Author's Note: So what, I procrastinate. Sue me why don't you! Actually, please don't, and since we're on that note, I do not own anything related to Harry Potter. This is the chapter in which a plot actually begins to unfold. It's a very, very long chapter, and for this I sort of apologize. But it's my story and so there. I can make the chapters as long as I want. Please review when you finish reading this three days from now.

Also, I included one of my favourite lines from one of my favourite movies in this chapter- Bridget Jones's Diary. Ten points to you if you spot it. Cheers!

Someday my Prince will come. After all, everybody has a Prince Charming. Mine just happened to get lost along the way and is too stubborn to ask for directions.

- Anonymous

Chapter Four: The Beginnings of Aforementioned Plot

Ron blinked repeatedly as his eyes tried to adjust to the dingy and low-lit bar. A wave of nostalgia came over him, as it does when one comes home after a long time, or has many pleasant memories that haven't been thought of in some time, dusty and mothball covered from lack of use, like the boxes in his attic. He ducked as he entered the bar from the apparation room- the doorframes were very small in the Leaky Cauldron. This he knew from experience and several red bumps on his forehead. He nodded and smiled at Neville Longbottom, his old school chum, who manned the bar these days, and took a booth in the corner.

"Hello, welcome to the Leaky- oh, it's you, is it?" Ron looked up at the all too familiar voice and cringed when his suspicions were correct. Pansy Parkinson, still pug-faced and still cat-like (and not in the sexy sort of way that was comparable to Parvati Patil, but in that annoying, high voiced, nail on chalkboards kind of way) to a fault. She had gained some weight from her Hogwarts days, as everyone had; now giving her the appearance of one who was very fit. Ron had seen her at the gym on more than one occasion. Her hair, rather than it's drab shade of dark blond, was now dyed a deep red, and, per usual, her makeup was painted on heavily.

"Pansy," he said, almost cordially. "Shall I move, or are you the only waitress tonight?"

"Unfortunately, wherever you go, I'll have the… er… pleasure of waiting on you, Weasel."

Weasel… Ron mulled the word/insult over in his mind. Never gets old. Perhaps she's not so clever after all… can't even make up good insults… like… Carrot Head or Freckle Face or… yeah, Weasel's good.

"All right then," he said, when the tapping over her foot snapped him out of his bad insult creating reverie. "I'll have mulled mead, please, and a gillywater for my friend."

Pansy looked over next to Ron and at the seat opposite him. "Is she sitting right there?" she asked, as if speaking to a child.

Ron glowered, and tried counting to ten. Through gritted teeth he said, "She hasn't joined me yet. Now, if you would get my drink please."

"Oooh, could I?" she smirked, and skulked away, stiletto heels clicking against the wooden floor.

Hermione, who had been observing from just a few yards away approached with a small smile, and sat opposite Ron. "Let's not tip her," she said, "And then we'll see who's laughing."

Ron chuckled. "I'm not sure that it would matter- all these blokes in here are probably tipping her triple anyway." He nodded his head in Pansy's direction, and he and Hermione watched as she dropped silverware in front of a table full of young, good-looking men and bent over to pick it up, being sure to give them an eyeful. As she placed a drink on the far side of the table, she made sure that she bent over just enough for her already low-cut shirt to fall just a tad lower. She even seemed pleased with herself when one of them seemed to be ordering his red currant rum from her chest. Hermione choked back a laugh, that was, until she met Ron's eye.

"If she wasn't Pansy Parkinson, I might say that she's your type," Hermione said to her redheaded friend with a smirk.

"If she wasn't Pansy Parkinson, I might agree." He grinned at his friend, and she laughed harder. The beauty of her smile was not lost on him, nor was her impression of how irresistible he looked with red ears and lopsided smile.

Sometimes, when two people have a close bond, they don't need to talk in order to communicate. They can simply feel what the other is feeling without having to say a word. One look into the other's eye will tell them everything that they'll need to know. However, this was not the case with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

"So…"

"So…"

"Erm… this wedding," Ron started, hoping to get some sort of response, or at least something interesting to talk about. He did get a response, but not anything that he had been hoping for. Hermione smiled happily and glanced down at her left hand adoringly, fiddling with the large diamond on her finger. Ron wondered how long she could stare at it without being permanently blinded.

"What's this?" Pansy Parkinson asked shrilly as she approached with two drinks that were actually what Ron had ordered from this. "Granger on a date with Weasley? Settled for second best when Potter was taken, eh?"

