UNDER MY SPELL
Hello again, my people! I want this chapter to move things along a little, so hopefully it will turn out that way. I don't know; I haven't written it yet…But we'll see…I have something special planned, and it may show up now, or later. But nothing would be possible w/o the amazing and talented JKR.
CHAPTER EIGHT: ARE YOU CRAZY?
Ron couldn't believe it, but he actually enjoyed himself at dinner with Malfoy. They had a splendid meal, and fascinating conversations. Ron recalled a certain detention he served his seventh year, the night Draco poured his heart out to him, Harry, and Neville.
He'd never forget what Draco said that night. "I hate my father. He's a brainless fool and will die like one. I don't want to be like him…It's hard, having such a loser for a father. Then he expects you to take up where he left off, do his bidding, and be a miniature of him. But what if you don't want to? What if you want something else?"
Ron knew they had touched the core of him that night, a core he kept carefully hidden, along with his heart. He wasn't defending him, but for the first time, he could see where he was coming from. And he was sorry for him.
After they left Draco's they proceeded back to Hermione and Ginny's cottage. The conversation took a few detours, but eventually wound up turning to the upcoming event.
"Remember Fred and George's wedding, when both girls caught the bouquet?" Harry asked, sipping his nightcap. "And we wondered who had caught it first."
"It was a little bit of a shock to learn that the flowers were bewitched to fly to the woman who'd get married next. I thought it was just a Muggle wives' tale," Hermione added. "Well, now we who caught it first. Congratulations, Gin."
"Thanks, Hermione. Although I could have sworn…" Ginny trailed off.
"What?" Harry asked.
Ginny shook her head. "Nothing," she muttered.
Hermione spoke again. "I don't know if I've said it yet, but I'm so very happy for both of you, from the bottom of my heart."
Ginny's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Hermione. I love you," she said, and went to hug her friend.
Ron and Harry smiled at them, and then looked at each other. Ron's my best friend, Harry thought, what would I do without him? Have I ever told him that?
"Ron?" Harry started.
"Yeah?"
"Will you be my best man? I mean, I don't have any brothers, but…you're better than any brother I could have. What do you say?" Harry swallowed hard.
Ron looked at his friend of thirteen years. The best friend he ever had, his pal, his confidant. The man his sister loved, the Boy Who Lived. I'm so glad I met you Harry. You're the best…
"Of course, mate. I'd be honored."
Harry cleared his throat. "Gin? Do you want to, uh, go for a drink at the Three Broomsticks?"
"Oh, who are you kidding, Harry?" Hermione asked laughing. "Get out of here, you hormone ridden teenagers."
"Yeah, like you're going to sit here and read," Ginny muttered to her friend as she gathered her coat and walked out the door.
The days passed, and the cool hint of autumn turned into the glaring frigidity of winter. It was unusually cold for November, then continued so into December. The ground was hard, and soon covered with glittering milky white flakes. Christmas was drawing near, and Hermione was getting worried.
She owled Ron from work one day, inviting him to dinner. Ginny was going out with Harry, so they'd have some time to themselves.
Ron—
Why don't you come to the cottage for dinner and drinks tonight? We need to talk. Say six thirty or seven?
Love,
Hermione
When she got home, there was Pig, waiting to give her Ron's reply.
Hermione—
How could I pass up dinner with you? Let's make it six, the sooner the better.
Love,
Ron
Hermione smiled. She'd make spaghetti and meatballs, and they'd have red wine. And they'd discuss their impending doom.
Ron arrived right on time, and kissed Hermione hello. The kiss lingered longer than normal, but nobody complained. She had put out candles, and her tiny kitchen smelled of tomatoes and vanilla candles. And her.
Ron buried his face in her hair, smelled her shampoo. Then he kissed her neck, and marveled at her scent. Her hair smelled like citrus, her skin like berries. He couldn't imagine pulling away.
"Will dinner be ruined if we leave it?" he whispered into the crook of her neck.
She leaned away from him and smiled suggestively. Then she shook her head, as if to send away her thoughts, and said, "Yes. Let's have dinner first. We have important business to discuss."
"You drive me crazy when you're serious," he said.
"I drive you crazy all the time." She led him to a chair, and poured the wine.
"What's so important, darling? Let's get it out of the way," he said, scooping up spaghetti.
"Christmas."
"Yeah, and?"
"My parents. What happens when they see your parents and they start talking and mention the engagement? And your parents say 'What engagement?' And then they figure out that we're telling two different tales, and neither knows we're planning for you to move in here and then—"
"Whoa, whoa. Take a breath. We'll just make sure that they don't talk about that, or don't see each other."
"How do you propose we do that? Your parents will invite them for Christmas dinner, and they won't say no! And we can't exactly control the conversation."
Ron frowned. This was quite the predicament.
"And it's so cold. I'm tired of being cold. I need a change," Hermione muttered.
Ron almost laughed. What did the weather have to do with anything? Oh well, that was Hermione. Never calm in a crisis.
"I want it to be warm and sunny. I want to…relax."
"Let me relax you."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "That won't solve anything."
"Okay, then…" A brilliant thought struck him. "Let's run off to some tropical island and get married. Warmth and sun, and you and I can…relax."
He saw her face; she thought he was kidding. He turned his tone serious. "I love you, Hermione Granger. I have for a long, long time. Maybe since the first time you told me I had dirt on my nose, but I was too young to know how much you really meant to me. I love you, and I want to marry you. I'm tired of putting it off, and I don't want to wait. I love my family, but a big wedding will get complicated fast." He slid down to one knee, and looked up at her shocked face, into her amazing eyes. "What do you say?"
"Are you crazy?" she whispered. Her head was spinning, her heart was thumping. She wanted this, she didn't want this. She wanted a big, fancy wedding. She wanted him on a beach. She found her voice again. "We…we can't elope."
He had known her too long to be insulted. She was practical, down to the bone. "Why not?" he answered simply.
"I…don't know." She paused. Then her decision was made. She wanted to be warm, she wanted Ron, and she wanted to be his wife. "I love you, too. I want to marry you. I want to run away with you."
Ron grinned his amazing, sexy grin. "When should we go?"
It was Hermione's turn to surprise him. "Now."
"Are you crazy? Now? Today?"
"Yes, right this minute. I can be packed in minutes. You can use my new spell to get some stuff from your house. Then we can Apparate to…where should we go?"
Ron shrugged, and grinned some more. "Wherever you want, love."
"Let's go to the Virgin Islands. St. John. I went with my parents once, it's calm and quiet. I want to marry you on the beach, in the evening."
"Deal."
"Just let me pack."
"What do you need? We're going on a honeymoon, basically." Ron cradled her hips in his hands.
Hermione shrugged. "Bathing suit, sandals?"
Ron nodded. "I'll bring the same."
Ron summoned a few things from his house and then waited for Hermione. She bustled around, checking locks and putting away dishes.
"Ready?" Ron asked.
"Just have to leave a note."
Dear Ginny, Harry, and everyone else—
Ron and I eloped to paradise. Sorry to shock you, but we'll owl you later. Lots of love,
The soon to be newlyweds.
There you go, a nice short chap, filled to the tip top with romance. I put the notes in a different font, so I hope it shows up, but if it doesn't , what can you do?