He Left Handprints on Her Heart

He Left Handprints on Her Heart- Chapter 6: The Valentine

When Ron's breathing slowed, he straightened the covers, patting a spot on the bed to indicate to Hermione that she should come and lay down. She did so, and he covered her with the blankets before sliding in beside her and pulling her into his arms.

They were both silent for a while, as Ron rubbed his hand up and down her back. "Hermione, you asleep?"

"I'm awake." She snuggled closer to him. "Ron?"

"Hm?"

"Happy Valentine's Day."

"Oh, I have something for you. Close your eyes and don't open them until I get back."

"Ron, we never buy Valentine's presents for each other."

"Hermione, for once, do what I say and close your eyes." She closed her eyes, but popped one eye back open to tease him.

"Oy, no cheating. Close 'em both."

She giggled and stuck her tongue out at him, but she closed her eyes just the same.

As he re-entered their room and walked over to the bed, he gave her another warning. "I'm getting in the bed, but keep your eyes closed until I say open them, okay?"

"Yes, sir," she said giving him a mock salute. Ron pulled her close, and wrapped his arms tightly around her. He put his lips close to her ear and whispered, "You know I love you, right?"

Before she could answer, he was talking again. "Is there anything that I could do to make you happier? Say the word, and you know I'd do it. Nothing means more to me than you."

She pressed her face against the warmth of his neck, and stayed there as she spoke. "Ron, I love you more than I thought I was capable of loving anyone. You, our kids, our family—that's everything to me. The next time I act like a complete mental case, I think you probably should turn me over your knee and make good on that promise of a spanking."

"I'm thinking I might enjoy that," he said as he ran a hand over her bum.

"Stop that."

"You really want me to stop?" He ran his hand back over her bottom, and felt her shiver at his touch.

"No."

"I think I have corrupted you." He was tracing her ear now with his tongue. "Who would believe Hermione Granger gets turned on by the threat of a spanking?" he whispered, tongue still licking at her ear.

"Hermione Granger doesn't. My name is Hermione Weasley, or have you forgotten? And may I please open my eyes now?"

His lips traveled from her ear to kiss her neck. "Sorry, I got distracted and forgot I had you close them. Just a second, love." He placed a card in her hand. "You may open your eyes, Mrs. Weasley." He put added emphasis on the Weasley part, and saw her grin before her eyes flickered open.

"Hermione," he said, his voice serious, "Don't open it yet, okay. I didn't spend any money on this. Finding a gift to show you how much I love you would be impossible."

"Ron, I don't—"

"Let me finish. I don't do this sappy stuff all that well. I have loved you for as long as I can remember. There never has been anyone else for me but you, and there never will be. But, Hermione, you have to stop being so hard on yourself. I didn't marry you expecting you to be a perfect wife and mother. I don't want a spotless house or a wife who always looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine."

"Ron—"

"Stop interrupting me. I'm trying to think how best to say this, and if you keep interrupting, I'm just gonna fuck it all up. I'm not good with words like you. See, to me—Well, I'm not even gonna try and say it with pretty words, I'm just gonna say it the best way I know how. I think you're most beautiful when you first wake up in the morning."

"I look a horrible fright when I first wake up in the morning. I'm not sure how that could ever be beautiful."

"Is to me," he said.

"Yes, well I think we should get your eyes checked out by a Healer, and soon."

"I'm not finished, 'Mione. I love the little scar on your knee. The one you got when you were seven and the muggle boy who lived down the street from your parents pushed you down. I remember you telling me you got so mad you kicked him where it counts so hard that he curled up on the ground and cried. All his friends laughed at him because a little girl made him cry. Twice your size, but you never backed down." He brought one hand under the covers to trace his fingers over the scar and whispered, "That's my girl."

"Ron, I can't believe you remember that story. We can't have been more than fourteen when I told you."

"Twelve, and course I do. I love the way you laugh- when you really, really laugh. You know, when you laugh so hard that you make that little snorting sound with your nose."

She rolled her eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes. Do you know how sexy you are when you do that?"

"Snorting is not sexy. There is no way anyone could find that sexy, not even you."

"Hermione, do you remember where we were the last time you laughed hard enough to make that sound?"

"Well, no. I mean, why would I?"

