InsaneJournal

Beautiful - R/Hr - PG-13
Title: Beautiful
Author: shocfix
Artist: cork
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Words: 1000
Rating: PG-13

Ron thinks about Hermione.

Happy Valentines Day to the Fandom, from shocfix and cork!!

Many thanks to magicofisis for reading it with toothpaste handy for teh aching fluffyness.

Tell cork you love her, here


Beautiful
****
I sometimes think my life would be a lot easier if Hermione was beautiful.

Fuck. No, no, no, no, no.

I didn’t mean it to sound like that. That was a horrible thing to say.

I think she’s gorgeous, I really do. But I do know she’s not as gorgeous as I think she is or everyone would have noticed.

Which means I’m showing, I dunno, depth of character or something, to fall for her.

If she was conventionally beautiful, and popular and stuff, well, I could ask her out, or try to kiss her, and she’d be used to suitors and I’d have her beauty as an excuse.

So it wouldn’t be such a big deal.

But no.

I have to fall in love with a girl with a sweet face and untameable hair and dark brown eyes and ink stained fingers; a girl with blokes as her best friends, who can’t flirt and flatter and just have a bit of fun.

A girl who is going to be sceptical as hell if I tell her she’s beautiful.

And I’m pretty sure, if you’re with a girl, you’re supposed to tell her stuff like that – especially if you, you know, mean it, and everything.

Which is why I never said anything like that to Lavender.

But what if I say it and Hermione thinks I don’t mean it?

What if she thinks I’m just trying to get into her sensible knickers?

What do I tell her?

We can’t go on like this, with nothing settled between us.

And there’s that.

It’s us.

So I can’t just ask her out for a drink or something casual. We don’t need to get to know each other. We’ll go straight from nothing to practically married, I know that.

Once I tell her that I’m in love with her.

And she bites her lip and frowns and says, “Are you sure, Ron?”

And I roll my eyes and say, “Why would I say that if I wasn’t sure?”

And she thinks of Fleur and Lavender and sighs and says, “But I’m not beautiful or anything.”

And I say, “I think you’re beautiful.”

And she says, ”See, you only think so; you know I’m not.”

She is so frustrating.

And adorable.

But mainly frustrating.

I really am going to do it, though.

It’s Bill’s wedding tomorrow, so that means I have to do it tonight.

What?

Tell her at the wedding, when she’s wearing her new robes, and Fleur has made her put her hair up, and there’s music and champagne and romance and stuff?

Not on your life.

I’m not that shallow, remember?

Tell her I love her, tell her she’s beautiful, when she can blame the wedding or the robes or the hairstyle or the music or the champagne or the romance for my head being turned?

Have her think that that is what I need?

Not a chance.

Tonight she has been up and down the stairs to the attic, helping to move shabby and unwanted furniture out of the way before the wedding.

She is curled up on the couch, her eyes drooping; she is filthy and dusty and I think there could be a cobweb in her hair.

And I still think she’s beautiful, which couldn’t be a more perfect symbol of how much I love her, could it?

Cobwebs.

So I go over and sit down next to her, and she sighs and leans against my arm and mutters something.

“What was that?” I say.

“Tired,” she says, stretching and making interesting things happen inside her shirt.

“You need a nice bath and an early night,” I say, looking resolutely at her face.

“Are you implying I’m dirty?” she asks, looking up at me.

There is a smut on her nose and I reach out and rub it with my thumb.

“Grubby little urchin,” I say.

“You had dirt on your nose the first time I saw you,” she says, before flushing slightly.

I grin widely and she shakes her head and sighs.

And it’s time.

“Hermione,” I say quietly. “I’m in love with you.”

She goes deathly still and I can hear her swallow.

And she bites her lip and frowns and says, “Are you sure, Ron?”

And I roll my eyes and say, “Why would I say that if I wasn’t sure?”

And she looks at me and she looks down at her filthy clothes and she tries to straighten her shirt.

And she rubs the dirt on her nose.

And I’m sure she’s thinking of Fleur and Lavender and she’s going to sigh and say, “But I’m not beautiful or anything.”

And she sighs and says, “And this couldn’t wait until tomorrow, when I look my best?”

And my jaw drops open and I boggle at her.

Since when is she so shallow about appearances?

“Since when are you so shallow about appearances?” I demand and she flinches.

“Well, that’s romantic,” she says.

I run a hand through my hair.

“No, look, sorry,” I say. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, honestly, Hermione. If I’d told you tomorrow, you’d always think it was the robes or the wine or the music or something. That I only think you’re beautiful when you go to all that effort. But I think you’re beautiful with dirt on your nose and cobwebs in your hair.”

“Oh!” she breathes.

“Yes, well, there you go,” I say. “It’s important. I wanted to get things right.”

“It was perfect,” she says.

“So,” I say. “You know, if you were waiting to say anything until I’m all dressed up tomorrow, well, when we’re all cold and filthy and sleeping in a cave somewhere, I’d rather look back on you telling me when I’m dressed as me.”

She smiles and her eyes are shining.

“I love you desperately,” she says. “And I think you’re beautiful.”

And I say, "See, you only think so; you know I’m not.”

And she hits me.

And I bend and kiss her and she hums into my mouth.

And we’re beautiful.

****