Author's Note: All right, my first chapter posted in 2003!!! I'm excited, kids, I'm excited. Firstly, I would like to thank all of the reviewers. You guys are cool. And secondly, this chapter was… fun, to say the least. Enjoy!
Chapter Three: A Rendezvous on the Roof
Ginny ran into the bathroom, closely tailed by Hermione.
"Breathe, Ginny, breathe!" Hermione commanded.
"I-can't-do-this!" Ginny gasped. All day she had been accosted by reporters, caterers, dressmakers, florists, and camera-happy Harry Potter fans, just dying to get a shot of his bride. And, of course, you can't forget lovelorn teenage girls ready to curse her for taking their heartthrob away- if Harry could be called a heartthrob. She had been called everything from a 'whore' to a 'hippogriff'. Even Hermione was starting to lose track of the insults.
"Of course you can," said the maid of honour soothingly, wetting a paper towel and placing a cooling charm on the room.
"I'm only one person," Ginny continued, "I can't be in a wedding, plan a wedding, and deal with everything else! I mean, witch or not, this is too much for one person!"
A knock came on the door, pulling Ginny out of her reverie.
"Ginny? Are you in there?"
"Come in, Harry," she said, wiping her tears. "Erm, you do know that this is a girls' toilet… right?"
Harry shrugged. Nothing out of the ordinary.
She buried her head in his chest, ready to let out all of her problems. "I just don't think that I can handle all of this. We should have hired a coordinator. This is just… too much. We should have had a small wedding, like you wanted. This is… insane!"
"I can help however you need me to, Gin, just say the word," Hermione volunteered.
Ginny immediately straightened and sniffled. "You mean it?"
"Of course," Hermione assured, "Anything at all."
"Good," said Ginny, turning around. "First of all, you can take care of the caterers for me. No matter what they say, I want salmon, not chicken. Secondly, tell the florists that I want the African Snapdragons sedated. I'll not have a guest's finger bit off, thank you very much. Oh, and also, watch my cousin Freda. Erm… her dress should not be taken in as much as she says. Make sure that it's… modest. Also, my bouquet needs white and yellow roses- make sure that they're yellow and not peach. And tell the pianist that I will not have Memories played as the bridal party walks down the aisle. In fact, let's just outlaw anything from any musical for that matter. I want… well, here I have a list…"
And so it was that Hermione Granger was so completely in over her head in wedding preparations that she forgot all about her boyfriend's departure for Rome the next morning.
"All right, I'll go get all of this taken care of. You just relax," Hermione said with a smile.
"Oh, and Hermione? Could you pick up some sugarquills for the ring bearer and flower girl?" Hermione nodded and left the bathroom, eager to try her hand at wedding coordination.
As the door closed, Ginny wrapped her arms around Harry's middle.
"You're bad," he said with a smile. "And I must say, that crying was very believable. You even had me convinced, and I know what a little minx you can be."
"I'm sorry," Ginny said, pouting in that way that caught Harry in between laughter and desire. "What are you going to do with me?"
"Hmm… don't tempt me; we've got a wedding to take care of."
"Oh," she pouted. "Why don't you and I skip the wedding and go straight to the honeymoon?"
"Not a bad idea, Weasley. But do you want to have a husband when you get back? If your father doesn't kill me, your brothers will."
"Shut up and kiss me."
"I don't really recall all of the details. I just know that Harry was ready to run heedlessly into danger. That is, until I talked him out of it. You never can keep track of the old bloke. Reckless, he is. Why, he's an excellent partner, don't get me wrong. But ever since he and my little sister have… well, you know… his head's not quite in the game." Ron smiled at the dozens of reporters around him, his eyes resting particularly on one young brunette. Had Harry or Hermione been there, he would have officially been accused of robbing the cradle. And oh how true it was.
She raised her hand tentatively. "Mr. Weasley, what would you say is your greatest achievement to date?"
"Well," he said, leaning back and giving his best pouty thoughtful look, "I couldn't quite say that one achievement was better than another. There have been a lot of them. As my friend Hermione Granger- you may have heard of her- would say, 'nothing is a failure if you learn something from it'. It works the same way, in that, having learned something from everything that I've done, I couldn't value one achievement above the other. But what I do know is, I always get the girl in the end." He smiled and winked at her, causing her to blush and look away. Pretty good… for coming out of my arse.
"Always, Mr. Weasley?" she asked flirtatiously.
"Please," his smile broadened, "Call me Ron."
"Then call me Isabel," she replied, not missing a beat.
Ron locked his eyes to hers, studying them carefully. They were deep brown, and a lovely shade of brown they were. She looked rather familiar, though. He couldn't place where. Hermione has brown eyes. Maybe that's it.
"Mr. Weasley," interjected another eager young reporter, "What would you say has-"
"No further questions, please," Ron said, raising his hand and taking a few short steps to where Isabel was standing. "Now you know all about me. How about you and I grab a drink and I get to know you a bit better." Ron held out her arm for her, and she gladly took it.
Just as he thought that he had made his mistake, he heard the voice that he was dreading from behind him.
