Work Text:
The Bookshop
Ron sneezed. The dust danced in the sunbeam from the window, illuminating a narrow portion of the book shop’s rug. He nodded apologetically to the shopkeeper as he headed through from the general fiction section to the dustier, shadier academic section.
Right, he thought, in and out. Find the damn book and get back in time for the Quidditch on the Wizarding Wireless.
He navigated his way around a cramped corner, almost sending a stack of local history books clattering to the floor with his coat, and sighed as he saw just how many books there were on inter-generational curses and blood magic.
“Merlin’s beard,” he muttered under his breath.
“Quite,” came a feminine voice from behind him that made him jump.
“Are you, er, looking for something in particular?” Ron asked once he’d recovered enough to turn to look at the other person. Long blonde hair, a straight spine, and robes that screamed ‘Pureblood’, Ron recognised her from school as Daphne Greengrass.
She smiled softly, looking away from him at the bottom shelf. “My sister is… unwell. I was hoping one of these books might help us help her. You?”
“Oh,” Ron said, blinking. The smile she gave him looked sad, and her voice was much softer than he had anticipated. He felt unusually self-conscious as he shifted his weight a little. “No one’s sick. My wife is in MLE. Sorry, Magical Law Enforcement. Policy side, not Aurors. But she’s working on a… actually, I probably shouldn’t say. Hereditary curses. Well, the… the people who cast them. It’s illegal, but there are loopholes or something.”
Daphne’s mouth curled up at the corners as she raised an eyebrow. “Ah. Hermione Granger thinks she can fix the law?”
Ron grimaced a little. He knew how that sounded. “Yeah, well, it’s worth trying, isn’t it?”
Daphne laughed and shook her head. “If anyone was going to try, it would be her.” She turned to appraise Ron a little more fully. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know what I’m looking for either. My mum sent me. Sad that, isn’t it? Twenty-two and running errands I don’t understand for my parents?”
A bark of laughter escaped Ron. “We’re as lost as each other, then. But at least we’re both here for people we love, right?”
“Interesting that that’s a question,” Daphne commented as she stepped forward to run her fingers over the spines of the books.
She was standing right next to Ron now, close enough that their shoulders were almost touching, close enough that he could just about feel the body heat radiating off her. His heart beat a little faster.
“Are you not certain?” she asked, prompting him.
“Of course I am. She’s my wife,” Ron replied automatically.
Daphne smiled a little.
“Very good.” She pulled a book off the shelf and turned it over in her hands. She pressed it into his chest so he was forced to bring a hand up to take it from her. “This is the one she wants. But it doesn’t have the answers she wants. Just more questions.”
Ron looked down at the book, frowning. “How do you know?” he asked, looking back up at her.
“Because my mum said it was the best book she’d read on the topic. But my sister’s still sick,” Daphne replied. She never broke eye contact, as if she was challenging him to say something. The only problem was that Ron didn’t know what the challenge was.
“I’m really sorry to hear that. But thank you. For the book.”
Ron was very aware of how close they were standing, of the faint smell of something that might have been lavender radiating off her. Of the pulse he could see jumping in the hollow of her throat.
“Ron…” Daphne said, her voice suddenly more breathless than it had been.
Ron didn’t remember consciously choosing to kiss her. He didn’t remember moving to do so. He only remembered the feeling of his lips on hers, and how soft and warm she was, and how she did smell of lavender after all. And how she was kissing him back.
He pulled back with a gasp. “Daphne…”
Daphne cleared her throat and half-turned away. “I-” she started and stopped, closing her eyes tightly for a second that seemed to last a lifetime before she looked back at him.
“Send my regards to your wife, Mr Weasley,” she said before she turned to walk away, and Ron was sure he hadn’t imagined the sadness in her voice.
“Daphne! Wait!” Ron called after her, moving to follow her. But when he heard the bell over the front door of the shop, he knew it was too late. She was gone. She hadn’t even found her book.