Knight To Queen Two
by
Rating: NC-17, check warnings if you need to know more details than simply "explicit sexual content" is present in this fic.
Pairing: Ron/Fleur, mention of Snape/Luna
Word Count: 10,800
Summary: Two divorced and lonely people discover that the empty spaces are easier to fill when they have someone to help, someone who cares.
Warnings: highlight between brackets if you prefer story warnings: [contains: slow burn, biting, hair-pulling, dresser sex, spanking, a touch of female masturbation]
Disclaimer: All the characters are Rowling's. All the smutty scenarios are mine.
His first wife had been everything he'd been taught was right and good and acceptable. She had been reasonable and patient and even-tempered.
Their life together had been good, and once they were both well-established in their careers, they had made two beautiful children he could scarcely believe had just started Hogwarts together. Ironically enough, Justine had wound up in Ravenclaw, whilst her twin Jonathan was a Hufflepuff.
Ron was still disturbed that he was hearing this second hand. Hermione was as reliable as the post owls, but he wondered why his children only seemed to write their mother.
He knew they knew she was the reader and he was the doer, but would it kill them to send him a quick message and tell him how their week was?
He tried to write when he could. It wasn't every week, but when he got his pay packet every other week, he took two galleons for each and sent them along with a note telling them he was proud of them, that he hoped they were doing well, and to please write if they needed anything. He signed them Love, Your Dad.
They took him at his word and each time he saw a post owl from Hogwarts, he'd be thrilled and his heart would soar, and each time he opened up their parchment it was a brief message reminding him he'd said to write if they needed anything, and to detail just what they needed and how much it would cost.
He wished he had a facility with words. He wished Justine and Jonathan knew that when he told them to please write if they needed anything, he meant more than things of cash value, but help, advice, questions about his time at Hogwarts or even to detail the story of how he fell in love with their mother. He wanted to be a father, not merely a man who held that title by virtue of having given seed.
Still, he wondered now, if perhaps it was for the best. If his children did ever ask how he'd fallen in love with their mother, they might well ask how he'd fallen out of it, also.
~(*)~
Her first husband was everything she had been taught a man should be. He was strong, powerful and had been handsome when she first knew him. He had also been gentle.
It was the gentleness that had won her over. It had also been one of the first traits sacrificed to war, for the greater good, along with his looks.
It was for the best, she'd been told. It was best to have a strong and blooded man when war was brewing.
Nobody told her how she could live with a disfigured and powerful husband's strange humours once the war was over. Nobody spoke of how they affected her. Nobody questioned her childless state.
It was for the best, everyone in her family said. It was good they had no children. Her husband's oddness would be upsetting to a child. His fits of temper better-suited a childless marriage. She was wise, her family said with approval.
She was lonely and had no choice, she knew. She had set her future by choosing to marry him.
His family had little better to say and understood even less. They had, at least, stopped asking when she planned to have children. She had learned to ignore the looks of pity from his parents. She grew deft at evading his siblings' expressions of veiled concern.
She grew deft at evading their many invitations. She did not truly mind; she found being around their earnest, English cheerfulness difficult to bear. It reminded her of what was lost to her husband's humours. It reminded her of what could never be.
In the end, it was what drove him from her, despite the fact she never stopped loving him. He loved her too much to hold her to his fate. She loved him and let him go.
It was for the best, her family said every time they visited. They had been too different, too unlike. She did not bother to correct them. It was easier to let them think what they liked. She followed the same policy when she accepted the job out of country. She needed to forget, they said. She smiled placidly and agreed that teaching at Hogwarts would be quite the feather in her cap. It was easier than admitting she missed his accent and needed to be around others like him, even it was an exercise in futility.
~(*)~
He finally asked for reassignment to the continent. He did not care where. He was tired of avoiding his family, avoiding the well-meaning questions and comments and advice. He was heart sore with praising his children's achievements to his family only to hear the painful teasing about his own lack of scholastic skills and how grateful he should be their mother more than made it up for them in that department. He was weary of being weary. He felt broken somehow, even though his body was intact, and he felt empty, even though he had a lot, he was constantly told, to be thankful for.
~(*)~
~(*)~
Dear Fleur,
Don't apologize for writing! The twins don't write near enough to suit me, and they only ask for money when they do.
I didn't know you were teaching at Hogwarts! How funny, you at Hogwarts and me here in Paris. I was assigned to the Department of Magical Games and Sports as part of the official staff to the Minister. Fairly boring, but that's good in that I have seen a lot more of Paris than I ever saw before.
I'm glad to hear the twins are doing well. I'm sorry about Justine. She sounds just like Hermione. She may have to make friends with boys instead of girls at first. That's what Hermione did. The boys will just treat her like one of the guys. Then when she gets older she can make friends with other girls, once they get over their vicious streak. Girls really do have a vicious streak if I recall correctly.
Jonathan sounds like he's got some right poncy ideas and I'll soon set him straight. He's probably been listening to some ignoramus tell him wand-waving is bad. Anyway, I'm glad to hear about the kids and look forward to your letters.
I didn't know you played chess. I'd be happy to play you when we meet next. It'd be great playing again with someone who enjoys the game.
Thank you for your time.
Ronald Weasley, Auror-DMGS
~(*)~
~(*)~
She did not receive a return letter for several weeks, by which time she had sent the picture of the twins, with Jonathan's new haircut.
~(*)~
Fleur,
I'm so sorry to write so late, but it's been hectic. There's talk of a new Triwizard Tournament next year, this time taking place here, at Beauxbatons! I've been having to chivvy about all sorts of high-ranking foreign officials.
