DISLCAIMER: Harry Potter and associated characters aren't mine – they all belong to JK Rowling.
A/N: Written for A Catholic Girl's Valentines Day challenge at the HPFC. The prompts I used were friends, chocolate, heart, tears and kiss. Hope you enjoy – and don't forget to review :)
Warning: mild sex references and some bad language but nothing too graphic or strong.
How Not to Propose to Your Intended
by Ron Weasley
Harry Potter is my oldest friend, and at the risk of sounding like a bird, I'm going to have to say he's my dearest friend, too. (Yep, I was right; I do sound like a bird. Anyway.) We've been through some tough times together – and I'm not just thinking of the whole saving the world from Voldemort thing. We survived finding dates for the Yule Ball, weirdly hormonal teenage girls in our sixth year and sometimes when we go out together, women will scream and yell at us, and throw their underwear at us.
(We keep that last one between ourselves – for some reason, it never seems to happen when we have Hermione or Ginny with us, and we think it's probably best if they don't know about that lacy red thong that once ended up in my . . . well, yes, it doesn't matter.)
Anyway, the point is that me and Harry have been mates forever and so when I need some serious advice, it's always him I turn to. So, when way back in January, I asked him what I should do for Hermione to make Valentine's Day extra special this year, and he suggested proposing to her, I agreed.
Well, I did take some persuasion. But Harry's main argument was that we'd been dating for a few years now, and we were clearly "destined to be together" (sometimes, I think I'm not the only one turning into a chick . . .) and he did point out that, were I to break up with Hermione, she probably knew around three thousand, two hundred and fifty one ways (both magical and non-magical) to make it so that certain parts of my anatomy were not really up to anything, so it wouldn't be worth my proposing to anyone else, because I wouldn't really be a whole man.
Or something.
I don't think that makes much sense, but I can't really remember what he said, or anything at all that happened after that, due to the large quantities of firewhiskey we were consuming.
Anyway, to cut a very long story short, I agreed with Harry and thought that it would be very romantic and all that other crap that women are into if I proposed on Valentine's Day, so I went out and brought and ring (Gryffindor ruby in the middle, diamonds either side), and . . . yeah.
I mean, buying a ring is the easy(ish) thing. Working out how to propose? That's something else . . .
I took the ostrich approach. As in, I buried my head in the sand and pretended that I wasn't going to propose to her, so I didn't need to think about the whole thing. Yeah, not so much a good idea.
I realised this on the twelfth, two days before V-Day, when I was stood in the bathroom, pulling on a pair of jeans, when the ring fell out of my pocket (note to self: make sure ring is in secure location). I sort of stood there, fingering the box, for a few moments, before deciding to have a trial run (well, as much as a trial run as one can manage without the bride-to-be actually present – she was in Switzerland with the Ministry).
I would just like to point out now that if you're going to do something as embarrassing as get down on one knee in front of the bathroom mirror and pretend to propose to your reflection, it's a good idea to check if you're actually alone in the house.
Due to this observation being made in hindsight, though, I forgot to do that, and proceeded with the mock-proposal. I got down on one knee (note to self: do not propose in the bathroom, as not only is it not very romantic to be proposed to in the room where you go to the loo, it's also the only room in the flat to have a linoleum floor, which is exceptionally uncomfortable to kneel on), and had my first attempt.
Attempt the first: serious and business-like: "Hermione, it has come to my attention that we have been dating for a while, and so I believe it would benefit us in many ways if we were to become joined in holy matrimony for evermore."
Bloody hell, no. I sound Percy! Or Cornelius Fudge. Bad move . . .
Attempt the second: casual and humorous: "BLOODY HELL! Look at that! A ring! In my pocket! Here, try it on! Does it fit? It does? Better get married then!"
Yeah, because that would go down well with Hermione . . .
Attempt the third: write a romantic poem: "Roses are red, violets are blue, you look like a monkey, and you live in a zoo. Um . . . My name is Ron, yours is Hermione, if we had a kid, we could call her Bryony (cause it's the only thing I could think of that rhymes with Hermione)."
