Author's Note: What day is it? WHAT day is IT? It's St. Patrick's Day, my friend! The very holiday, which I brilliantly named my story after, completely aside from the fact that it's based on a song by John Mayer! WOOHOO!  To celebrate such a glorious day, I present to you the best, in my opinion, chapter in the entire story, save the last and epilogue (which only I know about, so there!).

You know, sometimes I envy all of you on the other side of the computer screen. You know why? Because there's no sense in my reviewing to this awesome chapter!! I like to entitle it… Ye Olde Reviewing Feilde Day. Therefore, I entreat ye, that, in great haste post the reading of yon chapter, to review, ye olde kinsmen, review!

Still, this doesn't belong to me. The last four chapters have not, and chapter five is the same. And there's something else in this chapter that doesn't belong to me, either. I'd like to thank the lovely reviewing Sparrow for a very interesting phrase that she coined in her last review, which I borrowed in this chapter. It made me laugh. Hope you all laugh when you find it as well!

One last thing I need to tell you before I go…

…

The Matrix has you. 

Talkin' to myself and feelin' old
Sometimes I'd like to quit
Nothing ever seems to fit
Hangin' around
Nothing to do but frown

Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down

           

-The Carpenters, "Rainy Days and Mondays"

Chapter Five: Rainy Days and Mondays

How it was that Hermione Granger wound up with her head plastered to the bar of the Leaky Cauldron, a sympathetic and, quite frankly, intimidated Neville Longbottom giving her drinks at her demand, dizzy and disoriented, she would never remember. She remembered one thing, and one thing only- that…that… tramp throwing herself on top of her boyfriend- no, fiancé­- half dressed in some skimpy evening gown, and in between obscene amounts of kissing insulting her. Well, no one did that to Hermione Granger! (As she thought this, Hermione slapped her hand on the board for emphasis, not realizing that no one around her could hear her thoughts.) The businessman two stools away looked at her queerly.

"What?!" she demanded far too loudly, sitting up from her pathetic prostrate position. Since she seemed to have found enough strength to sit up, she figured she'd have another go. She slapped the board once more, this time so hard that her hand stung (or would have, had she been able to feel it). "Neville!" she demanded, "Hit me!"

"Hermione, I think you've had quite enough to-" He was silenced by her drunken glare. "Right away."

Once again, Hermione found herself quite alone. She sunk back down on to the bar in front of her, resting her head on her arm and staring horizontally at the three identical, swirling businessmen two stools down.

"You know," she said, loudly, sitting up only to slump back down again, "I don't understand men. I mean, you're a man, am I right?" The man looked at her quite queerly once more. "What is it that compels a man to cheat, eh? I mean, is it the sex?" By now, there wasn't one person in the pub who wasn't staring at her. "Cause, hey, there is more to a relationship than sex, you know what I'm saying?" Neville placed a tall glass of mulled mead in front of her that she picked up and drank, draining half of the glass in one gulp. "Come on, you're with someone for…one…two…three… after three… well a long time, and suddenly, he- whoops!" Hermione, in her intoxicated rage, slipped of her stool, and would have landed flat on her bum had a strong pair of arms not encircled her.

"Up you go," Ron said, lifting her on to her feet.

"Who do you think you are-oh, it's you."

"How much does she owe, Neville?" Ron asked.

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione was protesting for anyone with in a twenty kilometre radius to hear, "I'm perfectly capable of standing on my own, thank you!" Ron let her go, and once again, her knees gave way and her caught her. He paid her bill and they left the pub, taking the Muggle Street rather than leading her through Diagon Alley. She was in no condition to Floo back to her house, much less apparate. Ron took her into a deserted alley and stuck out his wand arm, praying that the Knight Bus was in the country. Within seconds, the purple bus screeched to a stop in front of them, and Ron half led, half carried Hermione on. He nearly trampled over the conductor as he moved to sit on one of the benches.

"Excuse me," Ron said, tipping his head in apology.

"Not a problem, sir, not a problem," said the small man in quite a thick Welsh accent.

"By crikey!" Hermione exclaimed, suddenly alert. "Why you're a shorter bloke than Professor Flitlywickly! Oh, no, what was his name, love? Professor…professor… professor…-"

"I'm terribly sorry for my friend, sir," Ron apologized, firmly clasping his large hand over Hermione's mouth, drowning out her repetitions of "professor…professor".

"Not a problem, sir, not a problem," he said, jovially. "Hegbert Podge is the name, sir, bein' insulted by attractive drunk women is the game. Take her to a bed on the next level and then you come back down and tell me where you need to go."

"Thank you, sir," Ron said, removing his hand from his friend's mouth as he walked to the stairs in the back. Surprisingly, Hermione went along quite quietly, until it came to her: "Flitwick! That was his name, love, I told you I knew it, I told you! Didn't I tell you? Didn't I?"

