Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Summary: Here comes the bride! Hermione and Ron are getting married… and chaos ensues! Rated for language and upcoming slash, drunkenness, and thievery. This takes place assuming, of course, that Sirius is alive and well (because how can you have a wedding without Sirius?) and pardoned. Have an open mind.

A/N – This is a joint fic between myself – mysticVigil – and DragonMistress, so if you like it, check out our personal alias'. Please review!

My Big Fat Weasley Wedding

"Mission: Impossible"

Ronald Weasley paced in front of his friends, hands behind his back, doubtfulness etched into his features. "So you think it's stupid? Or crazy? Or-"

"Both," Seamus Finnigan put in promptly.

"Seamus!"

"Sorry, Harry, mate but Seamus is right. I think Ron right here's lost his marbles." Dean Thomas shook his head sadly.

He's a few bricks short of a load," Seamus added.

"Not the sharpest bulb in the box." That stopped everyone for a moment, but Seamus continued.

"The cheese has slipped off the cracker."

"He's a couple beers short of a six pack."

"He-"

"Okay, we get it!" Harry laid a hand on Ron's back; Ron just groaned and sank into a chair.

"Well, he did ask us what we thought." Seamus shrugged and held up his hands defensively. "I mean, the idea itself isn't so bad… marrying Hermione 'n all… but who needs feckin' marriage?"

"You're marrying Ginny," Harry pointed out.

Seamus grinned sheepishly. "She's a total babe, Harry! She's different!"

Ron managed to peep through his fingers. "So's Hermione," he mumbled.

"Nah!" Dean shook his head. "All women are the same. They hog the blankets when you sleep-"

Piping up, Seamus continued, "They always ask you 'does this make me look fat?' and complain when you say it does-"

Harry groaned and Dean picked up, "They leave hair in the drain all the time, long massive strands that look like something died-"

"This is the last girl you'll ever sleep with-"

"She's the only girl I'll ever sleep with!" Seamus looked horrified; Dean shook his head.

"You'll get a mother-in-law-" Everyone shuddered.

"Their 'time-of-the-month' can drive you crazy!"

"They watch horrible soaps on the telly."

"Only the Muggle ones!" Harry protested.

Seamus shared a look with Dean. "Aye, but Hermione lived like a Muggle for ten years."

"Good point."

Ron, who had turned quite pale, shook his head. "If everything just gets that bad… well, I can't take it!"

Seamus and Dean smirked; Harry shook his head, frustrated. "You guys!"

From the back of the room, a quiet, nervous voice spoke up. "I think marriage is a great idea. Hermione's lovely."

"Thank you, Neville." Seamus and Dean groaned, but Neville continued.

"She's smart and nice; Hermione's beautiful. She can cook – I think – she knows every spell to make a house clean… she'll be in a top spot at the Ministry soon, and you love her, Ron. I think it's perfect!"

Ron, who had been looking peaky, smiled. "You know, you're right, Neville! S'long as I love her, well, that's what really matters!"

Seamus narrowed his eyes, but shrugged. "It's your funeral, mate."

Ron eyed the sandy-haired boy suspiciously but began, "I'll ask her tomorrow, after I get the ring…"

"No!" Neville squeaked. "You need to ask her father first! It's the proper thing to do," he added quickly.

Ron sat back down again. "I've never met Mr. Granger. What do I expect?"

"He'll hate you!"

"Seamus!" Harry glared at him; Ron looked stricken.

Dean nodded. "No, Harry, you've never had a real girlfriend. It's true, what Seamus says. Mr. Granger will hate Ron, because he thinks that Hermione's too good for him." Neville listened interestedly, but Harry pretended not to care.

"You have to butter them up to make 'em like you," Seamus put in, excited. "Compliment him and Mrs. Granger-"

"-the shoes, Ron, say the shoes are nice-"

"-let them know that you highly respect them as parents-"

"-at least twice, or the technique is lost-"

"-and whatever you do, don't give them the impression that you've done anything more than kiss her!" Seamus warned gravely.

Ron paled and Neville patted his knee.

"Now that one's important, don't forget it." Dean smiled. "And remember, be polite, well-dressed, courteous, and don't be nervous."

