Author's Notes: It's kind of funny, and something I just realized this, but as I write this, it's raining. Hee hee. Anyway, I'm slightly weird right now because I'm desperately typing up the next chapters of Analyze This! Ch. 8 is finished! I just need to finish editing it. Ch.9 has been started. I know, don't have heart attacks anyone. Yeah. So anyway, this story came to be because of Ch. 8 of 'Analyze'. I loved writing an R/H scene that's in the chapter, and this idea popped into my head. So here it goes. It's my first fluffy R/H. (I only have one other and it's a kind of depressing). So here goes. Please review!
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. Only the plot.
Try To Stop the Rain
"Oh God, Harry; what the hell am I going to do?"
Harry Potter age twenty-four ran into his living room to find one of his best friends sitting on the couch. Ron Weasley had his head in his hands and was shaking so badly that he appeared to be having some kind of breakdown.
"I went there…and then I fell…and there was this dog, so she thinks I hate animals…then I ran away…and it was all wet…" the redhead rambled miserably.
"Hang on, hang on," Harry ordered, looking at a mysterious puddle at Ron's feet. "Did you go out and get pissed after another fight with Hermione? Because I told you that if you ever got that drunk again and –"
"What?" snapped Ron. His eyes were bloodshot and looked unusually small and dilated. He looked in the direction of Harry's eyes and scowled. "No, you bloody idiot; that's not…I'm not drunk…it's raining outside." Ron looked so despondent after he spoke that Harry decided not to voice his relief that the puddle was water…and not…what it was last time that Ron was drunk out of his mind.
"You're soaking wet," said Harry.
"Oh, well-spotted, mate," Ron said acidly. Harry frowned.
"Look, I don't know what's wrong with you but you need to get dry first. Dissipatio," he said, and in the blink of an eye Ron was no longer a sopping, depressed wreck, but simply a depressed wreck. Ah, the wonders of magic!
"Thanks," Ron mumbled, sounding like he was about to simply crumble into thousands of pieces at any moment.
The two of them sat in silence for a few moments until Harry decided to breech the silence.
"Ready to tell me why you look as if you're going to jump off London Bridge?"
Ron looked at Harry miserably. "You want me to tell you what happened?"
Harry rolled his eyes inwardly. He had great reserves of patience – massive reserves. It was just that they always seemed to dry up with each new Ron/Hermione argument. Instead he said, "That would be nice."
"What didn't happen?!" exclaimed Ron suddenly. "Now my life is over and everything's crap."
"Did you have a nasty row with Hermione?" asked Harry patiently.
Ron shook his head. "No. Worse…I asked her to marry me."
Then there was really a silence.
Harry's green eyes widened with surprise. "You did what?"
Ron narrowed his eyes. "I," he pointed to himself, "Asked Hermione Jane Granger," he gestured elsewhere, "To marry me."
As the idea of it sank in, Harry began to smile.
"That's wonderful!" he laughed. "See, I always knew that it would happen. It's still a bit of a shock that it's actually happening, but still!"
Ron smiled wryly. The smile only made him look more pitiful. "So it'll be even more of a shocker that it's not happening, eh?" he said sadly.
Harry was silent.
"Oh would you bloody well stop being quiet every time I say something bad?! It only makes it worse!"
"Well what the hell do you want me to say? Do you want me to start singing? It'll only make you cry harder," Harry snapped, feeling sorry himself.
"I know," said the redhead morosely, "It always made Hermione cry."
Harry looked at his friend. "She was laughing."
"Oh well, three fucking cheers for you then for making her laugh so hard she cried." Before Harry could say anything more Ron continued. "I only made her cry…" He put his head into his hands. "And I'm not crying, you prat…really."
Harry pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. Not really knowing what else to do, he patted Ron awkwardly on the back.
"Maybe you should start from the beginning…" he offered. "You may have misunderstood…you and Hermione are always mixing up signals."
Ron thought about it for a moment and then sat back. "Fine, I'll relive it," he said. "Only…only you have to put on some tea. Mum always does that for me when I'm sad."
