Chapter Text
Ron
May 2003
On a sunny morning in May, Ron Weasley found himself on a muggle train.
Muggle travel isn’t something Ron is keen on. Ever since second year, when he valiantly made a rescue attempt on Harry, he’s never really trusted muggle transport. The Hogwarts Express is an enchanted train after all, but also a right of passage for many in wizarding Britain; it feels natural and puts him at ease.
The current train that he and Hermione are taking to The Burrow? It has him sweating. He’s already on edge. Nervous, excited, anxious. Being stuck on this steel tube certainly doesn’t help, but he wanted to try. Hermione had been acting off lately. She was quieter than usual and ate very little of the meals he would cook for them after they both floo’d home from work. She always looked tired and drained. He hoped traveling by muggle means would offer her some kind of nostalgia, a spark of happiness from her time with her parents and the train rides they would go on together. He was beginning to think his efforts may have been in vain.
Working as a ministry employee is not easy, and Ron knows his girlfriend puts her all into anything she sets her mind to. It’s one of the things he admires most about her. She is tenacious, and so self-assured. In another five years' time, she could be running for deputy minister, if she wanted to. He would support her every step of the way. While he started off being annoyed by her swotty attitude, and her incessant need to pester him when they were children, those things slowly (but surely) turned into things he loved about her.
What once was swottiness turned into a fierce intelligence that made his heart swell with pride. The incessant need to pester him became the realization she cared deeply about him and their loved ones' wellbeing. He was such a prat as a boy. As a man, he’s able to appreciate and love Hermione for who she is. He isn’t sure how many people can say they get to love and be loved in return by one of their best friends, but it makes his heart beat just a bit faster. It also makes the little box in his pocket feel a bit heavier.
Still, as he looks over at Hermione, nose buried in a book on this godforsaken train ride, he can tell she’s still off. Her hair has been pulled into tight knots at the base of her neck recently, not wild and loose like before. She looks pale, and the pale blue of her under eyes means she hasn’t been resting. He thought these changes had to do with the fact that the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts was coming up next week, but he couldn’t be certain. Not that he hadn’t asked - he had. Many times. He had asked her what was wrong, what he could do to help her, ease whatever she was going through.
“Ron,” she would say softly, “I’m fine. Just.. going through the motions, I suppose?”
Ron was very much not a fan of the motions. He hated seeing her this way; almost like she was lacking that eager, energized spirit. They would come home from their respective jobs, he at his Auror post, or the shop he co-owned with George, she at the ministry. They would talk about their days, and share anything that might be remotely exciting to the other. He’d make dinner, which he loved to do. She’d make work of some of the things that needed to be done in their flat: tidy up the living room, fold laundry, organize her massive bookshelf. All these things she did the muggle way, and while Ron couldn't imagine doing so, he admired that she did these tasks in the way she was raised and most accustomed to. She didn’t always resort to magic and preferred doing many tasks using her hands instead of her wand.
“Crookshanks, my darling,” she would sing in greeting to the little beast every evening. He would preen, and weave between her legs. While the cat (if one were generous enough to call him that) wasn’t Ron’s favorite roommate, he loved how much joy he brought to Hermione. She would scratch him behind his ears, play with these funny little toys that Crooks liked so much, and feed him treats, probably few more than she should! He would return his affections with these horrendously loud purrs that often woke Ron up in the middle of the night. But that didn’t matter. He loved watching his Mione bask in caring for those she loved; she was so good at taking care of others. He wished she would let him take care of her now too. But he didn’t want to push - didn’t want her to think he thought something was wrong with her, or that she needed fixing. He’d be patient, and let her come to him when she was ready.
Their domesticity was on repeat. She didn’t want to leave the flat, didn’t even feel up to going for a stroll in Diagon, or to Grimmauld. He wasn’t sure what to do. He tried to get her out of their flat and do something together. A stroll to Flourish and Blotts to see that author (Fiddle-something or other?) she loves who was doing a signing. A trip to visit Neville and Hannah in Edinburgh. Traipse around muggle London to see some of the museums she was always talking about.
She hadn’t been interested.
Ron
April 2003
“Hey Mione,” he said one sunny morning in April, limbs tangled together on their bed, sheets twisted around them. “How about we go out tonight? Maybe see what’s going on at The Leaky? Invite Harry, Ginny?”
He hoped he wasn’t being pushy. She turned around to look up at him, his arms wrapped around her middle, hair in a loose knot at the base of her neck. Loosened from what he assumed was tossing and turning in her sleep.
“Ron, I think I’d like to stay in, if it’s alright with you.”
“Of course it’s alright,” he whispered into her ear. He kissed the top of her head, and buried his face into some of her loosened hair. “Maybe we can try setting up that telly thing again? Watch one of those muggle films you like,” he offered, “Spend some time together this evening instead?”
“That sounds nice,” she said quietly, taking her arms and placing them on the ones he had wrapped around her. She pressed her arse back into his hips, which made him chuckle softly. He moved against her, and couldn’t keep his smile under wraps when she turned around, and climbed on top of him.
She bent down, and brought her lips to his. He loved these moments of tenderness between them. His hands on her warm thighs, the early morning sunshine framed those few stray curls that had escaped, the raspiness of her voice with sleep, which he hoped had been restful. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and met her own with a languid, practiced dance. His hands started to work their way from her thighs, up to her hips. Trailing his fingers down the side of her body, and relishing in the shiver it produced. He gently flipped them over so that she was on her back, and let his lips rove. Down her neck, her collarbone, her breasts.
And, lower still.
He pulled her underwear down, slowly, reverently. She was so beautiful. When his lips met her cunt, she released a gasp. He moved slowly, not wanting to rush. He loved watching her cum, watching the jolts of pleasure visibly course through her body. The way she writhed on the bed, running her hands through the red strands on his head. The little pants she made. It made his cock stiffen without fail - making her feel this made him ready to burst. His hips started driving into the mattress. His cock was leaking, felt strained, but gods, he wanted this to be about her. Her pleasure, her cumming on his mouth.
He swirled his tongue around her clit, licked along her slit and drank in every bit of her arousal.
“Ron,” she panted when he slid two fingers into her. She felt bloody glorious, clenching, canting her hips up, thighs pressing into the sides of his head. He relished in these moments, making her feel good. She was good, so good. The best person he knew. Merlin, he loved her so fucking much. He couldn’t wait for their trip to The Burrow next month. Couldn’t wait to be surrounded by their loved ones, to see their joyous expressions. Knowing his brothers and Harry would break out the best fire whiskey they had. His mum and dad would grab the champagne Hermione had purchased for them this past New Year's Eve.
That morning, while sucking her clit into his mouth again, Hermione Granger came, and Ronald Weasley followed her quickly after, hips rutting into their mattress, to the thought of asking her to be his wife.
Ron
May 2003
So that is how Ronald Weasley found himself on a muggle train, hoping to appease his muggle-born girlfriend (soon-to-be fiance), as he traveled to his childhood home. Ring burning a hole in his pocket, excitement clamoring throughout his body, and his heart so full, it just might burst.