The One

"I'm doing good, I'm on some new shit."

The invitation burned in her hand in almost the same way the Geminio-cursed gold in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault did. After it had read itself, she reread it nearly six times before it had registered in her mind.

To own the truth, Hermione Granger was not used to such a brain fog. But that thin piece of paper seemed to stop her mind in its track. It was now hovering over her desk, almost taunting her.

Her eyes glanced over it again, although by now, she knew it by heart:

Mr. & Mrs. Roger and Catherine Forell along with Mr. Arthur and Mrs. Molly Weasley joyfully invite you to the wedding of their children

Alison Katherine Daphne Forell

Ronald Billius Weasley

25 June 2006

2:00 p.m.

Longbottom Castle

Swillington, West Yorkshire

RSVP by owl no later than March 6th.

He was getting married in England. Why was he not getting married in America with his perfect little American fiancée? No, he had to come back home and do the blessed deed. She completely dismissed the notions of his entire family living in England and the row his irrepressible mother would surely throw at the thought of her youngest and most famous son getting married across the pond that deemed his choice of locale all too natural as absolute rubbish.

It was almost as if he wanted to make sure she would not have an excuse to be absent.

Who was she kidding? He probably hadn't given her a thought in years.

She wasn't sure she could blame him. But that was all in the past. Their history was all water under the bridge or over the dam or however the expression went.

It was in the past. It was good for a while. For a while, she saw the whole thing in her head: the two of them ever and ever and ever. For a while, so did he. Or so she thought. Or so he thought. They had both believed they were on the same page until they realized that they were not. They absolutely were not.

They were friends now. Or so they said. Friends spoke to each other. They didn't, except when they were forced, by some unmissable personal event of some invaluable mutual friend, to be in the same room together. But they were friends.

There were no hard feelings. They were friends. Or so they said. And she was happy for him. Everything was fine.

She would go. Molly would tan her hide if she didn't. And they were friends. Friends went to friends' weddings. Friends were happy for their friends. And she was happy for him.

Unable to look at it anymore, she snatched the invitation out of the air and placed it into her drawer. Their engagement wasn't a complete and total surprise. Harry had mentioned months ago, that Ron's relationship had gotten serious.

Good Godric, was there anything worse than having a mutual best friend with your ex? Hermione had endured torture and, in that moment, she honestly would've preferred it.

It was hard to believe that eight years had passed since the war. It was hard to believe than it had been six since the Breakup Heard Round the World.

Oh, no one knew the whole story. Not even Harry. But when two best friends, who had longed harbored secret, yet obvious affection for each other finally got together, the general assumption was that together they would stay.

Needless to say, when word of their breakup reached their evergreen group of friends, they were shocked.

But no one was more shocked than the two parties involved. She could never forget how shocked and shaken she felt as she packed, that something was going to shake her out of that nightmare.

In all honesty, she should be happy for him. That was what she'd told him the night he had told her he was leaving England: that she was happy for him.

By then, there was too much said and unsaid for her to protest. An apology had seemed ridiculous on both sides. Now, when it could do her no good, she wondered if she could've stopped him. She wondered if some part of him had wanted her to.

Paris was her home now, or at it least it was where she rested her head. She was now the Junior English Ambassador to the French Ministry of Magic. It was a position Kinglsey had recommended her for personally.

Her time there had been lovely, but it was rumored that she was up for a promotion back home. It was the general scuttlebutt that she'd single been singled out to replace the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic for the Regulation of Magical Creatures before the year was out. Kingsley was apparently eager for her to be back in England, working for the greater good.

That had been her life for the past six years: work. She was very proud of all she'd accomplished. While working in France, she'd still managed to be a very loud advocate for magical creatures and the Muggleborn community.

She'd given many speeches, toured all around the world into various magical communities to talk about the treatment of creatures as well as how to better integrate Muggleborns into magical society and help to eliminate the prejudice that reared its ugly head far too many times for her taste.

It had been good, her time in France. She was well on her way to accomplishing everything she'd ever dreamed. Almost.

A knock on her door pulled her from thoughts. "Ms. Granger?" her assistant Elodie Aubin poked her head the through the door. "'Arry Potter for you ma'am."