As it would be extremely inappropriate for Harry to snicker at the moment, he fought against it – he would save it for later. He would do it after fixing whatever mess had happened.
"I suppose it all started when Hermione got off work today…" Ron began with a sigh.
Hermione hustled out of her office as if the hem of her robes were on fire.
Today had to have been the crappiest day she'd had in an awfully long time.
"Ms. Granger?" said a petite witch hurrying up to Hermione. "Ms. Granger?"
The wild-haired woman stopped in her tracks. "Yes, Miranda?"
"Sorry, Ms. Granger, but the Hogsmeade branch wanted to make sure that your name was not misspelled. They wanted to know if you would please write it down on this parchment," she held it out, "so that it could be transferred immediately onto the invitations for the reception."
Hermione's brow furrowed as she thought of a nice way to say what she was going to. "You don't know how to spell my name yet, Miranda?" she said bluntly.
The petite witch blushed deeply. "Oh, I do, Ms. Granger, I honestly do. It's just that…they…wanted to be extra careful…"
Hermione nodded in understanding and signed the parchment. "It's all right, I know what you mean." She handed it back. "I'll see you tomorrow, Miranda." She began walking off.
"Oh, but tomorrow's Saturday, Ms. Granger!"
Hermione almost smacked herself. "Right! Thank you!"
Miranda nodded enthusiastically and went back to her office.
Hermione sighed. Founding a corporation for S.P.E.W. had been hard enough, but now she saw that disrespect ran everywhere. She knew exactly how Miranda felt. The higher officials in the Ministry often pretended that the rookies were utterly incapable of the smallest things. Hermione was sure that they knew Miranda was informed of how to spell her own boss's name – they just wanted to make the poor witch feel as small as possible.
But that was how things went, Hermione thought, pushing open the double doors to her exit. She almost growled when she saw rain pouring down outside. The last thing she wanted was to get soaking wet after such a difficult day – she didn't even have an umbrella.
"Impervius Totalus," she said determinedly, pointing her wand at her chest. A slow, heavy sort of feeling settled over her as the spell took effect. When Hermione stepped out into the rain, it rolled over and off of her, as if she were encased in some kind of magical wax. "Much better," she murmured and continued on her way, her mind teeming with thoughts of finances and the upcoming Liberation Function.
Countless people told Hermione that starting smaller was better. And although she hated for her ideas to be negated, other people were often right. Not all house elves were completely miserable with their lives – as a matter of fact, most of them worshipped their 'masters' (Hermione hated that word) with a kind of admiration one bestowed on a hero. She came to see that it really was out of the norm for a house elf to want pay – but under no circumstances did that mean that those elves should be denied wages.
Setting up a small office (that eventually became a full-blown headquarters and had its own space in the Ministry), Hermione told all elves that wanted wages and vacations and socks (they all shared that rather eerie fascination with socks…) to come to her. They would be served for a change.
Admittedly, the only place that accepted those elves was Hogwarts. But eventually, when wizards and witches saw that the elves would work just as diligently for not all that much, more and more people enlisted their help.
S.P.E.W. became real.
Hermione almost groaned aloud as she thought about how much work it took to achieve her dream, and how much work was still ahead.
After leaving Hogwarts and getting accepted for a paid internship at the Ministry, she had experienced her own fair share of stress with overconfident supervisors. It was rough in the real world, she came to see, and Harry hadn't defeated Voldemort until two years following their graduation from school. Two years during which Hermione had had to juggle keeping Harry healthy, motivated, and focused without losing his mind; satisfying her boss who was positive that muggleborns were as dumb as rocks; and Ron.
A year and a half before, Ron had finally come out with his feelings for her. To be perfectly fair, Hermione reasoned, she had had to reveal her own sentiments for the redheaded, temperamental auror as well.