"Oh, hello, Neville, it's so good to see you!" Hermione exclaimed, looking beyond Pansy. She quickly placed their drinks on the table, muttered something that sounded like 'willthatbeall', turned on her heel and left, finding her boss behind the counter, as he had been for the majority of the night. Hermione grinned at Ron, and held up her glass. "Cheers." Ron clinked his with hers, and took a swig, grimacing at the initial taste, but the grimace subsided as the warm, comforting liquid slid down his throat, warming him from the inside out.

"So how's work going, Ron?" Hermione asked him, taking a dainty sip of her gillywater. Ron noted just how comfortable she looked in her surroundings- laid back, casual, breezy. Not like the Hermione that he was used to seeing lately- tense, uptight, stressed.

"It's, you know, work. Evil wizards, world domination. Same old story." He grinned and shrugged, and knew exactly what she would say. She laughed slightly, as predicted, and responded as he thought that she would, saying, "Doesn't that sound so warped to you? We've been dealing with that since we were eleven, and talk about it so casually. Some people would be terrified to even consider becoming an Auror, and never have to come in contact with half of the stuff that we have. And I'm not even an Auror."

He exhaled, and leaned back into the booth, smiling knowingly.

"What?" she asked, blushing a bit at the wonder of what he was thinking.

"I've still got it," he replied, cryptically.

"Excuse me?"

"I can read you like a book, Hermione Louise."

She crinkled her nose at the sound of her middle name. "You know I hate it when you call me that, Ronald Arthur."

"You're right, I do." His smile broadened at their playful banter. He loved doing this with her. No one quite understood it like the two of them did. They were Ron and Hermione. It's just what they did. He wondered just how long it would last. With Hermione getting married soon, their space would soon be taken up by a jealous husband, then changing nappies, then kindergarten, then Quidditch practices, then second honeymoons, anniversaries, and holidays, then piano lessons, then Hogwarts shopping… by then, he wouldn't even remember what Hermione looked like. He was not looking forward to that.

"Do you ever regret it?" Hermione asked, in a now serious tone.

"Regret what?" He took another sip of his drink.

Hermione hesitated, as if she couldn't even form the words that she needed to. Even when she said them, they sounded foreign to her, as if her tongue had never uttered them in her life, as if she had never wanted to, and as if she was afraid to say it: "Being friends with Harry."

Ron nearly choked on the gulp that was in his mouth at the moment. "Not a second," he replied without hesitation. "Hermione, I can't-"

"Let me finish," she said, exasperatedly. "I mean… I mean… do you ever wish that we could have had normal childhoods? That we could have been normal kids at Hogwarts, spending all of our time worrying about how we would have enough time to do our homework, study for the next test, write to our parents and raid the kitchens with the Marauder's Map instead of always having to be wary of a Death Eater around the corner? We had our innocence taken from us Ron, so did Harry. Sometimes I wish that I could just go back and do it all over again. Ignorance is bliss, right?"

Ron paused before answering her. "Sometimes," he said, quietly. "But then again, I wish that I could do a lot of things over again."

"Ron, I-" Her wand started blinking red from her deep pocket and beeping ever so softly, but enough to get her attention. Red was not a good sign. She pulled it out, and stood up. "I'm sorry, Ron, I've got to go. Can we take a rain check?"

"Day after tomorrow," Ron said, standing up. "Your birthday."

"See you, then," she said, before rushing off to the apparation room.

She closed her eyes and imagined the apparation room of the St. Mungo's emergency ward, willed herself to be there, and felt the dizzy, light-headed sensation that one feels when apparating.

She felt solid ground beneath her feet again, and rushed from the room to find the waiting room of the emergency ward filled with wailing children, parents trying to put on brave faces for their children and each other all while on the verge of a total breakdown at the sight of their children in such fear and pain, and Mediwitches and wizards hurrying about like crazy, trying to treat the more serious patients first. Hermione felt that familiar rush that came with having a job to do- a serious job- and needing to get it done fast, knowing that the feeling of completion would come only when she had done her very best.

"What's going on, Adele?" she asked the Head Mediwitch, who was directing doctors and nurses to their patients.

"A Quidditch game," the older woman said, lowering her voice. "It doesn't look good. Got way out of hand and… you know how involved some of the parents can be. Well, they started hurling curses at each other before the game even started, and one wayward curse hit the supports of the stands. The wall separating the stands and field crashed down on the team bench. And you know Little Leagues, they don't cut anybody. At least twenty seriously injured. Five fatally wounded. Two already dead. Take the boy over there." Adele pointed to the small, shirtless black boy, who had been levitated onto a magical stretcher. Hermione was handed charts, as a cloud of grief seemed to obstruct her senses. Children. Children dying. There was only so much that she could take.

