Work Text:
Secret Santa
A gift for GingerCurl
Rated M · Muggle AU · Office AU · Office Secret Santa · Implied Sexual Content · Sexual Humor · Miscommunication
Mutual Pining · Romantic Comedy · Awkward Flirting · IT Guy Ron Weasley · Project Manager Hermione Granger
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
“Come on, Weasley. Your turn.”
Ron turned around in his chair to find Seamus Finnigan holding out a plastic bowl, shaking it slightly as he shoved it under Ron’s nose.
The office Secret Santa draw.
Mandatory.
Ron sighed and reached into the bowl, swirling the slips around as if it mattered, then plucked one out. Seamus hovered, rocking a bit on his heels, his nose up and poised to peek as soon as Ron got to unfolding.
Ron promptly tucked the blasted thing under his mousepad without even looking at it.
“Secret Santa, mate.”
Seamus rolled his eyes. “Whatever. This is why nobody likes coming to your IT dungeon, just so you know.”
“Brilliant.” Ron grinned. “Plan’s working then.”
“Ha!” Seamus clapped Ron on the back rather obnoxiously. “Good one, mate!” And wandered over to his next victim.
“Katie! Secret Santa time! If you want to draw my name, I’ve folded the corner a wee bit…” and with that, he became Katie’s problem.
Ron retrieved his slip, looking around to make sure the menace hadn’t reappeared. Last year, he had made the mistake of letting Seamus see his match. He’d drawn Lavender Brown, a gorgeous, perky blonde from over in Marketing, and Seamus had spent the entire week firing off innuendos at him.
“Have you given it to her yet, mate?”
“Don’t forget to wrap it up, yeah?”
Ron might have considered going to HR if that wasn’t Seamus Finnigan's own department.
He unfolded the paper. One look at the name and his stomach made an imitation a malfunctioning lift: an abrupt rise followed by a sharp drop.
Hermione Granger.
Project Manager. Scarily competent. And the woman he’d been secretly pining after for the last six months – ever since she’d stormed down to his desk demanding to know why her project management software access had vanished. Ron had done a poor job of not staring slackjawed at her while she explained in rapid-fire exactly how this was going to derail her timeline.
He hadn’t had the chance to fully recover when, the next morning, she returned with a latte and a muffin and an apology. Not just any latte and muffin. His order. Chai latte and a blueberry muffin. Exactly right. He was still trying to work out how she’d known.
He’d managed a grand total of three conversations with her since then. Two were about printer permissions. One where he’d sat in the breakroom eating an egg salad sandwich and saying “Right” and “Huh” over and over while she explained Gantt charts to him.
And now he had to buy her a gift.
Last year, he’d gotten Lavender a pair of fluffy socks and a gift card, his sister, Ginny’s, advice. Lavender had seemed pleased enough. But that wouldn’t do for Hermione. Not even close.
Ron needed this to mean something. A starting point. Proof he was a functioning human being capable of discussing other things besides project software and printer queues.
One gift. One chance.
And an incredibly tight spending limit.
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
Ron was still staring at Hermione’s name like it might transform into a good gift idea when a familiar voice behind him made him jump.
“Weasley.”
Ron spun in his chair to find exactly what he expected to see: Draco Malfoy, arms crossed, immaculately dressed, and looking down at him over his nose.
“Malfoy. What are you doing down here?”
“I drew you in Secret Santa.” Draco shrugged. “What do I get you?”
“Christ, Malfoy. It’s meant to be a surprise.”
Draco smirked. “Would you like me to surprise you? I can.”
“...No. Absolutely not. Just pick up a Cadbury tub or something.”
“No good. That can’t be more than what, a tenner?”
“Okay, two then.”
Draco nodded. “Done.” He stuffed his hands into his impressively tailored pockets. “Still on for seven?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Need me to bring anything?”
“Nah,” Draco said, brushing non-existent specks off his shirtsleeve. “Just maybe change out of your work clothes this time before you come over? Harry thinks you’re overdoing it on the overtime. He worries.”
Ron rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted, ruining the effect. If anyone had told him a year ago that his best mate would be dating the most insufferable man in Finance, and that Ron would actually like the bloke, he’d have assumed they were delirious. Then came last year’s company holiday party, where Ron had dragged Harry along for moral support. Draco spotted Harry standing near the chocolate fountain, and the rest was history.
Draco’s attention shifted to the paper still residing in Ron’s grasp.
“Who’d you get?”
“No one,” Ron cringed, knowing that it had come out far too quickly, and now Draco knew he was bothered.
“‘No one’ has a very long name.”
Ron sighed and showed him, knowing it was pointless trying to hide anything from Draco.
Draco leaned close. “Ah, Granger. Project Manager extraordinaire.”
Ron’s ears lit up.