Hermione smiled. "Send him in."

Moments later, in walked Harry Potter with his untamable black hair, glowing green eyes and friendly smile. If they hadn't been through so much hell together, she honestly believed she could've hexed him on the spot.

It wasn't that she wasn't happy to see him. She just didn't want to have the conversation he was there for. And they both knew it.

"Hello Harry," she said with a smile and a sigh. "Shall I ring for tea?"

Harry removed his Auror cloak, plopped down in the chair opposite hers and shook his head. "Just had a cuppa, thanks. And how are you, Hermione?"

"Lovely, thanks. Is that why you're here? To inquire of my health and happiness? We both grew up with Muggles. We have phones for that."

Harry laughed dryly. "You know, from your tone, I could infer that you're not happy to see me."

Hermione smiled. "I'm always happy to see you, Mr. Potter. But I have a feeling this isn't your regular meeting of salutations."

Harry laughed again but then his eyes turned serious. "Get your invite, did you?"

"Is that why you came all the way here? To discuss Ronald's nuptials?"

"I wanted to check on you."

She shrugged. "I'm fine. And yes, I got the invitation. Though I must admit, I didn't expect one."

"He's not one for grudges, Hermione."

Hermione's eyebrows nearly leapt off her forehead.

"Anymore," Harry quickly clarified. "He's not one for grudges anymore. Besides everyone would love to see you."

"I'm sure. But I don't think—,"

"Hermione, Molly will murder you if you don't come. And then she'll murder me for not convincing you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Can't I just make my excuses? Busy with work, blah, blah, blah, the usual?"

"It's his wedding, Hermione."

"And I'm his ex. Doesn't that give me a pass? Must I suffer through this? It was awkward enough at your wedding."

"Yes, I remember," Harry said with a grimace and shake of his head. "But we got through it."

"Yes, with lots of Firewhiskey and mead."

"Well, whatever works."

"Harry, I just don't know if it's a good idea for either of us. It's been a long time, we've both moved on. I just don't think one's wedding needs a... blast from the past, if you will."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione, stop trying to weasel your way out. No pun intended. Besides, I've one more invitation or rather summons to bring you."

Hermione started at that. "What?"

"Well, the thing is Ron is on his way to the Burrow as we speak. Molly is having a welcome home dinner in his honor. She told me not to leave without you."

"What in Merlin's name is he doing here so soon? The wedding's not for two months!"

"Apparently there's a lot to plan, so he'll be here until the wedding."

Hemione rolled her eyes. "What could he possibly have to do that Ms. Enchanted Cauldrons USA could not see to herself? And doesn't he as the Deputy Head of the American Aurors, not to mention President of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes America have better things to do?"

Hermione noticed that Harry hesitated. "I'm sure he had loads to do. Dinner. At the Burrow. Tonight. You realize you don't have much choice? Besides, he's coming by himself. Allie won't be here till a week before the wedding."

Hermione's eyebrows raised at that. There was something Harry wasn't telling her. There was no one that dressed and carried themselves the way Alison Forell did would leave the majority of the wedding planning up to Ron. But that was conversation for another time.

"What's Molly up to, anyway? Because if this another reconciliation scheme, I swear Harry—,"

"No, no," he cut in. "She's quite over that. She likes Allie. As much as she likes Audrey, I'd say."

"Do you like her?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally. "Haven't we had this conversation before?"

"Yes. But she was Alison then."

Harry rolled his eyes. "She's nice, Hermione. Anyway, as you said, you've both moved on. How's Taron?"

"He's good. He's in Sweden at the moment." Hermione's boyfriend of nearly nine months was Taron Fruelle. He worked as an undersecretary to the French Minister of Magic. "He'll be there for the next few weeks."

Taron was Muggleborn and highly academic just like her. Their connection had been instant. He had a good sense of humor, was highly proficient in magic and his love of reading almost surpassed her own

It was the easiest, most comfortable relationship she'd ever been in. They rarely disagreed, they spent most of their free time at rare bookstores or deciphering Ancient Runes.