She turned on her side, pressing her back up against his chest. He pulled her as close against him as he could. "Well, I do. It was Halloween, and we were at the Burrow. Remember now?"

"What I remember about last Halloween at the Burrow was my horny husband dragging me upstairs to his old bedroom to shag me senseless. Wait--- Ron, are you saying-- I don't remember making that sound."

"You were sitting at the kitchen table with Ginny. I don't know what you were laughing about, but it must have been funny. I heard you make that noise. It's a good thing I was in the hallway alone. No way would anybody have missed how hard I got just hearing one little sound. And I would have never lived it down if any of my brothers had noticed. Then you did it again, and I thought I was gonna come before I even touched you. You don't know the restraint it took to wait until I got you upstairs to shag you. I wanted you right then, right there."

"Ron, most of your family was in the next room."

"I know. You should be thankful I controlled myself. What I really wanted to do was bend you over the kitchen table and fuck you right there. Didn't care who saw. I wanted them to hear you scream my name when I made you come." They kissed deep and hard, tongues touching and tangling together.

"Wait." He was breathless when the kiss ended, and he attempted to put some distance between them on the bed. This was not the reason he was telling her this story. "Damn woman, you are distracting. I want to finish this though. I can't stand seeing you unhappy. I want you to cut yourself some slack, okay? Nobody but you thinks you're a failure. Have you noticed how often Rosie smiles and laughs? Or how many more words than Al she can already say? She's happy and she's smart. You're doing a good job with her." His voice was proud.

"Thank you for saying so." Her voice was emotion filled, and he could tell that the compliment had been something she needed to hear.

"But Ron, don't compare them, Rosie and Albus. That's not fair. Girls are more talkative than boys."

"Yeah, I—"

She pointed her finger at him, "If I were you, Mr. Weasley, I wouldn't finish that sentence."

"You know I hate it when you point your finger at me," he said, biting the offending digit.

"Okay, okay," she giggled as she pulled her finger away from him. "But, I know where you were going with that sentence."

"Do you, my overly-talkative wife?"

"You liked having an overly-talkative wife a little while ago."

Merlin, yes, he had. "You're distracting me again," he said and swatted her bottom. "I guess what I'm saying is you're striving for perfection because you think it's what I want from you. Hermione, it's the things about you that you think are the most imperfect that I love the most. If you go acting all perfect, then you're gonna expect me to be perfect, and we both know that's not bloody likely to happen."

She giggled at his statement. "So you love my imperfections?"

"Um-hm. I do."

"Little snorts and all?"

"Do it now, and I'll show you how much."

"You're completely mental, you know? No one thinks snorting is sexy!"

"Depends on who's doing it. When you do it, it is incredibly sexy. I know I'm mental, but you love me anyway."

"Somebody has to." She was looking at the card in her hands. "A valentine, I presume?"

"Can't get anything past you," he said in a sarcastic tone. "Yes, it's a valentine. Don't open it yet. There's a little story behind it. Come here and let me tell you."

He pulled her against him, spooned his body behind hers, and put his chin on her shoulder. As he began to tell his story, one of his hands absentmindedly stroked the swell of her stomach. The other brushed her tangled curls back from her face. He had wanted to touch her so many times over the past few weeks, hold her like this and stroke her hair. He was taking full advantage of it now. He wanted her as close to him as possible.

"What's my story about?" she asked.

"Valentine's Day at the Burrow when I was a kid."

"Really? I love when you tell me stories about what things were like before I knew you."

"Do you?" She hadn't told him that before, and he was genuinely surprised, but he could tell she was excited at the prospect of hearing the story. She snuggled her back as close up against his chest as she could. Ron laughed a little; maybe she had missed this closeness too. "Please, by all means, get comfortable."

"You tell wonderful stories, Ron."

He brushed her hair back and licked the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulders met.

She gave a tiny whimper, "Oh, please do that again."

He did-- Licking his tongue back and forth over that same sensitive spot until she was squirming in his arms. "Good?"

"Um-hm. But you have to stop. I want to hear my story, and if you keep it up, I'm gonna have--"

He licked the same spot a few more times. "What will happen, you know, if I don't stop?"

"Nothing. Cause if I tell you, I'm not gonna get my story anytime soon. Stop it. You promised me a story."

