Fic Request Fulfilled for redsioda
Title: Candle
Author: kiwikewte
Beta: green__desire
Rating: PG
Word count: 1034
Summary: While the trio stays at a relative of Ron’s house on Valentine’s day, feeling surface. And poor Harry gets embarrassed.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: All things associated with Harry Potter belong to the brilliant Jo.
Author's Notes: This ended up having a twinge of angst, which wasn’t in the request. I really focused on having Awkward!Harry.
Hermione huddled on the wooden floorboards, wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket. Her bushy hair was scrapped haphazardly into a bun, and her shoulders were unshielded from the frigid air. She tapped her bare toes on the icy ground absent-mindedly and stared out the window tentatively. The candle near her bent knees danced with a small draft as the wind outside whistled haunting songs.
That day had been a memorable one out of a huge stretch of mundane weeks. It was like pieces from different times had been pasted to all occur in an explosion. A fight with Mafalda, Ron’s estranged cousin who was too Slytherin for her own good. A fiery disagreement with Harry and Ron over their fruitless horcrux fight, only to get a very promising tip anonymously an hour later. But most significantly in her mind, tension between her and Ron.
A creak on the floor behind her made her take in a sharp breath and turn quickly. It was cold up in the attic, and she could see her breath rise in front of the image of Ron. Her heart fluttered. Had he come up to apologize for the awkwardness between them today? To say that his dear cousin had been right? To laugh it off, or to perhaps talk about the horcrux tip?
“Why are you up here? It’s freezing,” he asked, standing stationary like a snowman, rooted permanently to his origins before the sun melted him.
“It’s colder down there,” she remarked. Surprisingly, Ron caught on that she was referring to his dreadful relatives. He seemed apologetic for the moment before he replied.
“Well, we need to change locations constantly, don’t we? And we were really desperate this time. Not like we can camp on a river in this weather.”
“Obviously,” Hermione grumbled, looking dismally out the window.
Mafalda’s scorning insults still stung her ears and made her stomach writhe. She had called Hermione a pompous know-it-all, a flat-chested plain squirrel. Hermione had retorted with a series of large words that merely made Mafalda cackle. The flat-chested squirrel had then scurried up to the remotest place of the large home.
That was when Hermione proceeded to write to Viktor, the only man who had told her she was beautiful. Well, save her father. He truly cared about her, even if she was slightly flat-chested and plain looking. Despite the fact he was famous and could get any bombshell he pleased almost made it too good to be true. She had tried to stop writing him, but his letters quenched her thirst for affection that she didn’t seem to get from the one guy that really mattered.
Hermione noted that her parchment was still spread in front of her and tried to conceal it with the worn blanket. But Ron’s nosy eyes caught her obvious attempt.
He yanked up the parchment from her. He read the first few lines, an eyebrow rising and disappearing under his hair which was caught in his eyes. She had a sudden urge to brush back his hair so she could see his expression.
“Oh. You still write to Vicky?” he asked in what he thought was an indifferent tone, but she could pick out the disappointment like a grammatical error on one of his essays.
“Yes. I am allowed to write to him, aren’t I?” she replied in a little more than assertive manner.
“I guess. But haven’t you given up already? He probably has little fans all over him.”
He instantly regretted saying this. Pain flashed across her face like a wave, an expression he recognized from earlier that day when she and Mafalda had rowed in the kitchen.
“You’re just jealous,” she said, her voice quivering unmistakably. “Because unlike him, you’ve never been brave enough to straight out tell me you like me.”
Ron’s mouth dropped open slightly in shock at the sting of this absolutely accurate accusation.
Tears filled her eyes and she turned back and stared at her knobby feet.
“Just forget it. You’re just bitter because you used to really admire him, and then ironically he got to me. It’s just Viktor seems to be the only one who doesn’t think I’m the most hideous girl to ever curse the magical world, or an incompetent Mudblood whose only asset is her intellect.”
She closed her eyes, squeezing out a couple of tears and bending her face towards her lap.
She heard Ron crouch down next to her which made him seem oddly nearer to her size.
“I-I’m going to have to disagree with Mafalda,” Ron said after a strained moment. “She’s a ruddy scarlet woman.”
Hermione had to laugh at that, for she recalled the first time she heard him use this terminology. She peeked at him over her folded arms. He was smiling sadly at her, the hair still in his eyes. She instinctively reached out and brushed the hair out of his face.
She paused, her hand encompassing his slender cheek, forming to the shape of his jaw which had suddenly become more distinguished. She swiveled her legs and leaned closer to him. He tilted his face expectedly and closed his eyes.
Another creak of the floor made them snap apart. Harry stood halfway in the doorway and appeared to have tried to make a run for it before they noticed him, but without success. He jerked off his glasses and pretended to clean them, or perhaps was trying to save himself from further seeing what activity they were engaging themselves in. His face was flushed as if he had just taken a deep swoop for the snitch and the blood had rushed to his head.
“Heh… Valentine’s Day,” Harry mumbled. “But you two… yeah… already figured that out.”
“Yes… we did,” Hermione murmured, not knowing whether to laugh or click her tongue with pity.
As their dear friend retreated (or rather, ran) down the stairs, Ron raised the candle to his lips and between them, looking at her intently as the fire danced in their eyes.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered.
Her mouth curled in a smile as she took in a steady breath and blew out the flame in a wisp of curling smoke.
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: a humour/romance fic. Hr/R banter. Theme to the writer’s discretion.