As she approached, she saw cuts and scrapes all over his bare chest. She could barely hear him breathing over the clamour of the station, which was usually cramped enough, save the addition of wounded children.

"Hey there, Champ," she said, in what she hoped was a soothing voice to the small boy in front of her. She placed a hand on his chest to feel just how deeply he was breathing and he immediately winced, causing her to remove her hand as if his chest were a lit stove. "What's your name?"

"Joey," he said, choking the half whisper of his name out with much difficulty. "It hurts."

"What hurts, Joe?" she asked. "Does this hurt?" He moaned as she delicately placed her hand back on his chest.

"Uh-huh," he choked. The effort of speaking louder, combined with the moan of pain, sent him into a coughing fit, putting an equal amount, if not greater, stress on his chest. Hermione searched the boy's face. His eyes were red and blood shot, sliding in and out of focus, it appeared. He was breathing through his mouth, resulting in cracked, dry lips. There was blood around his mouth.

Hermione stopped a nurse who was just coming to the aid of the frazzled doctors.

"Get me an OR, stat," she said.

"What have we got?"

"Punctured lung."

Hermione wheeled the boy to the operation wing as quickly as she could. She heard the pounding of steps behind her, and felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and her face was looking directly into an older man's chest. She looked up to his face, black goatee lining his chin, bushy eyebrows, and a receding hairline. His eyes were bloodshot and tearstained.

"Where are you taking my son?" he asked in a gravely voice. "Will he be all right?"

"If I can get him to an operating room, he should be fine. If you'll walk with me, sir." Hermione started walking again, Joey's father keeping pace.

"Can't you just fix it with magic or something?" His voice cracked.

"It's an interior wound, and we don't know the location exactly. We'll need to operate to find it and then, yes, it can be fixed by magic. We'll do everything that we can, sir." Hermione stopped at the NO ADMITTANCE doors, with a pointed look at the father. He came around to face his son, and cupped his chin in his large hand.

"I love you, son," he said. "I'll be right here when you come back, all right? I'll be right here."

"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione whispered, "But you're not allowed past these doors." The older man nodded and stepped aside as Hermione wheeled through.

"I love you too, Dad," she heard her patient choke out softly. His father heard.

The plain topes and mauves of the hospital were supposed to be soothing. She felt anything but soothed.

"All right, Joey?" she asked him.

"It hurts."

"I know. You play Quidditch, Joey?"

"Yeah."

"Seeker, I bet."

"Chaser," he corrected weakly.

"Chaser! Wow, I'll bet you'll play for England some day."

"Maybe."

"Mr. Harrison?" Hermione called, tentatively stepping into the waiting room. The man that she had met earlier stood, and this time, his wife was there. She was a heavyset woman with one of the kindest, most beautiful faces that Hermione had ever seen.

"Is Joey all right?" she asked, rushing over to Hermione.

"He should be just fine, and ready to see you in an hour or two."

Both parents gave sighs of relief, and the mother broke down again. The father shook her hand, and introduced himself as Malcolm, and his wife, Loretta. Hermione introduced herself as well, shook their hands again, and left to find an empty bed. She hadn't slept all night. It wasn't until she found an empty room that she glanced at the clock and saw that she was due at the hairdresser's in fifteen minutes- six thirty. With the wedding scheduled for eleven, they would be pressed for time. She left the room, all thoughts of sleep gone from her mind, and handed over Joseph Harrison's charts to the nursing station. Rushing to the apparation room, she went to her flat quickly, took the quickest shower of her life, and changed into jeans and a button-down shirt (she'd learned the hard way not to wear a pull-over when getting her hair done). She arrived at the salon fifteen minutes late, but no one seemed to notice. All of the bridesmaids were half asleep anyway. Three hours of pain later, Ginny treated the bridal party to breakfast, leaving an hour and a half for makeup and dress robes.

Hermione wondered if they'd notice her wearing trainers underneath of her robes. If it was long enough, they might not see, and she was going to be on her feet all day anyway.

"Hermione, take off the trainers; it looks ridiculous," Mrs. Weasley said, swishing through to attend to Ginny.

All right then. Bring on the high heels! Hermione was not one to dress up any more than she needed to, and weddings tended not to be an exception. At Lavender and Seamus's wedding, she was able to skive off with dress pants and a nice shirt under her simple robes. But not today.

Ron had seen Harry cry three times in his life: First being the time in fourth year after the Triwizard's Tournament. Secondly, after Voldemort had been defeated and his parents' death avenged. Third, when they'd heard of the death of Mad Eye Moody, whom the two of them had become rather close to during Auror's training. He had taken Professor Dumbledore's place, so to speak, as a confidante and mentor. But the tears that Harry cried when Ginny walked down the aisle were nothing like the previous occasions.