Draco patted him on the shoulder, the way one might pat a golden retriever. “You’ll sort it. Harry says you become surprisingly competent under pressure.”
“Did he, now?”
“Something like that. Just try not to combust when you speak with her. It’s really obvious, and it’s not flattering.” Draco clapped Ron’s shoulder once more in an extra patronizing way, before pushing himself up and straightening his waistcoat. “Well, I’m off. The books won’t cook themselves. See you tonight, Weasley!” And then he was gone.
Ron dropped his head onto his desk, causing his drinking bird desk toy to give a shudder. Its beak dipped once into the blue water, as if bowing in condolence.
“Brilliant,” he muttered into his keyboard.
He was so screwed.
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
That evening, Ron stood in front of Draco and Harry’s Kensington flat door, awkwardly shifting his weight from side to side. He’d been debating whether or not to knock for nearly a full minute before his problem solved itself when the door was yanked open to reveal Draco, looking both judgmental and confused.
“Weasley, why are you haunting the front steps? You have a key, yes?”
“Well… yeah, but I didn’t know if I should knock. In case—”
“In case Harry and I were naked on the kitchen floor?”
“What? No! What the hell, Malfoy?”
The truth was, even though Ron and Harry had been best mates since primary school, and Ron was closer to Harry than some of his own brothers, it felt more like Draco’s place than Harry’s. Ron and Harry had lived together until Harry had moved in with Draco, and Ron still lived in the house Harry had inherited, renting it for a pittance (Harry’s idea, not Ron’s).
Draco’s expression relaxed as he stepped back to let Ron in. “I’m messing with you, Weasley. I don’t shag on the floor. That would be disgusting.” Draco took his coat and hung it on the designated hook. “You’re invited. You have a key. Use it. You’re welcome here.”
“But if you’re not invited, you might want to knock first...” Harry popped into the entryway to greet his oldest and best mate, three glasses of wine in his hands and a huge grin on his face. “You know, just in case Draco and I are–”
“He already made that joke.”
“I already made that joke.”
Draco and Ron echoed in unison.
Harry blinked, then laughed. “Right. Of course he did.”
Dinner was good. Excellent, even. Harry had grown up cooking every night for the terrible relatives who had raised him, and Draco had apparently received top marks in home economics at his posh boarding school. Together, they were unbeatable.
Afterwards, Harry put the kettle on, and Draco made a fire in the fireplace, and the three of them settled in with their mugs of tea. It was the most peaceful Ron had felt all day.
It lasted all of thirty seconds.
“So,” Draco said, stirring his cup idly, “Secret Santa?”
Ron closed his eyes. Of course.
“Who’ve you drawn this year?” Harry asked, sensing by Draco’s tone and Ron’s reaction that there was a story here.
“Hermione Granger,” Draco spoke immediately before Ron could deflect.
“Oh! Is that the one you fancy?”
Ron sputtered. “I… What? I don’t… Who said…”
Draco took a sip of his tea as he waited for Ron to calm his tits. “Please. It’s obvious.”
“How so?”
Draco leaned forward and removed his phone from his back pocket. He scrolled through his screen silently for a bit until his face lit up when he landed on what he was looking for.
“Ah ha.”
He leaned across the tea table and handed it over to Ron.
Ron frowned at the screen. It was a photo of Ron, leaning awkwardly against a printer, speaking with a curvy woman with brown curls and tanned skin. Hermione. His ears were completely red, and his gaze was fixed on her face, his eyes filled with—
“Oi!” Ron exclaimed, cutting off his own thoughts. “Why the bloody hell is this on your phone?” He tossed the phone underhand back at Draco, not wanting to look any longer.
“So I could show Harry.”
“Show Harry what?!”
“How besotted his best mate is. It’s not like you were going to tell him.”
Ron looked guilty. “First of all - no. Second - delete that.”
“Absolutely not,” Draco replied, deeply satisfied with himself. “I’m saving it for your wedding.”
Ron groaned into his mug as he drained half of his tea. “So what if I— she’s brilliant! Anyone would stare.”
Harry shook his head. “Not like that, they wouldn’t. Did you know your ears turned Alizarin crimson?”
Ron stared, horrified.
“We color-matched them,” Draco added, unhelpfully.
Ron slumped, thoroughly defeated. “Well, what am I supposed to get her then? A gift card says, ‘I couldn’t be arsed,’ and fluffy socks say, ‘I’ve put zero thought into this.’”
Draco crossed one leg over his knee and leaned back into the sofa. “Spend the full amount on one item. Don’t try and gift her a load of cheap shite.”
Harry frowned. “You could always go above the limit. It’s not like anybody would know, and if you like her—”
“That makes him look desperate,” Draco cut in.
“So be caring but not desperate. Let me just jot that down.” Ron sighed in frustration.