"It isn't a job interview, guys," Harry said on Ron's behalf.

"So what do I do, just say 'Mr. Granger, I want to marry your daughter because I love her?'" Ron sought confirmation; Dean and Seamus made to say something, but Harry clapped his hands over their mouths.

"Sounds perfect!" Neville agreed.

Ron jumped up nervously. "Wish me luck, mates!" He was met with blank stares but smiled bravely. "Right then…."

When Ron was halfway out the door Seamus couldn't hold himself back. "Married men become fathers!" Ron turned white as a ghost, but didn't stop.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Neville asked when Ron was out of earshot.

Even Harry agreed.

-

Ron looked at the paper he held in his hand: 1389 Wheeler Avenue, written in his own scrawling, loopy script. He checked the mailbox he stood beside: 1389.

He checked the paper again. Maybe 1389 wasn't right. Maybe Hermione really lived at 1889 – or 1388; that made more sense. Hermione really lived in a simple house, American log-cabin style, with the shutters peeling and a crooked mailbox. He shook his head; he just needed to learn nicer script; that was it!

With a chuckle, Ron knocked on the door and stood on the ancient, crumbling front steps. He smiled when a white-haired woman wearing tiny spectacles opened the door.

Wait: that wasn't right. He couldn't be sure, but he didn't think Hermione's mum was in her 70's. "Mrs. Granger?"

The woman laughed. "Oh my, no! The Grangers live across the street, dear!"

Ron didn't return her smile. "Are you sure?" he asked, puzzled.

The woman narrowed her eyes and called, "Herman! Will you come here for a minute?"

A stooped man with a walker appeared by the old lady. "What is it?" Ron knew he had never heard this croaky voice before.

"I- I'm looking for the Grangers…?" he began uncertainly, but the man cut him off.

"Across the street, Sonny!" and Ron was left with his original problem: Hermione never mentioned she lived in a mansion.

Ron sighed; maybe he was on the wrong street. Maybe he was being directed to the wrong Grangers. Nevertheless he started up the long walk – and stopped when he found his entrance being barred by a wrought-iron gate. There was a little box attached, and he couldn't imagine what a box would be doing attached to a front gate; and he began to wonder why anyone in their right mind would attach a box with no foreseeable purpose, and then got to wondering what if the Grangers weren't in their right minds and he was making a big mistake seeing them about Hermione because Hermione really was insane—

"Good evening, Grangers' residence. How may I help you?" Ron stared around for the disembodied voice, bewildered.

"Hello? Hello?" He tapped the little box thoughtfully and stepped back when it started to speak.

"Hello?" came a woman's tinny voice. "Could you speak a little louder? State your name."

He took a deep breath. "RonaldWeasley" he shouted.

Another voice laughed. "It's that boyfriend of Hermione's. Ronald, dear," –the new voice was addressing him- "Hermione's not here right now. She's shopping."

Ron paused a moment to ponder how these voices fit inside the little box – if that's where they were coming from – and spoke back in a measured voice, as if speaking to a three-year-old, "I'd… like… to… speak… to… Mr.…and… Mrs.… Granger!"

There was a voice on the other end, puzzled; "Why… of course, dear… come up the walk…." Ron stood, for a moment, with his brow furrowed, staring fixatedly at the little black box, as if willing it to speak again…

…and the door in front of him swung open. Magic! For a moment Ron just stood there uncertainly, waiting for a signal or something… then he started up the walk, taking in his surroundings.

The lawn… manicured, probably – and if the Grangers were wizards he was sure there wouldn't have been a gnome around anywhere. His mother would have died if she had their gardens – not a weed in sight! And the house… it was just yard after yard of black shingle interrupted occasionally by big bay windows.

Once on the stoop he knocked on the door. There was a little button by it, and he pressed it, amazed when it blared something that sounded like Beethoven's Fifth Symphony that Percy always used to listen to on dad's old Muggle radio. "Hold on, I'm coming-" and Ron had only a second to ponder just why Hermione had never told him about all this… before the door was flung open.