His eyes had been glistening since they'd arrived at the church that morning. He had been so nervous that he wouldn't even talk to Ron. He just couldn't. When the music had begun to play, he began biting his lip. When Hermione walked down the aisle, she winked at Harry, seeing his obvious nervousness (she had also popped her head in to see him before the ceremony started). This made Harry smile, until the organ began playing the Bridal March and the guests stood, awaiting the bride's entry. Harry fixed his eyes firmly on the door, just dying for that first glimpse of Ginny, as if he had never seen her before. By now, Hermione was crying as well. Ron made a face at her from across the altar, and she let out a watery giggle. He glanced over at Harry and saw a broad smile on his face, though the tears were streaming freely down. He was finally getting a family- a real family, not just the Weasleys on summer holidays or special occasions. As Ginny's veil was lifted, it was evident to all that she was crying just as hard, if not more so.

"You're beautiful," Harry whispered to her. That was when Ron felt the sharp hint of tears in his eyes. He made eye contact with Hermione across the altar once more, and they smiled watery smiles at each other, as the realization that they were losing a third of their trio set in.

Hermione had never felt more alone than that day. She felt like a shadow of herself as she walked around on Ron's arm all day, smiling and laughing at all the appropriate places, making conversation with the relatives, dancing when need be. She knew that she should be happy for her two friends, and she was. She was ecstatic. She was also selfish. It was the happiest day of their lives, and here she was, being so egocentric as to not even really enjoy herself. It didn't make sense to her. She was engaged, and soon would be married herself. She should feel happy. Unfortunately, the familiar emptiness and pseudo-happiness set in whenever this thought came to mind. She preferred not to think about it, then.

That is not to say that she didn't enjoy herself. She was quite content when dancing with Ron, Harry, or any member of the Weasley family, at that. She was at ease when catching up with Seamus and Lavender, and simply adored their daughter, Nicola. Dean could still make her blush with his natural flirtatiousness, and Sirius could still make her laugh. Professor Dumbledore still made her feel proud and accomplished, and Remus Lupin still knew just the right thing that she needed to hear.

Ah, but then there was Hagrid. She loved Hagrid, she really did. There were just times when his foot was too big for his mouth to even fit it in. Times like that day.

She was sitting at a table with her old Professors and chatting happily, catching up, laughing about old times, when Hagrid dropped a bomb on her.

"So, Hermione," he said, "When're we gonna see yeh gettin hitched, eh?"

"Soon, I should hope," she replied with a smile, holding up her left hand and showing off the diamond ring as she was beginning to love to do.

"Congratulations!" Hagrid roared, slapping her on the back with such force that she nearly fell off her seat. "Ron's a lucky man! Yeh didn' set a date, yet, did yeh?"

"Oh! I… I'm not marrying Ron, Hagrid."

His face immediately fell. "Yer not?"

"No- do you remember an Andrew Lewis?"

"Is he here?" Hagrid asked, ignoring her question completely. When Hermione didn't answer, he said, "Ron would never stand yeh up."

"He's not standing me up, Hagrid, he's just-"

"Now when are yeh gonna git serious, Hermione? Yeh can' jus' play around forever, yeh know."

"I-"

"Now I know what it's like to be young. I was young once meself. But that doesn' mean that-"

"Look, Hagrid," Hermione said, bringing him up short, "I would love to discuss my romantic shortcomings right now, but I think that I'll be needing to go… oh! Will you look at that! In about two seconds. It was lovely talking to you all. Excuse me."

She got up and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster, and intercepted Ron as he was headed over to the table. Too confused to protest, he allowed her to drag him across the room.

"What's going on?" he asked her.

"Don't go over there," she insisted. "Hagrid will just ask you how your love life is, as if he's expecting you to say 'oh, great', when what you mean to say is, ' completely dreadful! Haven't seen a hint of a shag in about three months', and then he'll just ask you why you're not in love with me and tell you that you should be and then you'll get mad and leave, and then you'll look bad, so I'm saving you the trouble." She said this all in one breath, leaving Ron thoroughly stunned.

"Oh," was all that he could say.

Hermione woke up at three in the afternoon the next day- her twenty-eighth birthday. She had stayed late at the Burrow the previous night, where the entire Weasley family had convened after Harry and Ginny had left for their honeymoon. There had been no owl from Andrew since he had left for Rome. She was upset, yes, but didn't mind too much. She had always been independent in relationships, and liked to not have someone always there to pull out chairs, hang up her coat, or open doors. Self-efficiency, thank you very much.