"Ronald Arthur Weasley, don't you dare tell me that you're leaving when I'm six feet under in work and you're the best man! Get back here this instant!" Ron turned immediately, knowing that Hermione's wrath was taken the easiest when piping hot. Soon she would forget about it or he would make it up to her somehow. That was the way they're relationship went.
"Hermione," he said, "This is Isabel. Isabel, Hermione."
"Hello," Hermione said, shaking her hand, "Does Isabel have a last name?"
"Oak. Isabel Oak." The two women shook hands and introduced themselves. Once through with the preliminaries, Ron could see that he would not be getting off the hook easily.
"Ron, you do know that there is no way that I can handle this all by myself, right? And you do know that you are responsible to do as much work as I am, don't you? And you do realize that if you leave that I will hex you into next week, I hope."
Ron hung his head slightly. "Yes, Hermione."
"Isabel, I'm sorry that your date is ruined, but you're welcome to stay and watch if you like. Don't know why you would want to, but be our guest."
"Actually," said Isabel, "I would love to stay." She shot a smile at Ron, and the three of them walked into the sanctuary.
"What if someone has to go to the bathroom," Harry asked in between kisses.
"Who cares," Ginny replied, taking a split second to separate from Harry in order to answer. "Hold on a sec." She picked up her wand and locked the door, before turning right back to kiss him and slowly unbutton his collar.
"Wait-" Harry said, pulling back with a questioned look on his face, "We're still getting married tomorrow, right?"
He had no chance to answer.
"All right," Hermione said, situating everyone where they had been positioned on the diagram that she had insisted Ginny make. "Bill, you'll stand here, on this side of Harry… wherever he is. Ron will be in between you and Harry, and then… Ron? Ron!"
"What?" Ron turned from where he had been standing, talking to Isabel.
"Will you stop flirting and help me, please?" Hermione said, trying to control herself. Ron strode over and stood where she was pointing without question. It was better not to question, he had learned over the years. "Fred and George, over on the other side of Bill. All right… all right, good. Then Ginny will walk down the aisle to here, I'll be on this side of her, Freda, you'll stand next to me, Penelope, you'll be next to Freda, and Sarah, you'll stand on the end. Good? You've all got that? We don't need to practice walking down the aisle and we can all leave?"
"Yep, got it, Hermione," said George… or Fred.
"No problem at all," added the other.
"Don't need to worry about us at all!"
Hermione and Ron exchanged a nervous glance, quite sure where this was going. Bill snickered and nodded at Hermione.
"At least once, Herm," Bill told her. "At least for good measure?"
"I wonder what everyone's doing," Ginny said, resting her head on Harry's chest. He kissed the top of her head, and she sighed contentedly, nestling closer. "Think they miss us?"
"Who cares."
Ginny looked up to meet his eyes. Her eyes grazed over her tousled hair (even more so than usual), his flushed cheeks, his lopsided smile, and then his eyes. Her favourite part about him.
"Just think," she said, "This time tomorrow, I'll be Mrs. Harry Potter."
"And I'll be… Mr. Harry Potter. That's deep, Gin."
How it was that Hermione ended up standing in for Ginny, she'll never know, but there she was walking down the aisle and feeling entirely too self-conscious for her own good. She decided right then and there that she would have a small wedding, if she ever got that far. She didn't realize that her best friend was having an epiphany, even if he didn't know the word for it.
Ron stood exactly where he was supposed to be standing, listening to his brothers humming a funeral dirge that, supposedly, had the same beat as the wedding march. He was listening, but not paying attention. His eyes were fixated on the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen, slowly walking towards him.
If I were to die right now, I'd be a happy man, he thought. He immediately kicked himself mentally for thinking something so stupid.
Hermione sighed tiredly as she collapsed onto her sofa after a day that should have ended twelve hours ago. The sound of Milton mewing from the kitchen was enough to pull herself up and conjure some cat food. It was then that she noticed the roses. A huge bouquet of red roses was sitting on her kitchen table. She carefully walked over, as if ready to awaken from a dream any minute, and gently picked up the small card. It had just one word: Stairs. She flipped it over, looking for something more. There was nothing. So, doing the only remotely logical thing, she walked to the stairs and caught her breath. Leading a trail up the white carpet were rose petals- red, pink, peach and white. She followed them upstairs and through the hallway to where they led- a doorway to the roof.
One of her favourite things about her home was the flat roof. When she had moved in, she, Harry and Ron had worked to magically build a staircase up to the roof. She had planted a garden up there, had ivy growing, and made it a perfect haven for reading, thinking, just plain thinking, or anything romantic. As she walked up the steps, she could only imagine what was waiting for her. The slowly opened the door to the roof, and held her breath until she saw what was awaiting her.
Fairy lights were strung everywhere, soft music was playing, and set in the middle of the roof was a table for two, candles lit, and elegantly set. A bottle of champagne sat, waiting to be uncorked. But one thing was missing- the perpetrator. She still saw no sign of whomever it was who had done this for her.
"Happy birthday, love," said Andrew, stepping out of the shadows behind her.