He had seen Mrs. Granger once, but had never actually spoken to her – that time she had seemed nervous and uncomfortable. But now she was in her element… though Ron had to admit to himself that he wasn't ready for her pearls or stiletto heels. (Who wore those? Indoors, too. It was like the Stepford Wives or something.) "Oh, you must be Ronald, dear!" she remarked in a sugary-sweet voice, her curly brown hair bouncing as she bent to kiss his cheek. "How wonderful!"

He blanched.

Ron stood like a deer caught in headlights. Finally he settled for, "Mrs. Granger – h'lo – nice shoes," remembering Seamus warning – er – advice.

Mrs. Granger's perfectly tweezed brows collided for a moment before she spoke – almost as though worried for Ron's sanity. "Call me Lovey, dear… Thurston! Visitor!"

Lovey? Thurston?

Dear?

Ron stood a moment, fidgeting and biting his lip, before a big bald man bearing the shocking resemblance to Mr. Clean, minus the earring, appeared and almost crushed Ron's fingers in a monster handshake. "Ronald!" he announced, his voice booming.

Ron was seriously beginning to have second thoughts about having Thurston and Lovey as in-laws.

"Mr. Granger – er – hi…" he squeaked nervously.

There was a pause, and Lovey started up again. "Ron, lovely, it's ever so wonderful to finally meet you, my, my, Hermione's told us so much, we never thought she'd let you out for us to see, it's just grand…."

Ron's mind was on rewind. What was Seamus' second piece of advice? Right – compliment them. Well, he could do that!

"It's great to meet you too!" Ron said enthusiastically. "I'm sure you're the greatest, most hard-working parents ever," he added as an afterthought. Take that, Seamus. I used the parenting technique just fine!

The Grangers exchanged a Look. "Right… Ron, this is great, but Thurston has a business meeting in a little while, and I'm sure you had something to ask, so if we could move into the living room…."

Damn – they saw right to the hidden agenda, and Lovey was dropping her "pleased-to-meet-you" air. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Okay." Ron squirmed.

Lovey led the way, her heels click-clacking the whole time, and Thurston propelling Ron, a giant hand on his shoulder. Ron gulped as he sunk into an over-stuffed leather chair – how much had this stuff cost? – and Lovey and Thurston gazed at him beadily. He cleared his throat. Repeatedly.

"Mr. and – Thurston. Lovey. Erm-"

Thurston interrupted him. "Ron, you're so tense! Would you like a drink? We have a great wine selection."

Ron's eyes widened. He was sure this was a "NO" under Seamus' list entitled 'Things to do when meeting potential in-laws.' "Er – thank you, but no."

Lovey grinned and put a hand on his arm. "We insist."

How had Hermione emerged from this household so normal? How? Her parents were creepy! Thurston smiled down at Ron, his big white teeth blaring… this guy scared him. Scared him as in 'wet-his-pants-afraid' kind of scaring. "Ronald! How can you say no to a good wine?"

"Er – er-" He was caving; it was so much easier just to agree. After all, how much could one glass matter? Never mind that he wasn't old enough to legally drink: after all, Fred and George had been bumming street beers for years. "All right then."

"Excellent." Thurston smiled again, reaching for his best wine, set behind the couch.

Ron knew he was going to regret this.

-

Ron laughed. Those Grangers sure were nice people once you got to know them! Thurston was great – told some jokes, good ones – and Lovey was pretty and witty… after the first few minutes, in which Ron had taken nervous gulps of his wine, talking had seemed to come so naturally, he noted, as he set down his sixth glass.

…but he wasn't drunk, no sir, not Ron!

However, things really were a bit woozy… Lovey had all this fuzz about her outline, and Mr. Granger sounded awfully far away when he clapped Ron on the shoulder and said, "Well, Ronald, it's been nice talking with you, but I have a business meeting I have to attend… dentists hate to be kept waiting you know."

Ron sat up, suddenly attentive: God, did his head ever hurt. But he had something he needed to ask… if he could remember it, anyway….

"Wait, Mr. Granger, I-…." He trailed off. Being smashed sucked.

Lovey and Thurston exchanged that Look again. "Okay, Ron, go ahead, dear," Lovey started in a voice that meant "cut-to-the-chase".