That was an exceptionally crap poem, and I remember Ginny's ode to Harry's eyes like a fresh pickled toad from my second year . . .
Attempt the fourth: seriously romantic and slushy: I looked myself deep in my own eyes, going for the whole smouldering and soulful thing. Blimey, I was so good, I almost got off with myself. Anyway . . . "Dearest, darling girl—"
It was at that point that I became aware of the sniggers coming from the other side of the door. I paused, and the sniggers went from muffled and pretty quiet, to full blown hysterics. I yanked the door open, and my brothers and Harry, who had evidently been vying for the best position by the keyhole, all fell into the room. I raised my eyebrows, trying to salvage some dignity from the whole situation, which was quiet a hard thing to do, considering I was wearing my normal jeans and t-shirt, but I'd added random scarf that I'd found lying around on the bathroom counter into my hair, and the ring was on as far as I could get it, to try and make myself look more female, and I was hobbling everywhere because my knee had gone to sleep from kneeling on the linoleum.
"I had no idea you thought about yourself in that way, Ron," Charlie managed to gasp out, before nearly collapsing from lack of oxygen brought on my laughing too much.
Oh, laugh on, laugher. You are so very funny.
"Dearest, darling girl," George said, in a voice at least twelve octaves than mine is. Usually. I can't help it if my voice rises a bit when I get nervous . . .
"Nah, my favourite was the poem," Harry snorted. "Let's name our daughter Bryony."
Uh, I think you'll find that was if we had a kid, we could call her Bryony. If you're going to mock, at least mock correctly. And you try and find a word to rhyme with Hermione.
I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, "And don't you guys all have somewhere else to be?" Hint, hint.
"Well, Gin's off in Ireland for a friendly with the Harpies," Harry said.
"And Gabrielle's round at ours at the moment, cooing over Victoire and Fleur's new shoes or something," put in Bill, "so I've been kicked out for a bit whilst they do "girl stuff"," he said, with air quotes for emphasis.
"Audrey and Angelina have gone to some ante-natal class thing," said George.
"Yeah, one of those classes where they tell you how to breathe and stuff," Percy elaborated.
How . . . exciting.
"And I was round at George's when he mentioned he was coming round to see you, so I thought I'd come along too," finished Charlie.
Riiight.
Hang on, what?
"Why were you all coming round to see me?" I asked suspiciously. I had some strange inkling that the answer wasn't going to be something along the lines of because we love you, dear brother.
"Um . . . well, I might have mentioned the fact that you're planning on proposing to Hermione on Valentine's . . ." Harry said, giving me his (patented) I-saved-your-ass-in-the-war-please-don't-kill-me-now look.
"So we thought we'd all come round and give you some advice," put in Bill helpfully.
"Oh yeah!" A thought struck me. "You guys have all proposed to someone! You can give me advice," I said.
"Er, yeah, that was the general idea," said Charlie, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, shut it," I said. "You can't help – you've never gotten engaged."
"Nah, but I'm around to make the whole place look more aesthetically pleasing," Charlie replied. Oh, my sides, they are splitting . . .
"I think you ought to have a trial run," George cut in before I could respond. Well, duh. What do you think I was doing, staring myself in the mirror longingly for? "Let's go into the other room, come on." I was shepherded out into the living room.
"Right, one of us can pretend to be Hermione," Percy suggested. They all looked at Harry.
"Uh, hi, guys," he said, rather nervously. My brothers stared at him with narrowed eyes.
"Right, Harry, stand over there on the rug and try to look as feminine as possible," Charlie instructed.
"Ron, you go and kneel in front of him," Bill added. Great, more bloody kneeling. At least the rug's more padded than linoleum.
"Uh, guys, I don't really think—" Harry began, but he was cut off by George appearing from the bathroom with a very long towel and the scarf I'd been wearing.
