Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. blablabla.
(Sorry about the headings; I'm trying to make them work with me.)

Patchwork Promises

Chapter One.

Fading.

"And do you, Hermione, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" Hermione grimaced, then caught herself. Ronald stood across from her, looking into the humble chunk of flowers that trembled in her hands. Yard weeds, really. Somehow, when Hermione had imagined her special day, dandelions were not on the list.

The list being the scraggly leather bound book Hermione kept under her bed at night. Magazine clippings, flower petals, poetry, songs, drawings, dreams… it was all in there. Her wedding had been planned fifteen times over since she turned twelve. But never, not once, did it include dandelions.

Ron cleared his throat, and Hermione jumped. She'd forgotten to answer the minister. Harry caught her eyes from behind Ron's shoulder, and he raised his brows in a silent question.

Hermione swallowed and looked at the floor.

"Merlin, Hermione," Ron whispered. "Any day now." The church chuckled collectively, thinking it was a joke. Of course, that's all it was, to the public. One. Big. Joke. She shifted, trying to hide more of the purpling hand-mark on her wrist under the pathetic bouquet

"Um…" Hermione began.

The church doors banged open, and its rustic wooden planks creaked in protest as it swung shut. All eyes in the pews turned, and jaws dropped. For there, drenched to the bone and covered in mood, stood Draco Malfoy.

"I object!" He shouted.

"We're not at that part yet, young man, so if you'll have a seat," the minister droned.

"'Mione, don't do it." His eyes were wide, and his hair hung down in front of them, streaks of mud and bits of grass hanging from the tips in clumps.

Hermione breathed, and some of the tension in her chest relaxed. Ron's fists balled, and he shouted to his groomsmen, "Don't just stand there!" Harry shrugged, waiting for Draco's diversion to distract Hermione enough so he could grab a word. Hermione knew that look in Harry's eyes. The "what've you gotten yourself into" look. He learned it from her, fourth year.

Buckbeak lunged from his seat next to Hagrid, knocking Draco to the ground.

"I'm glad that someone's listening to me," Ron muttered, shoving the black, draping sleeve of his robe up to his tawny elbow as he stepped into the aisle. "Eh! Malfoy!" He shouted. "Haven't you done enough." A murmured agreement came from Ron's side of the family, while Hermione's rather empty side remained quiet and confused. Aunt Gerva still hadn't regained consciousness from when Mrs. Weasley levitated the cake onto a waiting tray. As always, Hermione felt… out of place. Even when it came to her guests. Like she was stepping on someone's table cloth and she just needed to apologize and move on so they could get through their meal in peace. But, this time, Malfoy was the one interrupting. And for some odd reason, Hermione didn't want him to be sorry about it.

"Could someone please help him?" Hermione finally worked up the courage to ask. "He doesn't look well." Ron's jaw tightened as he raked his gaze over Malfoy.
"Hermione, this is our wedding."

Aunt Jenny's pew squeaked as the rotund woman shifted in her spot in the third row. Hermione glanced over, and Aunt Jenny gave her a small nod.

"Ron…" She left the small question in her tone, trailing off, hoping.

"What?" Ron's last attempt to sound cordial in front of the guests shattered. "You want me to drag him up here? Sit him in a place of honor?" The smell of rotting wheat accompanied Ron's shouts. "To Hell with it, why don't he just marry you?"

"Ronald Billius Weasley." Ginny marched forward, catching Ron's ear between her fingers, her words gritted out from between her teeth, slow. One at a time. Frightening. "If you care about your wedding," she paused. "If you care about Hermione, you'll rethink the kind of tone you're using right now."

"Step off, Gin." Ron replied cooly. "Harry, take care of your broad." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a dark bottle. "And while you're at it, throw the rat out on his ass." He sighed, his thick fingers working the cap off the bottle, then released his breath before touching his lips to the glass and taking a long draught.

"I think you've had enough," Harry said, hushed, as if the scene unfolding wasn't on complete display. He tugged the article away from Ron in one smooth jerk. "Ladies and Gentlemen," Harry turned to face the people seated. "As you might have been able to tell, we're having some… administrational difficulties at this point in time." A sprinkle of nervous titters littered the pews. "I'd like to apologize for the drama, and offer you some of the wonderful refreshments that Mrs. Weasley," he nodded to the woman in the first row, who was now hyperventilating from the awful turn of events. "has so kindly taken the time to bake." Harry paused before making eye contact with Hermione.

