similarities (though they deviate rather drastically after that). If you haven't seen it, I encourage you NOT to do so as it could give you the wrong impression of where this story is going.