"Okay, I'll stop..." A second later, he leaned in to lick her neck again "…eventually."

"Ron," she whined.

"Yes, love. Your story. Okay, as you know, growing up we didn't have much in the way of money. On Valentine's Day, Dad would always sit us down at the kitchen table to make Mum cards. The cards had to be something made with our own hands. So every year, he would bring all of us boys into the kitchen and we would sit around the table—"

"Would that be the same table you just said you wanted to – what was it? Oh yeah, fuck me over? Wasn't that what you—Ow." Before she could finish, he had landed two hard smacks on her bottom.

"One of those was for interrupting the story; the other was for sullying my childhood memories, you naughty little witch." He made his voice sound scandalized by her words, which she found more than a little funny. It was good to hear her laugh again. It had been much too long since she had really laughed.

"Anyway, Dad would bring all of us boys into the kitchen, and we would make Mum homemade valentines. Dad told us he wanted his sons to learn you can't place a price tag on the people you love. He said, and I guess now I understand what he meant, though I didn't back then, some men think they can build a relationship by giving someone gifts that come with big price tags or wrapped in fancy paper. He said those relationships rarely work because they're not built on real foundations. He said when you find a girl who loves you, really loves you and not the material things you can offer her, she'd rather live in a tent with you, than in a mansion full of house-elves with someone else. Dad said it's the everyday kindnesses that count, holding someone's hand, a kiss on the cheek, whispering I love you in someone's ear—which would send us boys into fits of gagging, begging him to stop with the mushy stuff. We were sure he was mental, of course, because what woman would want a kiss on the cheek while she lived in a tent instead of an expensive gift, you know, like a racing broom, while she lived in a mansion full of house-elves? Dad would always laugh and say someday we would understand, and our wives, if we chose well, would thank him."

"He was right," she whispered so quietly he almost didn't hear her. "I owe your dad a thank you." When he heard her whispered words, he reached for her hand, brushed a soft kiss across her cheek, and moved his mouth over her ear, where he whispered, "I love you."

The story continued.

"We would spend the entire week before Valentine's Day scavenging through the house for bits of colored paper, ribbons, glue, anything that sparkled or was pretty to decorate our cards. It sort of became a contest every year to see who could find the best stuff. The afternoon of Valentine's Day, we would bring all the stuff we had gathered the week before into the kitchen and pile it in the middle of the table. Dad would ban Mum from the room, telling her there was "top secret" work going on in there and no girls were allowed. We would spend hours at the table making sure the cards were perfect, competing to make the best one. I remember working so hard to make my card just perfect. And the whole time we worked, Dad would tell us stories."

Hermione put her hand in front of her mouth. He caught it and pulled it away, "Oy, you're not supposed to laugh when I tell you sappy stuff like this. You're supposed to get all teary-eyed at how romantic I am, which is supposed to lead to fantastic shagging because you can't resist me. Merlin, woman, you're supposed to say 'Oh Ron,' and then the snogging starts. There are rules to these things, you know."

"Psst," she said as quietly as possible, and he leaned in to hear the secret.

She whispered in a conspiratorial fashion, "I know the rules, see, and there will be much snogging and shagging at the conclusion of this story."

"Well, that's a relief. I thought I was gonna have to spell them out for you. Didn't want to waste all this sappy stuff, if there wasn't going to be snogging and shagging, you know?" He winked at her, and they both laughed at the little joke.

"I wasn't laughing at you. Even though I didn't know you, I can picture just how you must have looked. I have a perfect image of you as a little boy sitting at the table working so hard to best your older brothers at card making. Funny, isn't it? How I didn't know you then, but I know exactly how you must have looked. I can see you perfectly, chewing on your bottom lip, intent on making yours the best. I bet you would even do that cute little thing with your mouth."

"Has my dad told you this story before? I swear the man gossips worse than any woman--What cute little thing with my mouth? Cause, you know, if it turns you on, that's information I might need later when I'm trying to seduce you."

"No, your dad didn't tell me anything. It's just that Rosie does that too. She never looks more like you than when she's chewing on her lower lip. Even your mum noticed it." Hermione changed the tone of her voice to imitate Molly Weasley, "I swear, Hermione, that child looks so much like you, but when she's really concentrating on something it is like looking at my son all over again."