At times though, after Ron had gone home late from her flat, leaving her fridge virtually empty and after suffering through another row, Hermione found herself wondering where exactly she and Ron were going. If they were ever to get married, how would they survive through ten fights a day? Harry had limited the times that Hermione could come running to him to seven times a week – but she needed him twice a day, sometimes. Even her mother – who was positively charmed by Ron – limited it to eleven. And Hermione knew that she wouldn't be able to take it if she married someone and it wasn't forever. Most people didn't figure her for the romantic type, but oh was she ever. If she was to pledge herself to Ron and it didn't work out, her heart would be broken. Just thinking of divorce from Ron made her tremble. It was like not being able to see straight.
And she couldn't be seeing straight because that was definitely not her Ron trudging toward her, sopping wet in the rain. Was it?
The figure came closer. Red hair plastered to his face…very tall…blue eyes…
"Ron?" she asked incredulously. "What on earth are you doing out in this weather?"
He seemed to have to take a breath before speaking.
"I wanted to pick you up from work…but I had to stop for these." He thrust out a bouquet of bedraggled, weather-beaten flowers, and looked sheepish when he saw their state. They were still at least a foot away from each other, as if Ron was afraid to come any closer and he continued. "By the time I got it from the vendor…it was raining really hard…but I didn't want to go back home, I had to see you."
Hermione's frustration from the day melted a little. "You're so sweet, Ron," she said, looking at him in such a soft way that he wanted to…he wanted to kiss away the frustration that was evident on her face...
Wait. Frustration? That could be bad.
She came a little closer.
"Wait," Ron said urgently. He swallowed. "That's…that's not it…and I've got to say it or I'll explode."
Hermione looked at him oddly. "Alright…"
He swallowed once more as if in pain. "Hermione Granger...oh, hang on a second." He broke the intense look that they were sharing and fumbled for something in his pocket.
Hermione's eyes widened. 'Oh, my god,' she thought.
When he fished out whatever he had, he held it tightly in his palm and sighed. Looking earnestly into her brown eyes he began once more.
"Hermione Granger…" he stepped forward. And went down. So did Hermione.
"Bloody freaking hell," he muttered. The slick ground had made him slip on his way to her, and as he had been reaching for his love's hand, he had taken her down with them.
"I'm so, so sorry, 'Mione," he said, sounding more than a little frustrated now.
Hermione was too dazed to do anything but nod.
"Okay, I'm ready. Hermione –"
"Arf! Aroof!"
A little brown dog darted closer to the pair on the wet concrete from down the street. For such a small animal its face was fat and droopy, and its mouth opened like little fish 'o's when it barked.
"Aroof!" barked the tiny dog.
Ron tried to ignore it, but it came closer.
The redhead sighed gustily and with only a minor struggle got off the ground; he gave Hermione his hand so that she could get up as well.
"Aroof!"
"Get out of here!" Ron shouted at it. He then turned back to Hermione and tried to begin again. But the dog yipped once more and with a tiny growl launched itself at him. "Piss off!" Ron growled, trying to force the dog off of his robes.
"Don't hurt it!" Hermione insisted.
"It's trying to eat me, Hermione! I have no choice but to be…a little rough," he said, enunciating his words as he struggled with it. Realizing that his plan to suavely get his girlfriend to agree to marriage with him was quickly going down the drain, Ron used his last resort. He Stunned the dog.
Hermione gasped.
"Was that really necessary?" she shrieked, fearing the worst. She knelt beside the animal and picked up its dead weight, nearly in hysterics.
Ron knelt beside her, took the dog out of her hands, tossed it (as gently as he felt he needed to be) to the side and took her hands in his own. "Yes. Just…listen, please."
Hermione gulped audibly.
"Right. I'm just going to go out and say it," he said, looking into Hermione's eyes so that she could see the tiny flecks of grey in his eyes. "I love you, Hermione Granger. Would you be my wife?"
There was nothing. And then a sound that broke his heart issued forth…her cries.
"Oh, god. I'm…I'm…"
"It wasn't supposed to be like this!" she said, weeping.
Ron paled. "I…I know it could have been better, but see, I've never done this before…and so…"
Hermione cried harder.