Thank you so much for the picture! I've not actually seen the twins in over a year. Hermione let her parents have them last summer and they took them to Australia before I was able to have time off from my duties. Jonathan's got so tall! Justine is turning into a right little lady. I can't believe it. It means a lot to me, Fleur, you can't know how much.
Well, no time. I expect I'll be seeing you all next around the holidays for Mum's Christmas dinner. I reminded them at the Ministry I'd need Christmas week off, even though I'd already put it in writing two months ago. The head of our department was already assigning me work for Boxing Day!
Anyway, I won't have time for much letter writing. Which reminds me, I'd best send the twins their pocket money for next month, else I'll never hear the end of it! Give my best to Bill.
Ciao for now,
Ron
~(*)~
He arrived home a week later, weary and wanting only to sleep, but he saw Pigwidgeon hooting excitedly and so he went over to the perch his owl had in the corner. He pet Pig's head and let him nip happily on his finger as he read his eldest's letter.
Ron sat by his fireplace for a long time, holding the letter and thinking.
~(*)~
Dear Fleur,
I'm sorry I was so brief in my last letter. I hope I didn't say anything wrong.
Justine tells me you won't be coming to the family Christmas. Don't get mad at her, but she said you looked sad and that you and Bill can't talk.
I didn't know things were so bad with you and Bill. If you like, I can talk to him. He's a big lug, but he usually comes around to making sense. He should treat you right, anyway. None of this avoiding each other. We're family.
Anyway, I just felt bad that I might have put my foot in it. Forgive me. Please do try to come for Christmas. Mum would miss you. The twins will miss you. I know I'd love to see you again.
Please don't avoid us all just because of Bill. Besides, how will we be able to play chess if you don't come?
Love,
Ron
~(*)~
He fretted the last two weeks before the holidays, not having received a reply from Fleur. It worried him more than he could credit. Had he said the wrong thing?
Per Hermione, he was the veritable King of saying the wrong thing, but then, she was his ex-wife and likely to be biased. He wished he could talk to Harry, but he wasn't like to have a chance alone with his old friend just to chat over the holidays. He'd be lucky to have a chance to just chat with his kids. He sighed now.
He'd be leaving later by Floo to the Ministry in London and Apparating to the Burrow. He'd have to wait and see. For now, he had worked through the night and needed some sleep.
He reached for his wand, to Nox the lights, when he heard a voice calling to him. He frowned, grabbing his wand and heaving himself from bed, grabbing his old toweling robe since he slept with nothing on, and shoved his arms into it and tied it up as he made his way to the living room of his tiny flat.
To his surprise, Fleur was outlined in the fire.
"Ron? May we speak, please?"
Still surprised, he merely nodded, and to his further surprise, she stepped through into his living room.
She was perfectly coiffed, perfectly made up, as usual. Her clothes were pressed as if she had just put them on, but it was late in the day.
"Is something wrong, Fleur?"
She stepped up to him and suddenly hugged him hard. He relaxed, slipping an arm around her, then frowned as he felt wetness seeping into his robe.
"Fleur?"
"Oh, Ron! My dearest Ron!"
He waited as she cried the worst of her nerves out, slipping his wand into his pocket to pat her with his hand, then self-consciously stepped back, aware of his undress, and his body's reaction to her scent and warmth and nearness.
"What's wrong?" He took her by the arm and made her sit on the couch. He sat on the chair beside it.
"I was not going to bother you, Ron, but your letter, then your other letter... oh, I was not going to write, but I didn't want you to think I did not care... and then dear Jonathan... oh, my!"
"Wait. What about Jonathan?"
She sniffed and patted at her cheeks with a flimsy hankie she conjured.
"The students left this morning on the train for home. The rest of the teachers and I went to see them off, and little Jonathan... he came up to me and hugged me and was begging me to come to the Burrow. Oh, but Ron! I cannot! I cannot!"
He held up a hand, took his wand and waved to the kitchen and his battered tea service floated in. He poured her a cup.
"Here, drink. You need something for your nerves."
He waited whilst she sipped, then asked, "Why is it you can't come to the Burrow, Fleur?"
"Oh, Ron, you do not understand. This is... it is impossible. It... it..."
"Is it Bill?" He asked with a hard expression.
To his chagrin, she began to weep again, but quietly this time, as if in despair.
"Oh, Ron, it is not so easy as that. It is Bill. It is me. It is what we cannot be for your Maman. It is what we cannot have."
He considered this, then poured himself some tea.
"I don't get it," he finally admitted.
She drew on her reserves and stopped weeping. She got up and went to the fire, watching it as she softly spoke, Ron straining to hear.
"Bill and I... we cannot be anymore. I only remind him of how it used to be. So I cannot come to your family home. I... I came back here, to be with my family for Christmas. It is better so. I know I disappoint you and your beautiful ch-children," she broke off as her voice caught and he could tell she had begun to cry again.
Ron sighed, setting down the tea cup and went to her. He set aside propriety and turned her with his strong hands and brought her to his broad chest where she let go and cried as if her heart would break.
He gently manoeuvred them to the couch and sat down and accepted her minimal weight on his lap, brushing warm hands through her hair and down her back. He strove to ignore his body's response to her and just focused on her pain.
He wished he knew what to do, but it sounded as if the problem was insurmountable. Perhaps he should talk to Bill, after all? He resolved to do this when he had some time.
"Oh, Ron, you are too kind to me. You and your children. You make me feel... welcome."
"You are welcome," he said hoarsely, gently shifting her back to the couch and straightening his robe. "More than that, you're family. Even if Bill doesn't have his head on straight."
"Oh, do not blame him. It is also me. I could not give him children. I... it does not matter. What is done, is done."
"Did you see a Healer?" he managed to ask with a red face; discussing such matters was very private.
