AN- Muggle!AU. Ron/Hermione wake up in Vegas... married! Originally written for Ron-Fest, serves as my contribution to the RomioneCom movement (Romcom Romione!).
Special thanks to adenei6, accio-broom, cheesyficwriter, and smjl for beta-ing!
Chapter 1
[Ron]
Ron wakes up to the strong desert sunlight assaulting his eyelids and turns onto his stomach to bury his face into his pillow. The bed is so warm and comfortable, the satin sheets enveloping him into a nourishing hug. The pillow has somehow maintained its shape and is just the right combination of cold and cozy. His back feels fine, which very much exceeds his expectations, based on how his back usually feels when he wakes up. Maybe an expensive mattress is just what he needs.
Soon enough, his real-life anxieties start to surface. How much does this mattress cost, anyway? What about these sheets? How much extra did this room charge for the scented pillows? Am I even paying for it?
He tentatively opens his eyes, zeroing in on a tray that lies on the floor by his bed. It's adorned with discarded chocolate-covered strawberries, two empty champagne flutes, and a bottle of whipped cream. He never eats whipped cream.
Did I have a girl over last night?
Ron sucks in a breath and freezes in his satin sheets. Gingerly, he turns his head to the other side of the bed, catching a whiff of the pillows he thought were scented before.
Perfume, you idiot.
He lifts his gaze over the mountain of fluffy blankets and high-thread-count sheets, half expecting to see wispy blonde hair glossing the pillow and a hot-pink nightgown that doesn't entirely cover her familiar set of curves. Maybe there would even be lipstick streaked across the pillows. Bloody hell, perhaps he was covered in lipstick, too. Do they charge extra to clean up shit like that? He wouldn't know; he doesn't stay in hotels often.
Honestly, he may have been relieved if Lavender was beside him. They dated for years, and he knows her well. Ever since they broke up, she's been not-so-subtly trying to get him back in bed. She likes having sex with him, and quite frankly, he likes it too. At this point, he knows her body well. She's difficult to disappoint.
On the other hand, she may have mistaken him sleeping with her for regret about ending things, and he has no desire to set the record straight again. Las Vegas is already far enough out of his comfort zone, so Ron will do what it takes to avoid any conflict on this trip.
However, he doesn't have to worry about that because when he peers over the blankets, the girl sleeping beside him is not Lavender Brown.
Instead of a hot-pink nightgown, she's wearing a black pair of mens' boxers and a bright orange Chudley Cannons T-Shirt, with the words "World's Best Coach" emblazoned across the back. He loves that shirt. It was a gift from the youth football team he's coached for years, and he never even let Lavender wear it. Not that she ever asked to, but that's beside the point.
Who the fuck is she?
Still, her head is buried under her pillows, effectively masking her identity. He reaches toward the pillows and gently lifts them to reveal her face, or more accurately, her hair. There's so much goddamn hair. It looks like someone has loaded a t-shirt cannon with curly brown hair and unleashed it onto the pillow beside him.
No. It can't be...
He wonders how he survived the night unstrangled when his companion's hair moves on its own accord like the limbs of a sentient and unpredictable willow tree. Is it as easy to anger as its owner? It begs the question — how the hell has he managed to wake up next to Hermione Jean Granger, his sister's nightmare of a Maid of Honor?
Swiftly but smoothly, he removes his blankets and rises to his feet, only to discover that he's completely starkers. He grabs the first thing he can find — a towel — and wraps it around his hips while he searches the floor for something to wear. Luckily, he's in his hotel room, and his suitcase is wide open on the floor. He exhales a sigh of relief and collapses next to it, pulling garments out one by one. He lands on a pair of inside-out khaki shorts and red short-sleeve button-down, one of his favorite shirts that Lavender would never let him wear. She always said it clashed with his hair.
When he turns the shorts right, a piece of paper floats to the ground. It must have been folded up into his pocket. Out of curiosity, he picks it up and unravels it. He has to read it twice before realization kicks in, and his jaw drops to the floor. His hand is suddenly shaky, but not enough to obscure the words 'Marriage Certificate' across the top.
It's even signed and dated. Ron B. Weasley. Hermione J. Granger. Fuck. This had to be some sort of a practical joke.
He looks back to the bed, and he can't ignore the dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. Hermione's head is still buried under the pillows, the Chudley Cannons Tee rising and falling rhythmically with her breath. Suddenly, he's extremely nervous. She'll wake up soon, and what will happen when she sees him?
She'll probably be pretty upset. Unlike Lavender, she seems easy to disappoint.
Bloody hell.
x
One week earlier…
"I'm Hermione Granger."
She extends a hand to Ron, who reluctantly shakes it. Firm handshake.
"And you are?"
"I'm Ron." She raises her eyebrows. "Ron Weasley? The bride's brother? The groom's best friend?" He tries not to be offended when she removes her hand and wipes it on her trousers. "You honestly don't know me?"
"I figured," she shrugs. "But most people introduce themselves without assuming others know who they are."
Her unfiltered judgment catches him off guard. It strikes a nerve, and he can't help but wonder why Ginny has selected her as her Maid of Honor.
His instinct is to snap right back, but he fights it. He is about to embark on a ten-day international trip to celebrate his sister's wedding, and as the Best Man, he'll be working closely with Hermione and the other bridesmaids, one of them being his ex-girlfriend. It is going to be rough already.
