Happy Vegas Day! This is my favorite chapter so far, and I can't wait to hear what you think! Thanks again to my beta team: smjl, cheesyficwriter, adenei6, and accio-broom. Go check out their amazing work!

Chapter 5

[Ron]

How do people live in Las Vegas? Accustomed to the mild English sun, Ron finds himself wondering why the bloody hell someone would choose to reside in this heat. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he glances back at his phone. He's over halfway to his destination and can surely stand five more minutes of walking in the sun. Wishing he brought water, or even thought to put on sunscreen, he groans and continues on his way.

He's far beyond the flashy streets of the Las Vegas Strip, having ventured into a more run-down and understated part of town. The buildings no longer stand out, but blend together like a colorless mural, and his destination, Erised Elopements, is easy to miss. He's looking for a building marked by the number twelve, and it takes him a few passes down the block before he spots it. It's a skinny building, shoved between numbers eleven and thirteen, almost as if it's trying to be invisible. It gives Ron an eerie feeling, like it's hiding dark secrets inside.

However, any uneasy feelings vanish when he opens the door and steps into a wall of cool crisp air, inhaling a cold and nourishing breath. Thank goodness for air conditioning.

"Hello, sir! Welcome to Erised Elopements!"

Ron locks eyes with the bubbly receptionist beaming at him. He sends her a friendly nod, then scans the room. There's a large refrigerator stocked with bottled water, an indoor forest of tropical plants that look like prisoners in the dry heat, and in the corner of the room sits an elegant gold mirror that he recognizes from the logo behind the front desk.

Then his eyes wander to a pink plush sofa in the mirror's reflection. Sitting stiffly in a light blue sundress with her arms crossed in front of her body is Hermione Granger. Shit.

His heart rate spikes, and a prickling heat begins to rise up his neck as he dodges behind a pillar, sucking in a quick breath. Here he is again, hiding from women behind walls. It's becoming a theme.

"Sir? Are you okay?" The receptionist suddenly looks concerned as she rises to her feet. "You don't look well."

Coughing, Ron tries to obscure his voice. "Yeah, I'm fine," he huffs at a lower octave than feels natural.

"Well, there's water in the fridge if you're overheated, and you can have a seat on the sofa; we will be with you in a second."

"Erm, thanks."

Ron wants to leave. He's tempted to turn out the door and run away, right back to the hotel, heat be damned, but his curiosity roots him to the spot.

Why is she here? Does she know?

He takes a deep breath and approaches the pink fluffy sofa with trepidation. Hermione must sense someone nearing because she snaps her head in his direction and meets his gaze.

Her jaw drops, and her cheeks flush crimson. "What are you doing here?" she hisses.

"Hi, Hermione," he splutters. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Ron, seriously, why are you here?" Her eyes flit around the room as if looking for a hidden camera, some kind of confirmation that this is all a prank.

Sighing, Ron shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out their marriage certificate. "I'm here because—"

She interrupts him. "Did you know?"

Ron gapes at her, utterly confused as to how she found out, then nods.

"And you didn't say anything?"

Sighing, Ron shrugs. He meets her icy stare and sends her a look of apology. "I was hoping I could fix it before you found out."

"You could fix it? Without telling me? Don't you think I have a right to know?" She rises to her feet, uncrossing her arms to place them on her hips. Her frizzy hair crackles with static electricity, giving her the appearance of someone deranged. Theoretically, it should scare him into submission, but instead, her confrontational stance ignites a flame from somewhere within him. It gives him an adrenaline rush, and he doesn't hate it.

"I thought you'd prefer not to know, based on how horrified you were this morning," he challenges back, his voice matching hers in strength and volume.

"So how was I supposed to find out we were," she says, her eyes darting vigilantly around the room, "married?"

Even in the frigid air, Ron's palms begin to sweat. He shrugs. "Honestly, I didn't think that far ahead."

She scoffs, folding her arms across her chest again. Like Ron's palms, her forehead glistens with sweat that doesn't belong in the abrasive air conditioning. "That's the attitude that got us into this mess; how did you figure it would get us out?"

Matching her stance, Ron hardens his gaze. "What would you have done?"

"I would have told you," she says with an air of finality.

Ron laughs. "If that's the case, why are you here alone? Why did you ask if I knew?" When she doesn't answer and her eyes narrow, he adds, "You weren't going to say anything either, were you?"

