Harry Potter, The Truth About Weasleys

Title: The Truth About Weasleys [Ron/Hermione]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for post-coital arguing.
Summary: After sleeping with Ron, Hermione finds out about unexpected consequences.
AN: Like the first HP i ever wrote. It’s terrible, really. Except for the invention of the Quaffle Waffle.

The Truth About Weasleys

“Cor,” Ron gasped out when he could get a breath again.

“Wow,” Hermione responded, equally stupefied.

“If I’d have know that’s what Percy’s been going on about all this time,” Ron wheezed, “I would have bonked you senseless when we were Third Years, Hermione Granger.”

BONKED me senseless?” Hermione managed to sound indignant while unable to take a deep breath. “Couldn’t you use a more romantic term?”

“Like what?” Ron asked.

“Like…like…,” Hermione grasped for words, but her brain was occupied with restoring her primary motor functions. “You’ll be in trouble when my neurons start firing their synapses properly again,” she promised instead. “What did we just do?”

“We have slept together,” Ron announced with flourish.

“Oh, damn, that means we’ve crossed the Line for sure,” Hermione sighed. Ron started to giggle. “What?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” Ron answered, trying to suppress the giggles, but laughing harder.

“Ronald Weasley, you tell me what you’re on about this instant!” Hermione said imperiously.

“You don’t know the HALF of it!” Ron finally broke down into gales of laughter. “You’re worried about that silly Line business, and here you’re a Weasley already!”

“What do you mean?” Hermione sat up and narrowed her eyes. She punched Ron in the arm when he couldn’t stop laughing long enough to look her in the eye. “What do you mean, I’m a Weasley already?”

“Well,” Ron gathered himself enough to speak, but couldn’t stop the ends of his words from having funny up-turns that sounded suspiciously like stealth giggles, “it’s just that once you sleep with a Weasley, you become one.”

“I haven’t become anything!” Hermione protested. “I’m still me, Hermione Granger!”

“Hermione Weasley pretty soon,” Ron savored the name. “That sounds pretty good, doesn’t it? It sort of rhymes…”

“Ron, just because I’ve slept with you doesn’t mean I’m marrying you,” Hermione’s voice began to carry a shrill edge. “I mean, you’ve deflowered me, not proposed!”

“Not yet,” Ron’s grin didn’t dim at all. “I’m taking things slow.”

Hermione’s mouth worked for several moments before she could make any sounds come out.

“Ronald Weasley,” she finally choked out, voice gone slightly feral, “if you do not explain yourself fully in the next thirty seconds, I will petrify you and apparate you in to McGonagall’s office…exactly…as…you are!”

“It’s very simple,” Ron replied soothingly, seemingly unperturbed both by Hermione’s telepathic threat to wring his neck and the idea of wowing the head of their house with his unclothed glory. “Once you have slept with a Weasley, that Weasley is the last person you ever sleep with. It’s just the way things are.”

“This is daft!” Hermione exclaimed. “You can’t be serious!”

Ron shrugged, the implication clear.

“You mean to tell me that no woman, in the history of Weasleys, has ever slept with someone else after sleeping with a Weasley?” Hermione asked critically.

“It’s not just the women,” Ron nodded. “Men aren’t immune either. That’s why Weasleys don’t go in for same sex experimentation much, makes things a bit awkward later on.” He paused. “Well, except for Bill. Frightfully lucky he’s aces at breaking curses.”

“Nobody?” Hermione demanded. “I can’t even believe I’m asking you this, it’s so daft! What about all those girls Fred and George have had! Do you think they’ll just be following them around for the rest of their lives?!”

“Fred and George haven’t done anything they say they have,” Ron waved her off. “They’re not stupid. You have to be sure before you take the big step, you know.”

“Sure of what?” Hermione wondered why she was still asking questions as if this was a real problem.

“That you’ve got the right person,” Ron spoke a little slower as if Hermione was the one who was daft. “I had an uncle who went round sleeping with whoever he pleased, he had women phoning him all hours of the night, breaking into his flat, ugly business that. It’s a big responsibility.”

“A big responsibility!” Hermione screeched, momentarily forgetting Ron was obviously being ridiculous just to drive her round the bend. “You weren’t being so responsible with me, were you then?!”

“Aha, but I’m sure,” Ron answered evenly. Hermione uttered an inarticulate cry of rage and flung herself out of the bed.

“I refuse to stay and listen to this…this…BUNK any longer!” she declared, so loudly that Ron was positive every other Gryffindor in the tower could hear her. “I’m leaving!”

“Fight it if you want,” Ron called after her as she stormed out of the room. “It won’t help!”