“Alright then.” Harry leaned forward. “Think about what you know about her and go from there.”
Ron opened his mouth, but before he could add to the conversation, Draco cut in yet again, because he could not help himself. “She was a bit overbearing back in school.”
“You went to school with her?” Ron gaped.
“Oh, did you not know that?” Draco shrugged, taking another drag of his tea. “She was top of our class, brilliant at everything. It seemed like she didn’t have many friends. Half of the school resented her because she was such a swot, and the other half stuck their noses up because she was there on scholarship.”
“That’s awful!” Harry’s face was twisted with empathy.
“Even I was a bit of a prick to her,” Draco continued. “Once we found out we were going to be working together, we sat down and hashed it out. She’s actually our favourite up in Finance. Always under budget, that one.”
Draco sensed he was losing his audience.
“Anyway, she’s been pretty intense since she was a kid. I don’t think she knows how to relax.”
“There you go, mate.” Harry had finished his tea and set his mug down. “Get her some kind of gift that will help her relax.”
“It might be difficult within your budget,” Draco added. “I think if you write something sincere in the card, that might be your best bet. Ask her to dinner, even.”
“I thought you said he’d look desperate if he went over budget. Dinner for two sounds well over budget.”
Draco chuckled. “Rule number one in Finance: stay within the budget. Rule number two: there’s always a way around that.”
Harry laughed, but Ron was miles away. Something to help her relax, a thoughtful card where he would invite her to dinner. Yes, that idea had legs.
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
Ron arrived back home late that night, arms piled high with leftovers from Harry and Draco. This was a common occurrence between the three of them. Growing up, Harry had only been allowed leftovers to eat, anything he cooked fresh went straight into the gullets of his aunt, uncle, and cousin, while he ate whatever was scraped from their plates the night before. He’d vowed as an adult to never touch leftover food again. When he and Ron had roomed together this had worked perfectly, as Ron had grown up in an ‘it’s even better the second day!’ family. Meanwhile, Draco likely hadn’t even heard of the concept of leftovers until he’d started dating Harry.
It was a game they played. Ron pretended that he didn’t know that Harry and Draco cooked extra for him on purpose, and Harry and Draco pretended that they didn’t know that Ron knew. Harry got to stop worrying about how his best mate was doing now that he lived alone, Draco got to stop listening to Harry’s fretting, and Ron got the best deal of all: their cooking.
He sorted the leftover containers in his refrigerator, then sat at his kitchen table and booted up his laptop.
Online shopping felt like the safest route to stay within his budget and get Hermione something decent. He opened his browser and typed in his search: gift ideas for stressed woman
The first result: Gifts for Stressed Wife
He hesitated. Scrolled. Nearly chickened out. Then, with reckless bravery, he clicked.
And immediately regretted it.
A candle that read ‘I hope this smells better than the shit I put you through ❤️’.
A pink heart keychain stamped with ‘I hope your day is as nice as your butt’.
A mug that declared ‘IF YOU THINK I’M AWESOME YOU SHOULD MEET MY HUSBAND’.
“What kind of shite husband…” Ron muttered. No wonder their wives were stressed.
He was about to start over with a new search when something at the bottom of the page caught his eye.
A massage chair.
A massage chair which was twenty times his budget.
Still…
He’d seen Hermione more than once rubbing her neck after hours bent over timelines and project plans. If anything screamed “I really need a massage,” it was Hermione Granger’s overworked shoulders.
Maybe not a whole chair, but something smaller. Something portable that she could keep at her desk. Something that said I noticed you needed a break.
Something a little more personal.
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
Monday morning arrived too soon, as always. Ron got to work a bit early, flopped in his chair and started emptying his bag out on his desk to prepare for his day. First, his laptop from the zippered sleeve compartment, his tupperware containing the last of the leftovers, water bottle, blue light specs, and finally, from the very bottom, the padded delivery envelope containing his hopes and dreams.
Or, less dramatically, the personal massager he’d ordered next-day delivery for Hermione.
He ripped open the perforated tab at the top and set the box on his desk. He’d spent the night checking reviews, and although this one had only four stars, it seemed like the bad reviews boiled down to skill issues.
He was absolutely sure that Hermione was clever enough to not break the thing by trying to unscrew something that was not screwed in, or try and use it in the dark or underwater (what was that all about). A few reviews mentioned that it was really powerful, but Hermione always looked really stressed, so he’d rather take the chance on the jackhammer than something that turned out to be too wimpy and wouldn’t get the job done.
Now, all that he had to do was stop at Tesco on his way home and pick up a nice card and gift bag. There were many things that Ron Weasley could do very well with his hands, wrapping gifts was not one of them.
A throat cleared behind him.
“What. Is that?”
Ron swiveled in his chair. Draco was standing behind him holding his morning mug of tea, his eyes confusingly wide.
