It was silly, of course. It hadn’t been that long since Ron and I
got together - well, seven years and four months, but really, who's
counting? - and it wasn't even as if we were particularly old. I may be
the oldest of the group, but I'm only twenty-four, after all. Any witch
is capable of producing children into her fifties or sixties, and one
need only look at Professor McGonagall to see how active someone can be
at an age that, for a Muggle, would be a signal to check their will and
have a nice plot picked out for the burial.
But more and more
often, my mind was drifting to dreams of myself and Ron settled down,
married, with children, with a swollen abdomen and a new life growing
inside me, a life created by Ron and myself. It was terrible, really.
Ron kept having to go back and forth over things he'd already said when
we were talking, and I was getting very used to having him wave a hand
in front of my face to bring me back to him.
But I wanted it,
and as more and more of my friends married and started to have
children, I wanted it more. All it needed was Ron to co-operate, and a
priest to end by saying ‘I now pronounce you…’ How hard can it be?
Our
generation will forever be tainted by the war. So many people we know
died. We lost Dumbledore, we lost Sirius, even Snape's loss was
mourned. We were forced to grow up far too fast, and we were adults in
spirit long before we reached physical maturity.
Dumbledore liked to say that you fight darkness with light, sorrow with joy, anger with peace, and hatred with love.
There's
still so much hatred in the world. Neo Death Eater groups spring up
almost monthly, using Voldemort as their martyr. The Aurors close on
them with practised ease and soon they are no more, but the thought
that someone can still think that way... it sends a shiver down my
spine.
And what greater antidote than to shout from the
rooftops how much I love this man? What better way to change the world
than to bring the next generation into it? To create new life, to share
our love with out children...
But I'm getting away from the story, aren't I?
Hermione,
Meet me at the flat after work.
Love,
Ron
That
was all that the note said, and so I made my way to Ron and Harry's
flat at five o'clock sharp. I know that everyone says that I'm always
late, but I try and be on time for the important things, and I had a
feeling that whatever Ron wanted was important. Things had been tense
between us for a week or so, ever since I bit his head off about Ginny.
I wanted to apologise; He couldn't have known that Ginny was feeling as
bad as she did, and I shouldn't have snapped at him the way I did.
I
was glad that I'd dressed smartly that day. Ron had always liked my
legs, and the short-ish skirt and white blouse always held his
interest, not that he usually required much in the way of encouragement
or 'fancy wrapping' as Angelina calls it. In fact, Ron's always been
much more interested in what's und-
Anyway.
I
waited for a long time. At first I amused myself by tidying Ron's
kitchen - Harry never cooks, although I know he can. He's happy to let
Ron do it all - so that it was all much more logical. I know that Ron
has a weird kind of logic, and that it would be all a mess again within
days, but it's part of our ongoing battle. I know that he'll be an
absolute nightmare to live with.
I can't wait.
But on that night, I had to.
By
the time I gave up, it was nearly midnight, and my nerves were
shredded. I didn't know why he'd keep me waiting like this. Normally,
if he's going to be late, he'll at least call me on the Floo. That
evening, however, there was nothing. I knew from my Quidditch season
planner that Harry was away with Puddlemere - again - that night, and
Ginny had mentioned meeting up with friends, so I assumed that I
wouldn't see either of them that evening.
I let myself out
of the boys' flat and went out into Diagon Alley. It was starting to
rain, and I ran - or at least walked as fast as the heels on my shoes
would allow me - to the Leaky Cauldron. I didn't want to Apparate and
the boys, of course, had let their Floo Powder run out. Typical. I made
a note to bring some the next time that I was at theirs.
The thought made me pull up in the middle of the street.
Would I be going back to their flat?
I told myself not to be silly, that Ron was just delayed, that something had happened at work...
But he's a Quidditch player, not an Auror, or anything...
Well, it's not that he's not important,
but he doesn't have a job where he has to deal with emergencies, and
I'm so glad of that. The three of us came out of Hogwarts so exhausted
by everything that happened that we needed to break from all that
stress. Harry and Ron went straight into Quidditch, and I started
helping Mr. Weasley in the Ministry, more for something to do then any
great career goal but now, oh, I feel needed, I make a difference, and
last month I was there when Minister Doge and Prime Minister Blair
signed my treaty on closer co-operation and...
Ron can't
understand, he doesn't want to, but he knows that I'm happy, and that's
enough for him. One day, maybe, he'll do something else, something
that...
Oh dear, I'm terrible at this. I keep on being
ambitious for Ron. I'd love for him to have the same recognition that I
receive, because he certainly deserves it, but he wants to play
Quidditch, and he certainly gets enough recognition there. He wouldn't
have it any other way, and he's happy. I don't understand it, never
have been able to understand why he won't push himself as hard as he
can, but he's happy.
I'm happy too, because of that.
That
evening, though, for a little while, I wasn't happy. I'd been stood up
by my boyfriend, and things weren't going well. I stumbled out of the
fireplace in the Queen's Head, and then out into the pouring rain. I
was soaked immediately, my expensive raincoat about as much use as a
paper dragon-prod.
I was halfway home when I collided with
what felt like a brick wall. I bounced backwards, lost my footing, and
landed heavily in the mud. Soaked, filthy, and feeling downright
miserable, I just wanted to sit there and cry.
The brick
wall reached out a hand and I let it pull me upright. To my surprise, I
found myself face to face with Ron, the expression on his face as
amazed as the one on mine, I'm sure.
"Ron," I gasped. "What are you... I mean, I got your... I waited for you..."
"I waited for you," he said, after opening and closing his mouth several times like a fish.
"Where?" we both asked.
