Can You Believe Your Eyes?

(Chapter 4)

What could be more irritating, Ginny hovering over her face with Muggle plastics and empty attempts to create beauty upon her, or force upon her, or how often she stitched her nerves back together when she speculated about the audience waiting down stairs? An audience of two eyes and one head of red hair, though enough audience to drive Hermoine insane.

"Would you sit still?" Ginny commanded impatiently. Hermoine froze indefinitely at her friend's plea but knew she couldn't keep the promise long as she once again had compelling urge to bite her lip in sheer anxiety; lips preoccupied with Ginny's prodding of lipstick.

"Okay, you can wail all you want. I'm done." With her tone, Ginny made it very apparent that she didn't enjoy the chore much either and perhaps—probably even less so. But however painstakingly it stole from them both; Ginny couldn't resist a smile as it tugged relentlessly at the corners of her lips as she gazed upon a glorious Hermoine. Even the restless Hermoine found herself slightly pleasing in the mirror, hardly amazing though, she also thought, at her appearance, leaving her inevitably eager with the expectation if the youngest Weasley boy might find it otherwise.

"Well, don't just sit there, I think someone else would like a turn to stare too…" Hermoine ignored her smirk and disappeared out of her room and danced carefully down the unsteady stairs. The daring, dashing Hermoine Granger withstood Trolls, Death Eaters, and Polly Juice but could she endure the difficult task of walking down the ever-increasing number of steps without tripping over her enthusiasm? During her moment of immature yet blissful naivety, Hermoine allowed herself a small nervous smile to play along her face as well in her step.

With an imposter cousin, Ron stood at the entrance conversing quietly with Barney, or more accurately, Harry, about the repulsive and obnoxious Aunt Muriel. Ron stopped in mid-sentence.

"Wow." Was all Ron could muster to find eligible and give his true thoughts justice. The first time you looked at her curves you were hooked and the glances you took and took hold of you and demanded that you stay and sunk in their teeth bit you hard and released such a charge that you need…

"You look great!" An understatement of the year, king of the understatements, Ronald Weasley, reprimanded to himself quietly.

"Always the tone of surprises," Hermione replied with a smile, "Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesn't agree…"

Hermoine explained to Ron and his cousin how Aunt Muriel so willingly observed her cursed skinny ankles and poor posture as Ron cursed his Aunt for her poor eyesight. Assuring Hermoine his Aunt had no idea close to the neighborhood of what she was talking about, Ron allowed his eyes to wonder over Hermoine's figure discreetly and admiringly. He swallowed. George supported Ron's argument while mentioning an Uncle Bilius and his ability to ignite laughter and joy if ever Aunt Muriel's presence infested a celebration.

"…Pulling bunches of roses out of his—" Fred also jibed in making everyone explode in uncontrollable chuckles until a new guest arrived, interrupting especially Ron and Hermoine's side aching laughter as they stood dangerously close and holding each other for support.

"Viktor!" Hermoine exclaimed in shock and to Ron's comfort not in delight. Fire detonated in Ron's ears and even the hesitant Hermoine could feel the heat from them as she greeted Viktor Krum appropriately with a brief, unsubstantial embrace. Immediately, Ron scrutinized his presence.

"How come you're here?" With the opposite politeness of Hermoine's greeting, Ron spat. An invitation was revealed instantly and a growl followed it from Ron's chest.

We'll just see would gets to dance with her, tonight, Ron thought, bitterly vowing his indifference to the bane of his existence in human form.

In crucial attempt to maintain his vow, Ron quickly responded to Krum's question concerning Luna's father and hastily added an instruction disguised as an offer to Hermoine.

"Come and dance." Ron offered, using as few words as possible as to not sound like a bumbling baboon, not to few so she could refuse, and not in so many as to allow Ron to abruptly chicken out. Hermoine seemed just as shocked as everyone else crowding the table but agreed nonetheless and again attempting not to trip over her enthusiasm has he lead her to dancing floor. She really had to educate herself in how to cage her malicious and childish eagerness every moment Ron stepped closer. Pondering whether some wizards had ever written a book on such obvious excitement toward red head boys, Hermoine grasped Ron's quivering offered hand in her own sweaty one.

Impeccably poor timing, Ronald Weasley, Ron thought to himself, as the wedding band began a slow and seductive song. However, as Hermoine inched closer to him, he concluded maybe he didn't mind it so much as her warmth charged every nerve to its end. His head and ears an oven while is hands and feet a faucet, Ron focused his attention directly on the glorious creature within his grasp finally. His hand melting into the curve of her back, Ron rested his chin slight on her glowing head that effortlessly rested against his hammering heart. He was sure it would burst out of its prison and injure Hermoine in the eye at any moment with its merciless pounding against the bars of his rib cage. His mind blared caution for such grand vulnerability. She just might get you lost and she just might leave you torn. Voice of unrequited reason, his heart gave assurance. But she just might save your soul if she gets you any closer.

Thankfully and regrettably, the song soon sped up into and upbeat tempo allowing Hermoine's clock to cease its momentary lapse of control. When Ron spinned her, she wished he continued to do so endlessly so she could return again close in his grip. Can she really believe that he could finally—possibly return her incessant feelings that screamed out of her every well-cleansed pore's? Can she believe this Ronald Weasley before her was real? Can you believe your eyes?

When Hermoine felt faint from all the spinning, she found refuge back at their table where Barney, Harry sat alone.

"I simply can't dance anymore," Hermione announced. What had it been, how long had they danced? An hour at the least. Hermoine continued to talk but Barney, Harry, continued not to listen. Something or someone bothered his thoughts. As if something mirrored Harry's disturbed contemplation, a patronus appeared and clearly voiced a frightening announcement to the wedding guests.

"The ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

They had to act quickly as panic slowly escalated into blurred chaos. She had Harry and a plan, if a situation such as this was too occur, but Ron's place next to her remained vacant. All she knew she could do to prevent a panic meltdown of her own, she screamed his name desperately.

Taking an innocent sip of his cool butter beer and swallowing the memory of Hermione in his arms a few minutes ago, Ron held tightly to the goblets suddenly noticing the chaos encompassing the white tent. Then he heard his name and that voice he so often heard in his dreams and in arguments. The desperation of the voice caused him to react; he dropped the glasses and darted rapidly to Hermoine's side. Absolute relief appeared on her features as he appeared with his arm firmly around her. She glanced briefly at Ron's reassuring eyes. Don't blink, everyone's watching they'll think you're up to something .They need for you to be everything that they cannot be themselves.

He believed in her, he knew she would have a plan all along. Then they disappeared.