She smiled, took one of his hands in hers. "No, Ron. I was not clear. Bill was different after his encounter with Fenrir. He was no longer suitable as a father. I could not give such a man children. So I did not."
Ron frowned. "What are you saying?"
"I had a spell cast upon me to keep from getting pregnant. And I am glad!" she exclaimed now as she noted the look of concern on his face. "How could I explain to our children that their Papa wanders at night, that he did not mean to hurt their Maman? That he runs and runs to escape what he cannot escape -- his very self? That he is not the man I fell in love with, but he is the man I stayed with until he saw for himself that it was no longer possible? That we were no longer feasible?"
Ron swallowed, his free hand knotting up into a tight fist.
"Bill... Bill hurt you?"
She blanched. "He did not mean to, Ron. He did not know. When the moon is high, the dark humour comes upon him. He is not suited to peace, to tranquility. He longs for the hunt, for the chase. I tried, in the first years of our marriage, to keep him home. I learned the price for so doing. It is of no matter."
"It is to me!" He stood now, angry. "Why didn't you say something?"
"What would you have me say, Ron? That your brother was a menace? It is not true, it is only when the dark humour is on him. Would you have me say your brother was not a good man? That is not true, either. It is just that he needs another, someone else, to give him what I could not. I was not enough. I learned that, and... I came back home. He will find someone that will make him happy. It was not meant to be I."
He was silent, thinking now of his own marriage and how it might not have been perfect, but there was no violence to mar his memories. He had two beautiful children he was proud of, even if he did not see them as often as he would like. Fleur had none of this, he realized. She did not even have the balm of thinking back with fondness. This bothered him. That she stayed with him so long in order to allow Bill to keep his pride... this bothered him a great deal. How long had she been unhappy and alone?
She had not, he realized, come to the family get togethers in years. It bothered him most of all that he had not noticed, not really. Some Auror you are, Ronald Weasley!
"I'm sorry, Fleur," he finally said. "I had no idea. None of us did."
"C'est rien. It is past."
He shook his head, took her hand in his.
"It's not past. Not if you're here now, crying about it, telling me why you can't come to my family home for Christmas. I ought to talk to Bill."
"No, Ron! It is over for us both. Let it be over."
"But you don't feel welcome."
"It is as it must be. I am glad for you. You are lucky. And I can enjoy my time with my family. They will so want to hear about my teaching, about your children. You have beautiful children, Ron."
He smiled a bit sadly.
"I wish I could see them more often. It's difficult with my job."
She nodded and seemed grateful the issue of the holiday did not come up again.
"Justine... she wrote me that you were sad. I wondered what was wrong."
Fleur smiled fondly.
"Justine is quite the little rapporteuse."
Ron brightened. "Thank you, by the way. The letter from her is the first one I've gotten in ages."
"But they say they write you all the time."
His smile dimmed. "Yeah, they write me all the time. Dad, we need money. Dad, we need new this. Dad, we need new that. They don't write me to tell me how they're doing, who their friends are. Only you've done that, and I can't thank you enough for it. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't even know what they look like right now!"
"That is why I was sad."
He frowned. "Pardon?"
"Justine found me crying," she admitted. "I was crying because of what you had written to me, thanking me for the picture I had taken of your children. I was crying because you said you had not seen them in over a year. I know how you love them and I was crying because I knew how it must pain your heart so to admit such a thing, even to me."
"But you're family!"
She smiled gently at him. "I am glad you think so."
"Don't you think so?"
She shook her head. "Bill is family. I was the woman Bill married. Now I am the woman Bill left."
Ron frowned, but said nothing.
"I think I have troubled you enough, and that was not my intention. I should go and let you prepare for your trip home."
Ron smiled. "I'm already ready. I just worked two shifts straight and was going to sleep a little before I left on the last open Floo at the Ministry."
"Ah, non! I did not mean to keep you from resting. I am so sorry."
He shook his head, put his hand on her arm. "Think nothing of it. I'm glad you came. I'm glad you explained things. I'll be sorry to not see you for Christmas, but... well..."
"It is as it must be," she said lightly, then leaned forward to kiss his cheek, then slip her arms around him and hold him tightly, briefly. "Thank you, Ron, for being so kind and good-hearted. I will miss you."
Ron froze, feeling all the blush from his cheeks rushing south, but he squeezed her back and then pulled away from her.
"I'll miss you, too. And so will the twins. Have a good Christmas, Fleur."
"Happy Christmas, Ron."
He watched her with mixed emotions as she stepped through the Floo.
~(*)~
Much as he'd predicted, there was not much time for chatting at his family's house. Even Harry and Ginny had managed to make it home for a change, having an unprecedented break from their duties for the Yorkshire Yetis due to the team's Keeper having nearly been beheaded during their last game against the Inverness Imps. The Weasley house was packed to the rafters and he was once again sharing a room, this time with Charlie.
Still, the situation with Fleur preoccupied him and he eyed Bill so much during the holiday dinner that his brother finally asked him what was on his mind. Ron had not survived the war by ignoring opportunities.
"You were burning a hole into my forehead, little brother. What is it?"
Bill had found Ron outside, lighting his pipe, a habit he had acquired during his marriage not long after the twins were born, and one of the many things that had driven a wedge between Hermione and him.
"I've been writing Fleur this term."
To his surprise, Bill relaxed and smiled broadly.
"Thank Merlin! With the look you had on your face I thought you were going to tell me something dire, involving the Ministry or the damned werewolves."
Ron pursed his lips for a moment before adding, "She's been teaching Charms and gives me reports on the twins."
"That's great," Bill enthused. "I hope she's happy, or at least happier. She deserves to be happy and that's one thing I couldn't make her."
Ron said nothing and Bill gave him a discerning look.
"Little brother... are you seeing my ex-wife?"