“Hermione’s gift!” Ron tried and failed to not sound too chuffed with himself. “Came faster than expected.”
“I’m sure it did…” Draco muttered out of the side of his mouth.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Draco cleared his throat. “Weasley, what exactly… is… that is, what do you think…”
Ron looked taken aback. “What do you mean? It’s a personal massager. Says right there on the box.” Ron tapped at the words. “It’s for stress. You said to get something that will help her relax.”
“Oh, that’ll help her relax alright.” Draco huffed a short laugh.
“Is it… not a good gift?”
“It’s brilliant.” Draco clapped him on the shoulder. “You should probably put that away though. Off your desk.” Ron’s eyebrows shoved themselves together, but Draco answered his ‘why’ before it could leave his mouth. “In case she wanders down here. Don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
Ron nodded. “Right. Good call. Thanks, mate.” Ron opened his bottom drawer, and put the box inside, arranging some papers on top for good measure. “So, do you think she’ll like it then?”
“Weasley. She’s going to love it.”
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
The next night, Ron found himself in Tesco staring down an aisle of Christmas cards. Too many options. He finally picked a relatively safe option; the front said “Happy Christmas”, the inside “Hope your holiday season is filled with lots of FABULOUS ways to celebrate!”
Perfect. Heartfelt but not sappy.
He grabbed a gift bag, too. He’d left the massager at work, but was able to eyeball the bags and pick one that seemed roughly the right size. There were a few options in the size he needed, but he thought back to how Hermione would use a lint roller on her slacks every day when she arrived at work, and narrowed his choices down to one with a grumpy orange cat with a Santa hat and another with a happy, smiling dog with antlers.
He decided that on the ‘dog mum’ to ‘cat lady’ spectrum, she was more likely to be the latter and left the pooch on the wall.
At the till, the cashier took one look at the gift bag in his hand and let out the smallest sigh. She reached under the counter and retrieved a packet of white tissue paper from her ‘blokes who don’t know any better’ stash, all without breaking eye contact.
“Oh. Do I… erm… need that?”
“Yes,” she said, already scanning it. “You do.”
Ron chuckled awkwardly. “I swear, I’m smarter at my actual job.”
She didn’t laugh, instead doing a terrific impression of Ginny’s ‘you’re not funny, Ron’ face.
Ron gave her a tight smile and nod, and got the hell out of there, pulling his hat down over his reddened ears.
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
Friday morning arrived with more cheer than Monday, as always, but Ron felt an extra layer of nerves under it. Everyone would be handing out their gifts today, which meant that today was the day that Hermione would read the card where he’d asked her to dinner. He’d kept the message straightforward, hoping she liked the gift, hoping she would join him for dinner. He’d written the message, then shoved the card in its decorative envelope and sealed it so that he couldn’t keep staring at it.
He made it to his desk early, pulled the box from his drawer, and slipped it into the gift bag. He grabbed a sharpie from his desk and wrote her name on the attached tag, adding a few ‘hugs’ for good measure. Then, he pulled out the tissue paper.
The tissue paper was a bastard.
He tried laying the sheets over the top of the box, but it drooped sadly in a way Ron could feel was wrong.
He tried stuffing a whole wad inside, which had the overall effect of making the bag look like a bag of rubbish.
He tried setting the box on top of the stack of sheets, and setting the whole thing inside, but none of the tissue was even visible that way.
He was contemplating if it would look better or worse to just leave it out when Katie appeared as if she could smell his incompetence from across the room.
She watched him smooth a single sheet over the gift like he was tucking it in for a nap.
“Oh, Ron.” She rescued the paper from his hands. “No.”
She showed him how to pinch the paper in the middle, and shake it out with a flick, slipping it down into the bag so it puffed up just right. Katie tucked a few more sheets in, adjusted one last corner, and that’s when she noticed the box inside.
Her eyes widened, and she grabbed the tag to hastily figure out to whom Ron would be giving such a gift. She read it, paused, and peeked back in the bag before letting out a low, appreciative whistle.
“Well, then.” She held the bag out to him. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Weasley.”
Ron stared at her, confused. “What, the paper?”
“No,” Katie said, with a wicked smirk on her face. “The present.”
“Oh! Right.” He tried to play it cool. “Figured she could use something relaxing.”
Katie’s smile widened, like she was in on a joke he wasn’t. “I’ll bet.”
Ron frowned, completely lost. But Katie had already returned to her desk and to her morning tea, looking very entertained for reasons he didn’t understand.
He shrugged and retrieved the sealed envelope from his desk and added it to the gift bag. He took a deep breath and stood. The bag was sorted and the card was inside. Time to put his plan in motion.
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
Ron spotted Hermione heading back toward her department, tablet hugged to her chest, curls already escaping her bun from a busy morning. He stepped into her path before he could lose his nerve.