"Here, get this around your waist," George said, throwing the two items at him. Harry caught them, and tied the towel on, though it didn't make him look very feminine – just like a normal bloke wearing a towel over a pair of jeans – something my brothers had obviously picked up on.
"No, there's still something missing," Percy declared, studying him closely.
"Possibly this?" Charlie suggested, waving his wand and turning Harry's hair brown, long and curly.
"Mmm, still something not quite right," Percy said.
"I think this might do it," George said, waving his wand. Harry/Hermione suddenly sprouted bazongas the size of small African countries.
"Ha ha, guys, this is very funny, but—" Harry tried again.
"You'll keep 'em Potter, and we might forget for the evening about what you've been doing to our little sister," Bill put in, in his most I-will-frighten-you voice he perfected on the goblins at work. I realised all my brothers were glaring at Harry, so I hastily joined in. Personally, I've kept nose out of their relationship ever since Ginny threatened to remove my . . . never mind, the point was, I don't mess with their business, and I thought that the person who was looking like the boy who would not live for very much longer deserved a helping hand, 'cause he was generally a nice enough bloke, so I changed the subject.
"So, er, fellas, how should I start this whole thing off?" I asked.
"Go down on one knee, and look deep into Harry's eyes," Percy instructed. I obliged, but encountered a problem, as Harry was now resembling a giant pair of tits in jeans, and his . . . er . . . assets were so big that I could barely see over the top of them to his face. I pointed this out.
"It doesn't matter – it's not like you're going to have that problem with Hermione, is it?" George asked. "I mean, she's not small, but she's not like . . . er, well, that," he finished, gesturing towards Harry.
"Oi! That's my girlfriend you've been—" I began angrily.
"So anyway, look deep into Harry's eyes," Percy repeated loudly.
"Take his hand," instructed Bill. Harry and I exchanged glances.
"Bugger off," we said together. Charlie and George looked faintly disappointed.
"Well, you'll have to remember to do that with Hermione. Take her hand, I mean," Bill shrugged it off. "Now, you've got to come out with a load of guff about how much you love her, and how much she means to you, and how much you need her in your life," he continued.
"But you've got to make it sound real, like you mean it," George said.
"Don't go too over the top," the enormous pair of boobs said. "That way, they think you aren't taking things seriously."
"You've got to time exactly when you get the ring out," Percy said. "Too soon and they think you want to rush into things, too late and you'll have bored them with all the stuff you've been blabbering on about."
"Don't drop the ring box, so that the ring falls out, rolls under the settee and you have to spend the next five minutes scrabbling around on the floor trying to find it," Bill said with a wince. "I mean, Fleur saw the funny side . . . but it's not very dignified."
"Make sure the ring doesn't pop out at an unexpected moment, either," said Percy. "When I proposed to Audrey, we'd gone to a restaurant by the sea, and I thought we'd go for a walk on the beach after the meal, and then I'd pop the question then, only when I reached into my pocket to get my wallet at the end of the evening, the ring box fell out, and Audrey was all 'What's that?' and the waiter said 'It's a ring, he's going to propose to you!', which of course made everyone turn around so I had to do it in front of the entire restaurant which was kinda embarrassing . . . but I guess it worked out OK in the end."
"Plan what you're going to say first," George offered. "Or you'll just end up with a kind of verbal diarrhoea thing, and just thrust the ring at her in a kind of hopeful way. Worked for me though."
"Oh, and be careful where you put the ring," Harry said. "Before you propose, I mean. When I proposed to Ginny, it all went fine and everything, and then afterwards, she was like, 'I knew you were going to propose though,' and I asked 'Why?' thinking she was going to come out with some romantic guff about how she knew we were meant to be together and all that, but she actually said, 'You left the ring on the dresser in our room two days ago, and I saw it,' which must have taken the surprise out of things."
"So . . ." Charlie said slowly. "You guys all came to give Ron advice on how to propose, but you actually all screwed it up majorly, and the best advice you can give him is how not to propose?" For once, I was thinking along exactly the same lines as one of my brothers.
