Post by Michi on Jul 17, 2007 22:59:54 GMT -8
This is a Ron/Hermione oneshot thingus. Really sucky, as I wrote it at midnight, but I just felt the URGE to write POINTLESS FLUFF. XD
~
Let it never be said that Ron Weasley didn’t enjoy a good book.
He didn’t enjoy reading a good book, of course - no, he would much rather be playing a game of Quidditch, or eating a chocolate frog, or watching paint dry. Well, maybe not watching paint dry, but he certainly didn’t want to waste his time reading. No, Rom loved good books for the simple reason that he loved to watch his best friend read them.
It wasn’t Harry Potter, that well-known hero of the wizarding world that this applied to, however. Harry read books just like any other sane person would - rarely. It was Hermione who Ron loved to watch; curled up in a chair with a worn paperback, the firelight reflecting in her soft brown eyes as they roved over the page at a speed that sometimes made Ron wonder if she was actually reading and not just seeing how fast she could move her pupils.
Hermione was, it had to be said, much more expressive with a book than she was without one. Ron didn’t even have to read the book to know exactly what was going on. When Hermione tightly clutched the sides of the book and tensed in her chair, bringing the pages closer to her face, for instance, the dashing hero was inevitably dueling the villain, and losing horribly. And then, the villain would miss something, and be defeated, never to rampage the cattle again (or whatever it was the villains on Hermione’s books did). Hermione would visibly relax, and smile slightly.
What Ron really loved were the romance scenes that cropped up every once and a while. Hermione would relax into her chair, and grow faintly pink, eyes widening every now and then at something particularly scandalous.
And then there were the ends. Those were all the same. Hermione would snap the book shut (an amazing feat given the size of some of the books she was inclined to read), set it aside, and sight contentedly while staring off into bookland, a place where the illiterate feared to tread.
“Good book?” He asked her, looking up from a particularly nasty potions essay that Hermione had finished fully an hour ago. She looked over at him, seeming mildly surprised at the question.
“Yes, it was.” She said, moving from her chair to sit next to him and glance at his work. “You’ve spelled ‘philandering’ wrong, by the way.” She pointed out, reaching over to take his quill and cross it out, writing the word correctly just above in her tiny, neat script.
“Thanks,” He said, accepting the quill as she handed it back to him. Their fingertips brushed briefly, and Hermione stood up and smoothed out her robes, before retrieving her book from the chair.
“You should read it sometime. You might like it.” She suggested. He shook his head, already looking up the twelve uses of dragon’s blood in his textbook.
“Naw, I already know how it ends from watching you read it.” Oops. She wasn’t supposed to know he’d been watching her. Ron Weasley was clearly not built for multitasking. Hermione blinked.
“Excuse me?” He felt himself slowly go red. Damn that Weasley complexion.
“Well, whenever something happens you gasp in horror, or smile, or something.” He shrugged it off. “So why read it when I already know about the huge fight, and the hero shagging the captive princess or whoever she is?” Hermione blushed at this, and shook her head.
“Well I suppose.” She sighed. “But - oh, you’ll never understand the allure of books, so what’s the point? Goodnight, Ron.” She began walking up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories and soon was out of sight. Ron smiled to himself.
He rather thought he understood ‘the allure of books’, as she put it, better than most people.
~
Let it never be said that Ron Weasley didn’t enjoy a good book.
He didn’t enjoy reading a good book, of course - no, he would much rather be playing a game of Quidditch, or eating a chocolate frog, or watching paint dry. Well, maybe not watching paint dry, but he certainly didn’t want to waste his time reading. No, Rom loved good books for the simple reason that he loved to watch his best friend read them.
It wasn’t Harry Potter, that well-known hero of the wizarding world that this applied to, however. Harry read books just like any other sane person would - rarely. It was Hermione who Ron loved to watch; curled up in a chair with a worn paperback, the firelight reflecting in her soft brown eyes as they roved over the page at a speed that sometimes made Ron wonder if she was actually reading and not just seeing how fast she could move her pupils.
Hermione was, it had to be said, much more expressive with a book than she was without one. Ron didn’t even have to read the book to know exactly what was going on. When Hermione tightly clutched the sides of the book and tensed in her chair, bringing the pages closer to her face, for instance, the dashing hero was inevitably dueling the villain, and losing horribly. And then, the villain would miss something, and be defeated, never to rampage the cattle again (or whatever it was the villains on Hermione’s books did). Hermione would visibly relax, and smile slightly.
What Ron really loved were the romance scenes that cropped up every once and a while. Hermione would relax into her chair, and grow faintly pink, eyes widening every now and then at something particularly scandalous.
And then there were the ends. Those were all the same. Hermione would snap the book shut (an amazing feat given the size of some of the books she was inclined to read), set it aside, and sight contentedly while staring off into bookland, a place where the illiterate feared to tread.
“Good book?” He asked her, looking up from a particularly nasty potions essay that Hermione had finished fully an hour ago. She looked over at him, seeming mildly surprised at the question.
“Yes, it was.” She said, moving from her chair to sit next to him and glance at his work. “You’ve spelled ‘philandering’ wrong, by the way.” She pointed out, reaching over to take his quill and cross it out, writing the word correctly just above in her tiny, neat script.
“Thanks,” He said, accepting the quill as she handed it back to him. Their fingertips brushed briefly, and Hermione stood up and smoothed out her robes, before retrieving her book from the chair.
“You should read it sometime. You might like it.” She suggested. He shook his head, already looking up the twelve uses of dragon’s blood in his textbook.
“Naw, I already know how it ends from watching you read it.” Oops. She wasn’t supposed to know he’d been watching her. Ron Weasley was clearly not built for multitasking. Hermione blinked.
“Excuse me?” He felt himself slowly go red. Damn that Weasley complexion.
“Well, whenever something happens you gasp in horror, or smile, or something.” He shrugged it off. “So why read it when I already know about the huge fight, and the hero shagging the captive princess or whoever she is?” Hermione blushed at this, and shook her head.
“Well I suppose.” She sighed. “But - oh, you’ll never understand the allure of books, so what’s the point? Goodnight, Ron.” She began walking up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories and soon was out of sight. Ron smiled to himself.
He rather thought he understood ‘the allure of books’, as she put it, better than most people.