She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, unable to speak.
"Thank you," she finally whispered. "This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me." A mental image of a twelve-year-old Ron belching slugs popped in and out of her mind for a fleeting second. Her cat pushed his through the door and settled comfortably on the swing that she had fashioned under a trellis of ivy.
"You deserve it," he told her. "I love you, Hermione."
"And I love you."
She took a sharp breath as she realized what was going to happen. Her life flashed before her eyes, and she thought, this isn't the way it's supposed to be. Her past- all that she could think of was her past, not her future with Andrew. And surprisingly, the two people who figured the most prominently were Harry and Ron, the two most significant men in her life. All of her happiest and most cherished memories were with the two of them, not Andrew.
Did she really love him? Of course she did… but there was that doubt. She remembered telling Ginny just a few years ago that when she found the person that she was going to spend the rest of her life with, she would know, just like that.
Just like that…
She had always wondered if Andrew really loved her. Maybe she was just more insecure than she thought. She couldn't help but wonder what if she had been to Ron what it was that the Weasleys wanted her to be. Could she be Ron's wife? No more than she could be Andrew's. But could she? She looked hypothetically into the future.
She saw herself on the couch, a Christmas tree in the corner, a fire in the hearth, a book on her lap. On the floor, her husband romped and played with a little boy who squealed and giggled in delight. She smiled at the two of them and sipped her tea.
Later, she put the little boy to bed, smiling as he sucked his thumb and drifted into a sweet sleep. She took everything in- the freckles on his nose, the deep blue of his eyes, the rise and fall of his small chest. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned around to her husband, expectantly. But she couldn't see his face.
"I love you, Hermione," he said, kissing her. Hermione wished that she could feel that kiss, taste him, smell him. But it was just a daydream, and like that, it was gone.
"Are you all right, darling?" Andrew asked her.
"Oh, yes, I'm fine. Just… daydreaming. Let's sit down, shall we?"
He was talking to her and she wasn't listening, still lost in her own mind.
Love. Was it real? The thought had plagued at her for the past three years. She wondered if it would ever find her, if she would ever fall in love, or if she would ever even know what love was. She knew now, she supposed. Love was security; Andrew was security. Perhaps love didn't exist, just a willingness to commit and a desire to be with someone. One of these days she could pronounce herself to be in love with Ron and be happily married. But did that mean that he would give her tingles up and down her spine, or were they just made up, too?
"Hermione," Andrew said, taking on a serious tone. "I… I love you. Will you… I mean… Do you think that…"
"What are you trying to say?" Hermione asked him, taking his hands.
"Be my wife, Hermione," he said, smiling at her. "Make me the happiest man alive and be my wife."
"I will," she said, tears clouding her vision, and all thoughts pushed aside. "I will, Andrew."
Ron Weasley apparated into Hermione's house, a case of butterbeer under his arm.
"Wicked," he muttered, noticing the rosebuds leading upstairs. He was ready to follow them until he heard soft laughter and realized what was probably going on upstairs. Footsteps approached, and he dashed into the living room, burying his head in a pillow in a desperate attempt to save his eyes.
"Ron? What are you doing here?" came from a pleasantly surprised Hermione. He exhaled hearing the smile in her voice, and raised his head, thanking the Fates that they were both fully clothed.
"Hi," he said, sheepishly, noting the huge smile on Hermione's face. She's beautiful, he thought.
"Great news, mate," said Andrew. "We're getting hitched!"
"Erm… great!" Ron exclaimed, trying his very best to be happy for his best friend. Here he was, the only one of the trio not even seeing anybody. Of course a guy could be upset… at least that's what he told himself.
"Congratulations," he said, rising from the couch and hugging Hermione. "Always knew I'd be last," he told Hermione with a wink. "Insufferable you called me. Guess you were right." She laughed as he shook Andrews's hand, but couldn't help hurting for him. There was something deeper in those words.
"I'd love to stay," Andrew told Ron, "But I was just on my way out. I've got to leave early tomorrow, and I have a meeting as soon as I arrive."
"Owl me when you get there?" Hermione asked, turning to face him.
"Of course. Good night, love," he said, kissing her. She responded and he apparated to his flat, leaving a smiling Hermione to flop on the couch with a sight.
"So…" Ron said, plopping down beside her.
"What… why did you come here, again, Ron?"
"To spend time with you. We haven't had a chance to do that lately."
"Do you want to go out?" Hermione asked. "I'm getting sick of being home." That, and she didn't want to face cleaning up the roof, stairs, or going to bed with only the thought and phantom images of her now fiancé.
"Me too. Where to, milady?" he asked playfully, knowing full well what the answer would be. Never mind about that butterbeer, it would be good to get out.
"Leaky Cauldron?" She rose and retrieved her cloak, bringing Ron's wand back with her.
Author's Note: There ya have it, the fruit of my labour. I know, you all hate me now. They can't be engaged, blah, blah, blah. Well, if it gets you to leave a review, then DO IT!!! I want them, I need them. Oh baby, oh baby (great movie). Anyway REVIEW!!!!