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Hermione Granger," he says as cheerfully as he can muster. He'll just have to get through this trip, and he'll never have to see her again.
Her reply is annoyingly curt. "Thanks." She takes a seat and motions for him to do the same. The gesture is subtle, but it keeps him on edge. He doesn't need permission to sit down. He's tempted to keep standing simply out of spite, but on the other hand, he would like to avoid a power struggle.
He shakes his head as if doing so would reset this terrible first impression. He wants to like her — she's one of Ginny's best friends — but he already feels himself building a wall.
She waves down a server, and Ron squirms at how impatient she seems. What's her rush? The server grumbles when he approaches, and Ron tries to send an apologetic glance his way. "I'll have an iced coffee."
The server nods, then glances expectantly at Ron. "Oh erm... same, I guess.".
"No straws," adds Hermione.
"Noted," quips the server.
"Actually," says Ron, "I would like a straw."
"Straws are awful for the environment," she says when the server's out of earshot. "You don't really need them."
Ron fights the urge to roll his eyes. He's determined to keep it cool, so he takes a steadying breath and changes the subject. "We should compare itineraries for the bride and groom."
"Yes, I agree. In fact, I have put together a tentative plan for the joint stag and hen party." She slides a piece of paper across the table to him. The level of detail is horrendous. It's also laminated. She's organized, that's for sure.
"Hold on," he says. "A joint stag and hen party?"
"Yes, it's more efficient this way. You can see on page four, I've already made reservations at a hotel on The Strip, and for pretty much everything, bigger parties mean bigger discounts."
Ron's heart sinks. He has been planning a surprise stag party for Harry, and he was pretty excited about it. Harry wouldn't go for this. There's no way.
"Hermione, I think the boys would prefer a separate party." Ron was also looking forward to a night out with just the boys — Harry, Neville, Dean, and Seamus. It would be a very different experience if the girls were there too. Well, Ginny, Luna, and Demelza would be fun. Lavender? Hermione? No thanks.
"I've already spoken to Harry, and he loves the idea."
Ron straightens up and stares back at her, for a moment forgetting to mask his hurt. "He… what?"
"Yeah, he already agreed to it."
Their conversation pauses as the waiter returns to deliver their iced coffee. Hermione scowls at Ron and rolls her eyes as he takes a long drag from his plastic straw. Maybe he should ask for a second one just to tick her off some more.
Keep it cool, Ron.
Hermione's expression softens. "I know it must be awkward for you to spend so much time with your ex-girlfriend. Ginny told me about the breakup. She wasn't expecting you two to split before the wedding,"
Unfortunately, the Lavender thing contributes to his resistance to a joint party, but he hates that she can sense that. He hates that Ginny told her about his breakup.
"Look," says Hermione, leaning closer.
He's skeptical of what she might say, but it seems like she's genuinely trying to be caring, so he leans in to listen.
"It'll be hard, but we can't let our personal issues affect this. This wedding is about Harry and Ginny. No one else."
Ron sinks dejectedly back into his chair, immediately regretting giving her the benefit of the doubt. Our personal issues. "What are you saying?"
"I'm asking that we don't bring any unnecessary drama along. Leave it here, and focus on the bride and groom."
"We?"
She nods. "Yes, we. I will also leave my issues at home." She really is infuriating. He's going to have a chat with his sister about her choice of best friend.
"So no drama at the wedding. None." He takes another swig of his drink, raising his eyebrows at her. She scowls again at the straw.
"No drama."
"Deal." He reaches out a hand, and she takes it. Another firm handshake.
Then, something on his face catches her eye. "You've got something on your nose."
He releases her hand and rubs his nose.
She shrugs. "Must have been dirt."
He forces his lips into a smile and wonders if it looks as fake as the one she returns.
What a nightmare.
x
He's pulled out of his reverie by an abrupt jerking of limbs from the bed. Hermione's rhythmic breathing turns into a groan when she tugs the pillow off of her head. She slaps a hand over her eyes when the sunlight hits them, and she groans again, angrily this time. Any illusions of peacefulness are a far distant memory.
When she finally opens her eyes, it's her look of horror that alerts Ron to the fact that he never put on his khaki shorts and a red shirt. He's still hovering next to her bed in a towel, staring at her. He's suddenly very aware of how pale and freckly he is.
"Why are you—?" Eyes wide, she rises to a seat in bed, her hair billowing in every possible direction. She looks down at her body and pinches his Cannons shirt with her fingers like it's a dirty napkin. "Why am I wearing this?" She glances back at Ron and scowls. "Why am I here?"
Ron opens his mouth to answer, but he is unprepared to fill her in. Like her, he has not yet processed this. Before he can explain, the towel starts to unravel from his hips. He motions to catch it, but his right hand is clutching his clothes, and his left hand is clutching a goddamn marriage certificate, so the towel unwinds and lands in a pile on the floor. When Hermione's eye line lowers, her cheeks blush. Ron can't tell if she's embarrassed, angry, or impressed, but he hopes for a combination of the three.
"Morning!" He grins goofily, emulating the falsely excited tone he's become so accustomed to using around her.
It brings her gaze back to his eyes. "Ronald Weasley. What the hell is going on?"