"Okay, well, I wanted to ask…." What had he wanted to ask? Why was he sitting in the Grangers' living room… "Oh yeah. Well, I wanted to know if it would be all right with you if I – er – umm… married your daughter, what's her name? Wait, it's coming to mind: H- Hur- Hermione, that's it!"

For a few seconds it was silent, save the pounding of his head, and Thurston looked at Ron skeptically. Then—-

"Ronald, is Hermione pregnant?"

Bugger! Seamus' voice intoned in Ron's already pounding head – '…whatever you do, don't give them the impression that you've done anything more than kiss her!' Well, he blew that one… what was it he had said that – oh, yeah. "It was great going down to that cottage last Christmas, you know, bloody wonderful, and she's a good dancer, that one, did more'n dance, ha ha…." Stupid, stupid Ron! Seamus' advice list was oh-for-three – oh, well – time to take matters into his own hands.

He sat up, ready to ensure that, no, she wasn't pregnant, not that he was aware of – and slumped down in his seat. "No – er… I don't… don't think so…."

Thurston helped Ron to his feet. "Ronald, I think you had better get home… do you need a ride, or…?"

"No, no, I can – can Apparate, er, Burrow too far away for Muggles…." Mr. Granger looked bewildered and Lovey followed at a distance as he led Ron to the front door.

"Very well, then… I'm sure we'll see each other again sometime," he added, in a voice that meant he hoped the opposite. "Good meeting you."

"Yes, yes… so…" Ron leaned against the door and blurted out in a would-be casual voice, "Can I marry Hermione, then?"

Lovey looked like that was the last thing in the world she wanted, but Thurston just nodded and replied, "Sure, sure, but you need to be getting home…" and, under his breath, to his wife, "…he's not going to remember anything I said anyway, kid's too drunk…."

"…thanks…" Ron replied weakly.

And with that, Mr. Granger's best wine came up, splashing the front walk.

-

Standing atop the highest hill in Britain, moonlight glinted off Hermione's hair and made her seem somehow surreal, a goddess of light. Ron, down on one knee, glanced up at her and watched a smile play across her face. "Hermione, sweet love, will you do me the pleasure of having you for my bride?" He waited, transfixed by her gaze.

"Yes! Of course I will marry you, dearest Ronald!" With a sigh of happiness, she slipped the 14-carot gold engagement ring on her finger and together they melted in a kiss of utter perfection.

At least, that's how it happened in his dreams.

With a groan of frustration, Ron hit his head against the front pane at the Burrow over and over – clunk, clunk, clunk. "Gin-ny," he whined, forehead pressed flat against the window, "Why can't anything ever be easy? And perfect? Why is it always so ha-ard?" His breath fogged up the glass; on the outside rain was streaming torrents.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You want to marry your total opposite. You have to expect things to go wrong."

"But how does the rain know that?" Ginny furrowed her brow.

"What're you talking about?"

He groaned again. "When Seamus asked you to marry him, it was beautiful out, right? The sun was shining; the bees were buzzing, and all that happy crap?"

She squinted at him. "Ye-eah…. but so what?"

"Well, he had perfect weather! I have all this stupid rain! How am I ever supposed to take Hermione to a huge hill with the full moon shining above us?"

"Ron, full moon was last week."

In response, Ron kicked the wall. "Damn!"

Ginny grinned and ran a hand through her thick red hair. "Ron, it doesn't have to be perfect, you know. This is Hermione we're talking about: the girl you've known you were going to marry practically forever. She'll say yes no matter what."

"No matter what?" He cocked his head, cheek now squashed against the glass.

Ginny giggled. "Right, silly. No matter what." She reached out to tousle his hair, but he just sighed again.

"I still wish I had more than this dinky ring to give her. I wanted to do, like," he paused, "14-carot gold, or something."

Ginny shook head and repressed a laugh. "Ronald Weasley, you can't be serious."

"I am! Her family expects the best for her; they're rich, you know."

Ginny squeezed his knee. "Yes, I do, but you didn't know she was until yesterday. She's not the kind of person to care about money. I'm sure she'll like this one anyway. It was our great-great-grandmother's."

"If it means that much, then why am I the sixth Weasley son to pass it on?"