"Well, yeah," said Bill. "But at least we're all actually married now. You can't talk – you don't even have a girlfriend at the moment."
"Don't start," grumbled Charlie. "You sound like Mum. And I enjoy not being tied down."
"Do you think you can remember all that?" Percy asked, addressing me over the top of Bill and Charlie's argument.
"Er . . . I reckon so," I said. "Don't drop the ring, don't drop the ring box, don't leave the ring box out for her to see, and don't get verbal diarrhoea," I recited. "Bloody hell. I'm beginning to rethink this whole thing. Yes. We haven't been dating for that long – I mean, it's only been five years – well, four and a half really, and to be completely honest, more like four and a couple of months. That's not that long at all – I don't want Hermione to think I'm rushing things, and I—"
"We thought you might say that," said George. Uh-oh. Uh-oh. That evil grin can only mean trouble.
"Yeah, we thought you might try to chicken out," joined in Percy. OK, when that evil grin is on Percy's face that can only mean Trouble-with-a-capital-T.
"So we've got a contingency plan," put in Charlie. Evil grin plus Charlie equals TROUBLE.
"A . . . contingency plan?" I squeaked.
"Mm-hmm," said Bill. "The plan is for boobs-on-legs over there," he jerked his finger in Harry's direction, and he waved as jauntily as possible for a man who is ninety percent mammary gland, "is going to go to Mum's, with our dear little sister, the morning after Valentine's Day, squealing joyfully about the wonderful news he has just heard."
"I don't think 'squealing joyfully' is exactly what I had—"
"The wonderful news," Bill continued firmly, "that you, dear brother, have just proposed to Hermione, and she should start planning the wedding now. Well, I'm sure she's been planning it since you were in you third year, but she can start to make her plans public, you know?"
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
"So basically, you've got until about ten o'clock on the morning of the fifteenth to pop the question," Charlie said, slinging an arm around my shoulders.
Nothing like a ridiculously fast deadline to make you want to pick a fight with some of the more deranged inmates of Azkaban in the hope that they might kill you . . .
"I wouldn't worry too much, though," said Bill, obviously catching sight of my face. "There are certain . . . uh . . . perks you get when you propose."
"Perks?" I asked before I could stop myself.
"Yeah . . ." said Percy, a rather terrifying dreamy smile appearing on his face. "Women will do anything for a few hours . . . you . . . I . . . well, it's all rather wonderful," he finished, sounding pompous, like he usually does when he gets embarrassed.
"Yeah," put in Harry. "I spent the night after I proposed with—er—" he caught sight of our glares, "—with Ginny, in separate beds. In separate rooms. In separate houses. Er . . . in separate countries?" he finished desperately.
"You'd better have, Potter," said Bill, looking very fierce. There was a slightly awkward pause, then Charlie suggested going for a drink. We all agreed, except Harry/the boobs, who asked to be returned to his normal appearance. I think it was Percy who obliged, somewhere between the fourth and fifth rounds. Or was it the fifth and sixth?
Anyway, the point is, everything's back to normal now, though it nearly wasn't when Ginny caught sight of the pictures in the Prophet . . .
I spent the thirteenth working at George's shop, where he spent the day getting on my nerves by constantly asking me if I'd sorted out how I was going to do it yet. By four o'clock, my brain was ready to go into meltdown mode because of all the advice I'd been given by him, a highly pregnant Angelina (note to self: do not ever get Hermione pregnant. The last month sends even the most sane and normal women completely doolally tap), Verity (the assistant who works afternoons), several customers and Bob the cleaner. I wanted nothing more to go home, go to bed and sleep until at least the sixteenth of February. Unfortunately, I had the very, very evil threat of my brothers rushing around to tell Mum on the fifteenth, meaning I had no choice to propose to Hermione (unless I could somehow persuade Mum that the whole 'Guess what! Ron and Hermione are engaged!' thing was a very elaborate, very early April Fool's joke . . . no. It wasn't going to happen).