“AAAAGGGHH!” Hermione screamed back. Ron relaxed back onto his pillow, firm in the notion that she’d come round sooner or later. He contemplated the ceiling and indulged in a brief iconic memory flash of Hermione above him, blocking his view of the ceiling.

“Her-mi-o-NEE,” he said, reflecting on the sound. “Her-mi-o-NEE Wee-sal-LEE…”

* * * * * *

“You really did it?” Harry asked, glancing around to make sure no one else at breakfast could overhear. Ron flushed, but nodded. “What was it like?” Harry demanded.

“It was FANTASTIC,” Ron admitted, blushing darker. “It was like…like…”

“Like what?” Harry pressed.

“Do you remember when the Whomping Willow was pounding the hell out of the car and tossing us all about?” Ron asked.

“Ye-es,” Harry answered slowly.

“It was kind of like that, only good.”

“It was what?” Harry asked, but was interrupted by a slamming door and a barely coherent voice.

“THIS IS UNCONSCIONABLE!”

Harry whipped his head around to see Hermione thundering towards them in a black rage. Ron went on calmly eating his cereal. She thrust a letter in his face.

“You TOLD your MOTHER?!” she shouted. People nearby began to edge away slowly.

“Course not,” Ron answered calmly, smoothing out the letter on the table so he could read it. “I haven’t talked to her in days.”

“Then why did she send me an OWL about it this morning?!” Hermione demanded. “How long did you wait to owl her after I left the room, ten whole minutes?”

“That’s daft,” Ron pointed to the letter. “Says right here you popped up on her clock this morning, the one that tells her where we all are.”

“Why…would I be…on the CLOCK?” Hermione’s words were very deliberate.

“Hermione,” Ron said patiently. “I’ve already told you, you’re a Weasley now. Or you will be soon enough at any rate, that clock never was good with details…”

“STOP SAYING THAT!” Hermione shrieked. “I REFUSE to believe that there is NOBODY who hasn’t ever slept with somebody else POST-WEASLEY!”

“It’s the truth,” Ron shrugged, handing her the letter back and reaching for a piece of toast. “Ask my mum if you want.”

“You can’t possibly tell me,” Hermione jabbed a finger into Ron’s chest, “that your mother has never ONCE, in decades of marriage, even THOUGHT about sleeping with somebody other than your father!”

“Well, honestly, Hermione, why’d you think there’s so many of us?” Ron asked.

“You…you…you’re a CURSE!” Hermione spluttered. “You’re a PLAGUE! A plague of WEASLEYS!”

Hermione stormed out of the dining hall like a hurricane, heedless of people or furniture in her path.

“Aren’t you worried about that?” Harry asked incredulously as Ron went back to placidly buttering his toast.

“Not really,” Ron shrugged. “My dad said not to worry about it, they always freak out a bit at first. She’ll come round.”

“Maybe you should’ve tried telling her before you slept together,” Harry cast another glance at the doorway Hermione had barreled through.

“I had a great-uncle who was keen on that idea,” Ron said reflectively. “Died a virgin, sad case. Pass the jam, would you?”

There was silence for several moments, except for Ron chewing.

“You know, Hermione Weasley sounds rather nice,” Harry said thoughtfully.

“Mmm,” Ron agreed, mouth full. He swallowed. “It rhymes.”

* * * * * *

Ron wandered into the Gryffindor common room to find Harry buried in a book in his favorite chair.

“You seen Hermione?” he asked, tapping Harry on the shoulder.

“No, she still isn’t speaking to us,” Harry shook his head, putting down the book.

“She’s not speaking to you now either?” Ron raised an eyebrow.

“I let it slip that I knew about the Weasley thing,” Harry shrugged sheepishly. “If it’s any consolation, I think she’s madder at me now than you.”

“Thanks, glad you were finally good for something,” Ron teased.

“Seriously, Ron,” Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose, “she’s still really angry, I think you might want to give her a couple more days.”

“I can’t help it,” Ron shook his head. “The last three days have been the longest in recorded history. If she doesn’t start speaking to me again soon, I’ll go off my trolley! Besides, you think Hermione’s scary, you should’ve seen my mum when my dad broke the news.”

“What did she do?” Harry asked.

“She broke my dad’s nose,” Ron related with relish. “Then she refused to be in the same room with him for a week, until finally he cornered her in the Gryffindor common room.”

“What happened then?” Harry’s interest was thoroughly peaked.

“She leapt over the couch at him in a rage! My mum throws a mean wobbly.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t kill him!” Harry was starting to wonder why Ron was enjoying this story so much, when clearly it presaged his own demise.

“Not hardly,” Ron laughed. “In fact, they ended up shagging pretty much on the spot!”