"See, Ron…look at my robes…just look at them! When someone proposed to me, it was supposed to be when I was wearing my periwinkle ones…or that blue sundress my mum bought for me…not in these hideous ones…And I know that sounds terribly shallow, but I wanted my fiancé to think I looked beautiful when he proposed to me…"
"But Hermione, you – "
"I look best in blue! You told me so. And Ginny told me that brown makes me look slightly drab…(she wept) unless it was that golden brown color I saw…or tan because you said it complements my skin really well…"
Ron remained silent. He thought that she looked complementary enough.
"That's why that dog was chasing us, probably. Because I'm wearing tree-bark brown robes and it thinks I'm some kind of overgrown shrub…And I was supposed to be wearing that strawberry lip-gloss you like so much, but I'm not and my lips are all chapped…And most of all," she continued, weeping harder than ever, "it wasn't supposed to be raining. The rain is so…depressing, and I wanted sun when someone proposed to me, because then I could see his face better than ever…" She sniffled.
"Hermione, I…I don't know what to say…" Ron despaired.
Hermione looked at him gently, still very upset.
"Did you ever think, Ron that maybe…maybe we're not meant to be together?" Ron was even more speechless – and that was saying something. "I mean…if just the proposal has gone awry…maybe it's a sign or something…"
'It's not!' Ron wanted to shout. But he had no clue how to console Hermione, or how to end her tears. And so they stood in the rain for a few more minutes.
Then Hermione squared off her shoulders. Ron watched her as she opened her mouth, about to say something more, then closed it; and crying ran past him.
"And that's what happened," said Ron, half an hour later after beginning his tale. He sipped at his tea and looked at Harry sideways. "So…d'you think I misheard or something?" he asked hopefully.
The raven-haired man looked at his friend awkwardly. "Erm…she sounded pretty clear to me…for Hermione that is…" he admitted. Ron's eyes bulged. "But she never makes any sense, so who knows?"
"I'd be a lousy husband, anyway," Ron whispered.
"Don't say that!" Harry said. "What you need to do is speak to Hermione again. Maybe in a dry, less animal inhabited place."
"It's the fault of that dog!" declared Ron. "She thinks I'm an animal hater! She doesn't want to marry me because she suspects that I might abuse Crookshanks."
"Ron, you've kicked Crookshanks before…" said Harry scratching his head.
"Yeah! When I was in like, third-year!"
"Try last week, mate."
"Some friend you are."
Harry sighed and sat up. "Let's get back to the problem at hand," he suggested.
"That Hermione hates me?"
"She doesn't hate you!" said Harry frustrated.
"She was fucking hysterical when I asked her! I make her hysterical!"
"Shut up and listen, Ron," Harry commanded.
Ron put his face in his hands. "I make you hysterical, too. I deserve to be alone. I should live in box all by myself."
"There's no box on this earth large enough to fit your stupidity!" said Harry. "Most of the box would already be taken up by your big feet."
Ron began to look thoughtful. "I could live in a cottage all by myself. What d'you call a male spinster, Harry?" asked Ron. "A minster or something?"
The bespectacled man sighed. "Yes, Ron. A minster. That's exactly it."
"I'm so pitiful," said Ron. He paused. "Harry?"
"Yes, Ron?"
"Did…is your cousin engaged?"
Harry looked uncomfortable. "There are extenuating circumstances, Ron –"
"Answer the question, Harry."
A very small voice said, "Yes."
"Even your cousin managed to trap someone?!" shouted Ron, faintly mortified. "Your cousin's not even like…human."
"Ron…"
"What does that make me, Harry?"
"She proposed to him," Harry said. Ron listened intently.
"Go on," he said.
Harry ran a hand through his hair. He hated talking about the Dursleys. "Her father's head of some big-time drill company. It was practically arranged. Except she wanted to ask Dudley, and now they're getting married."
Ron looked thoughtful. "Bet that took his arse sized ego down a few notches."
