Hermione looks at Ron. Ron, with that ridiculous grin she's grown to hate. Behind him, Harry stands, straight and so very still, his eyes boring into hers. His face is silent but his eyes whisper 'defeat'.
"I- I'm sorry, Ron." And Hermione runs, lifting her ivory gown above her knees because she doesn't need another reason to be ashamed, not now.
Whispers fill the cathedral, and the officiate shuts his book with a soft crack. Harry doesn't pay any attention, just puts a comforting hand on his best mate's shoulder.
Ron shrugs the hand off. He knows.
Ginny steps past the Maid of Honor and up to the Best Man, lovely in the dress robes Hermione chose because they were the same shade of emerald as Harry's eyes. She takes Harry's hand, and he feels the warm gold of his mother's engagement ring against his palm.
Ginny can be noble too. Harry has never loved her more.
"Go get her."
Harry runs.