nekare

I just came back from seeing King Kong, and it was amazing. The gloomy atmosphere, the glow of the 20's; I so, so adored the photography. And then the action scenes were incredible, and the dinosaurs and King Kong left me speechless. Lovely, lovely movie, no less than I'd expected from Peter Jackson.

All right, so this is the tenth and last Christmas gift of this year. It's been a blast, doing these, but it's also been quite tiring to write so much in so little time. Crossposted to gingerfriction.

Title: Alchemy
Raiting: PG
Pairing: Hermione/Ron
Word Count: 513
Author Notes: Written for the lovely zurizip, whose interest I had to pick myself, but I rather think she'll like it: Biology. Hope you like it dear, and I'll start thinking about that Karasuma/Sakaki one after Christmas.


First there’s biology, Hermione thinks; hormones and warm breath on skin, desires, urges and the longing for freckled hands inside hers. Attraction, hidden so badly and desperate that she always thought herself transparent, ready to burst with so much tension and wanting and aching.

(Fourteen-year-old Ron leaning across her to grab a quill, chocolate scent from his Easter egg tingling her nose; and suddenly she knows the reason from her inconsistent blushes and strange stomach movements, and maybe she’s not actually sick; but she feels that way.)

Then there’s alchemy, the way their magic mingles together so effortlessly, the way they fit together so well. Love, open and giving and selfless; a way to start the day wrapped around freckled skin and someone to come home to late at night.

(Twenty-five year old Ron smiling at her groggily in the kitchen, wearing nothing but underwear and offering her a steaming cup of tea; and suddenly she knows she wants to spend the rest of her life with him.)

Her fingers are naked still, but she can feel the promise of forever everytime Ron kisses her on her belly, both of them thinking about a red-headed child with smart eyes. She can feel it everytime the three of them spend evening by the fire in their shared flat, and when Ron wins against Harry (again, as always) he kisses her as if he had won the Quiddich World Cup. She can feel it when he and Harry yell at the radio when another team fouls the Cannons, and she asks what’s the big deal and Ron just shakes his head and says “My girl is crazy, Harry, really.” and Harry (great help he is), agrees.

So what is next then, she asks herself, genetics? A house full of grinning Weasleys, Grangers with an eye sore every family reunion when she would show up with her mischievous boys (and maybe a little bushy haired girl). Genetics, she thinks, and years of heritage, pure-blood and pure souls.

Ron opens the door, sweaty from an impromptu Quidditch match with Charlie, and her thoughts dissipate as he settles the broom with care in the corner of the room just before coming close to her and put an arm around her. Mostly out of pure habit, she wrinkles her nose, but she snuggles up anyway.

“You smell,” she says haughtily, but the corners of her lips lift a bit.

“And you love it.” Ron says as she leans down to kiss her cheek softly. He picks her up, and he sits her on top of the kitchen counter (the one she had been thinking quite deeply about life before), hands on both sides of her hips and his body between her knees (another reminder that he’s not a schoolboy anymore, he doesn’t blush any longer when her skirt rides up). He grabs a half eaten biscuit by her side, and he bites it just before feeding her with it.

“You know I do.” She says with a mouthful, and when he smiles, life is just perfect.