100quills Prompt 6: Forever
TITLE: Forever
AUTHOR: Myself
DISCLAIMER: JKR owns all HP
PAIRING: Fred/Hermione
RATING: G
PROMPT #6: Forever
Forever
She is his everything. He cannot get enough. The way her eyes light up when he gives her a book for her birthday, even though that is what he has given her for the other two birthdays he’s been lucky enough to spend with her. How her fists pound his chest when she’s angry at him, and how they unclench when he kisses her because he doesn’t know what else to do. Her smile. Her passion. How it takes her over when she talks about house-elf rights and she paces back and forth, throwing her hands in the air and railing at the Ministry. The way her hair moves in the soft light of the evening, when they stretch out on their bed and discover all over again what they thought they already knew- they are meant for each other.
So he spends four months searching every jeweler in London, combing through trays upon trays of diamonds until he can see their sparkling shapes imprinted on the inside of his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. Only the best for her. And he finds it finally in a small pawn-shop, valued at far less than it is worth, delicately perched on a silver band. The old man behind the counter puts it in a small crushed-velvet box and wraps it in pale pink paper.
He checks his jacket pocket for holes and finds none, but all the same keeps his fist closed tightly around the small box all the way back to their flat. He hides it in the drawer beside his bed, and there it sits, waiting for the right moment. Because everything must be perfect for her.
He reserves a table at the finest Italian restaurant in London, and they eat manicotti and pasta alfredo, the candlelight reflecting in her eyes. They share a rich mousse pudding, and he feeds her spoonful after spoonful until she pushes him away, laughing, and he leans in again, this time to kiss away the chocolate in the corner of her mouth. He pays for the meal while she is in the ladies room, because otherwise she would insist on splitting the bill, though they’ve been together for three years. When she comes back she shakes her head, but he catches a glimpse of a small, pleased smile on her face as he holds out her jacket.
They walk along the Thames afterward, and he stops every now and then to pull her in to the dark shadows between streetlamps, where he can kiss her slowly and hear her breathing quicken as his hands move over the curves of her body. Sometimes they walk for a long time without speaking, her hand warm in his, and sometimes they lean against the railing and just look at each other.
He’s not nervous anymore. He feels only a perfect calm as they reach the place where he first told her he loved her three years ago. He curls his fingers around the small box in his pocket and draws it out as she looks back along the river, and when she turns to him there it is, sparkling in the moonlight underneath the widest grin he’s ever worn. Her smile matches his and tears fill her eyes, spilling over as he takes the ring and slides it onto her finger.
“Hermione Granger, will you marry me?”
“Absolutely, Fred Weasley.”
AUTHOR: Myself
DISCLAIMER: JKR owns all HP
PAIRING: Fred/Hermione
RATING: G
PROMPT #6: Forever
Forever
She is his everything. He cannot get enough. The way her eyes light up when he gives her a book for her birthday, even though that is what he has given her for the other two birthdays he’s been lucky enough to spend with her. How her fists pound his chest when she’s angry at him, and how they unclench when he kisses her because he doesn’t know what else to do. Her smile. Her passion. How it takes her over when she talks about house-elf rights and she paces back and forth, throwing her hands in the air and railing at the Ministry. The way her hair moves in the soft light of the evening, when they stretch out on their bed and discover all over again what they thought they already knew- they are meant for each other.
So he spends four months searching every jeweler in London, combing through trays upon trays of diamonds until he can see their sparkling shapes imprinted on the inside of his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. Only the best for her. And he finds it finally in a small pawn-shop, valued at far less than it is worth, delicately perched on a silver band. The old man behind the counter puts it in a small crushed-velvet box and wraps it in pale pink paper.
He checks his jacket pocket for holes and finds none, but all the same keeps his fist closed tightly around the small box all the way back to their flat. He hides it in the drawer beside his bed, and there it sits, waiting for the right moment. Because everything must be perfect for her.
He reserves a table at the finest Italian restaurant in London, and they eat manicotti and pasta alfredo, the candlelight reflecting in her eyes. They share a rich mousse pudding, and he feeds her spoonful after spoonful until she pushes him away, laughing, and he leans in again, this time to kiss away the chocolate in the corner of her mouth. He pays for the meal while she is in the ladies room, because otherwise she would insist on splitting the bill, though they’ve been together for three years. When she comes back she shakes her head, but he catches a glimpse of a small, pleased smile on her face as he holds out her jacket.
They walk along the Thames afterward, and he stops every now and then to pull her in to the dark shadows between streetlamps, where he can kiss her slowly and hear her breathing quicken as his hands move over the curves of her body. Sometimes they walk for a long time without speaking, her hand warm in his, and sometimes they lean against the railing and just look at each other.
He’s not nervous anymore. He feels only a perfect calm as they reach the place where he first told her he loved her three years ago. He curls his fingers around the small box in his pocket and draws it out as she looks back along the river, and when she turns to him there it is, sparkling in the moonlight underneath the widest grin he’s ever worn. Her smile matches his and tears fill her eyes, spilling over as he takes the ring and slides it onto her finger.
“Hermione Granger, will you marry me?”
“Absolutely, Fred Weasley.”