"No!" Ron frowned at him and stood straighter, taller; Bill and he were of a height. "It's just she seemed... unhappy, the last time we chatted."
"Chatted? I thought you were writing?"
Ron flushed, but said carefully, "She called me through the Floo before I left for London."
Bill considered this, then nudged Ron's shoulder playfully. "Ron. Even if you were seeing her, it's all right by me. She's not my wife anymore and never will be again. I... I'm not marrying anyone else. Not again. Not unless she's a werewolf."
Ron looked troubled at this, but focused on the first part of Bill's statement to reply.
"Truth is, Bill... I have to say... I've thought about it. About her. I--"
"Like I said, little brother, you have my blessing. I did love her once, but... things have changed. I won't stay with someone like that again. It only made us both unhappy and life's too short to live like that just for the sake of appearances. So if you care about her, show her how you feel."
Bill turned to go and Ron's quiet voice stopped him again.
"She says you hit her."
There was a sound, indescribable, then Bill turned, and Ron winced at the pain on his face.
"I won't deny it, Ron, but I will say I couldn't control it. I can't. Not when the moon is becoming full. When it's full, even I don't know myself. I'm a different person then. I stayed away from her after we found that out. I stayed away every month. I stayed away for both our good, but then that started hurting her, too. I'd rather die than hurt her, and I still feel guilt over that, little brother. I think I always will."
Ron nodded, unhappy for them both, but said nothing else and Bill drew in a deep breath.
"I will say that... if she told you that, if you know her well enough for her to admit that, then she must care a lot about you, Ron. And I'm glad. You're a good man, and no matter what's happened between Fleur and I, I care for her and want her to be happy."
That said, Bill walked back into the house and Ron sighed, drawing in a deep puff of pipe smoke.
After a few moments, he was joined by his own ex-wife.
"There you are. I wondered how you were doing. Still indulging in that filthy habit, I see."
Ron rolled his eyes. "We've talked about this, Hermione. Muggles may have problems with smoking, but Wizards don't. So long as I take that lung-restoring potion once a month, I'll be fine."
"Just see you don't forget it. I don't want Justine and Jonathan to be fatherless."
He nodded, and she continued on.
"I hear from Justine that you've, well, reconnected with them. You're writing letters to them. You warned her about being careful around Severus's son and even made Jonathan get his hair cut."
Ron smiled. "Yeah, well..."
"Julian is not his father, Ron. He's really a very sweet boy and he takes after his mother, temperamentally."
Ron blanched a little. "I still don't know what got into Luna's head."
"She fell in love with him, Ron. Surely you remember how that felt?" Hermione chided, half-jokingly.
Ron smiled at her, fondly, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." He sighed, then decided to change tack. "I, uh, I hear you got a commendation from the Ministry."
"Yes. I really can't say, but it's related to my temporal studies."
Hermione worked as a researcher for the Department of Mysteries. It wasn't often she could talk about her work, and if truth were told, that was yet another reason the two had not been able to stay married. It was bad enough, Ron knew, feeling he was out of his depth when speaking to his wife, much less when his wife refused to say anything about her activities. He knew she could not speak about her work sometimes, but while they'd been married, it had been a major bone of contention. Despite knowing it intellectually, he'd felt shut out of part of her life. It had hurt.
He studied her now, noticed the slightly anxious expression she always got when she wasn't sure what she'd said would anger him and felt guilt wash over him. She did not, he knew, deserve his suspicions and accusations. She never had.
"Hermione. Thank you."
She frowned up at him. "What for?"
"Everything," he said fervently. "Being such a good mother. Being a good wife. I know it's not your fault we're divorced."
"Not entirely at any rate, but I'm willing to take my share of the blame. It happens, Ron. I can't complain about our marriage, especially not when it gave us such beautiful children."
He nodded. "Yeah. I just... I've been thinking. I've been writing Fleur; she's the one who got me in touch with the kids again. If it was just me, they'd still be writing me letters asking for money for new hair combs and candy."
"I wondered who had got the ball rolling," she admitted.
"Well, she's been great. She's a terrific teacher. She'd have made a great mother," he trailed off, thinking of Bill's comments and his discussion with Fleur.
"You're in love with her, aren't you?"
Ron stared at Hermione who was smiling faintly in the moonlight, looking at him with a fond expression.
"Well, I--"
"Ron. I've known you since you were eleven. We were married for thirteen years, and the first five years it was just you and me. I think can safely state I know you very well. I know that expression. You're in love and you're not sure how you feel about it."
He grimaced. "That's just it. I'm all sixes and sevens. Writing was good, it helped me get to know the twins better and I was grateful to her. Then we talked, about other stuff, and she's so unhappy right now..."
He drifted off with a sigh and looked troubled. "I don't know what to do. I don't want to say anything. Not while she's upset. I think she's still getting over Bill."
Hermione considered this. "What did Bill say? I saw him come in earlier."
Ron closed his eyes. "He told me if... if I wanted to see her, that I had his blessing. He said there was never going to be anything else between them and that I should, well, show her how I feel."
"Good advice," she nodded approvingly. "If you don't mind hearing this from your ex-wife -- I think he's right. You should show her how you feel."
"But we've never even talked about anything like that. I--"
Hermione touched his cheek, gently, and he focused on her. "Ron. You love her; it's obvious. If you think back, it's been obvious since you first set eyes on her. You asked her out - remember?"
He smiled at the memory. "Yeah, then I ran like the harpies were after me."
Hermione chuckled at this. "So I think there's your first clue. You're going to be miserable until you admit how you feel about her. Do yourself a favour and admit it to the person who needs to know most. And if it helps, you have my blessing, also. I've only ever wanted the best for you, and for Harry. You are both still my dearest friends. So long as I live, that won't ever change."