Preferred Rating: G to R
Specifics you want (optional, maximum of three): Awkward!Harry
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): mushy :)
Thanks for participating in the exchange! Happy Valentine's Day! ♥
Author: kiwikewte
Beta: green__desire
Rating: PG
Word count: 1034
Summary: While the trio stays at a relative of Ron’s house on Valentine’s day, feeling surface. And poor Harry gets embarrassed.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: All things associated with Harry Potter belong to the brilliant Jo.
Author's Notes: This ended up having a twinge of angst, which wasn’t in the request. I really focused on having Awkward!Harry.
Hermione huddled on the wooden floorboards, wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket. Her bushy hair was scrapped haphazardly into a bun, and her shoulders were unshielded from the frigid air. She tapped her bare toes on the icy ground absent-mindedly and stared out the window tentatively. The candle near her bent knees danced with a small draft as the wind outside whistled haunting songs.
That day had been a memorable one out of a huge stretch of mundane weeks. It was like pieces from different times had been pasted to all occur in an explosion. A fight with Mafalda, Ron’s estranged cousin who was too Slytherin for her own good. A fiery disagreement with Harry and Ron over their fruitless horcrux fight, only to get a very promising tip anonymously an hour later. But most significantly in her mind, tension between her and Ron.
A creak on the floor behind her made her take in a sharp breath and turn quickly. It was cold up in the attic, and she could see her breath rise in front of the image of Ron. Her heart fluttered. Had he come up to apologize for the awkwardness between them today? To say that his dear cousin had been right? To laugh it off, or to perhaps talk about the horcrux tip?
“Why are you up here? It’s freezing,” he asked, standing stationary like a snowman, rooted permanently to his origins before the sun melted him.
“It’s colder down there,” she remarked. Surprisingly, Ron caught on that she was referring to his dreadful relatives. He seemed apologetic for the moment before he replied.
“Well, we need to change locations constantly, don’t we? And we were really desperate this time. Not like we can camp on a river in this weather.”
“Obviously,” Hermione grumbled, looking dismally out the window.
Mafalda’s scorning insults still stung her ears and made her stomach writhe. She had called Hermione a pompous know-it-all, a flat-chested plain squirrel. Hermione had retorted with a series of large words that merely made Mafalda cackle. The flat-chested squirrel had then scurried up to the remotest place of the large home.
That was when Hermione proceeded to write to Viktor, the only man who had told her she was beautiful. Well, save her father. He truly cared about her, even if she was slightly flat-chested and plain looking. Despite the fact he was famous and could get any bombshell he pleased almost made it too good to be true. She had tried to stop writing him, but his letters quenched her thirst for affection that she didn’t seem to get from the one guy that really mattered.
Hermione noted that her parchment was still spread in front of her and tried to conceal it with the worn blanket. But Ron’s nosy eyes caught her obvious attempt.
He yanked up the parchment from her. He read the first few lines, an eyebrow rising and disappearing under his hair which was caught in his eyes. She had a sudden urge to brush back his hair so she could see his expression.
“Oh. You still write to Vicky?” he asked in what he thought was an indifferent tone, but she could pick out the disappointment like a grammatical error on one of his essays.
“Yes. I am allowed to write to him, aren’t I?” she replied in a little more than assertive manner.
“I guess. But haven’t you given up already? He probably has little fans all over him.”
He instantly regretted saying this. Pain flashed across her face like a wave, an expression he recognized from earlier that day when she and Mafalda had rowed in the kitchen.
“You’re just jealous,” she said, her voice quivering unmistakably. “Because unlike him, you’ve never been brave enough to straight out tell me you like me.”
Ron’s mouth dropped open slightly in shock at the sting of this absolutely accurate accusation.
Tears filled her eyes and she turned back and stared at her knobby feet.
“Just forget it. You’re just bitter because you used to really admire him, and then ironically he got to me. It’s just Viktor seems to be the only one who doesn’t think I’m the most hideous girl to ever curse the magical world, or an incompetent Mudblood whose only asset is her intellect.”
She closed her eyes, squeezing out a couple of tears and bending her face towards her lap.
She heard Ron crouch down next to her which made him seem oddly nearer to her size.
“I-I’m going to have to disagree with Mafalda,” Ron said after a strained moment. “She’s a ruddy scarlet woman.”
Hermione had to laugh at that, for she recalled the first time she heard him use this terminology. She peeked at him over her folded arms. He was smiling sadly at her, the hair still in his eyes. She instinctively reached out and brushed the hair out of his face.
She paused, her hand encompassing his slender cheek, forming to the shape of his jaw which had suddenly become more distinguished. She swiveled her legs and leaned closer to him. He tilted his face expectedly and closed his eyes.
Another creak of the floor made them snap apart. Harry stood halfway in the doorway and appeared to have tried to make a run for it before they noticed him, but without success. He jerked off his glasses and pretended to clean them, or perhaps was trying to save himself from further seeing what activity they were engaging themselves in. His face was flushed as if he had just taken a deep swoop for the snitch and the blood had rushed to his head.
“Heh… Valentine’s Day,” Harry mumbled. “But you two… yeah… already figured that out.”
“Yes… we did,” Hermione murmured, not knowing whether to laugh or click her tongue with pity.
As their dear friend retreated (or rather, ran) down the stairs, Ron raised the candle to his lips and between them, looking at her intently as the fire danced in their eyes.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered.
Her mouth curled in a smile as she took in a steady breath and blew out the flame in a wisp of curling smoke.
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: a humour/romance fic. Hr/R banter. Theme to the writer’s discretion.
Preferred Rating: G to R
Specifics you want (optional, maximum of three): Awkward!Harry
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): mushy :)
Thanks for participating in the exchange! Happy Valentine's Day! ♥