She knew that Ron would be to see her later that day. She had taken off work in advance to sleep off her late night. What was better to do than treat herself to a nice hot bath? She filled a tub with water and bubbles, played one of her most relaxing Muggle CDs, lit candles and relaxed, letting the warm water work the knots out of her aching muscles.

She must have drifted off to sleep while in the tub, for when she opened her eyes again, the CD had run out, the water was cold and the bubbles had gone flat. She shivered as her feet touched the cold marble floor and welcomed the warm terry cloth around her. As she was dressing, she heard Ron's voice call from downstairs. She quickly brushed her teeth and skipped down the stairs to meet him. He held her hand as they apparated to wherever he was taking her- it was a surprise. When she opened her eyes, they were standing outside of a small and elite restaurant in Diagon Alley called Lucy's Hat Shoppe. Ron led her inside and she was met with delicious smells.

She had wanted to come in this restaurant for a while now. Andrew had promised to take her, but had to work on the night that they had set aside. It was as adorable inside as outside. Painted in light, Victorian style colours; the silverware and glasses crystal to compliment the delicate china; old-fashioned hats- Muggle and Wizarding alike- were adorning the walls. The carpet was plush beneath her feet, and the seating host handed her a fresh gardenia as he pulled out her chair for her to sit.

"Thank you so much for bringing me here, Ron," she said, as she drew the spicy-sweet flower to her nose. "It's lovely."

"I thought you'd like it," he replied, throwing her a lopsided grin and looking quite proud of himself. "Extra special tonight."

Hermione smiled at the pure joy of it. "It's to bad that Harry and Ginny couldn't be here," she said, "although I'm sure that they're having much more fun whatever they're doing in Greece."

They sat in silence for a bit, taking in the business of their surroundings. Ron surprised Hermione when he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a blue velvet box.

"This is for you."

Hermione took it from him with a grateful look, and opened it carefully. Inside, she found a beautiful pair of sapphire earrings that suited her wonderfully. She'd always thought that jewellery was impractical, but for some reason, she didn't quite mind that Ron had given her jewellery. It was nice; it made her feel pretty enough to wear it, and that was a feeling that she didn't often get.

"Thank you, Ron," Hermione said, once she was able to find her voice.

"You're very welcome," he said, pink-eared.

"Did Ginny help you pick these out?" She asked, unwilling to take her eyes from the box.

"No," he said, "Actually, I saw them and thought that they would suit you. You… you do like them, don't you?"

Hermione tried to hide her laugh as she looked up to meet his eyes. Ron never changed. He was her constant. In so many ways, he was still the insecure teenager with the too-short pyjamas, five older brothers, hand-me-down robes and a famous best friend.

"Of course I do," she reassured him.

"Good."

"Good."

Ron's wand beeped from his pocket, doubling as a beeper as it did for Hermione. He excused himself to check in with his boss, asking the waiter where the public fires were. As he made his way to the back of the restaurant, he ran into a man about his size, and muttered his apologies.

"Sorry, mate," he said, as he continued to walk.

"Don't mention it, sir," the man replied. Ron stopped cold. As he turned to look at the man, he saw him sitting down with a pretty blond. The thoughts of calling his boss were erased from his mind as he advanced towards the man, filled with every kind of rage. He yanked him from his seat by the back of his collar and slammed him against the wall, immediately drawing attention to himself. Before he could speak, he heard Hermione's voice.

"Ron! What are you doing? Let him go this instant!"

He obeyed, and stepped aside. The minute that he heard Hermione's gasp, he wished that he hadn't.

"Andrew?" The timidly asked question broke the silence that had enveloped the dining room.

"Hermione," he explained, stepping forward. Ron stopped him.

"Shut up!" he roared. "You don't deserve her! You don't deserve to say her name!" By force of habit, Hermione's hand flew to Ron's shoulder, a reminder to keep his temper.

"Why are you here?" she asked, calmly.

"I-I-"

"Who is she?" Hermione looked pointedly at the blond at Andrew's table.

"Jennifer," the woman introduced herself. She stood up, and stepped towards the three of them. "You must be Hermione. Andrew, darling, I thought you said she was pretty."

Hermione's mouth dropped and Ron's eyes narrowed. He advanced towards Andrew again, but once again, Hermione restrained him.

"He's not worth it," she whispered. Slowly, she took the multi-carat diamond from her finger, and dropped it icily into Andrew's flute of champagne. "Ron's right, you know. You don't deserve me. You don't deserve anyone."

With that she turned and walked out on Andrew Lewis.

Review. Now.