Harry shook his head. "Petunia didn't want to ruin his perception of himself." Harry snorted. "As if mirrors didn't do that already. Anyway, neither Vernon nor Petunia told him it was arranged. Dear Dudders thinks that she was secretly in love with him from afar."
"So he must've been really surprised," said Ron, amazed at the limit to which Harry's uncle and aunt would go to please their son.
"You've no idea," said Harry. "He fainted. On her."
"Holy shit!" said Ron.
"I know," Harry said laughing. "Uncle Vernon was so drunk because they had to take her to the hospital for minor rib injuries that he forgot not to mention that in his letter to me."
"The old fart wrote you?" breathed Ron.
"Yeah," Harry said disgustedly. "They know I've got a lot of money now, so they asked me to send Dudley a 'nice wedding gift'."
"What'd you give?" inquired Ron.
"I sent them a tissue."
Ron made a nasty face.
"Christ, Harry…that's more than they deserve…"
Harry smirked. "It was used."
Through all of Ron's despair a smile broke out. "Cheers to that." Then he thought for a moment. "But if they came to the wizarding world that might actually fetch a lot of money…"
He shook his head. He was no longer in frenzy, but retreating into a deep sadness. "What the hell am I going to do?"
Harry looked at his friend. "I know that it might not mean much coming from me, but I know that Hermione loves you. You probably just shocked the hell out of her. You know how she likes things just right – and that's not to say that it wasn't a good proposal. Just that it wasn't maybe at the right time."
Ron nodded and thought for a moment. "Thanks, Harry."
"Anytime."
The two of them were sitting, sipping tea for awhile and talking about Hogwarts because of the memories that Dudley brought up for Harry. In the middle of a conversation of superstition - (Harry was telling Ron about the time when he was nine and the Dursleys were especially annoyed with him. They thought that they had done something wrong to deserve him and needed to atone for it. So they hired a guy to do feng shui on the house and made Harry wear garlic cloves. "But then Dudley started eating them, so we couldn't do that anymore.") – Ron jumped up on the couch.
"Harry, I've just gotten an idea."
"Should I be scared before or after I hear about it?" asked Harry.
"Shut up and listen," Ron clasped his hands together. "Alright, for someone who doesn't believe in tea leaves and things, Hermione has always been really superstitious – she's always warning us against something or another. But if you really think that she cares for me, and that she loves me as much as you claim she does, she should be willing to give all of that stuff up for me, right?" he asked eagerly.
Harry could only nod. It was amazing how insecure Ron and Hermione were about each other.
"So Harry, what I want you to do is this…"
Ten minutes later, Harry was wondering how he was stuck with Ron Weasley for a best friend.
"Ron that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my entire life."
"You said that you would listen!"
"Let me make sure I have this correct," said Harry patiently. "You want me to go to Hermione's house, Apparate on top of her roof, make it rain down on the two of you, and see if she decides to marry you this time?"
Ron smiled. "Exactly."
"NO."
"Harry –"
"No, Ron. I know how much you love her…but do you know what Hermione will do if she finds out that I've tricked her?"
"No…?" said Ron curiously.
"Neither do I!" shouted Harry. "She knows so many spells that I have no idea what she could do!"
"Please, Harry, I'm begging you. I can't do it on my own, it's stopped raining – see?"
Harry looked outside. "Ron, this is something that you need to do on your own. Hermione loves you. Explain how you feel to her, and she'll say yes."
Ron frowned. "Fine. But if she doesn't accept me, you're having a new roommate."
Hermione sat on her chair, huddled up underneath the covers, a lukewarm cup of tea enveloped by her hands.
She had been holding that cup ever since she arrived home and changed straight into her pajamas; and she had only taken two sips, three sips the most from it.
Why had Ron asked her today?
It sounded moronic even to her ears, but if he had asked her any other day but then, she might've said yes. And it was right after she had doubted their relationship. Was that some kind of omen? Did this mean that they were officially broken up?
A short knock sounded at her door and she started; people she knew usually just Apparated right into her house.
Getting up gingerly, Hermione called, "I'm coming."
She opened the door and was immediately pulled outside.