“Hermione,” he said, grateful that his voice didn’t crack.
She looked startled momentarily as she stopped, but then smiled a warm smile at him. “Hi, Ron.”
That smile could end him.
“I, um…” He thrust the gift bag toward her gently. “Happy Secret Santa.”
“Oh! Are you my Santa?” Her eyes lit up. “Thank you. You didn’t have to. Well, I suppose you did.” She laughed, and Ron felt as if he was standing on sand. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable. He shoved a hand in his pocket and attempted to put on a cool affect.
“Thought I’d do it properly.”
She took the bag from him and looked down at it, thoughtfully, almost shyly, then looked back up at him. “Can I open it now?”
“No.” There was the squeak in his voice that he had expected earlier. “I mean, maybe wait a bit? There’s a card. I wrote words in it. Later would be better.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “Words, hmm?”
He was one hundred percent sure that his ears had shot past Alizarin crimson and were fully maroon. “Yes. Absolutely.”
Absolutely? Ugh, get it together, Ron.
Hermione pressed her lips together, trying not to grin. “Alright. I’ll save it.”
Ron tried not to stare too closely at her. The faint smell of her perfume. The small crease in her nose as she smiled. The way she leaned in a little when she talked to him...
“Are you doing anything exciting this weekend?” she asked, fiddling with the ribbon handle of the bag.
“Maybe.” He smiled. “Nothing confirmed yet. How about you? Still buried in the Wallenby project?”
“No, finally got that sorted. Just needed a little massaging.”
Ron choked on the air, sending him into a minor coughing fit. It didn’t help when Hermione patted his back before rubbing her hand up and down, trying to help him through it.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, never better,” he croaked, standing fully and doing one last clear of his throat. He looked behind him briefly. “I… erm… better get back to work then.”
Hermione gave him one last soft smile. “Thank you, Ron,” she said softly. “Really.”
He nodded. “Just open it later. When you have a minute.”
“I will. And I will let you know what I think.”
Ron stepped back before he said something ridiculous. “Right. I should go pretend I know things about computers.”
Hermione laughed. “Good luck with that.”
He grinned. “Thanks.”
He waited until he was around the corner to feel like he could safely exhale. Now… to wait.
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
Ron had made a pit stop to the restroom to make sure his ears returned to their normal colour before heading back to his desk. He didn’t even have the chance to sit down properly, let alone open his laptop before Draco appeared, carrying a wrapped gift that was very obviously two gift tubs of chocolate stacked together.
“Happy Christmas, Weasley. Roses and Heroes.”
“Cheers.” Ron nodded, eyeing the neat corners. “Did you manage to wrap this yourself? Because I know damn well Harry can’t.”
“Please.” Draco scoffed. “I’m a grown man.”
“So your mother did it?”
“Obviously.”
“Well, send Narcissa my thanks, then.”
Draco nodded, but did not move. Ron tried to focus on his laptop, but it took only a few moments to realise Draco was still standing there with a very poor attempt at a casual look on his face.
Ron didn’t look up. “I hope you’re not waiting for me to open these. I’m not sharing.”
“Actually,” Draco said, sitting on the edge of Ron’s desk, “I was just curious if you’d given her the gift yet? How did it go?”
“Fine.”
Draco snorted. “Just… fine?”
“I gave it to her and told her to open it later.” Ron sighed. “I asked her out to dinner in the card, and I didn’t want her to open it in front of me and feel pressured to say yes.”
Draco made an impressed hum. “Wow, Weasley, that’s actually very emotionally considerate of you.”
“Always the tone of surprise…” Ron rolled his eyes. “I just hope she likes it.”
“She will,” Draco said immediately.
Ron looked up at him. “You think so?”
“Oh, yes.” Draco nodded seriously. “You’re really going to curl her toes.”
“What?”
“I mean knock her socks off.”
“You’re acting funny… It’s just a twenty-five quid massager, not a bloody diamond. Are you taking the piss?”
“Not at all.” Draco’s mouth twitched. “It’s the sentiment. Sends a message, you know?”
Ron’s ears pinkened. “I hope so. You don’t think it’s too forward, do you?”
Draco lifted his eyebrows.
“I mean… the dinner invitation,” Ron clarified. “We’ve barely spoken.”
“You are underestimating your charm again. It's exhausting for me.”
Ron snorted. “Right, my charm.”
Draco sighed. “Harry truly was not exaggerating about your self-esteem. Tragic, really.”
Ron narrowed his eyes. “You two talk about me?”
Draco pushed off of Ron’s desk, and started away. “Frequently,” he said. “You are endlessly entertaining.”
He lifted his hand in a lazy wave as he disappeared around the corner.
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
Hermione ducked into the small conference room near her team’s hallway, shutting the door behind her. She set the bag on the table, and took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to pretend with nobody else around. She had a massive crush on Ronald Weasley.