She smiled brightly at him, then walked back toward the house, leaving Ron in the moonlight, wreathed in pipe smoke and frowning.
~(*)~
The next morning Ron found himself up before dawn, still considering his situation and what Bill and Hermione had told him. To his surprise, Harry was already up, sitting at the table and sipping at tea.
"Hey, there, Harry. You're up early."
"You're one to speak. It's not quite six."
"Yeah, well. Couldn't sleep."
Harry smiled tiredly. "Same here. Ginny sleeps like a log, but I still get nightmares. Memories really, more than bad dreams."
"The war?"
"Yeah. The war. The trials." Harry sighed. "Quidditch is the best thing that happened to me next to Ginny, but even with the excitement of the games, I still end up having the dreams every other week or so."
Ron nodded. He understood.
"Still, that's better than before. Even at school you used to get bad dreams almost every night."
"Like I said. Quidditch helps. So does Ginny."
"Maybe you should have kids. You'd sure forget a lot of your troubles."
"Is that how it worked for you?"
"Absolutely. There's nothing like it. Having Justine and Jonathan wiped everything from my mind except how to save enough for them to go to Hogwarts. That was just the start. Every year there's something new with them, something that makes me forget my own troubles and worry about them instead."
"Sounds great, but... our league contracts have a No Conception clause. We had to both be charmed to not be able to produce children in order to play. So we can't have kids until Ginny or the both of us stop playing."
"Blimey. I'd no idea."
"Well, it's a safety issue. I know I would feel uncomfortable playing all out with, or worse, against a woman who I thought might be pregnant."
"I can see that. But... why don't you tell Mum? She's always on about you and Ginny not having any kids yet and going to see a fertility specialist. I know how annoying that can be."
"Ginny doesn't want her interfering. She says it's our life and her body and she's got the right of it. Besides, I think your Mum isn't happy unless she's got something she can complain about," Harry confided with a smile.
Ron chuckled. "You could be right."
"Hey, Dad!"
Ron smiled at the chirpy, cheery voice of his son, who came bounding down the stairs of the Burrow and hurled himself into his father's arms.
"Hey, there, Jonathan. You're up with the larks. Sleep well?"
"Like a mucky stick. Morning, Uncle Harry! Is there any brekkie?"
"Morning, kiddo," Harry replied with a smile, pouring a cup of tea for his godson.
"Your Gram will be up soon. Have a biscuit with that tea," Ron suggested.
Harry smiled with fondness as he watched his godson diving into Ron's plate.
Ron ran a hand through his son's shorn hair. Fleur had been right; he did look much better with shorter hair. It stopped him from looking so much like a shaggy dog. Instead, he looked like a boy, a studious-looking boy at that, instead of a tearaway.
"How's school, Jonathan?" Harry asked him.
"Great! I kinda missed Justine at first, but I've got friends now. Neville and Terry are great, and By's really funny. He blew up his cauldron last week and made purple smoke fill Potions."
Ron and he both smiled. "We knew a Neville who used to do that."
"I'm doing going good in Charms now, too. Professor Delacour taught us Wingardium Leviosa and is teaching us this French levitation spell I can't pronounce. It's good for levitating yourself. She said there are crippled students in Beauxbatons who can't use their legs or don't have any. They use that spell to get about."
Ron considered this. "Interesting. I didn't know Beauxbatons allowed crippled students."
"She said it was one way Beauxbatons was better."
Ron smiled. "Well, everyone thinks their school is best."
Jonathan nodded. "Yeah. Hogwarts is fantastic! I love it. I love the train and the lake and the greenhouses."
"I'm glad. I'm sorry I haven't been around more. Work, you know."
"Yeah. That's okay. It's kinda neat to write you, Dad. It's really neat to send owls and get them back. It's really neat to get money in the mail. Some of my friends don't get any. They're kinda poor."
Ron nodded, then looked over at Harry. "Would you be surprised to know I never got any when I went to Hogwarts, Jonathan?"
"No!"
"Yes. Your Gram and Gramps loved us, but with seven kids, money was tight. I never had any mad money. I never had new clothes, either. I always had to wear my brothers' hand-me-downs."
"Jeepers. Just like Terry in my house and Susan in Ravenclaw. They're dirt poor."
Harry cleared his throat. "But it's not nice to tease them about it, even if they are. It's not nice being poor and they already know it."
"I know, Uncle Harry. I don't tease them. I just feel bad, 'cause I bought Terry some cockroach clusters one weekend 'cause he was looking at 'em at Honeydukes and I knew he couldn't get any, but he got all mad and threw them at me. He said he didn't need charity, whatever that is."
"He means he doesn't like being looked down on."
"Oh. Well, I wasn't looking down, he's taller than me! The cockroaches all ran up Julian Snape's trousers 'cause he was standing close by and he started screaming and Justine pulled a Petrificus on him and froze him and the roaches and she made Nigel take Julian in Honeyduke's back room and take his trousers off and get all the roaches."
Ron and Harry both chuckled.
"Nigel almost took his trousers off in front of everyone, but Justine told him it wasn't proper and to take him in the back."
"Well, it wouldn't be too nice to be in your underwear in front of everyone," Harry said with an odd expression on his face.
"Yeah, I guess so." Jonathan turned to his father now. "It was kinda strange getting used to changing in the dorm, but I'm used to it now. Besides, it's just us boys, so no big."
"I'm glad it doesn't bother you any more. It didn't bother me at all when I got to Hogwarts, but then I'd been changing in front of my brothers for ages."
"Really?"
Ron nodded, then looked briefly at Harry before asking, "Jonathan... Fl- Professor Delacour told me you were upset about coming home."