"At your flat," we both replied.
We
stood in the middle of the street, drenched to the bone, staring
helplessly at one another. Ron looked thoroughly bedraggled, his fringe
plastered to his forehead, his soaking wet shirt clinging to his toned
body. I wondered irrelevantly where his coat was, but mostly just
stared at him. For once, no words seemed to come to mind.
I
looked up into his startlingly blue eyes, and waited for him to say it,
whatever it was he wanted to say. He just stood there, staring at me as
though it were I who had asked to see him. I opened my mouth to speak,
and then decided that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t have a discussion
with him that would probably lead to us breaking up. Not here, not now.
Somehow, I wasn’t in the mood.
“I have to go,” I gasped,
trying to push past him, but he took my hand and held on to me. I
couldn’t budge him, and couldn’t break his grip. Ron is incredibly
strong, and much taller and heavier than I am. I didn’t stand a chance.
“Hold
on a minute,” he said, his voice barely audible in the lashing rain. I
tried to pull myself free, knowing that the people passing by were
giving us very funny looks. I just hate making a scene, but I was about ten seconds away from kicking Ron as hard as I could in the shins and dashing back to my flat.
“I
said hold on,” he repeated. I calmed down a bit, not trying to pull
free, but still tensed to run if I got the chance. He reached up a hand
to my face, and brushed the wet hair away. I tried to turn away,
because I must have looked dreadful just then, but he smiled and held
my head still.
“I can never get over just how beautiful you are,” he said. “Stay here a moment?”
I nodded, shivering, but ready to do whatever he asked. I had to trust him, didn’t I?
“I
don’t want to lose you,” he said. “I was so scared just now, I thought
that you’d stood me up, that you were somewhere getting ready to break
up with me.”
I opened my mouth to reply, desperate to tell him
that he was wrong, that I couldn’t break up with him, that I loved him,
that I’d been scared that he was breaking up with me. But he placed his
thumb on my lips, silencing me before I could say anything.
And then, oh and then…
Ron
Weasley, the man who dreads making a scene when it comes to emotional
things, who makes big, extravagant, sweeping and always private gestures to show me how much he loves me…
In
the pouring rain, with people bustling all around us, he dropped to one
knee, took my hand, and produced a ring, as if by magic, which he
slipped onto my finger.
*
Later I asked him why he didn’t ask me.
“God,
can you imagine the fuss you’d make?” he said. “You’d be umming and
ahhing, fussing and trying to work out how to Floo fifteen million
people at once. Better not to ask, right? I mean, I knew what the
answer would be as soon as I saw you tonight.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. You knew you were seeing me tonight, you knew it was freezing outside, and you still wore that mini-skirt. You couldn’t not love me.”
“Ron! It’s not a mini-skirt! It only comes to just above my knees.”
“It’s half the length of your other skirts. It’s a mini-skirt.”
“Oh, you’re impossible!”
“Yeah, guess so. Want to change your mind?”
For a split second, I almost fell for it, but I knew Ron too well by now, so I decided to have a little fun.
“Well, I probably should,
if you’re going to send me ambiguous notes that leave me freezing cold
and soaking wet, and if you’re going to make a huge public scene every
time you do something affectionate, and if you’re going to-“
He
shut me up, taking every bit as much delight in doing so as the first
time he did it, all those years ago. What can I say? I have no defences
against tall, red-haired fiancés of mine who kiss me out of the blue.
*
And now here we are. Ginny grins at me, and I roll my eyes. I suppose it wouldn’t be a wedding if something
didn’t go wrong, and I suppose as well that having my train attached to
my dress upside down is hardly a catastrophe. My mum and Molly will
have it fixed in a trice. Angelina, Penny and Alicia, our bridesmaids,
are lounging about, at least as much as their dresses will allow, and
enjoying the show. It’s only a few weeks since Penny’s wedding, but
she’s already forgotten how nervous she was. I suppose that it’s
Charlie or Bill’s turn after this, if either of them ever settles down.
Until that happy day, this is the last time that Molly gets to fuss
like this for the foreseeable future, so I let her get on with it while
I focus on calming thoughts. My mum will only get to do this once, and
Molly is gracious enough to share, at least when it comes to my dress,
but Ginny has to put up with Molly at full force, and it’s very hard
not to laugh as mother and daughter bicker for the umpteenth time about
whether or not Ginny is going to wear gloves.
And then,
finally, it all goes quiet. Molly and Mum are holding onto each other
as Ginny and I stand side by side, and I can tell Mum’s trying not to
cry. Molly, who’s been through this with the twins and Percy, isn’t
even trying, just weeping tears of happiness, and I can’t say that I
feel any different.
Apparition is impossible in our gowns, and
so my dad has arranged for a horse-drawn carriage to take us to the
church. No-one had any particular place where they wanted the service
to be held until Remus suggested the church where Lily and James Potter
were married, and where Harry was christened. It just felt right. His
parents and Sirius will be watching him today, I know.
Dad and
Arthur ride up front, ready to take their daughters into the church.
Ginny and I sit side by side, the bridesmaids opposite. It’s all so
much, all too soon, not soon enough, and then we’re there, and the
doors swing back, and I follow Ginny down the aisle, and all I can see
is this gorgeous, flame-haired man standing and waiting for me.
Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and its various affiliates. Without the brilliance of J.K. Rowling, PhoenixSong.net would never exist. The stories we've published here are manifestations of our appreciation for the world that she has created. That said, all fan fiction stories and artwork published on PhoenixSong.net are copyrighted by the listed authors and artists and may not be published or distributed elsewhere without the express permission of the authors and artists. The Admins of PhoenixSong.net, 2004-2007