"At this juncture, the wedding will be postponed until further notice. I'm deeply sorry for the inconvenience, but I fear it would be highly inappropriate to continue in the current circumstances."

A chorus of uneasy creaks followed as the guests found their way to their feet. "I never's" and "To think that's" lurked in hushed whispers.

"You'll find assorted trays of Mrs. Weasley's Blue Berry Button Bars, and Tangerine Tasties on the table in the foyer."

As the last dejected strangers filtered from the room, Hermione found herself leaning against Harry's shoulder.

"I told you this wasn't a good idea." Harry murmured.

"And you were right." Hermione's voice shook. Harry shook his head.

"You don't sound like Hermione anymore," he lifted her chin with the knuckle of an index finger, tipping her face up to meet her eyes. "You used to fight me at the mere implication of an 'I told you so.'"

"I know when I'm beat." Hermione let her eyelids flicker down, tired. So tired. She never felt awake. There was only sleeping and the time before sleeping, it seemed.

"We could have gone through with it." Ron said. Hermione jumped at his statement.

"Don't sneak up on us like that." Harry said. Ron growled.

"First you cancel my wedding, then you get cozy with my girl, I think I'll interrupt as I please, Harry."

"You practically canceled your own wedding, Ron." Harry whipped around, the gold edge of his robe furling. "You've been nothing but rude, dishonorable, and drunk today. If Draco hadn't shown up when he did, you would of passed out on standing up due to alcohol poisoning."

"It's normal to drink on a man's wedding day." Ron quipped.

"It's also normal to wait until after." Harry's words were knives, and his eyes flashed. "Most people want to remain aware during their own wedding. What about Hermione?"

"I wouldn't feel the need to drink, if Hermione wasn't such a prude all the godd—" Ron started.

"I'm your best friend, Ron." Harry was quiet. Ron shrugged.

"So?"

"I'm your only friend." There was a silence. Then Harry finished the blow. "Don't make me regret that."

Ron's jaw hardened, and he stalked out the room. Hermione didn't follow.

Harry pushed a key into her palm.

"It was supposed to be your honeymoon suite, and home." He mumbled, apologetically. "It's in your name, 'Mione. My… my wedding present." Hermione stared at the bronze edges of the metal in her hand. "It's the cottage, the one you wanted."

"Ron didn't like that house." Hermione whispered.

"Good thing it doesn't belong to Ron," Harry replied.

"Harry," Hermione's voice caught. "You didn't…"

"Buy it?" Harry smiled. "I did. Don't think of it as charity. Think of it as payback for letting me copy off you all those years ago." Hermione's cheeks grew warm. She loved Harry, and she knew he had the best of intentions, but…

"We didn't get married." She said, offering the key back. "I can't accept this, Harry."

"Your father helped me with the down payment." Harry said. Hermione's throat tightened, and she closed her fingers over the gift. "He wanted you to have everything you ever dreamed of." Harry paused to look at the door Ron had stormed out of. "and someone worth sharing it with."

"I know." Hermione said.
"Take some time," Harry whispered, patting her back. "Find out what you want."

Hermione nodded.

"I'll deal with Draco."

Draco!

Hermione gasped. "I'd forgotten," she said, then moaned. "I didn't provoke him, I promise, Harry, you must believe me."

"Shhh," Harry pressed his cool lips to Hermione's forehead, and walked her to the back door. "Take the limo," he quipped. "It's not as if anyone else is going to use it."

Hermione let him guide her to the waiting chauffer, then hugged him goodbye.

The man in the black suit gestured to the back door, "Shall I, Miss?"

The space would be so empty, all by herself.

"If you wouldn't mind," she murmured. "I'd like to sit in the front." The driver blinked in surprise, then hurried to sweep the door open. As Hermione settled herself in the cushy, leather seat, she glanced in the mirror. The backseats were closed off by the privacy screen. Hermione couldn't see into the space at all. It almost felt like a shield, from what could have been.

Crisp breeze from the AC pushed her curls back from her sweaty face, and the engine purred to life. Hermione looked once more at the key in her hand, before reciting the address she'd memorized, out of foolish longing, vain hope, and a million other things that crowded her mind out at night.

"22 Whistler Lane, Brighton and Hove, please."