His son blushed. "Well... I was just gonna miss her. She's so nice. And she's our Auntie. I... I kind of love her."
Ron smiled. "Me, too."
"She said she wasn't coming for Christmas and I miss her already. I just... I don't know."
Ron considered this. "Would you like to see her?"
Jonathan straightened up. "Really?"
Ron nodded. Harry, he noted, was looking at him consideringly.
"Yeah!"
"Gram will be up soon and breakfast will be on its way. So go try and wake your sister. It will probably take another good half-hour to get her up if she holds true to form. Tell her we're going to see Auntie Fleur after breakfast."
"COOL!"
His son went bounding up the stairs to wake his sister and Ron smiled at Harry.
"I take it there's something there?"
Even after all the years they'd spent apart, their friendship still held, and they could read each other like the proverbial book. Ron sighed.
"I don't know about her, but there is for me," he admitted.
Harry nodded.
"I'm glad. It's been long enough. I think you should try to find happiness. You deserve it, Ron. Truly."
~(*)~
The unexpected visit went better than Ron had expected. The Delacour family was, at first, a bit nonplussed to see them, but Fleur's reaction made up for the awkwardness.
Her face lit up and the kids flung themselves at her and she hugged and kissed them, and then turned to Ron, who she also hugged and kissed and he was hard-pressed not to take her in his arms and hold her tight. Instead, he brought his children into the family home, a lovely estate surrounded by vineyards, currently barren-looking, and after a round of greetings and exclamations over the tin of homemade mince pies Ron had brought as a gift, the children quickly ensconced themselves by the fireplace, where their "Auntie" Gabrielle was working on a wizarding jigsaw puzzle.
He smiled at the tableau and was startled when Fleur took his arm, standing closer than was safe for his hormones.
"They will be busy for a while," she said. "Would you like a tour of the estate?"
Ron nodded.
"These grapes will be for sweet dessert wine. The freeze makes them très sweet, and the wine will be exquisite, without tartness."
"Sounds good. I don't know much about wine, except I like red wine with lamb."
"Yes, red wine is excellent with lamb."
He cleared his throat.
"I do make a good lamb stew. I'd, uh... I'd like it if you could join me sometime. For lamb stew." He silently cursed his fair skin for making him flush so furiously in the milky French sunlight. "You could bring the wine."
She smiled gently at this, then touched his burning face. "I would like that Ron. Very much."
He smiled back at her, relieved.
"I must also say I am glad you did not run away after asking me out this time."
Ron groaned and grew red. "I was fourteen!"
"Yes, and I was flattered. And if it had not been for the fact I was already spoken for at the time, I might have said yes."
He stilled and looked at her, but she was serious. Before he could do or say anything else, she was lifting up slightly and he was bending down, and their lips met and it was sweeter than any wine he'd ever sampled.
Her mouth opened beneath his and he slipped inside, feeling her smooth teeth and finding her tongue with his. She tasted of bûhe de noël and dry wine and he found his arms slipping around her, one hand slipping into her hair, holding her head closer to his, the other exulting in the long, smooth line of her back.
"Ron..." she moaned, breaking free for a moment, and causing him to let her go immediately.
"I'm s-sorry," he stammered, feeling his face redden again and wishing his erection would die. "I don't know what got into me."
She smiled.
"Non, Ron. I am not upset. It is just that we should be heading back. I cannot go back all mussed. It would look suspicious." She sighed, then touched his lips again with warm fingers. "But I would very much like to do that again... and more. When the place and time are better."
Ron's erection grew larger than he'd ever felt it before. He managed to nod, dumbstruck.
She smiled brightly at him. "Come see me? Tomorrow? Or I could see you?"
"My flat," he said. "I'll tell them I've got duties. I'll be there after breakfast."
"Très bon. But for now, I have a chess set back at the house. I want that game you promised me," she smiled.
~(*)~
Breakfast could not go by quickly enough. Ron was still in a fever over his upcoming rendezvous with Fleur. He could scarcely believe how fast their relationship was developing.
True, he'd been writing her since the start of the school year, but being with her made his heart beat faster and everything seemed so much clearer. Even their chess game had been perfectly matched. It was as if they were made for each other and he was afraid that somehow, someway or something would keep them from getting any closer.
The twins were still chattering excitedly about their impromptu visit to France, not to mention Hermione and Bill and even Harry were smiling knowingly at him across the breakfast table.
"Well, I just don't see why she couldn't come here," Molly huffed. "I think she feels we're beneath her."
"That's not true," Ron and Bill said at the same time.
She stared at her eldest and youngest sons and tilted her head. "Is that so?"
Ron deferred to Bill who merely said, "She's never felt that way. If anything, she feels out of place here. Now that we're divorced, she didn't want an awkward scene with awkward questions."
Ron nodded. "Besides, she had her own family get together. Fred and George are at the Patils this year. Were they wrong to go there instead of here?"
Molly frowned. "I wasn't saying she didn't have a right to her own holiday plans, just, well..."
Bill sighed. "Mother. I love you. But you're going to have to stop automatically taking my side -- any of your children's sides -- over others. In this case, I'm in the wrong. I admit it. I didn't treat Fleur right. It happens. I'm not proud of it, but I'm also not ashamed of my divorce. It's over. She deserves better and I hope she finds it."
He looked at Ron as he said this last. Ron could feel Hermione's glance. He looked at her and gave her a slight smile. She smiled back fondly at him and reached across the table to gently squeeze his hand.
Neither gesture was not lost on those present, but before Molly could say anything, Arthur cleared his throat.
"I'm proud to call you my son," he told Bill. "It's a strong man who can own up to his mistakes, especially when it comes to marriage. I'm very proud of you, and I hope things work out for you both."
"Thanks, Pop," Bill said with a smile.