"Yes, Hermione," Ron muttered, leading her up the steps in a rather shaky manner.

"You bet your broomstick I did, you son of a …sheep sheerer!" Ron left out the queer look and continued up the tightly spiralled steps. He found an empty bed far away from the door downstairs and laid Hermione down, despite her protests, and left her there, despite the fact that his head was screaming at him for being so stupid as to leave her. He quickly told Hegbert Podge her address.

"Not a problem, sir, not a problem!" He climbed up onto a stool to tell the driver, and turned to face Ron. "Tell me, what bloke did a number on her? Not you, I hope, sir, not you, I hope."

"No, not me," Ron said, sitting down. Hegbert Podge sat down on the stool, his short legs dangling and swinging back and forth, like those of a child. "Her fiancé. Went and cheated on her. I could have killed him, of course, but she wouldn't have none of it. 'Nope,' she says, 'he's not worth it.'"

"Probably not, sir, probably not. Answer me this, sir, answer me this, if you will. You wouldn't happen to be Ron Weasley, would you, now? And that young lady with you- Hermione Granger?"

Ron's eyes went wide. "Please, Mr. Podge, keep this between you and I, please. If word got out- Hermione's whole bloody reputation could be destroyed. Hell, I don't care about mine, but for some reason it means a lot to her, and I-"

"Understood, sir, understood." He pantomimed sealing his mouth shut and throwing away the key.

"Thank you, Mr. Podge."

"Hegbert, sir, Hegbert. Everyone I knows calls me Hegbert, sir, and Hegbert is my name to everyone I knows."

"Thanks, Hegbert."

"You're welcome, sir, you're welcome. This would be your stop now."

Ron hadn't realized just how fast that they had been travelling, but there they were, stopped right in front of Hermione's lovely house. He nodded to Podge, and went to retrieve her from the upper berths where she lay fast asleep.

She wouldn't budge when he shook her, and wouldn't respond when he called her name. Finally, he whipped out his wand and whispered a spell to wake her up. Groggily she followed, silent as he paid Hegbert Podge, who winked at the two of them before the Knight Bus sped away.

"You know," she slurred, "It was dreadful awful lonely up there."

"Sorry," he apologized, grinning in spite of himself. "Alohomora."

"What are you laughing about?"  She demanded, hitting his arm with a minimal amount of force, but still enough to make her stumble. "Really, Ron," she continued, as they walked into the foyer, "I have the worst night of my life and all you can do is laugh at me?" Her cat darted out in front of her, having been startled from the loud voices interrupting his quiet dreamtime. Hermione stumbled, and Ron caught her, this time lifting her into his arms and carrying her up the steps to her bedroom. He kicked the door open gently, and laid her down on one side of the bed, pulling the covers back from the other side. He removed her shoes and jacket as gently as possible, so as not to wake her from the much needed slumber. He lifted her once more, and set her down on the turned back half of the bed, tucked the covers around her, and turned out the light. As he was leaving, he heard Hermione's voice.

"Where are you going?" she asked him, barely coherent.

"To make up the couch. I'm staying here tonight."

"Don't leave me."

"I won't."

"No, don't leave me. Stay with me, Ron."

Ron was surprised at her words, but accepted the offer. She was drunk, heartbroken and alone. The least that he could do was stay by her. He removed his jacket, belt, and shoes and slipped under the covers a good distance away from her, not wanting to be caught in a position where taking advantage of her intoxication was an option.

"Mmm… goodnight, Ron," she whispered.

"Goodnight."

He was taken aback later during the night when she snuggled up close to him, sound asleep. Grateful for the warmth, he put his arms around her, and drifted into a sweet a sleep as ever.

When Hermione awoke the next day- Monday- she winced at the soft light pouring into her room, her head pounding at the sound of the hard rain falling on her roof. She fell back into bed and pulled the covers over her head, not wanting to be woken up by anything. She noticed a groggy redhead in bed next to her, and gasped (promptly wincing at the action) and looked down. She was fully clothed. He was fully clothed. Good.

It wasn't many hours later, late afternoon, until she woke. It was still raining, and they sky outside was as dark as twilight from the rain. Ron was nowhere to be seen; only the fresh scent of his cologne was left on the pillow. She wrapped a dressing gown around her, and was hit with a sudden pang of grief. She was alone. Andrew was gone. But Ron was here, and she had to be strong for him. Although there was little that she remembered from the night before, she couldn't imagine how she had behaved. But then she remembered Andrew and his snooty, sophisticated, skinny girlfriend, and didn't care anymore. She padded down the stairs, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

Ron was on her couch, a fire lit, watching Muggle rugby and sipping a butterbeer. "Hey," he said quietly, as he saw her approaching. "How you doing?"

