The Library Card

Hermione came home late one evening, to find Ron waiting for her in the drawing room. He approached her, hands behind his back, the moment she walked in the door.

"Hermione, I need to talk to you about my library card."

Hermione was a bit shocked -- she didn't think he'd ever come looking for it. "O-oh! Did you need it?" she asked innocently.

"As a matter of fact, I did. Why did you take it?" His voice was inflectionless, which was somehow far more frightening to her than it would have been if he were yelling.

"Well, I needed to borrow a few more books, and I'd already used up my allotment --"

"Hermione, you do know what a bookstore is, right?" Was he being sarcastic, or just patronising? "The desk clerk told me you'd checked out some of the titles repeatedly! Why don't you just buy them?" He was being utterly patient, even sounded amused, and she was dreadfully afraid that it meant he was really boiling mad underneath that calm exterior.

"Ron, we can't afford to buy all the books I need!" she protested, as if they were having a full-blown row.

He held up a slip of paper, still keeping one arm behind his back. "You know what this is?"

She looks at him blankly.

"It's the bill for all the late fees you've been racking up."

"Oh. Those. Well, I needed some of them a bit longer than they allow, and I knew if I took them back it might be a while before I could get them again if someone else checked them out. ..."

He gave her a wry smile. "Because there are so many other bookworms out there clamoring for these books? You realise, love, that in trying to save us money, you're actually spending more?"

Hermione wrung her hands. "Well, it was a good idea in theory ..." Oh, why doesn't he just have at me and get it over with? I swear, a quiet Weasley is far worse than a loud one!

He stepped closer to her and wrapped his arms around her. Completely thrown, she stood there stiffly for a moment, uncertain, before melting on the warmth of his arms. She didn't notice the package he had in one hand.

He kissed her on the forehead. "My little brainiac. Here." He handed her the package.

She looked at him, befuddled. He smiled at her, encouragingly. She opened it. It was a copy of the book she'd been checking out the most -- used, obviously, but still in fine condition. She looked back up at him, a mix of surprise and fondness playing across her features.

"Read the inscription."

Property of the Library of Hermione Granger-Weasley

"That's not all."

He took her hand gently, and led her into the hallway. There, in the dim light, a somewhat tattered-looking, yet nonetheless proud and tall bookcase stood waiting, with a big bow on it. "Sorry it's not fancy or anything," he apologized, now sounding as bashful as she had just a few moments before. "I-I made it out of some wood Dad had lying about the Burrow. But it holds books just fine!" He took her gift from her and set it on the top shelf, to demonstrate. "Now you'd better start cracking if you want to fill these shelves up!" he told her with mock severity.

Grinning even as her eyes glittered, she threw her arms around him, and gave him a very long, rather wet thank-you. Perhaps a quiet Weasley was best after all.