Molly said nothing, turning back to the stove and bringing a fresh batch of bread to the table.
In this silence, Ron stated he had some duties to attend and did not know when he'd be able to return, but that he would come back as soon as he could, or at least once more before the twins went back to Hogwarts.
Hermione smiled at him. "I wish you weren't so busy, but Justine and Jonathan will be fine. I was planning on taking them to my parents for awhile. So you don't have to worry about them for a few days."
"Good," he said with relief. "Tell your parents I send my best."
"I will."
~(*)~
Ron waited uncertainly in his small flat in Paris. It wasn't particularly special, especially as compared to the Delacoeur estate, but it was warm and cozy.
At least the bed was large, then he chided himself for this thought. He didn't know if she even wanted that right now. It was so soon. Was it too soon? Was she interested in him that way? Perhaps she just liked him as a friend?
But then she had not kissed him as a friend. Ron groaned. He didn't know what to think, except that he had not felt this way in a very long time, if ever.
He'd fallen in love with Hermione in the same way the seasons changed; it had been gradual and seemed perfectly natural and easy and there had been no trepidation or uncertainty or fear. She had made everything easy for him, for them all. It was one of the things he still treasured about her.
This trepidation was all new to him. Was new love always this way?
Suddenly his Floo lit up and Fleur stepped through and all his thoughts seemed to be swept away as the sight of her made his breath hitch, and the light, pleasant scent of her made his heart start to race, and the look in her eyes made his groin tighten.
"Ron."
He reached for her and all thought fled.
She was in his arms, kissing him, and he realized in a dim portion of his mind that she had launched herself onto him, and that he was holding her small body up in his well-muscled arms. She barely weighed anything, it seemed to him.
She had her hands buried in his hair, pulling it in her passion, and her kisses to his lips were interspersed with nibbles and outright bites, and he was surprised to find himself responding to this fury, this heated fervour. Neither of his past lovers had ever been so aggressive, so responsive.
He pulled free of her lips to make his way down the pale column of her perfumed neck and gently nipped, then sucked, then bit and sucked again and felt her pulling even harder at his hair, crying out.
"Come on," he managed to say in a husky voice and moved toward his bedroom.
She did not let him go and he found himself perching her atop his dresser, still kissing and nipping and holding her. She responded in kind, yanking at his hair and panting in her need.
"Ron!"
"A minute."
He reached between them, intending on undoing his trouser buttons, but his fingers felt moist warmth and hair and he found his hand slipping between her thighs and stroking at the damp opening there.
"Bloody hell, Fleur..."
"Yes, Ron! Oui!"
"Crikey..."
He shoved at his pants, popping open his buttons and freeing his rearing erection. He pressed it to her, feeling her dampness coating the head of his cock.
"Fleur!"
"Je suis prêt! À mes entrailles! Ron!"
He had no idea what she said, but her words inflamed him nonetheless and he shifted his hips back, holding his aching cock, then shoved forward, slipping into her with one swift stroke.
"Ron! Ron! Mon dieu, tu es si grand!"
She clutched at him, one hand still holding and pulling at his hair, the other digging nails into his shoulder and her moist opening grasping at him, and he was lost.
"Fleur!" He thrust madly into her, swiveling his hips occasionally to grind inside her and she screamed.
"Oui! Oui! Baises-moi! Baises-moi!"
"Shite," he grunted, feeling his balls tightening up. He ground up against her, hard, and she spasmed around him as the base of his huge cock rubbed against her own engorged clit.
Then he pulled back and began to thrust again, hard, rapid little jabs that moved him closer to orgasm, even as she yanked at his hair, throwing his head back, and her nails dug into his skin. He felt her small lips at his neck even as he felt himself start to contract and she bit him as he gasped and began to fill her with his seed.
"God! God! Oh, Fleur!"
"Mon dieu! Mon homme!"
They both ground to a slow halt, trembling in the aftermath. He held her tightly, as she was barely perched on the dresser, and felt the sting of the scratches she had left on his shoulder and back, the throb of the bite on his neck. Good God...
She sighed then, deeply, utterly contented. "Je suis ainsi accompli."
He caught his breath. Then he gently lifted her, pulling free of her, and carried her the few feet to the bed. He placed her down gently, kissing her forehead, her cheeks.
He blushed a little, feeling awkward as he noted she was still dressed except for her rucked up dress and so was he, except for his now flaccid prick dangling from the opening in his trousers.
"Well." He cleared his throat a little, embarrassed.
"You are quite the man, Ron," she said softly. Then she reached up to stroke the bite on his neck. "I am sorry. That will be painful."
He smiled. "That's fine. I... no one has ever done that before. It was a bit of a turn-on, actually."
She lifted a brow. "Non? Jamais?"
His smile broadened. "I can see I'm going to have to learn French."
She smiled at this, too. "They say French is the language of love."
"Then I'll definitely have to learn it."
~(*)~
Their letters gave way, as school reconvened, to passionate weekend trysts, leavened with the occasional chess game.
To Ron's shame and delight, Fleur turned out to have quite the aggressive nature, both in the bedroom and on the chess board, and this excited him greatly. Some days he didn't know whether to be grateful or embarrassed.
To make things even more exciting than they already were, when he lost, he capitulated to her wishes in the bedroom, and vice versa. Still, after a particularly grueling game, whereupon she'd lost, she'd surprised him by asking if he would like to spank her.
Ron had been horrified. For all his travels, he was still very much a proper British gentleman, and a gentleman would not hit a lady, even if she asked.
Which is how he made the discovery that he very much enjoyed being spanked...
"Twelve!"
He tensed as the next swat landed and moaned as he felt his heavy balls jiggling beneath him.
"Thirteen!"
"I can see someone is quite hard already."