Ginny ticked off the reasons on her fingers. "Bill and Fleur eloped; Charlie likes glamour; Percy was out of favour with Mum and Dad when he married Penny; Fred and Angelina exchanged onion rings, and George isn't married. That leaves you."

Ron shrugged. "I guess."

"Ron, the ring's beautiful, the weather will let up soon, in twenty-four hours you'll be engaged to Hermione – plus, she's at the door. Get out of this mood you're in!" Exasperatedly, she got up to let Hermione in from the rain.

Ron, blushing a beet red, checked himself up and down. Good – he remembered his pants this time. It had been mortifying for Hermione to see him in his boxers. "Hermione!" he squeaked when she entered the room, frizzy hair dripping on the wood floor.

She smiled as he came around to give her a quick kiss; Ginny had a fondness for hitting Ron upside the head with things that were big and heavy whenever she felt they were too passionate in her vicinity. Hermione took his hand as Ginny beamed approval.

"Er – you look nice," Ron commented. Hermione blushed red as he looked her up and down.

"Thanks, I knew you liked this top, I mean, Ginny said blue was my colour, and- Ronald Weasley, why are you so nervous?"

Sweating, Ron wiped his free palm on his pants, and Ginny hit her forehead with her hand. "Er – I'm n-not… nervous…." Ron stuttered.

Hermione rolled her eyes and pried her hand away from his; standing to face him, she touched a spot at his collar. "You buttoned wrong again. And you're squeaking."

Ron looked down at his chest: damn his nervous habits! "I thought I – er – did something wrong."

Smiling, Hermione sighed and started to re-button his shirt; Ginny thoughtfully looked away. "Why should you be nervous? It's only me."

"Right then, why should I be nervous? Thanks for clearing that up for me!" Hermione looked bewildered, and Ginny hissed under her breath, "Smooth move, Romeo."

"Ron, sometimes you can be so weird," Hermione declared, taking his hands and putting her nose against his. "But I love you anyway."

Ron wrinkled his nose and cooed, "I think you're terrific too," before leaning in for another kiss. This definitely qualified for a 'sickening moment' and Ginny opted to whack Ron in the back of his head and push the two out the door.

"Have fun!" she yelled after them, shutting the door and leaning against it. Sometimes she really didn't understand her brother. He was so dense and stupid and… cute, all at the same time. It was a miracle anyone could love him, let alone want to marry him.

Ginny only had a moment to reflect before she spied a small square box sitting on the windowsill.

At this rate, marriage would be a cinch, if only he could get through the proposal.

-

Ron looked down at Hermione as she squeezed his hand across the table. The ring was in his pocket (after Ginny had rushed out to catch him before they Apparated, muttering some excuse about how his fly was broken and stuffing the little box containing one pearl-and-gold engagement ring in his pocket, leaving Hermione confused in their wake); Italian music was playing softly in the background, and candles were glittering on the tablecloth. Everything was perfect, if not more so than he had imagined.

Ron was just extremely nervous.

He closed his eyes once and took a deep breath. When he opened them Hermione was staring at him, concerned. "Ron… are you all right? I knew this Italian food would be bad for you, you always end up having stomach pains, next time we'll go out for Mexican, I promise, we can go now if you want, and you can lie down, it'll settle-"

"No, no!" he interrupted. She couldn't go home this early! How else would he be able to propose? And if he didn't do it now, he would never do it….

Hermione shook her head. "No, Ron, really…." Now several of the patrons were sneaking hidden looks at them.

He was sweating again; sweating led to panicking. He blamed his abnormal pituitary gland. "No," he squeaked, "I- I just- it's ok…." He supposed he was turning green too. Why was the idea of proposal making him sick? And now people were openly staring.

"Ron?" In the candlelight, she looked beautiful; he looked pale and peaky. "I can pay for the check, we can-" Damn! She was getting up from her seat, folding her napkin onto the table. Ron practically threw himself across the white cloth and pushed her into the plush velvet.

Double damn! Now there was tomato sauce on the front of his shirt that Bill had starched for him especially for this occasion; Bill was going to kill him!

"Hermione, I- I have something to ask you- it's rather important- and if you'll give me a minute…."

