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“Do you see me in your future?” Ron asked.
They were laying quietly on the sofa, his head in her lap, stroking his long red hair. It was the longest he had ever left it- two years of only taking off the split ends. She had gently separated it into thick ropes spanning his head like tongues of fire, the smooth fronds trailing off her lap and dangling to the floor as she stroked it.
Her hair, in comparison was wrapped in a silk bonnet high on her head. The dark coils tucked carefully away with the sweet-smelling product making the room smell like a walking past a florist on a summer evening.
Her hands trailed around his eyes and down the bridge of his nose as he stared back up at her in awe. They were smooth and cool as they traced his eyebrows and ran along his upper lip and below his chin rubbing over the pale stubble that he was attempting to grow a beard with.
“Yes, I do.” She said, “Unless you continue with that beard.” She grinned down at him.
Ron rolled his eyes, “I’m only trying it!” he protested. He lifted his hands to hold hers, his long fingers easily wrapping around her hand and pulled her left arm into his eyesight.
A bright floral tattoo swirled around the disgusting scar on her arm, verdant vines snaking around her arm, red petals blooming against her dark skin. Each time a rose wilted and died, the petals dripped down her wrist and melted into nothing, soon to be replaced by a vibrant red rose. He reached up and kissed it gently.
“You’d be okay with marrying me one day?” he asked, “Even though I’ve been known to be insensitive? And that I have the emotional range of a teaspoon? And I’ll never be the Boy Who Lived or… you? I’m just the youngest Weasley… I…”
“I would be, and I am Ron,” Hemione said without waiting for him to continue, “you do not have the emotional range of a teaspoon! You… you are the most… emotive man I’ve ever met!” Her voice was smooth and determined. “I don’t care about who you aren’t- I just care about who you are… although you did deserve to be attacked by canaries then.” She smiled.
“Merlin… I’d forgotten about that. It feels like a long time ago… all that Hogwarts stuff.” Ron replied wistfully.
“I think you did. It feels like it was another life…” She giggled quietly.
There was a silence, birdsong drifting in through the window. “What do you see in our future?” he asked, “If I am in it?”
“You know I don’t believe in that divination tosh! And neither do you!” she replied.
Ron hummed “You know what I mean!” he smiled up at her as she continued to stroke his hair.
“It could be anything, you know. Maybe there’ll be a wedding one day. I can see us in forty years’ time on holiday in Blackpool bickering about which tour bus to go on.” She joked.
“I would never be caught dead on a tour bus!” he faked a serious look.
“I want to have children with you Ron.” She said quietly.
“You do?” he said and sat up quickly, his head spinning as he took in what she said. Hermione Granger wanted to marry him and have children with him. “You’re sure?” he turned his body towards her, tugging his t-shirt back into position.
“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it.” She smiled at him, warmth radiating from her body, the sheen of the silk on her head danced as she leaned forward towards him, the golden evening sunlight coming through the window behind Ron bounced off her face, illuminating her eyelashes and her brown eyes sparkled.
“Really?” he asked again.
“To quote Bread- ‘I want to make it with you.” She replied with a cheeky smile.
Ron snorted, in a very undignified manner. “Cheesy, ‘Mione. Very cheesy. Muggle-level Cheesy”
“Only the best for you Ronald.”
“So, if I were to propose to you, you might not say no?” he asked tentatively as her forehead brushed against his, his long hair glowing in the light behind him.
“I don’t think I would say no. If you did.” She turned her body to face him, sitting cross legged on the blue velvet sofa.
“And if I did ask you any… very specific questions… would you prefer it to be in front of everyone you love? Or would you prefer just us?”
“Hmm,” she murmured “Why are you asking all these questions? Have you got something to ask me?” she pressed a kiss to his lips and drew her arms up to run her fingers through his hair.
“I want to do it the way you want me to do it. I would make it all about you, Hermione.”
She leaned back and looked into his grey eyes. “What if I wanted it to be about you?”
“See who gets to it first?” he chuckled.
“I would like it to be me and you. Crookshanks if he’s around.” Her teeth flashed as she breathed out gently.
“I doubt Crookshanks would get in the way.” He leaned his hands forward and clasped hers, with a sly grin across his face.
“So you wouldn’t mind being shackled to me?” he asked, the ghost of a giggle escaping his thin lips.
“I wouldn’t mind it, no.” she replied coyly.
“Merlin’s beard!” he gasped and dragged his hands across his rough chin and tucked his hair behind his ears. “I didn’t think you’d say all that!” he let out a laugh of relief- a joyous grin spread across his face.
“Why wouldn’t I? Mr Weasley.” She batted her eyelashes at him.
“Merlin’s tits!” he exclaimed and leapt from the sofa, pulling Hermione up with him. He set her down on her feet and held his hands in the air, the dark vines on his forearm coiling round and round his arm like a ribbon, each one weaving and diving around the ribbon-like scars. A yelp of joy crept past his lips as he waved his hands.
He lifted Hermione up by the waist and spun her around her feet just missing the mugs on the coffee as he stumbled around. He dropped them down on the sofa with a thunk of the springs.
“I need to check again- you would?” he asked breathlessly.
“If you keep asking, I might go back on it!” she teased, poking him in the shoulder. “Do you want a cup of tea?” she asked as he led his head back and let out a deep breath.
“Sure…” he breathed, as she wandered to the kitchen and busied herself, her wand whipping around her head as he watched her lazily. Crookshanks leapt up onto the sofa, leaving a trail of ginger hair in his wake; he kneaded Ron’s thighs as he settled down slowly his old and clouded eyes looking up at Ron with a look that he took to mean ‘If you hurt her, I’ll shit in your shoes’ and dug his claws into his jeans. Ron pushed him off with a yelp, whilst silently promising never to hurt her.
He smiled as Hermione returned, the mugs of tea levitating and slowly dropping onto the table. She settled beside him as he flicked his wand at the television which slowly flickered to life and Fiona Bruce started to read the headlines.
Her head rested on his shoulder, Crookshanks curled on her lap, a mug of tea resting in his lap and their spare hands intertwined as they sat in a contented silence.