He felt those delicate hands, the same ones that were spanking him with such aplomb, grasp his heavy cock and tickle his foreskin.
"Fleur!"
"Ah, non! You are not to speak unless counting."
He nodded, groaning, and accepted the two smart smacks to his butt this engendered.
"Fourteen! Fifteen!"
She grasped and held onto his swollen prick and began to swat him rapidly.
"Oh! Sixteen! Seventeen! E-eighteen!"
He felt himself start to sweat as she milked him with each swat.
"Nineteen! Twenty! Ah!"
"Do not lose count."
"Twenty-one! Twenty-two!" Ron was bellowing now, helpless to fight his reaction, all his feeling on the stunning sparkle of sensation from the swats that was punctuated by the firm, astonishing pleasure of her firm, practiced grip stroking the full length of him, and followed immediately by another swat, never giving him respite from either pleasure and he felt his calves tighten, and his feet tense. "Twenty-three! Twenty-four! Twenty-five! Twenty-six! TW-AAAAAAAAHHH!"
He screamed as he came over her still stroking hand and spattered the table he leaned against.
His powerful legs were trembling as he straightened and he turned to find her eyeing him and gently licking her hand.
"Dear God, Fleur, you're going to kill me."
She smiled.
"To die of pleasure sounds marvelous."
He groaned, moving to his bed and collapsing on it, utterly spent.
She soon joined him, laying back. To his chagrin, she placed herself where he could not help but see, then spread her legs before him, one slender finger tweaking at her clit as her other hand held her folds open.
"Fleur...!"
"An aperitif," she said huskily. "You can see what you will be having later."
He groaned again, but felt his cock twitch despite himself.
"I can see you wish it. Oh, Ron... there is nothing to be ashamed about. It is sex. We are still young and it is when we should experience it. Ne conviens-tu pas?"
"If that means you're going to kill me with sex, you're right."
She merely smiled, and did not say that, nor did he ever ask whether, Bill had been an accomplished lover, but that after his fateful encounter with Fenrir Greyback, he had been more concerned with his own pleasure, his own pain, and her own desires had been suppressed.
Being with Ron was delightful in more than one way for Fleur. She truly loved him, but she also felt like she was finally catching up with all the things she had wanted to do sexually, but never been able to in her hopeless marriage. Bill had been passionate, then after he was changed, he had been rough and riddled with guilt and sex had never been the same. It had become less an expression of their love and more something they did out of duty, then stopped doing when it became a chore.
It was for this and many, many other reasons that Fleur loved Ron helplessly and with all her heart.
Not to mention, she smiled now as she watched him beginning to harden, he played one hell of a chess game.
~(*)~
Six months later...
"I hear your Dad's getting hitched."
"Yeah," Jonathan was smiling broadly as he waved out the window at Hagrid, before turning back to the inquisitive Julian Snape, who sat by his sister and Terry Wood, Neville Bones and Nigel Finnegan. The fact she had no girl friends did not seem to phase her, and Jonathan shrugged the thought off.
Justine was a bit more demure about the issue.
"Yes. They're getting married next month. Gram is beside herself."
"I can't believe Professor Delacour is going to be your Mum!"
"Well, we're going to be learning Charms from old Flitwick. He's retiring next year, but Dad is gonna pay him to tutor us. The Headmistress won't let her teach her own kids. Says it's against school rules."
"Quite right," Julian said decidedly. Justine poked him on one side and Nigel snorted at his friend's slightly pompous nature which only occasionally peaked out. The rest giggled and Julian subsided.
"But we can still join the chess club she's going to start," Jonathan enthused.
"She plays chess?"
"She and Dad are really good! He taught Justine and me back when, but he doesn't often play with anyone good, but Aun--Pro-- Fleur is amazing. When they play hardly any pieces are still standing. It's a slaughter!"
"I still can't believe she's gonna be your Mum," Neville breathed. "She's so pretty. She has great legs."
"You watch your mouth, Bones!"
"Hey, it's true!"
"Shut up!"
"All right, what is this?"
The entire compartment fell into silence as the Slytherin Prefect stuck his head in.
"Nothing!" they all chorused.
"Well, it better keep on being nothing," he muttered, with a sharp look at his brother, before exiting again.
"Crikey."
"Your brother is scary, Jules."
Julian sighed. "He takes after Dad, or so Mum says. I don't see it, though. Dad has black hair and eyes. Michael is dark blonde and his eyes are grey. I don't look anything like him, either. The only one who took after him is Isolde, poor duck. Good thing she's proud of the nose, 'cause..."
"Well, no one teases her at least," Justine said.
"Yeah, but only 'cause she blew up Torville's nose in first year. No one dared say anything again."
"Did Michael show her that hex?"
"No, Dad did. Mum kinda got mad, but then he said if Izzy wasn't going to be blessed with Mum's nose, then she'd best be ready with his hexes."
"That's sweet. Your dad sounds cool."
"You ever seen the school pictures of him?" asked Terry. "He was right scary-looking."
"Hey, that's my Dad you're talking about."
"Sorry, Jules."
"S'okay." Julian paused, then smiled a little. "You're right. Dad is kind of scary sometimes. Just don't tell him I said so."
Justine smiled. "We won't."
"Yeah, my dad says he's just amazed your dad had kids at all," Jonathan said with innocent charm.
Julian rolled his eyes and Nigel added thoughtfully, "You know, my dad says he always thought your dad was a vampire."
There was silence at this, with the entire group holding their breath, then Julian snorted and began to laugh and the entire compartment erupted into laughter. The mood brightened and the glee and excitement remained with the chattering kids all the way back to London, and what promised to be a bright and happy summer holiday for all.
~(*)~
~ FIN ~
Posted: 2 March 2007