Perplexed and suspicious Hermione nodded slowly. "Sure, I just-"

"No, wait, one second, don't say anything, okay?" Unfortunately, Ron had just noticed the entire restaurant was staring at him, all interested and grinning hugely. That in itself was enough to ruffle a guy.

He took a deep breath and situated himself on one knee, staring at the carpet; he was sweating glasses, buckets even, and had just realized the pants he was wearing didn't give him quite enough leeway for one knee up, one knee down, like he had seen in the movies. When he heard the inseam rip, he was sure his face was as red as… well, he wasn't sure what. But it had to be redder than the standard tomato; that much was clear.

"Herk- Huck-" He cleared his throat and started over, bringing his eyes to meet Hermione's. He was startled to find they were filled with tears. "Hermione… I- I wanted to know…."

His stomach was one big, massive knot, and he knew he wasn't looking as suave and debonair as he had originally planned. Then again, nothing was going as planned; this he blamed on the rain. Stupid, stupid rain and stupid, stupid candles that made him look as if he were some moving wax sculpture.

"Ron?" She was breathless. Score one for the Ron-ster!

Okay: this was it. The moment he was waiting for. Everyone was watching; he could do this. After all, he wasn't in Gryffindor for nothing….

"Hermionewillyoumarryme?" He blurted in a rush. For a second she looked puzzled and he was all too sure she hadn't understood him. He was ready to start again when –

"No! No Ronald Weasley, no!"

Hermione rushed off, leaving Ron stunned and disbelieving, while the rest of the patrons sat in mid-clap, waiting for the 'yes' they didn't hear.

-

Ron's mouth was hanging open, and he was dumbstruck. This wasn't the way things were supposed to happen: Hermione was supposed to say yes! Dammit, Seamus and Dean hadn't prepped him for this. Now what was he supposed to do?

"Go after her, numbskull," some guy to his right hissed. Ron sat back on his heels for a moment; yes, yes, that would do. He would go after her!

Only one problem. Hermione had found refuge in literal no-man's land – the ladies' room.

At that moment Ron cursed himself for being born with a penis.

He sighed; well, he had to follow her, no doubt about it. He'd just wait outside the door, casual as you could be, and talk to her through the crack. That wasn't stalking, was it? Or peeping? Nah… it couldn't be that bad… because that was illegal, and Ron wasn't going to spend the night sitting in a jail cell, waiting for Ginny to bail him out.

No. He was going to go after Hermione.

Easier said than done.

He took a deep breath and sighed, then took a deep breath again. This was serious. This was Hermione. This was Hermione, being serious… and he wasn't going to chicken out. Without a second thought, Ron strode up to the door and knocked briskly, ignoring the unpleasant sensation of ripped pants and being stared at.

"Ron, I know it's you, so go away!"

Strike one. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Hermione-"

He was interrupted by a sharp tap on his shoulder. "Excuse me, young man, but I need to use the loo, if you don't mind." Okay, the lady was old, and nice enough, but he had business to be taken care of too.

"Hold on a minute." The woman narrowed her eyes as he started again. "Hermione, look, it's ok, I just want to know why-"

"I don't feel like talking about it." She sniffled. Strike two: he had made her cry.

The old woman tapped her foot behind him. "Sir, I'd like to-"

"And I'd like to talk to my girlfriend in peace, if you don't mind!" he snapped. Turning back to the door he trained his voice to be calmer, nicer… "Hermione, will you just tell me?"

"I said no!"

"Dammit Hermione, tell me!"

"No!"

He was losing patience: "If you don't tell me right now, I'm going to break down this door and-"

Look, Sonny, leave the poor girl alone and get out of my way, I have to take a piss!" Okay… so that old lady wasn't as feeble as she looked.

Ron turned around. Testily, he began, "Look, Granny, I don't have time for this right now, so you're going to have to shove off and-"

"Is that my grandmother you're talking to like that?" Ron sighed: he didn't have time for this guy, whose neck was about the size of his index finger. As he rolled his eyes, the guy began his tirade again. "Because I don't appreciate how you speak to her, and she has intestinal issues, you know, it's not very nice to deprive her of the bathroom."