The trouble was Ron seemed… painfully shy. Any time she tried to talk to him, his ears went pink, and he lost the ability to speak in full sentences.
She couldn’t deny that her heart had leapt when he approached her and revealed himself to be her Secret Santa. He’d even managed a bit of conversation, though the moment she’d reached for the tissue paper, he’d retreated straight back into shyness, insisting that she open it later.
Still, she wasn’t discouraged. She could thank him for the gift and hopefully use that as a way to talk to him properly. He didn’t seem disinterested, not at all. If anything, his shyness around her was starting to feel like a sign that he might like her too.
Hermione pulled the card Ron had mentioned out of the bag. It was heavy cardstock, and it felt nice in her hands. It’s not that she needed an expensive greeting card, not when the message inside was what was important, but the fact that he’d bought her one made her smile anyway. She opened the seal, and began to read.
Hermione,
I hope I did a good job picking out your gift. I thought hard about something you could REALLY use.
Hermione felt herself blush.
Of course, he would be thoughtful. Her instincts about him had been right on.
And I know it’s technically out of budget, and I know how much you hate when projects go over budget, but I hope you’ll let me take you out to dinner, anyway.
Dinner. He had asked her to dinner. A date, no question. She had been right — his shyness was nerves, not disinterest. And this… this was bold. Clearly, he wanted things to change between them.
Hopefully, you won’t need your gift afterwards!
Yours truly,
Ron Weasley
Hermione’s heart was ready to beat out of her chest. She sat in one of the conference room chairs, certain that her knees would give out if she stood much longer.
She reached for the bag, and began pulling away the tissue paper artfully displayed from its opening, still smiling to herself. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. Something cosy, maybe?
She put her hand in, lifted the box out, and froze.
The picture on the front of the box showed a sleek, black, wand-shaped device which was familiar in shape to her. But… surely not…
No. Ron would never.
Her heart sank a bit when she considered that maybe the whole thing was a gag, that the box was part of an embarrassing prank. She opened the box, half expecting to find a different gift and a note saying “gotcha!”
Nope.
That is a vibrator.
She closed the box again and sat very still.
Maybe he thinks it’s a… back massager?
She picked up the box again and read the packaging.
“Strongest Vibration Power”
“Magic Stress Away”
“Travel-Friendly Pleasure Technology”
Her cheeks went cherry-red. She shook her head.
She picked up the card and opened it again.
…Something you could REALLY use
Take you to dinner…
Hopefully, you won’t need your gift afterwards!
“Oh my God…” Hermione gasped.
There’s no way.
He absolutely knows.
Ron Weasley bought me a vibrator on purpose.
Adrenaline surged through her. This was bold, much bolder than she had assumed he was capable of. It was risky too, this kind of gift… well, he could easily be fired if he’d given it to the wrong person. Someone who wasn’t interested in him. Someone who wasn’t currently squeezing her thighs together picturing him picking this gift out with her in mind.
She smiled a devilish smile, packed her gift back into the bag with the card, hands shaking.
She would have to be sure to thank him properly.
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
Ron was pretending to read his emails when he heard her voice behind him.
“Ron?”
He spun in his chair, way too fast to pretend to be casual. Hermione stood there with the gift bag in her hands, looking both nervous and pleased.
“Hermione. Hi. You opened it?”
“I did,” she said, briefly biting her lower lip. “It was very… thoughtful.”
Ron let out a sigh of relief. “Brilliant. I wasn’t sure, you know, if it was the sort of thing you’d actually use.”
Hermione’s eyes widened for a second. “I will… use it, I mean.” She hesitated, looking around discreetly to see if anyone else was within earshot, and lowered her voice. “It’s definitely the type of gift that will make me think of you every time I use it.”
Ron made a strangled noise before clearing his throat. This was going much better than he ever could have hoped.
“Oh. Wow. Really?” He was sure he was grinning like an idiot, and could only hope he at least looked like a charming idiot. “I got it for you so you could feel good. I didn’t expect to be thought of, you know, while you’re using it.”
His ears were on fire.
Hermione’s blush deepened. “Well. You picked it out with such care. I’m sure it will be very… effective.”
There was a silence that was threatening to turn awkward when Hermione perked up.
“Oh!” She smiled. “And dinner. You asked me to dinner.”
Ron nodded. “Truly, no pressure, only if you want to.”
“I very much want.”
Something in her tone made his heart race.
“Tonight?” she asked, eyes hopeful.
“Yeah, tonight. Brilliant. Six?”
“Better make it seven. My cat eats at six, and he’s a terror if I try to switch that up on him.” Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry. That sounded ridiculous. I’m not a crazy cat lady, I swear.”
“Not at all.” Ron chuckled. “I guessed you liked cats. That’s why I picked that bag.”