She exhales audibly and stiffens her jaw, tense and trapped without a response.

"That's bullshit, Hermione, acting like I'm the dishonest one here."

"You're infuriating," she says, shifting her gaze out the window.

"You're just as responsible for this! Don't put it all on me!"

"Oh, come on, I never do stuff like this."

Scoffing, Ron says, "Trust me, I know. Spontaneity isn't your thing."

"Impulsivity isn't my thing. I generally think before making big life decisions."

"And I don't? Believe it or not, Hermione, this is the first time I've accidentally gotten married. And I was just as horrified as you to find out."

When she whips her head back to face him, her face is expressionless, and Ron wonders what it's masking. Like the building's secretive facade, it looks forced. "Well, at least we agree that it was a mistake. Let's just straighten it out, then pretend it never happened."

Pretend it never happened. That's what they both want, right?

"Okay. Let's just make it disappear," he says, and they both take a seat on the sofa, separated by a wall of thick, icy air.

x

"Well, hello! Can I help you two?" Ron and Hermione look up to see a short, stout man with circular spectacles and the beginning of a handlebar mustache. He's dressed in black golf pants and a polo shirt that's at least one size too small, and something about him puts Ron on edge. "I'm Dave, the owner and CEO of Erised Elopements."

Hermione is the first to speak. "Yes, actually. We have a problem, sir."

"So do I!" says Dave cheerfully. Ron and Hermione stare blankly at him, confused. He diffuses it with a hearty laugh, color flooding his cheeks. "Just a joke, just a joke. Come on into my office!"

They share a nervous glance as they follow his lead. Dread pools in Ron's stomach. Oddly, he feels like he's approaching the witness stand in a courtroom and makes a note to be careful what he says.

"Go ahead, have a seat! Make yourselves comfortable," says Dave, motioning toward two armchairs in front of his desk. They're upholstered with green velvet, and Ron wonders when they were last cleaned. "What can I do for you?"

"Hi, sir—" starts Hermione.

"Dave."

"Sorry?"

"Just call me Dave. 'Sir's' too formal, and here at Erised Elopements, we're all friends." Dave beams, revealing white, unnaturally straight teeth.

"Okay...Dave. Here's the problem. We got married last night." Hermione motions vaguely between herself and Ron.

"Oh, congratulations!" Dave claps his hands together in excitement.

"No sir…I mean Dave—"

"I knew I recognized your faces from somewhere. Hold on one second." Dave silences them with a finger, reaches for a remote control, and points it toward a large black flatscreen monitor on the wall. It lights up, and Dave scrolls through a few photographs, eventually landing on one of Ron and Hermione. Ron's holding her up and pressing his lips to hers, her arms snaking around his neck. Above them are the words "Just Married." Ron is horrified and glances at Hermione, but for some reason, she doesn't seem surprised by the photo. "There! It's Ron and Hermione, right?"

"Yeah," says Ron tentatively, still staring wide-eyed at the photo.

"Well, congratulations again. You two make a lovely couple!"

"Thank you," he mumbles without meaning it. The words feel like they've been extracted from him, and it's unsettling.

Dave leans back and stacks his feet onto the table, paying no attention to the stacks of paper, empty picture frames, and take-away lunch container he's knocked aside in the process. Hermione looks on with wide eyes. "Honestly, sometimes couples waltz into Erised Elopements and have everyone thinking 'oh for fuck sake, these two should not be getting married', so it's incredibly refreshing to see such a happy couple. Really, congratulations again."

"About that. We didn't mean to get married," says Hermione hastily.

"Ahhh."

"Yeah. It was kind of a shock to us this morning, actually," she says, shrugging. She smiles at Ron in a sheepish manner that doesn't match her fiery demeanor.

"How lovely!"

"Sorry? Lovely?"

"Yes! It's perfect!" Dave reaches for a pen and notepad and begins scribbling as if taking notes on their conversation. Ron shifts uneasily. "I just love the idea that the best things in life are surprises. It speaks to how important it is to keep an open heart and let life happen to you."

Ron and Hermione exchange confused looks. "I think you misunderstand."

Ignoring them, Dave continues. "We've been working on a new ad campaign, and that sums up our message perfectly."

"Sir—"

"Sometimes, you don't even know your heart's truest desire until it's on your doorstep—"

"Dave," says Ron firmly.

The pen stops. "Yes?"

"We don't want to be married," says Ron, his tone stiff and forced.