Taron was in Sweden, helping with the renovations of the French Magical Embassy. Hermione realized after Harry mentioned him that she forgotten to phone him on her lunch break.

"So, is it true Kinglsey will be calling you back to England soon?" Harry said attempting a change of subject after Hermione went quiet for a few moments. "Now that you've gathered your diplomatic experience?"

"He hasn't said either way. I mean, I'd love to be back home. Everyone seems to think so, but he's been very vague. Typical politician."

Harry didn't say anything for a bit and Hermione could tell he was thinking of something, something he was more than likely not going to tell her.

"Are you just going to camp out here until I'm done working and then transport me to the Burrow?"

Harry nodded. "Molly's orders, my lady. Nothing I can do."

Hermione sighed. "Well, who am I to argue with Molly Weasley? Does he know I'm coming?"

Harry nodded. "Ginny's gonna tell him."

Hermione sighed. "Can we stop at the shops and get a bottle of wine before we go?"

Harry smiled. "And a bottle of rum too. Hermione, really, you're okay with this, aren't you?" His bright green eyes searched hers.

She smiled, although suddenly she was mentally transported back to Grimmauld Place, crying hysterically, Harry's arms clasped around her and telling her it would be all right.

"Harry, I'm fine. It's all right now. He's moved on, so have I. We're friends now. We were always friends."

Harry smiled and she knew that he did not quite believe her. She also knew he would not quite say so.

"Listen, I'm going go into the city, pick up some French pastry for Ginny. I'll be back to collect you in a bit?"

Hermione nodded. "I'll be off at 5:30."

Harry smiled again, that same knowing sympathetic smile he had when he walked in. He wished her a brief adieu before he was off.

She knew he didn't believe she was fine. He thought she was torn up inside, that deep down, she was still in love with Ron. But she wasn't. It was over. They had moved on.

Five thirty rolled around and true to his word, Harry arrived to collect her.

"Should we Floo?" He asked nodding to the fireplace. "I've got the wine and rum."

Hermione nodded. She took his arm. "It'll be great to see everyone," she said with a smile.

"The Burrow," Harry said scooping up a handful of Floo Powder.

A flash of green and a healthy covering of soot later, Hermione and Harry found themselves in all too familiar parlor. But in a betrayal of familiarity, it was quiet.

"Gin?" Harry called as they dusted themselves off.

"Are we early?" Hermione asked looking around.

Harry shook his head. "No, they should've all been here by now."

The words were barely out of his mouth when a large, incoherent cacophony of voices reached their ears. That sound could only be one thing: a group of Weasleys returning from a Quidditch match.

"Oi! Ginny, next time maybe catch the Snitch," called George Weasley.

"Shut your trap, George. Angelina blindsided me and you know it!"

"I did not! You were too busy trying to show off one of those Harpy tricks!"

Hermione laughed. There was truly no place like the Burrow.

"Hurry and wash up all of you!" came Molly's nurturing, but demanding voice as the door was thrown open "Ginny, I'll need your help with the trifle."

"Coming Mom," replied Ginny with a good-natured sigh. "Oh, blimey! Ron, I forgot to tell you—"

"Tell me what?" called a voice that Hermione would know anywhere. And it sounded closer than all the others.

Familiar footsteps froze her in place. She turned wide-eyed and horrified to Harry who looked equally dazed.

Ginny was too slow. Before another word could be spoken, Ron Weasley had entered into the parlor. His blue eyes, those ocean blue eyes that she could never stop herself from loving widened instantly. Time was at a standstill.

Hermione came to two startling realizations simultaneously. One, he had no idea she was coming to dinner. And two, she was still hopeless, helplessly, irretrievably in love with him.

So Please tell me what you think oh and keep reading chapter 2 is up already. This fic is one I've been thinking of for the longest. We read so many fics about Ron's love for Hermione and I wanted to use this one to delve into Hermione's love for Ron. We see the kind of relationship she'd be in if it wasn't for Ron, we'd see her being very, very Hermione and she's going to be very human in this fic. Think Jules in "My Best Friends' Wedding" human or honestly just "Hermione" human. After all, what you do if you thought you had lost The One?