"I think that my head was trampled by a Hungarian Horntail. But I don't know which is worse. My head, my heart or my pride. What if… what if I never get married, Ron? What if I'm unlovable?" she said, dispelling the silent tears and replacing them with heart wrenching sobs. She flopped on the couch with an even louder sob, and he wrapped his arms around her, unable to help himself.

"Listen," he said, "You're… lovely. I don't know how someone couldn't see that. Andrew just wasn't the one, Herms. You'll find him; don't worry. And I'll find that perfect girl for me. You've just got to have faith."

"Why should I have faith, Ron? I was in love, and now it's gone, and I'll never be in love again, and I'm unlovable! Who would…" she broke down again, incoherent through sobs. "Who would want me?"

Ron took her shoulders so she was looking him eye to eye. "Don't ever let me hear you say that again, Hermione. Who wouldn't want you is the question here. You're smart, beautiful, funny… in your own way, of course. You've got one of the biggest hearts I know, you're clever, you're caring- you took care of me and Harry for all of these years, didn't you? You're the most wonderful woman that I've ever met, and I only hope that whoever is out there, ready to put up with me forever is at least half of what you are to me." Hermione's sobs clenched her again, and Ron surrendered his shoulder.

"Oh, why can't I just marry you, Ron?" she whispered into his shoulder.

"What did you say?" he asked, pulling away and handing her a handkerchief.

"I said, why can't I just marry you? But it's silly; forget I said it."

But Ron didn't forget it. He was thinking, strategizing, like a chess game.

"Maybe," he said, after some time, "Maybe it's not such a crazy idea." Seeing the sceptical look on her face he said, "Wait, let me finish. We're going to be thirty in two years, right? What do say we make a deal: if, in two years, neither of us are seeing anybody, we marry each other. Don't look like that, it's not that crazy."

She sat, thinking things through. This was crucial, but it was Ron. They would kill each other if they were ever married. She promptly told him this, and suggested a trial period.

"How about… all right, so we can't break up in October- we'll have to go the Ministry's Halloween Ball together. And then there's November- Mum and Dad's fiftieth wedding anniversary. We'll need dates for that party that Bill's throwing. And then, well, December is out of the question. No one likes to be alone at Christmastime. So January… no, we can't end it then, either. I'll need you to help me keep my resolutions, and you'll need me to make sure that you don't kill yourself keeping yours. February, well that's Valentine's Day. We'll need to be together then. So that leaves March. What's going on in March?"

"Nothing," she said quietly, still mulling things over in her mind. "Wait- St. Patrick's Day."

"All right, so we're safe until St. Patrick's Day, at least. If it isn't working out then, we can end it- mutually, don't look like that at me- and we'll both walk away, no hard feelings, and still be the best of friends."

"And if we don't want to end it?" she asked, wiping the last of her tears that she would shed while in the presence of Ron.

"Then we won't. We'll stick it out for two years until we're thirty and that's that."

"What if either one of us meets someone else? Are we supposed to be so committed that we don't date?"

"No. No strings attached, aside from that we give it a try until St. Patrick's Day. It'll work out fine, Hermione, I promise."

She thought about his proposition, wondering just what a relationship with Ron would be like. Of course, it wasn't a real relationship, more of a pseudo-relationship. But if they ended up getting married at the end of it all…

"But shouldn't we be in love if we get married when push comes to shove?" she asked. All of her life she had had images of fireworks going off overhead and angels singing when she was kissed by her true love. That's when she would know that she wanted to be with him forever.

"Well, we do love each other, right? Not in the romance way, but we do love each other. Think about it, we'd be a great team, even if we only admire and respect each other in the friendly love way. We both get paid well; we're both good with kids. I'll always take care of you, I promise."

"I suppose that if we really commit to it, divorce is out of the question, despite the rows that we get into. But children, Ron?"

"Why not? They'll be something to keep us together. Besides, I've always wanted kids, and so have you. We'll balance each other out- great parenting! Look, I promise you that I will always be there for you, always support you, and always take care of you, no matter what happens."

"That's what best friends are for," Hermione said, dazed, but not too dazed to finish his sentence.

"Right. Most people who get married won't even like each other after the honeymoon. But us, we've been friends for more than half our lives. We already know that we like each other. So, what do you say, Herms? It's now or never."

"Now," she said, without hesitance. What was to think through? She could take this all back in March if it was a bad idea. "D'you… d'you suppose we should seal it with something?"

"Like with blood?" Ron was quite excited and eager at this prospect, but his hopes were dampened when Hermione scowled.

"No, with something nicer. Like… a kiss or something."

"With- with a kiss?" Ron's voice cracked slightly. He certainly had not been expecting that. He licked his lips slightly when he saw Hermione nod, her eyes locked with his, and slowly placed his hand at the lower bit of her neck. Here goes, he thought. Their heads moved together and their eyes closed as they came together for their first real kiss, an experience unlike any other.

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