"Sure you do!"

"No," adds Hermione. "This was a huge mistake. We need to undo it, if possible."

"Undo it?"

"Yes, cancel it. The whole thing," she says, gesturing between them again.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"Excuse me?" Hermione's eyes are wide and disbelieving.

Dave removes his feet from the table and sits up straight. Although short, he appears commanding. "What you're asking for is an annulment, and unfortunately, you waived your right to an annulment yesterday when you signed your marriage license." He opens a drawer, shuffling for a piece of paper. "See, here's a copy of our contract; it's all there if you read the fine print."

Hermione snatches the document from his hand. "This can't be legal."

"It's perfectly legal in the state of Nevada," he says, shrugging.

"You don't let anyone get an annulment?"

Dave laughs. "Wouldn't be very good for branding, don't you think? We pride ourselves on marriages that last. For most people, when they see a high annulment rate, they don't exactly think 'Happily Ever After,' you know? In fact, we go beyond that. We promise 'Blissfully Ever After.'"

Ron and Hermione join heads to scan the document. "So, you're saying we're stuck married?" Ron asks finally.

"Well, I wouldn't think of it as stuck, per se. You're starting to sound like my wife."

"You're married too?"

"Sure. Technically," chuckles Dave. "But you're not 'stuck.' With that mindset, your marriage will never work."

"We don't want it to work. It was a mistake," says Hermione, slowly and clearly. Ron feels his stomach clench at her words, but he's unsure why.

"Give it a chance! Even the good things in life require effort!"

"Listen, we barely know each other—"

Dave cuts her off. "Perfect! You have no history, no past that'll keep coming back to screw everything up."

"I'm sorry," says Ron. "I'm not sure what you mean by that—"

Dave gestures toward Hermione, who looks affronted. "Listen to me. This is an opportunity. She hasn't broken your heart yet, so when you see that she has an 'office happy hour' on a Friday night, you're not tempted to show up at the bar just to check on her. Even if you do show up and see her alone with her 'coworker'," his fingers make air quotes as he speaks, "she doesn't know about your 'addiction' to porn, or how much money you lost at the slots. She doesn't know anything about you, and that's a beautiful thing, Ron, because she can't use any of it to justify her affair and make you look like the controlling one. She has nothing on you, at least not yet. Trust me; a blank slate is a beautiful slate. You have a chance to keep it that way, so I'd recommend not fucking it up."

Ron's mouth drops open, and he glances at Hermione, who is also wearing an expression of horror. This is not about them anymore.

"Turn around," demands Dave. "Go on, your chairs swivel."

Reluctantly, they swivel their chairs and turn to face another mirror, identical to the one in the lobby and the one on the logo. Engraved on the golden frame are the words 'heart's desire', over and over again, in fonts that don't seem to match. Ron assumes it's not meant to be stared at too closely.

"What do you see?"

"Us," states Hermione plainly.

"Well, yes, you, but more importantly, this mirror shows your heart's one true desire."

"It's just a mirror," says Ron.

"It's your heart's desire," responds Dave firmly.

Ron stares at their reflection; his face is red and peeling from the sun, new freckles invading his features. Hermione is scowling, hair erupting from her head like a volcano, arms and legs wound tightly into knots. They don't look happy.

"Now, if there's anything else I can help you with, by all means, shoot. But if not, then enjoy your Blissfully Ever After!" Dave motions for them to stand, and they oblige. He moves toward the door, opening it and gesturing them through.

"If it's not working in six months, you're more than welcome to file for divorce," he calls after them. "But give it a chance, don't disrespect love. Honor your heart's true desire."

Speechless, Ron and Hermione stumble out back into the lobby.

"Come again soon!" says the receptionist as they pass her desk.

They press open the door and emerge back outside, once again engulfed by the aggressive heat. Ron glances at Hermione. "That was a disaster."

"I'll say."

"Er, I guess we just should go back to the hotel. Try to enjoy the rest of the day?"

Hermione nods. "I guess. And file for divorce as soon as possible."

Ron sighs. "You read my mind," he says, although it's not entirely true.

"I guess we're just so in tune," she chuckles, and Ron, surprised by her sudden pleasantness, suppresses a smile.

"That's why you're my wifey," he risks, glancing nervously at her to gauge her reaction.

"Please, don't say that," she groans, and her cheeks flush adorably red, most likely a result of the Las Vegas heat.