“Really?” Harry glanced around. “Are you telling me that your parents…in this room?”

Ron leaned over Harry and grinned ferally.

“Right in this very chair you’re so fond of slouching in,” he announced slowly, enjoying every syllable as the horror grew on Harry’s face.

“AAGH!” Harry leapt out of the chair, pushing a snickering Ron out of his way. “That’s not funny!”

“Like fun it isn’t,” Ron continued chortling at his expense. “Any road, if you don’t see me later, assume Hermione stabbed me with her wand and pop by the infirmary.”

“I know your dad didn’t roger your mother in this chair!” Harry called after him, bending over to pick up his book where it had fallen to the floor. “Ron! Ron?”

Harry glanced at the chair. Then sat on the couch.

* * * * * *

Ron eyed the Forbidden Forest. He knew Hermione was in there. He knew exactly where she was, because it was the last place he would ever want to be, which was exactly what Hermione was counting on to avoid him.

Hermione had clearly underestimated the Weasley Chivalrous Streak. Especially in combination with the Weasley Uncontrollably Hormonal Streak.

Ron glanced around to make sure nobody was watching him enter the Forest, and heaved a sigh as he trudged within the trees. The Forest was better by day, but not by much. He tried to banish all thoughts of the clearly increasing spider population as he went deeper into the forest, the dense trees swallowing most of the sunlight.

“Bloody Aragog and his ruddy spiders,” Ron grumbled, clutching his collar tight lest a wayward spider drop down his shirt. “Should have never told that girl where the damn giant spider lair was…knew that’d come back to bite me in the arse…”

He had gone so far into the Forest he thought he might be wrong about Hermione’s hiding place by the time he actually found her. He had to admit, Hermione had more plums than he did: she was sitting on a fallen log within shouting distance of Aragog’s lair. There were only two things that could have made Ron return this close to the spot where he and Harry had nearly been spider snackies; the other was having a shot at feeding Draco Malfoy to Aragog personally.

Trying not to betray his calm exterior, he sat down on the log beside Hermione in what he hoped was a nonchalant yet repentant sort of way. He let several moments go by to see whether Hermione was going to speak. She wasn’t, but she didn’t strangle him either, so he tentatively marked one down for the positive column.

“I know you’re really angry with me,” he started, stealing a glance to see if she was listening. She didn’t say anything, but tilted her head towards him slightly. Encouraged, Ron went on. “And you’ve got every right to be. But, honestly, Hermione, the real reason you should be angry is because I’ve really explained all this very badly. It’s not a curse or something, it’s more like…like being a precog.”

“How,” Hermione finally spoke, “is me sleeping with nobody else for the rest of my life like you being a precog?”

Steady now, Ron thought to himself, she’s nibbling, you’ve just got to reel her in.

“The thing about it is,” he explained, trying to keep the hope out of his voice, “Weasleys just know when they meet the one. Immediately. We don’t fool around with that ‘what if I meet someone better’ bunk. We know in that first split second that it’s either going to be them or nobody.”

There was a pause.

“You’re telling me,” Hermione said slowly, “that you fell in love with me the day we met on the Hogwarts train as First Years?”

“No, I fell in love with you when you stayed up all night teaching me to do banishing charms properly to pass my exam,” Ron clarified. Hermione flushed a little. Reel her in, Ron. “What I’m saying is that I knew I would eventually fall in love with you that first day.”

Hermione said nothing in reply, she just stared out into the forest, kicking her leg against the log lightly.

Almost there, Ron. Time for the big guns.

“Look, I don’t expect you to stop being angry just like that,” Ron strove to sound humble, and thought he did a fairly good job. “I just thought you deserved to have things explained a bit better. And I have something for you.”

Ron took one of Hermione’s hands and slipped something into it.

“I don’t know if you knew, but Bill’s managed to get himself engaged somehow. That’s his fiancée’s name and address. I thought you might want to talk to someone a bit more… impartial. So if you want to owl her, she said she’d love to talk to you.”

Hermione flicked a quick glance at Ron that he couldn’t quick read, but sort of felt intuitively that it might have been a good sign.

“I’ll just leave you alone again then,” he said in closing. He kissed Hermione’s cheek quickly and slid off the log. “Er…if you aren’t going to hate me forever, could you start speaking to me again rather soon? You can yell, or whatever, it’s just that the silence is absolutely unbearable.”

Ron turned to leave, purposefully taking his steps as quietly as possible so he could hear if…wait, it just might be…

Ron heard Hermione uncrinkle the paper behind him and resisted the urge to do a quidditch victory dance back to Hogwarts. Although Fred and George had taught him a rather nice one called “The Quaffle Waffle.”