"Love, I just added a new rule to this bed." He reached for her wand and added another sign to their headboard, "You are never allowed to imitate my mother when we are naked together in this bed again, understand?"

She laughed when he shuddered. "My story. Continue, please?"

"Okay. I guess I can finish the story, as long as you weren't laughing at me."

"I would never laugh at you, my darling husband." She batted her eyelashes in feigned innocence.

"I think I may just get the opportunity to warm your bottom with my hand before the night is over."

She rubbed her arse teasingly against his groin, making him moan. "Ron Weasley, I think you are developing a fixation on my bum," she said.

"Developing a fixation?" he asked incredulously. "Love, I've been fixated on your bum since I was fourteen. Can't count the times I wanted to slip my hands under that cute little school uniform you wore. Whoever invented those skirts has my undying gratitude. It showed off just how nice and round your bum was, which of course lead to all sorts of wicked thoughts about what I wanted to do to your tasty little bottom. If you could do Occlumency back then, I probably would have been hexed more times than I care to think about."

"Or maybe I would have climbed onto your lap and acted a few of those fantasies out for you."

"You would not have acted my fantasies out. They were pretty intense, love."

"Hm, I think I might have, cause then I wouldn't have been afraid you weren't interested in me. If I could have read your mind, I would have known you were." She laughed when she heard him whimper. "Oh, my poor baby."

"Fuck the wanker who decided that Occlumency was not a required course at Hogwarts," he pouted. "Any chance you've still got that skirt?" He winked at her and raised an eyebrow in question.

"Oh, like it would fit right now anyway."

"So does that mean you still have it?"

"I guess I do, somewhere. Why?"

"Cause it will fit later. Will you wear it for me? Maybe act out some of those fantasies?" Ron kissed her hard, nibbling on her bottom lip, as his hands went under the covers again to rub her arse, spreading her cheeks so that he could rub his cock between them.

"Ooh yes," she moaned against his mouth. "You promise to do that again if I wear it?"

"I promise."

"Then I'll look for it first thing tomorrow, and see if there's a charm I can do to make it fit."

He laughed at her eagerness. "That's my girl. Fuck, baby, I want you again already. I know you think there's no way I could get so turned on when you're pregnant, but I think you look fucking beautiful. When you were pregnant with Rosie, I wanted you all the time. I think I kept a permanent hard on when you were around. It's not any different this time. You've never looked more gorgeous to me."

She closed her eyes and licked her lips, guiding his hand between her legs.

"Gods, baby, you're already wet again. Is that all for me?"

In response she put her hand over his, and continued to stroke herself using his fingers. "Let me tell you what I want you to do to me."

He sucked in his breath, making a sharp hissing sound. Through clenched teeth, he said, "You have to stop talking like that tonight. I can't take any more."

"You said you like it when I tell you what I want you to do to me."

"I do. I like it way too much to keep control tonight if you do it again."

She began to run her hands up and down his chest.

"I mean it, Hermione. Stop. I was afraid I was too rough earlier. I'm not gonna risk hurting you just cause I can't control myself."

"Okay. Continue with the story."

"I need a minute. You're killing me here."

"Sorry." She batted her eyelashes again and scooted close to him.

"Not bloody likely. I think you enjoy driving me mad," said Ron under his breath.

"Only when I'm driving you mad with desire for me," she teased.

"Yeah, well that would be now," he said as he pushed himself away from her. He closed his eyes and heard her giggle, clearly amused that he couldn't stand for her to touch him. "You know, this is all your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yeah, I've wanted you for weeks. Guess it's been kind of building up."

"Oh, my poor baby," she cooed at him in the voice she used whenever Rosie fell down.

"That is not helping. Not helping at all."

"Okay. I know what will help though."

"I doubt anything is gonna help 'cept a really cold shower."

About that time, Hermione picked up her wand, held its tip to her throat and did a perfect imitation of Molly Weasley's voice saying, "Ronald Weasley."

"I take it back. That did it, though you've probably scarred me for life."

"Now, can my story continue, Ron?"

"Yeah, guess so, but this bed is gonna have a whole list of rules by morning at this rate."

The story continued with Hermione once again spooned in front of him, with his arms wrapped tightly around her. "Where was I?"