Instead, I went home and did nothing and said even less, to the point where Hermione asked if I was coming down with something, because I seemed 'rather agitated'. I said I was fine, but that I might go to bed early. She joined me, which was good, because my plan was to wait until she fell asleep, then get up and plan what I was going to do the next day, only I sort of . . . accidentally fell asleep before she did, and the next thing I knew, I was being poked in the side. Quite a lot.
"Mmmguh?" I said, or something like that.
"Ron, wake up," Hermione said. "Happy Valentine's Day." She smiled sweetly and presented me with a box of heart-shaped chocolates.
"Thanks," I yawned. I realised that Hermione was already dressed, ready for work. "What . . .?" I asked, gesturing towards her. My brain still wasn't capable of forming complete sentences.
"Big case – I need to be at MLE as early as possible. We're near a breakthrough though – it's the goblins. They're bringing in several last ditch attempts to stop the Kaisley/Hermot Bill passing, so we need to—" she broke off, realising she'd lost me. I can't help it – I'm not my best in the mornings. "Anyway, the point is, legally, they can't make anymore objections after midday, so we'll have this whole thing wrapped up my then. Fingers crossed. But I have to get in early today – though I'll try and leave early. How's half four sound? We could go to the cinema? Or just stay in or something . . . whatever you wanted for Valentine's Day."
"Uh . . . yeah," I said, my brain still not functioning one hundred percent correctly. "Half four. Great." She gave me a quick kiss, waved goodbye, and went into the kitchen to floo to the Ministry. I flopped against the pillows and closed my eyes.
Opening them again after a moment, I glanced at the clock. Five forty five. Bloody hell!
Don't drop the ring. Don't get verbal diarrhoea. Careful where you put the ring box. Mum'll know by ten tomorrow morning. Plan what you're going to say. Lots of perks afterwards. Romantic and heartfelt stuff. Don't lose the ring. Keep calm. Don't—
A soft thud and a moan interrupted my frantic last minute planning. I got up and rushed into the main room of the flat. Hermione was kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily. I rushed over to her. "Hermione! Are you OK?" I helped her to her feet and sat her on the sofa.
"Tanks," she said to me.
"Pardon? What have Muggle armoured vehicles got to do with—are you OK?"
"Dot really," she said. I took a good look at her. Her face was puffy, her nose was red and her eyes were bloodshot. I winced.
"I'b got dis flu thing that's going round," she said, sounding ridiculously stuffed up. "I dink I deed a bath and a dose of Pepper-Up," she said. "De floo bade be really dizzy – I could barely walk straight whed I got out of der chibdey."
"Do you want me to run you a bath?" I asked.
"Doh, but tanks for de offer," Herbiodee (I'm sorry, Hermione) said. "Cad you sort out some potion, dough, so I can just take dat and go to bed, please?"
"Sure," I replied. "The flu sucks, doesn't it?" She nodded, and went to the bathroom. I spent the time she was in the bath finding the Pepper-Up potion (and discovering it was out of date, so I had to go to the Apothecary to get some more), fishing out a big box of tissues for her, making a hot lemon and honey drink, searching for some extra blankets, and making a hot water bottle to go in the bed. By the time I'd finished doing that, she was out of the bath and in bed, and I hadn't had the time to worry anymore about the whole proposing thing.
Well, I had had time to worry about it, but every time the thought of it jumped into my head, I started singing the national anthem backwards very loudly, or something, so that all the thoughts of it were pushed out of my head.
I'm such a coward.
I entered our bedroom, carrying the mug of lemon and honey, and handed it to her. "Oh, Rod!" Hermione sighed, taking both that and the Pepper Up potion I was offering her. "Tank you so buch. You are wonderful. I lobe you."
"I lobe you too," I replied. She stuck her tongue out, then took a big gulp of the Pepper Up. "Urgh, disgusting," she pronounced.
"It is quite foul," I agreed. "Aw, you look so cute, with all that steam coming out of your ears."
