Beautifully Frizzy Hair
The first time that Hermione had tamed her hair into a sleek, smooth, perfectly styled bun was at the Yule Ball in her forth year. This was also the first time that Ron had really noticed how beautiful Hermione was. The periwinkle blue robes she had worn had brought out the sparkle in her brown eyes and the golden bronze streaks in her hair. But Ron had messed it up. He had blundered in, insulting her and putting her down, because all he wanted to do was hold her and kiss her and tell her how beautiful she was. So he acted the way he always did when an unfamiliar emotion presented itself to him- he pushed it away. He regretted it more than he had ever imagined.
The second time that she de-frizzed her hair was on their very first proper date. This was after the war, after their fight, after their kiss. They were both still grief-stricken, filled with loss and horror, but they went to a little Muggle Italian restaurant, and they had their first truly romantic encounter. Ron thought that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her straightened hair fell in a glossy curtain down her back, framing her face, and it glinted in the candlelight. He just watched her as she talked enthusiastically, her eyes bright and glowing. He had once thought them mud brown, boring and plain, but no more. Now he saw them as they were. Brown and green and gold... They were so much more exotic that his boring blue eyes, and sometimes, when he stared into them, he felt like he was falling... And there was nothing he could do. But he didn't mind. He didn't tell her that she was beautiful that night. But he wished he had.
The third time that Hermione tamed her frizzy curls, fighting them into organised, sleek waves, was on their forty-seventh date, after two years, countless fights, one almost break-up and a very awkward Christmas dinner at Hermione's grandparents' house. He had realised that he loved her a long time ago, but hadn't plucked up the courage to tell her yet. Tonight, as she grumbled about a fiasco at work, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed, he finally told her, interrupting her impassioned speech. "I love you, Hermione Granger." She stopped, her mouth half-open, shocked into silence. "I have never loved anyone as much as you. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I..." He had stopped, momentarily terrified that she didn't return his feelings. "Hermione?" She suddenly smiled, a grin lighting up her features, and leant across the table to kiss him. "I love you too, Ronald Weasley. Now and forever." And they kissed with a passion that was only cut short when Ron knocked over a candle and set fire to the tablecloth. He regretted nothing that night, except maybe the burns on his arm.
The fourth time that Hermione forced her hair to calm down and lie straight was on their sixty-ninth date, in the same Italian restaurant that their first date had been in. Ron was nervous and anxious throughout the meal but denied it when Hermione questioned him. After they had left, heading for a secluded alley where they could Disapperate home, Ron stopped, knelt on the cold wet ground and pulled out a box. In the box was a simple ring, a silver band with three tiny diamonds- understated but beautiful, just like his Hermione. 'Hermione, I love you. Will you... Will you marry me?' For one heart-stopping moment, Ron thought she would say no, but then she lunged at him, knocking him flat on his back and kissing him until he couldn't breathe. 'Yes!' she said, and Ron had never been happier.
The night before the wedding, Ron and Hermione met up, just to talk and catch a moment together. He twisted a curl around his finger absent-mindedly as he talked.
"Come on, 'Mione, tell me what the dress is like!"
"No, Ron... You'll see tomorrow!"
"But Hermione..." he whined.
She laughed at him, and then kissed him. "No!" He pouted, and she relented. "Fine, I'll tell you how I'm doing my hair! I'm going to straighten it, and then Ginny saw this great style, all sleek and smooth..." Ron watched as the woman he loved told him how she was going to tame hair that he had once thought was untameable.
"Hermione, please..." he coughed, his voice cracking. "Please don't straighten your hair!"
"Sorry? I don't get it, Ron," she said, baffled. "I thought you preferred my hair straight!"
'What? No! I love your hair straight, I love it wavy, I love it tamed. But I prefer it like this. Frizzy, curly, wild... That's the girl I fell in love with even when I didn't realise it- that's her real hair, that matches her personality... That's what I love the most.'
So the next day, Hermione walked down the aisle in an immaculate pretty dress that accuented her body shape, the dress that Ron had been dying to see, with a perfectly made-up face and a mass of mad, wild, crazy brown curls and frizz, tinted gold and bronze and even silver by the light. And Ron knew, as he took her hand looking at her fantastic hair and her incredible luminous smile, that he had never seen anything or anyone more beautiful than his Hermione.