She was pure like
No one could ever stain
The memory of my angel
Could never cause me pain
Years go by I'm lookin'
through a girly magazine
And there's my homeroom angel on the pages in-betweenMy blood runs cold
My memory has just been sold
My angel is the centerfold
Angel is the centerfold
Ron Weasley sat in a small café in London with a quickly cooling cup of tea in front of him. His colleague was late. Again.
He flipped his palm pilot case open and groaned when he saw an e-mail from her. As usual, something had come up and she would just have to meet him later via conference chat online.
He never thought he’d find himself living in Muggle London. He was beginning to regret it. It was far more hassle than the money as a barrister was worth.
He gulped his cup of tea down and winced as he felt a pain in his chest. He’d never had that symptom as a child. As a matter of fact, his mother was always amazed at the speed he could pack away food at.
Well, he certainly was no longer a child. He was glad Hermione had talked him into accompanying her to Oxford. He had done well, fallen in love with his work, and made a name for himself.
Unfortunately, Hermione had found another path and ultimately they had fallen out of touch with each other.
Ron picked up his bowler and tapped it on top his head. He gathered his things and started fastening the black buttons on his mac. It had drizzled slightly this morning and it was dry now, but the clouds looked ominous. He picked up the ivory handled umbrella Clara and the children had given him for last Christmas. It had his wand securely hidden within the handle.
Clever girl, even if she was a Muggle.
He rose just as the thunder started. He snapped his umbrella open and made his way to the tube.
As he approached the vendor he tried to look cross. This vendor was always trying to pawn off his newest girlie magazines, but he was the closest and Ron was already running late.
“Your Gazette, sir,” said the tiny man, tipping his hat. In a vaguely dirty way, the man reminded Ron of Mundungus Fletcher, may he rest in peace. “And might I interest you in an ocular indulgence?” The man gestured to a new magazine he had suspended behind him with a clothespin.
Ron opened his mouth to say no and found himself just standing there with his mouth open.
“Let me see that,” he whispered.
“I knew I’d find something for you one day,” the old man chuckled.
Ron gave him an odd look. Perhaps the man was just into spreading beauty throughout the world. Ron wasn’t comfortable thinking of anything else, though it tickled at the fringes of his mind.
The man passed the magazine to Ron and he took it with trembling hands. There was a pile of beautiful women lounging on a ridiculously large bed covered in red sheets. The women were wearing feathers and spangles. In the middle of it all, Hermione Granger grinned coyly up ay him.
“How much?” Ron whispered, feeling the blood drain from his face.
“Six quid,” the man grinned. He looked at the cover and them at Ron’s face. His smile faltered. “Anything wrong, sir?”
“No,” said Ron quickly. He paid the man, stuffed the magazine in his mac, and ran to catch his ride to work.
Later in his office he dispatched his secretary with numerous tasks and locked himself in his office. He spelled the lock in place and secured his blinds shut with another spell. Then he pulled the magazine out of his mac and placed it on his desk.
She was still there. Her hair was twisted up and long curls trailed down, lords, it must have taken that poor muggle stylist hours to pull that off.
Barristers of Bean Town, it said.
So she had made it to the United States. Good for her. She had always wanted to travel.
Ron flipped through the magazine quickly. It wasn’t hard to find her. It was directly in the center and was the largest picture there. In this picture she wasn’t wearing a stitch except for a hair bauble made of sequins and a bit of glitter. She seemed to glow. It was probably the airbrushing.
She must be taking youth potions. He noticed her bio listed her age as 24. Her name was listed as Hermione Kelly. She was single. Ron snickered. Still a clever girl. She could get her papers to say whatever she wanted and could change ages with a move. It was a sign she wasn’t going to stay in the States forever. They tended to catch on to that sort of thing.
The last time Ron saw Hermione like this was his second year at Oxford. The first time was just after they had left Hogwarts.
Fleur was in labor and the whole Weasley family was at St. Mungo’s Hermione and Ron had gone back to sleep. Molly had eyed them suspiciously, but they had left.
They had kissed for a bit on his bed, but they had done that before. Ron was a little surprised when she started undressing him, but tried to clumsily encourage her.
She smiled at him, the same smile on the cover of the magazine, and had let her robes fall to the floor. Then she had crawled in bed with him.
He had worshiped her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He had tried not to cause her discomfort, but had heard her gasp as he entered her. He had made her climax before, but she hadn’t had anything larger than a finger enter her and he had always treated her gently. Now his body was telling him to plunge forward.
He tried to hold back, but at a whisper of encouragement found himself pounding away like a man possessed. She had screamed a climax, something she had never done before, and he ended up breaking his bed with the pounding, but didn’t stop until he was done, feeling Hermione laughing beneath him.
She had fixed the bed, of course, and they had nearly died of embarrassment when they discovered Molly hadn’t trusted them after all and had send Ginny and Charlie back to the house to look after them.
They had never told a soul, but ribbed Ron and Hermione whenever they got the chance.
It had lasted 2 years and had been an amicable parting.
Now he felt a flood of emotion as he looked at the picture in front of him.
There was only one thing to do.
He picked the phone up and dialed a number.
A pause as he listened on the other end.
“Fine! Just fine! How’s Heather?”
A pause. Ron looked down at Hermione and chuckled.
“Good. Tell me, do you have a magazine stand near your flat?”
His face brightened.
“Go pick up a copy of Lovely Ladies.”
“No, I’m not kidding. You’ll love the centerfold.”
He looked annoyed for a minute.
“No, I’m not kidding.”
“Calling herself Hermione Kelly. Taking youth potions from the look of it.”
“Oh yea, Clara’ll think it’s hysterical.”
Ron turned bright red.
“You shut it. I’ll talk to you later.”
He hung up the phone, snickered, then dialed another number.
“Hello, sweet cheeks,” he leered into the phone.
“No, Doris never showed up, I swear she’s daft,” said Ron. “Anyway I have something to show you when I get home. You’ll cry laughing.”
“Hermione’s in a girly magazine.”
Ron held the phone away from his ear and looked amused at the explosion of sound.
“Youth potions, I suppose.”
“No, you can’t have one, nice try.”
“Wonderful! Like she did at 24! With a lot more glitter and feathers.”
“Maybe for Christmas. A temporary one.”
“Sure, send the owl and I’ll send it to you.”
“You’d use the potion for what?” Ron’s eyes widened. A pink flush started spreading over his face. “Really, now…”
He paused at a purring sound on the other end of the line.
“Next weekend. I’ll have one by next weekend. Two! One for each of us! And I’ll send the kids to mum and dads!”
There was a giggle on the other end and a sultry good bye.
Lords, that woman undid him. The receiver clicked back into its plastic cradle.
He’d have to send an owl to Hermione, thanking her.