She stuck her tongue out again, and flopped back against the pillows. "Poor 'Mione," I said.
"Yeah . . . and I'b sorry for you, too. Valentine's Day today, and here I ab with dis crappy cold," she said. "You hadn't booked a restaurant or anything, had you?"
"For the weekend – I thought we could go out then," I replied. "Nah, I wasn't going to do anything special today. Just propose, but that can wait." Oh, crap. Oh, God. Please please please tell me she didn't hear—she did. Oh no. Oh, crap.
"Did you just say . . . propose?" Hermione asked.
"No, of course I didn't. You're mishearing things," I tried.
She narrowed her eyes. "I hab a cold. I'b not going deaf."
Bugger, bugger, bugger!
"I . . . um . . . might have said something like that. I don't know why. Well, I do – it's because I was going to propose to you, but I mean, if you're ill, it can wait. I'll take you to a restaurant and do it properly. With wine and fancy food and everything. But you need to get better soon, so I'll just have to—"
"Rod," she cut across me. "Do it properly, please." Her voice sounded severe but there's a twinkle in her eye. It makes her eyes look like Dumbledore's. Except that his were blue and wrinkled, and hers are brown and . . . not. And she's—shut up, brain.
"Hermione Granger," I got down on one knee. "Will you marry me? I have a ring somewhere, if you'll just wait a second for me to fish it out."
She gave a half-laugh half-sob, and burst into tears.
Oh, bloody hell.
The guys hadn't mentioned anything like that.
"Um . . . Hermione? Are you OK?"
"Yes! Of course I'b OK you dingbat! I'b just so happy," she sobbed throwing her arms around me. "Yes! I will barry you. You are the loveliest, sweetest guy in the world, doing this for be when I look like this. I lobe you, Rod Weasley. I'b sorry for all the times I've—oh, by God! The ring! It's so beautiful! And . . . and big!" She kissed me on the lips, softly, then harder. She took a deep breath. "I lobe you," she whispered.
"I love you, too," I said with a grin, having managed to slide the ring onto her finger without causing a world catastrophe. We grinned at each other, unable to do anything else. I felt so . . . happy, like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was going to marry Hermione Granger. Me! Ron Weasley! I was going to marry the girl I'd been in love with ever since the age of thirteen (though it took me some time to be able to admit that to myself). We were engaged. She was my fiancée. It sounded good.
I think she was thinking along the same lines. "Get up here, you doofus," she said, leaning back against the pillows and grinning at me.
I turned my back on her to take off my shoes and jacket, throwing them in the corner, babbling nonsense about my brothers and Harry and having to practise with them, and that I'd been so nervous about doing it, but it was OK in the end, though in my head I was yelling "HERE COMES THE REWARD, WEASLEY!"
I can't help it. I'm a guy. It's the way we're programmed.
"So, how soon d'you wanna die the knot?" I asked, snuggling into her side. "Hmm? Hermione?" No response. I rolled her over. She was completely out of it. Oh, crap. What's wrong with her? What did I do? Should I call St. Mungos? What if she's—
A gentle snore cut across my frantic ramblings. What?
I put her down gently, and grabbed the bottle of Pepper Up potion. Warning: consumption of large quantities may cause extreme lethargy, for up to twelve hours after taking.
Great. I was going to be the only guy in the world not to get any on the night he proposed. Fan-tas-tic.
I could not let anyone find out. My brothers would never let me hear the end of it.
Oh, well. There's always the wedding night, and the honeymoon, I guess. And, I suppose, every single other night, forever.
Because I was going to marry Hermione Granger. I'd finally done it. I proposed; she accepted. We were engaged.
And, Merlin help her, she was stuck with me forever.
Mwuhahaha and all that.
A/N: I'd love to know what you thought! Hopefully Hermione wasn't too OOC in her response to Ron/Rod popping the question, but I've never been proposed to, so I'm not quite sure how to react in that situation! :P Review!! xx