Telling Hermione - H/R - PG-13
Title: Telling Hermione
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words : 1600
Rating: PG-13 for language

Written for harry_and_ron's fourth challenge round – The Epic Journey Challenge.

It is dedicated, of course, to my Mongolian Muse, rosina_alcona, and it would have been cooler if she came home from Mongolia to find what I’d written – but she stayed right next door to an Internet café – which doesn’t sound much like the wilderness to me - but hopefully she was touched, nevertheless.

And it was beta’ed, faster than a speeding bullet, by my beloved magicofisis.

I guess it is a sequel to Mud and Custard and The Green Fairy.


Telling Hermione

****

So after untying Harry, dressing and swearing the twins to secrecy Ron had crawled into bed, hungover, miserable, humiliated and accusing the Green Fairy of bewitching him and seducing him to the Dark Side.

The next morning he had flooed his mother and begged off coming to stay for Christmas. He looked so tired and ill that Molly didn’t even put up a fight; she just passed enough food through the fire to feed them for a week, and made him promise that Harry would floo them if he got any worse.

By 1pm Harry was pretty close to doing it.

Ron was wallowing in misery; prowling around the flat in his pyjamas.

Finally Harry could stand no more. “Thanks a lot, Ron,” he snapped.

“What?” moped Ron, “What did I do?”

“Is it really that bad to be with me? Is it really that embarrassing? That humiliating?”

Ron looked contrite. “No, Harry, of course not, but the twins…”

“The twins promised they’d let us tell your parents ourselves,” Harry spoke over him. “I know they laughed…”

“…a lot…”

“…a lot! But they’re good guys, Ron, they care about you. They’ll tease you, but they won’t ruin your life!”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ron muttered, “but what happens now?”

He was fiddling with the seams of his pyjama jacket and he looked so miserable that Harry relented slightly. He went and sat by his side and took Ron’s hands in his own.

“I promise it’ll be OK, Ron” he said earnestly, squeezing his hands. “Your family are great, they’ll be OK about this. Look how well Fred and George coped!” Ron snorted. “And as for what happens now, well Hermione is coming over tomorrow, and I think she should be the first person we tell, don’t you?”

Ron looked up, looking remarkable like a bunny rabbit caught in the headlamps of a lorry, and Harry sighed again.

****

Harry was making dinner in their kitchen, and he could hear Ron and Hermione talking in the lounge. Hermione was obviously making an effort to keep the conversation going, but there were long pauses, and Ron wasn’t saying much. Harry took a deep breath and some drinks into the other room.

“I dunno what’s wrong with the dinner, but it’s not cooked through yet,” he said, handing Hermione her glass and sitting in the armchair opposite his glum boyfriend.

“So, what d’you do for Christmas, Hermione?” he tried.

“I was telling Ron. I dropped in at the Burrow yesterday, but Fred told me you hadn’t come over. He said you were dying to see me, had something to show me – he seemed very excited – it’s not to do with the shop, is it? ‘Cos you know I don’t really enjoy the Wheezes.”

“No,” started Harry, ‘it’s…”

“It’s about Harry’s trip!” Ron interrupted.

“What trip?” asked Hermione, distracted as Ron wished, and Harry rolled his eyes heavenwards.

Typically, Ron sprang to life. “The Cannons are touring the Far East!” he announced, gleefully, and reached under the sofa to dig out an atlas, “Look. Mongolia, Japan and Thailand!”

“Oh, Harry, that’s fascinating,” Hermione started, “because the Wizarding communities in the East still depend on flying carpets, so..”

“Oh Hermione, who cares? But they’ll be playing the Toyohashi Tengu – think of that!”

Hermione looked dubious.

“The top Japanese team…” prompted Ron. “Oh, and anyway, have you looked at the names of some of the places in Thailand?”

“Ron, Hermione won’t want to hear this,” warned Harry.

But Ron waved him away. “George gave us ‘The Guide to Wizarding Sex-Clubs’, and…”

“Where on earth did he find that?” asked Hermione, furiously.

“From WHS – Wizarding Horny Supplies! Oh, OK,” and he hid the book and turned to the atlas. ”Can you name the capital of Thailand, Hermione?” he asked her, with a very dubious straight face.

“Of course,” replied Hermione.

“It’s… Bangkok,” snorted Ron, rolling back against the sofa and leaning on her.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Honestly Ron,” she started.

“Honestly Hermione,” he mimicked, “it sounds rude!”

“OK, firstly, how old are you? And secondly, actually it isn’t Bangkok – shut up Ron – it’s really called Krung Thep, which means City of Angels, and….”

“How’d’you know that?” asked Harry.

“Well, it’s just the sort of thing I know, like the capital of Mongolia – are you playing there, too Harry?”

“Um, yes, I think so.”

“Well, Ulaan Bator – and you should like this, Ron – means Red Hero!”