“Oh, Ron.” Hermione couldn’t help herself. Despite the risque nature of her gift, she had never felt so seen.
The pinkness of his ears finally made its way to his cheeks.
“Seven it is.”
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
They chose a little Italian place near her flat. Cosy inside and not too pretentious. Ron arrived twenty minutes early, and spent the entire time seated at a table wiping his palms on his trousers. He got one last swipe in just as Hermione appeared in the entryway.
She threaded her way through the crowded tables to join him, her smile lighting up her face.
“Hi,” she said as she reached the table.
Ron stood quickly, bumping the table with his knee and having to steady it before any more water sloshed from their goblets. “Hi. You look–” fantastic, incredible, so hot “–really nice.”
“Thank you, Ron. So do you.” Hermione took off her coat and draped it neatly on the back of her chair. “I hope you weren’t waiting long?”
“No, no! I just got here.” Ron sat back down, hoping his ears were behaving.
They browsed the menus, careful small talk about pasta shapes and sauces. Hermione chose the Tagliatelle Papalina. Ron ordered the Linguine alle Vongole, which earned him a quick flicker of confusion from her.
When the waiter collected their menus and left them alone again, Ron cleared his throat. “Busy day?”
“It wasn’t too bad.” Hermione rested her chin in her hand, eyes bright and fixed on him. “Though I did spend most of it thinking about… my gift.”
Ron felt his pulse in his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard. “Oh. Yeah?”
Hermione bit her bottom lip, looking up at Ron through her lashes. “It was very thoughtful, Ron. Something to help me unwind, and dinner to boot. That’s so… bold of you.”
Ron mentally thanked Draco for steering him toward the idea. Who knew twenty-five quid and a bit of nerve could get this kind of response? Although, there was something in her tone that made Ron feel a bit wrong-footed, like he was missing something.
He shook away the feeling. “Well, you know what they say: fortune favours the bold.”
“I bet it does.” Hermione nearly purred.
Ron looked at her as if she was a very sexy puzzle that he was trying to solve.
The waiter once again arrived at their table with fresh wine for both of them: red for her, white for him, breaking the moment.
They chatted until their food arrived, about what Hermione got for her Secret Santa (a pair of woolen mittens for Viktor in sales, which made his stomach twist with jealousy), work stuff, and gossiping about if the couple seated near the kitchen were a father and daughter, or a man with his far too young girlfriend.
Dinner was delicious, and Ron ate heartily. Hermione seemed happy. This night could not have gone better.
“So…” Hermione broke his thoughts, setting down her wine glass. “What did you have planned after dinner?”
Ron’s brain blinked. For after dinner, he’d planned ‘telly and couch’. “Uh. Anything you want?”
Hermione’s smile turned wicked. Under the table, he felt her stockinged foot brush his ankle, then slowly trace up his calf. Ron nearly launched out of his seat.
“Are you doing that on purpose?” he squeaked, then cringed. Smooth, Ron.
“I thought I was being obvious,” Hermione chuckled.
“You’re being very obvious,” Ron managed, flustered and thrilled and a little terrified. “I just… want to make sure I’m reading your signals right.”
Hermione leaned closer, her foot continuing its work under the table. “I think you sent a pretty clear signal this morning.”
Ron stared blankly. “I did?”
“With my gift.”
Ron’s face screwed up in confusion. “The neck massager?”
Hermione froze.
Her foot, her face, even her breathing. She was like a statue in front of him. Ron waited for her to laugh, or for any clue at all about what was going on.
Hermione’s face turned a fantastic shade of Alizarin crimson.
“You… think it’s… for your neck?” Hermione whispered, voice cracking on the last word.
“Is it… not?”
Hermione’s hands flew to her cheeks. “I have to go.”
“What? Why?” Ron reached out as she pushed back her chair. “Hermione—”
“I just… I need air… I have to go…” She was breathing too fast, eyes wide with horror, already halfway to the door.
Then she froze. Turned. Marched straight back to the table, blushing obscenely.
“My shoe,” she croaked.
She bent to retrieve it, wrenched it on, and bolted once more.
Ron stared, momentarily stunned, before fumbling with his wallet, tossing his card on the table, throwing on his coat, and running out the door after her.
She hadn’t made it far. He saw her disappear down the alleyway next to the restaurant. He reached her quickly, her legs being quite a bit shorter than his.
“Hermione, wait!”
She stopped, but didn’t look at him. Her shoulders were tight and shaking.
“I should have known,” she said, voice cracking. “I should have known you weren’t into me like that.”
Ron’s heart was pounding. “What? Yes, I am! I’m very into you!”
She let out a small, pathetic laugh. “No you’re not. You ordered clams.”
Ron blinked. Hard. “I’m sorry… what?”
