shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2003-02-21 06:00:00 |
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Home - R/Hr - PG-13
Title: Home
Rating: PG-13 for language
Words: 459
Author's Note (if any): many thanks to E, for helping me to end it. That sounds like an assisted suicide pact… it really wasn't that stressful.
Prompt: 'Coming Back'
Drabble length: 100 - 500
Additional Conditions: Drabbles must be written from Ron's point of view – not Silver Doe…
Home
****
Needless to say I got back later than I anticipated. I'm absolutely knackered, want to go to bed, but still have to unpack (without waking my girlfriend, who is in bed), am pretty sure that some of my socks will be able to walk to the hamper by themselves, can't find my report and have a debriefing with Robards at eight am, tomorrow morning.
Fuck it; I've not been home in a fortnight and Hermione is curled up in bed.
In our bed.
Did I mention that I share a bed, with Hermione?
Oh, the look on her lovely and long suffering face when I had quite so much fun shopping for our bed.
That we share.
Me.
Hermione.
Together.
In our nighties and pyjamas. Or sometimes not.
I don't come home to my parents canoodling in the pantry, anymore.
I don’t come home to Harry scratching his bollocks, with his feet on the coffee table, anymore.
I come home to Hermione.
I asked her to move in with me, without prompting, and Ginny took the piss, but that's just because it's a well known fact that me and Harry are so magnificent we don't need to ask girls out, we just kiss them and then everyone knows we're together.
And I asked her to marry me, without prompting, and Harry took the piss, but it didn't take anything like as long as it took me to not actually ask her out.
And he's just as bad with women, anyway, his magnificence notwithstanding.
Sometimes he even dumps them and buggers off for a year, or so, but I made sure they sat down and sorted things out, once he'd got his head straight, and I made sure he knew that there wasn't any non-Voldemort reason good enough to bugger off and leave her, again.
So.
I come home to Hermione.
I come home to Hermione you know I love you, Ron, but I haven't decided yet, and I may keep my maiden name Granger, with her insane cat and her fantastic underwear and her three miles of bookshelves.
And her research Hermione mode that is easily and gloriously activated in bed.
I smile as I watch her sleep, with her hair winning its nightly battle with her pillow, and I can see the shoulder strap of my favourite nightie, somewhere deep in her hair, so I strip and climb into bed, beside her.
Her eyelids flutter open and she mutters some gibberish and snuggles closer.
"You're late," she says, and I say, "sorry," and she falls back to sleep as she says, "I stayed awake," so I kiss her forehead and hold her, and she murmurs something that sounds like, "put the lizard in the hatbox."
And I'm home.
Title: Home
Rating: PG-13 for language
Words: 459
Author's Note (if any): many thanks to E, for helping me to end it. That sounds like an assisted suicide pact… it really wasn't that stressful.
Prompt: 'Coming Back'
Drabble length: 100 - 500
Additional Conditions: Drabbles must be written from Ron's point of view – not Silver Doe…
Home
****
Needless to say I got back later than I anticipated. I'm absolutely knackered, want to go to bed, but still have to unpack (without waking my girlfriend, who is in bed), am pretty sure that some of my socks will be able to walk to the hamper by themselves, can't find my report and have a debriefing with Robards at eight am, tomorrow morning.
Fuck it; I've not been home in a fortnight and Hermione is curled up in bed.
In our bed.
Did I mention that I share a bed, with Hermione?
Oh, the look on her lovely and long suffering face when I had quite so much fun shopping for our bed.
That we share.
Me.
Hermione.
Together.
In our nighties and pyjamas. Or sometimes not.
I don't come home to my parents canoodling in the pantry, anymore.
I don’t come home to Harry scratching his bollocks, with his feet on the coffee table, anymore.
I come home to Hermione.
I asked her to move in with me, without prompting, and Ginny took the piss, but that's just because it's a well known fact that me and Harry are so magnificent we don't need to ask girls out, we just kiss them and then everyone knows we're together.
And I asked her to marry me, without prompting, and Harry took the piss, but it didn't take anything like as long as it took me to not actually ask her out.
And he's just as bad with women, anyway, his magnificence notwithstanding.
Sometimes he even dumps them and buggers off for a year, or so, but I made sure they sat down and sorted things out, once he'd got his head straight, and I made sure he knew that there wasn't any non-Voldemort reason good enough to bugger off and leave her, again.
So.
I come home to Hermione.
I come home to Hermione you know I love you, Ron, but I haven't decided yet, and I may keep my maiden name Granger, with her insane cat and her fantastic underwear and her three miles of bookshelves.
And her research Hermione mode that is easily and gloriously activated in bed.
I smile as I watch her sleep, with her hair winning its nightly battle with her pillow, and I can see the shoulder strap of my favourite nightie, somewhere deep in her hair, so I strip and climb into bed, beside her.
Her eyelids flutter open and she mutters some gibberish and snuggles closer.
"You're late," she says, and I say, "sorry," and she falls back to sleep as she says, "I stayed awake," so I kiss her forehead and hold her, and she murmurs something that sounds like, "put the lizard in the hatbox."
And I'm home.