"Whatever." Ron turned back to the door.

"Look, my grandmother deserves an apology, you weren't very nice to her…"

Ron rolled his eyes.

"…you asshole."

Well, that was that. No one called Ron an asshole, especially when Hermione was sobbing in a ladies' room.

He'd pay.

-

Ron held his cloak held over his head, shielding himself from the blinding rain; Hermione kept herself relatively dry with her own; they were each in their own worlds.

Their footsteps click-clicked as they made their way down the cobbled main street of Ottery St. Catchpole, back toward Ron's house, Ron's pockets considerably lighter with the absence of his Muggle money. Dinner had cost him a lot more than he bargained for, especially with the extra-large tip he had to give to make sure the Muggle authorities weren't called on him. Okay, so maybe it hadn't been the smartest thing he'd ever done, hit the guy in the middle of a crowded restaurant, but he was so confused about everything lately… nothing was making as much sense as it did only a couple hours ago….

He needed answers.

"Hermione Granger, I can't believe you won't marry me!" He faced her; Hermione's face was blotchy and streaked with tears, but he made no move to wipe her cheeks. "Well?" he demanded, hands now of her shoulders, staring her down. "Why won't you marry me?"

She looked down at the ground and brushed his hands away. "I told you," she began evenly, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Bull-shit!" Hermione looked up, but it was his turn to look away. "I went through hell for this – I asked your parents' permission to-"

Her eyes narrowed. "You went behind my back and saw my parents?" she interrupted angrily.

But Ron was on a roll. "Yes, I saw your parents, and at great personal risk too, I swear they're both insane, your father got me drunk, I tried to refuse, but no-o-o, it was 'be a sport Ronald, it's wine'-"

"I can't believe you saw my parents about this!" This time she sounded awed.

"Yeah," he began slowly, peering at her from in-between raindrops that were falling steadily. "Yeah, Neville said that if a were a real gentleman I would ask your parents for permission first, and all that jazz, it's supposed to be the best thing to do-"

Excitedly, Hermione brushed some hair from her forehead and took a step closer to him; Ron could see tears building in her eyes. "You asked them and they said yes?"

"Of course they said yes!" Exasperated, Ron threw his hands in the air. Hermione sniffed. "Aw, Hermione, come on, don't cry…."

It was too late. Her tears blended in with the raindrops that continued to fall all around them. "I can't believe you asked them if you could marry me and they said yes!" she sobbed.

Bewildered, Ron wrapped his arms around her awkwardly. "Come on now, I'm not that bad – they didn't hate me, you know."

"It's not that," she sniffled into his cloak. Damn, now he'd need his mum to clean it.

"Then what- oh Hermione, if you were afraid they'd say no, or wouldn't approve-" Hermione shook her bushy head 'no' but Ron just continued, "you didn't have to worry, if they said no we could always wait 'till they approved, no big deal, I love you and-"

Hermione gave a little involuntary gasp and pulled away from him. "What did you say?"

He looked down at her, arms still around her waist. "I said, I love you-"

Without warning, she threw her arms around his neck and mumbled into his shoulder, "I'll marry you, of course I will!"

He supposed he should be happy, but all her felt was perplexed. "Why the sudden change?"

Hermione pulled away, looked up at him with eyes he had never seen: vulnerable, lay-her-life-on-the-line eyes. "Ron," she started softy, hands on his chest, "do you realize this is the first time you've ever told me you loved me?"

He furrowed his brown and bit his lip. "Er – no…."

"Well, it is! The first time you've ever said that to me, I mean." She hugged him tightly again.

He put his arms around her, confused. "You mean all it would have taken for you to say yes was me saying that I love you?"

"Yes!" She looked up at him and smiled. "That's all I ever wanted."

Ron broke into a grin and spun her around, droplets that had been clinging to her hair flying. "Then I love you, I love you, a thousand times I love you!" Hermione laughed, and he pulled her close for a kiss.

Yes, indeed. This was exactly what he had imagined.

Upcoming attractions….

Ch/2: The Blob – The Weasley's throw an engagement party for Hermione and Ron, while Sirius insists on making dessert. Then Hermione and Ron, with Harry's help, go… house-hunting!