"Ron? What are you doing?" she asked, flabbergasted.
He was wearing the exact same clothes that he had been before, only now they were dry. He had probably stopped by Harry's before coming to her, Hermione thought wryly.
"I'm here to convince you that I'm right for once, and I don't want you to say a thing." Hermione looked taken aback for a second so he amended his statement. "I mean unless you really want to, of course."
"Ron, we can't stand out here…we'll catch cold or something…"
"Fine, if you don't say yes, I'll die anyway…" Ron realized how drastic that sounded and amended once more. "I mean I don't want you to feel obligated or anything for my well-being, but Hermione, I don't understand why you can't marry me." He said the last very desperately, and Hermione realized how much she wanted him, but she was plainly terrified. "I understand that you look wonderful in blue – I remember the Triwizard Tournament fourth-year…You were the most beautiful person there. But that doesn't mean that I won't love you if you're not glammed up all of the time. Right now, I probably look like crap." Actually, Hermione thought he looked quite dashing. Small strands of red were falling into his eyes from the wind, and at random times he would push it back.
"No you don't, Ron," she whispered. "Look at me, I'm in my pajamas."
He shook his head. "It's fine. Because your pajamas are purple. And purple is a mix of blue and pink, so it's close enough. And look," he whispered, "it's not raining so it's even better."
It began to pour.
Cold rivulets of rain splattered all around them and Hermione looked so distraught that Ron almost lost hope.
"You don't have to worry about looking terrible, Hermione…no…that's came out wrong…I mean I still think you're…just wonderful." He was blushing so hard that Ron wasn't sure if Hermione couldn't feel heat radiating off him. "I could care less if you're wearing a periwinkle dress or not, because I'm so in love with you that even orange would look periwinkle…and besides I'm not exactly sure what shade of blue periwinkle is…it just doesn't matter." He conjured an umbrella with a quick flick of his wrist so that it covered them.
"So…Hermione…what do you say…? Will you do the honor of marrying me?"
Ron's heart was beating so fast that he thought he would just collapse right there. Hermione wasn't saying anything. Then she began to cry.
"I…I understand," Ron murmured, heartbroken. He began to walk away. All of a sudden, a body tackled him from behind whispering, "Yes, yes, yes…" so sweetly that he himself felt like weeping. Dropping the umbrella, Ron fully embraced Hermione and held her in the rain. Then he cupped her face with wet, but soft fingers and pulled her close to him. Her lips weren't dry at all, he thought; negating what Hermione had told him when he first proposed. They were so unbelievably wonderful, and Hermione smelled so good that he could hardly believe it was real.
Hermione pulled away after a few minutes.
"I'm so sorry for doubting you, Ron." All he could do was smirk. "It's just that I'm usually right about these things, and you and Harry are always rushing into matters, so I was afraid that we might be making a mistake…" She shrugged.
"There's a first time for everything," said Ron matter-of-factly. "Even Hermione Granger being wrong." She rolled her eyes and turning, walked inside her apartment.
"Come in from the rain," she ordered, still smiling widely.
Ron felt like he and Hermione had just caught that weird disease where you couldn't stop smiling at someone else.
It was called happiness. Or love. Whichever sounded less mushy, he reflected.
Listening to the first of many commands that he would hear from Hermione as an almost married couple, Ron stepped on the threshold of the flat. But just before he completely stepped inside, his put his hand in the air and made a cutting motion.
After the door was shut and no more stirrings were heard – at least ones that could be mentioned in a PG-13 rated story – the rain began to trickle down to a light drizzle.
Harry smiled and put his wand back in his pocket; whistling as he Apparated home.
Fin
Did you like it??? I think it's kind of cute. I think that both Hermione and Ron are a bit out of canon, especially Hermione, but please don't judge too harshly. It's the first time I've written her in a story. And I figure her to be the kind of expressive person sometimes from re-reading Goblet of Fire. She can definitely be very emotional. Anyway, please, please review. It would mean so much! Tell me what you think! Flames are okay, but constructive criticism is always better.
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