“That’s brilliant – Harry, they named a city after me!” Harry rolled his eyes again, but looked at him fondly.

Unfortunately Ron wasn’t finished. “And he finishes with a week at the beach in Thailand, Hermione,” he said, eyes twinkling, “in a place called Phuket!!!”

“That’s pronounced ‘poo-ket’, Ron,” said Hermione, sourly.

“Aw, no,” he wailed, “’cos why would they write it like that?”

Hermione tutted loudly, and Harry decided the conversation needed turning again.

“Actually, Fred didn’t mean the tour,” he said, loudly.

Ron froze and shook his head warningly, but Harry had had enough.

“It’s that we have some news, Hermione. Fred found out by accident the other night, but we wanted to tell you first.”

He looked awfully serious, and Ron had turned rather green, and Hermione looked between them, nervously. “What’s wrong, Harry?” she asked, tentatively.

“No, nothing’s wrong, exactly. Really something’s very, very right. Well, I think so. And apparently Ron thinks so…” but Ron had clutched his mouth and bolted to the bathroom, so Harry stopped talking, staring glumly after the figure of the love of his life, listening to retching noises, and wondering how to phrase this.

“Is he OK?” Hermione asked.

“Too much to drink,” Harry waved away her concern. “Never, ever let him drink absinthe again.”

“Well, I should think not,” started Hermione, “it can cause hallucinations and convulsions and…”

Harry held up his hands. “Yes, we know. That’s not what we wanted to tell you.”

Hermione subsided, and they listened to Ron flushing the toilet, cleaning his teeth and generally delaying his re-entry to the lounge.

“Ron,” called Harry, threateningly, and Ron finally loped back into the room and slumped on the sofa again. “Ron,” said Harry, quietly, and Ron looked up through his dishevelled hair and finally met his eyes, “this means everything to me. I want to tell Hermione.”

Ron sighed and nodded and looked at his hands.

“Hermione,” Harry started again.

“Look, Harry,” she interrupted.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, will you both shut up and let me say this?” Harry shouted, jumping to his feet.

“Harry,” said Hermione, threateningly, “I just wanted to say that I think I know what you’re going to say.”

“No you don’t,” muttered Ron, indignantly, “you may be able to speak Thailandish, but you don’t know everything!”

“Try me,” said Hermione, eyes narrowed.

“OK,” said Ron, looming over her and glaring, “if you’re so clever, what is Harry trying to tell you?”

Harry watched the two of them bickering, for possibly the trillionth time in the past seven years, his head turning backwards and forwards like a spectator at a tennis match.

Hermione bristled back at Ron. “Don’t shout at me, Ron Weasley,” she snapped. “He is trying to tell me that he is in love with you, though for the life of me I cannot imagine why! You’re apparently so ashamed of the fact that you don’t want me to know, and you actually have to leave the room and throw up. Or maybe it’s me you think so little of? Did you think I’d take the news badly, is that it?”

Ron looked angry, infuriated and embarrassed in turn through this outburst, and slumped back into his seat.

“No, Hermione, I, no, um, I. I just don’t want anyone to know.”

“Why?” asked Harry and Hermione, in unison. They looked at each other then turned to look at Ron again.

“Oh Harry, I love you, you know I do, but it’s just not fair! Anyone else would just be allowed to be together – but once people know, they’ll think we’re fair game - we’ll end up in Witch Weekly, you know we will. It’ll be ‘The Boy Who Loved’, just you wait!”

Harry laughed, Hermione giggled, and Ron looked offended.

“The Boy Who Loved the Boy Who Lived!” snorted Hermione, and she and Harry collapsed, laughing.

Ron sat and tapped his fingers on his knee, waiting for them to finish. “It’s not funny, Harry.”

“Yes it is, Ron,” said Harry, leaning forward and capturing the nervous fingers, “I really don’t care what they say. I just want to be together. And it seems Hermione is fine about it, by the way.”

Ron looked abashed. “Yeah, sorry Hermione. I didn’t want you to be disappointed in us.”

“Oh, honestly Ron,” she grumbled, “I could never be disappointed. I adore both of you, and I have known for years that you belong together.”

They exchanged a look, and both smiled at her. “Thanks, Hermione,” said Harry, reaching over to kiss her on the forehead.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Ron, catching her in a hug.

“Now,” she said, “I’ll go and see what’s taking so long with your cooking, shall I, Harry?”

As she got up from the sofa, Harry took her place and leant against his boyfriend, taking his hand and entwining their fingers. “See?” he murmured, “I told you she’d be fine.”

Hermione turned in the doorway. “Oh, and Ron, I don’t know why you think I’m such a prude. There is a Dildo in Canada, a Vagina in Russia, an Anus in Indonesia and a Fucking in Austria!”

Ron’s face lit up. “That’s bloody brilliant!”