"You were concentrating on making your card the best."

"That's right. Okay, well, Dad seemed to know how much effort I put into making my card the best, so when we all sat down for dinner on Valentine's night, he let me give Mum my card first. Mum would go on and on all through dinner about how she loved her cards, and how thoughtful we were to put so much time and effort into making them for her. Then later that night, after we were all in bed---"

"I bet they would put you all in bed really early on that night, huh?"

"Ugh!" He pulled her up against him. "You keep talking like that, and it may never get hard again. Yuck."

She wiggled against him, "That would be a tragedy."

"Do you want me to finish this story or not?"

"I do."

"Okay, then behave. As I was saying, later that night, every year, Mum would come into my room and tell me my card was the prettiest. I guess when you're one of seven kids, being told you're the best at something, particularly when you're the youngest of six boys, leaves a lasting impression. That's one of my favorite memories from when I was a kid."

"Hermione, I know you're not really a fan of Valentine's Day, and never wanted me to give you anything because you said I was only doing it because I felt like I had to give you something to celebrate some silly holiday created to make people spend money. Always told me it didn't mean anything if I did because I thought I had to. I thought about what you said, and I kept thinking about what Dad said about the little things meaning the most." He reached for the valentine he had given her. "So we— Well, I thought it might mean a little more if you knew the story behind it. It's probably a little goofy---"

She took the card from him and turned it over in her hands, "No, it's not goofy at all. It's perfect. You did this for me? You and Rosie made this together?"

"Yeah."

Her eyes were sparking with tears that had begun to pool there as her finger traced over the letters on the front of the card. He put an arm around her, as she ran her finger over a large scribbled crayon marks. As she did so, she said, "Rosie?"

Ron smiled. "Yeah. Little Miss Independent wanted to do it herself. She did let me help her trace out the letters, but she was determined to do some of it on her own." On the front were the words 'Happy Valentine's Day' in big block-style letters.

Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks, and he pulled her closer to his warm body. He ducked his head to nuzzle her neck, as he wiped one of the tears away with the pad of his thumb. "Don't cry. It's supposed to make you happy. Open it."

Her next words were hardly audible. "I am happy; happy to be your wife; happy to have your baby-- soon to be babies; happy that even when I'm the biggest bitch, you still love me. After all the time I've known you, Ron,--all the time I've loved you, you still take my breath away."

She cried even more when she opened the card. On the inside of the card were the prints of two hands, one so large that the fingers ran off the edges, and one little hand, tiny in comparison to the other. Both prints were made with the bright yellow paint their daughter had thought was "pretty". The same yellow paint that had spilled all over the kitchen floor. The same yellow paint that had been the impetus for her horrible words to him earlier that day.

"Didn't think it should go to waste," whispered Ron. "You know, not since Rosie liked it so much she decorated me with it."

Below their daughter's handprint, Ron had written the date, Rosie's name and how old she was. Beside his own handprint Ron had written, "Hermione, I know me and Rosie drive you mad sometimes. Be patient with us. We're not perfect, but we love you. Always have, always will. Ron."

The words were perfectly simple, heartfelt and sincere, much like the man who had written them. Ron didn't attempt to string together pretty words; he simply told her how he felt.

Ron had never given Hermione a gift like this before. He reminded her how much she was loved with a story, a card, simple words and two bright yellow handprints. He knew that there were some women who would never understand the value of his gift. It came with no price tag, not even an inexpensive one; it wasn't wrapped in fancy paper; it wasn't wrapped at all; there was no crowd around to impress by the presentation of a gift that's value represented what she was worth to him.

No, this gift was far more special than any of those things, far more priceless and far more perfect. But, only a girl who really loved him would find it so.

At that moment, his wife took his hand, put a soft kiss on his cheek and whispered I love you in his ear. After all, those were the things that meant the most. And then, she looked him in the eye and whispered, "You see, I think this is where the snogging and shagging begins. Isn't that how all good stories end?"

And begin, it did.

The End.

~ ♥ ~

A/N: I hope you enjoyed my first attempt at writing fan fiction. I think I will forevermore be a Ron fangirl. Thank you all for your kind comments, as I was really nervous about my first ever attempt to write smut. Funny, that was the easiest part. *blushes*