A/N: Ha. Okay. So it seems that in my fit of informality last chapter, I happened to forget the disclaimer. Yes, I know. Scandalous. FORGIVE MEEE
Disclaimer: No, I don't own HP. Though I'd be glad to own such a franchise. I mean...ALL THAT MOOLAH BABY
Another thing - for the record, I don't really have a thing for Romione. I just decided on structuring the story this way whenever I started writing it and...well, I'm sticking with it. Whatever.
Have fun reading in italics (it's supposed to be a flashback. sorry it its confusing lmao)
They had all finished Hogwarts two years before, all three of them. It was different, of course, drastically so, with the overwhelming casualties which left gaping, colossal voids. One would ocassionally fall into one, and subsequently spend the night racked in uncontrollable sobs, but in about five months or so they reached something that could almost be called normalcy.
With Professor McGonagall as the new headmaster, new Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Muggle Studies professors were employed. Most of the previous students had returned, except for the few Slytherins who were closely involved in Voldemort's inner circle, Malfoy and Goyle included. They and their families faced serious trials, and even then, returning to Hogwarts was dangerously risky.
The Weasley family had recovered fairly well from Fred's tragic death, and the joke shop had thrived splendidly, attracting witches and wizards from around the world. Ron and Harry were well into Auror Training, and Hermione was exploring a career in magical law. Ginny and Luna had just graduated from Hogwarts, eager to start their adult lives.
He had proposed a few minutes before Harry did, during one of their lively dinners at the Burrow. Her parents were there, wishing to spend some time with the daughter they had not seen for about a year.
He had completely surprised her.
He was most, of the time, completely predictable, and Hermione would later wonder why she had not foreseen it. But, then, in the spur of the moment, it was wonderful, and he was so sincere, so heartfelt, so beautifully him, that she had burst into tears of elation immediately following his speech.
"Anything...wrong?" he had asked, looking worried and anxious, as if he had been let out of an important secret. "Is that - that a no?"
"Ron!" Ginny had laughed, clearly trying to stifle it, but it leaked through her palm and out between her fingers, bouncing merrily around the room. "You bloody idiot! Of course not, its a -"
"Yes!" Hermione had finished for her, her sudden exclamation so passionate and zealous everyone was slightly taken aback. "Yes, yes, yes, yes! Why would I ever say no?!"
And with that she threw her arms around him, crying in his hair, and the whole scene exploded then. There was laughter, and song, and a complete and full kind of happiness that filled all of them over the brim. And then Harry proposed to Ginny, and she had a similar reaction, and Hermione could remember the rest of the night in only one word - joy.
And when they had finally parted, Hermione with her parents, Harry and Ron to their respective flats they were renting in Diagon Alley, they all had looked up - and could only see the stars.
Their joint wedding was to happen two months later, a humid and heavy Saturday buried in the deep end of August. Planned and set up to imitate Bill and Fleur's, the ethereal, translucent pinkish-white wedding tent was wild and alive in the summer wind.
Her instincts were fidgeting restlessly that day, at times screaming and shrieking, the terrible sound echoing around her head. Hermione would usually heed these warnings, assets that proved the expertise of her observant and perceptive mind. But, in the bright, yellowish hours of that beloved morning, as she felt twenty nimble fingers sort their way through the knotted and thin mess of hair which fell limply from her head like dying waterfall, she wanted nothing more than to discard her meddlesome tremors and embrace the happiest day of her life.
And that she did.
The day progressed seamlessly, exploding in laughter and tears and the buoyant and giddy feeling of anticipation wrapped right around Hermione's heart. Everything was a surreal and slightly blurry dream - a flash of smoldering burgundy hair, a mischievous, endearing grin framed by round spectacles, kind, familiar hands lovingly stroking her hair, and - the most fleeting of all memories - an ocean, a lake, an endless basin of blue; a blue that somehow shimmered and welcomed the sunlight which so beautifully illuminated its surface; a blue which never ceased to draw her in, leave her senseless for a moment or two.
His eyes.
The same eyes which were now boring into hers, drenching the rich chocolate of her eyes in water cool as iced lemonade, refreshing and rejuvenating her in the dry and musky summer heat.
They stood face to face, hands clenched, a coolness that so matched his eyes now lingering on her fingers, right below the knuckles.
"The groom may now kiss the bride" - Ron leaned forward ever so slowly - and the moment was suddenly punctuated by his lips on hers and a deafening burst of applause.
And then glass.
That first, she remembered. Shattered into tiny, broken pieces, scattered over the grass and the velvet walkways, alongside the flower girl's petals. Where it had come from, no one knew, but it was there, and it hurt.
To Hermione, nothing had changed, she still delicately poised on the tips of her toes, eyes closed. The screams were nothing more than part of the commotion, and this was her moment. She would have control over it.
His voice had yanked her out of her trance. "Hermione! 'Mione, listen to me! Are you alright?"
Her eyes fluttered open like a frantic butterfly, and she was unpleasantly pulled into the situation. There was blood, and upturned tables, and people were running, hitching their robes and skirts and fleeing through and out the tent. Spells were being thrown right and left, and the air flashed and crackled with the light of the magic.
They had somehow departed from the altar and were huddled behind a makeshift barricade, consisting of a table, a few chairs, and a thin, crimson veil draped over the whole thing. "How - what -" she stammered, dumbstruck. "Ron, how -"
"A Death Eater attack, I reckon," he muttered darkly. "We shouldn't have let the wedding go public, those bloody Prophet idiots were feasting on it like harpies, th -"
"Ron," Hermione gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "My parents - they, your family, Harry, Ginny..."
Ron's face noticeably paled at the mention of his family. "Merlin, no. No. I have to go, Hermione -"
"I'll come with you," Hermione interrupted breathlessly.
"No," he said firmly. "The two of us can't be out there, they'll go after us. Just stay here, run away if something happens. Your wand - you do have it, right?"
Hermione grimaced, cursing herself. "I left it in Ginny's room. There was no place to put it in my gown." She gestured at the intricate layers of gossamer silk that pooled around her feet like a fountain.
"All the more reason for you to stay here. I'm trusting you - I know you're still the cleverest of us; in fact, I'll be running to you with Auror help when this is over, sometimes we're as clueless as a pile of troll dung, seriously -"
"Ron! I'll be fine; its a commotion, they won't find me! I can run back to the house if I need to."
They fell silent for a long, pregnant minute. He looked at her seriously, placed a gentle palm on her cheek. "I love you," he whispered, his voice seemingly simple and quiet, but filled with a million things only Hermione could understand.
"Alright," she murmured, and he turned around, ducked under the tablecloth, and disappeared.
She was utterly lost for a few, brief moments, low breaths rippling the elegant fabric of her dress.
There was a collective scream, one that ripped through the air like a sharpened knife, one of several youngsters. Hermione winced, hating herself, wishing desperately for her wand. She hugged her knees to her chest, trembling fingers fluttering as if she were playing piano.
The Order had been tracking the growing group of fugitive Death Eaters. They had grown forgetful and distracted in the months leading up to Ron and Hermione's wedding...and maybe, Hermione thought, maybe if they had stayed on track they could have prevented this.
It was too late. Too late, the words resonated in her mind, as liquid lead filled her veins, sent shivers up her spine. Too late.