She didn’t seem to hear him. “I should have known you didn’t mean to give me a bloody sex toy for office Secret Santa!”
Ron’s whole body stiffened, and adrenaline surged through him. “You- wait… Hermione, you thought I bought you a vibrator?”
She turned on him, fists clenched at her sides. “No, Ron! You did! You unequivocally bought me a vibrator.”
Silence.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh. So if you could do me the favour of letting me go home and drink out of my box of wine with my cat until I pass out, that would be lovely.”
Ron didn’t answer. His eyes had turned dark.
Hermione’s eyebrows pulled together. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Ron took a step closer. “You said yes anyway.”
“What?”
“You thought I intentionally bought you a sex toy,” he said, closing the last bit of distance between them. “And you still wanted to go out with me.”
“Ron, I—”
“That’s not embarrassing,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Hermione melted.
Ron glanced back at the restaurant, then back at her, his courage taking over. “How about I go inside and grab my card… we nip into Boots for a toothbrush since I had the clams… and then you take me home to meet your cat?”
“Now that,” Hermione whispered, “is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Ron smiled at her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She exhaled as his hand found hers, their cold fingers intertwining.
Tonight hadn’t gone to plan, but it was about to go much, much better.
───────※ · ※ · ※ · ※ · ※───────
The next night, Ron had plans with Harry and Draco for supper. He let himself in and made his way to the parlour.
“Honeys, I’m home!”
Draco looked up from the sofa. “Look who finally figured out how keys worked. I take it from your sickeningly cheerful demeanour that your date went well?”
“What date? Ron had a date?” Harry emerged grinning from the kitchen carrying a tray of canapés.
Ron pointed at Draco. “You’re a dick.” But the way he was beaming ruined the effect of his words.
Harry set the tray down and sat next to his best friend. “Tell us everything.”
Ron dropped into the armchair nearest the hearth. “Well. We’re… together.”
Harry clapped him on the shoulder. Draco clapped his hands together twice in a faux applause.
“I knew you had it in you, Weasley.”
“Yeah? Then why didn’t you warn me?”
“Warn you about what?” Harry asked, leaning forward to grab one of the pea and prawn crostini’s.
Ron aimed a flat look at Draco. “About the… nature of the gift I bought her.”
Harry blinked. “Nature of the—?”
“He bought her a vibrator,” Draco supplied, entirely too casually.
Harry nearly dropped his canapé. “Ron!”
“I didn’t know!” Ron threw his hands in the air in defence. “I thought it was for her neck!”
“And you didn’t tell him?” Harry turned to his boyfriend. “Draco, she could have gone straight to HR and got Ron fired!”
“Harry, Seamus is our HR.”
“Oh. Right, then.”
“Anyway, back to you.” Ron pointed at Draco accusingly. “You obviously knew what it was—”
“Obviously.”
“So, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Simple,” Draco leaned forward and lifted his own canapé from the tray, “women like Granger… brilliant, over-wound, cat ladies who run their department at work like the Royal Navy… they are always freaks. Always. I knew she’d be into it.” He popped the prawn crostini inelegantly into his mouth.
“And what do you know about over-wound cat ladies, dear?” Harry chortled.
Draco only shrugged, as his mouth was still full.
“You’re a dick,” Ron repeated.
Draco swallowed and wiped his mouth with a monogrammed napkin. “Ok, and I was right. You’re welcome.”
“Draco…” Harry started.
“Nah, mate, it’s alright.” Ron waved him off. “He was right.”
Harry’s eyes twinkled. “So. It went well?”
Ron threw himself back against the sofa. “Mate, she… she showed me how it works. On herself. So I’ll never mistake it for anything else again.”
Harry choked. “Oh, my god.”
“She even used it on me!” Ron added, too delighted to filter himself. “Did you know you could do that? On a bloke?”
“Yes.”
“Obviously.”
They answered in tandem.
“Well, cheers to you both then.” Ron laughed, lifting an imaginary glass in an imaginary toast. He sighed dreamily as he leaned his head back to rest on the sofa and stare blissfully at the ceiling.
“I can’t wait to bring her around for dinner.” He sighed. “You’re going to love her.”
An oven timer went off in the kitchen.
Harry brightened. “Perfect. That’ll be the stew.”
Ron sat up, grinning. “My favourite stew?”
“Someone’s gotta make sure you’re eating properly,” Harry called over his shoulder as he headed back into the kitchen.
Ron relaxed again against the sofa and sighed. Warm flat, good food, best mates nearby, and Hermione, who’d given him the best gift of all when she’d said ‘yes’ to dinner. To him.
“Life’s good,” he murmured.
Draco stood to follow Harry into the kitchen, patting Ron on the head as he passed. “Life is always better when you’re getting laid.”
Ron laughed. He couldn’t argue.
Yeah. Life was good.
And it was only going to get better.