Chapter One: The Past
"Once the toothpaste is out of the tube, it's hard to get it back in!" --H.R. Haldeman
"Thanks for coming," he murmured, bright eyes meeting hers quickly before looking beyond her seat to something outside her line of vision.
"Like I'd pass up a chance to have you buy my breakfast," she teased, suspiciously wondering why he looked so chipper when it normally took him until lunchtime to get over having to get out of bed. He looked good, better than good, and she felt a pang go through her that had nothing to do with the massive amounts of caffeine she had ingested to keep her up for her all night work session the previous night. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
He tore his eyes away from whatever had caught his attention and smiled at her genuinely for the first time that morning. She couldn't help smiling back despite the sliver of unease that was making itself known at the base of her spine. "Would you believe I just wanted to give you a chance to nag me about how important a well-balanced breakfast is?"
"Ron, I have never had to nag you about food before, it is one of the only subjects you probably know more about than me," she replied, only half- joking. He looked away again, giving her a chance to study his profile. There was still a boyish charm to his countenance when he grinned but her best friend had grown into quite a handsome man. Shoulders broadened and voice deepened, he had caused a stir wherever he went since their last year at Hogwarts. If he would only learn to keep his temper, he would be the ideal man.
Not that she'd really thought about it before . . . much.
She opened her mouth to ask again why they were there when the waitress came by to take their order. Rolling her eyes at the blatant flirting between the young woman and her companion, she mentally shrugged and hoped that the girl would manage to get her order right, not that grapefruit and toast was that hard to remember.
"I need to tell you something."
"Okay," she said slowly, putting down her teacup and shifting uncomfortably at the intensity of his gaze.
"But you won't like hearing it," he continued, his tone grave.
Narrowing her eyes, she questioned, "It's not Harry is it? Or your family? Ginny swore that your father was doing better."
"No, no, everyone's fine. But Dad does love having visitors, he would really appreciate you stopping in."
"Of course, I'll stop by on my way home tonight," she answered automatically. Mr. Weasley had been suffering the past month from a nasty hex meant for the Minister of Magic. She had been walking with both of them, updating them on the progress of her research, when she felt him convulse. Seconds later, the area erupted into harried activity and he was immediately taken away for medical help. Through she had been by to see him several times during his stay at St. Mungo's, she couldn't help feeling guilty that her work had kept her away this week and at night when she closed her eyes, she could still see him writhing on the ground.
Ron seemed to be mulling over something in his head, an expression of reluctance and quiet torment falling swiftly from his face as soon as he noticed her scrutiny. He broke eye contact, staring off into the unknown before setting his jaw and looking at her again with renewed determination. "You trust me don't you?"
"Ron, what are you on about? You're beginning to worry me," she admitted, a slight frown marring her features as she watched the heat collect in his cheeks prior to spreading across his face and the tips of his ears.
He looked away again making her want to jump up to block his view of whatever kept distracting him. She was so bemused by his odd behavior that she nearly knocked her chair over when she felt his hand on her knee under the table. Her eyes came crashing back to his blue ones, seeing the turmoil there and gasping at the flood of emotions so clearly showcased in his glance. She was so entranced that it took her several seconds to realize that he was speaking, a mask of indifference pulled over his features that was in direct opposition to the fervor of his gaze and the warmness of his palm on her leg. "You know I would never intentionally hurt you."
She nodded silently, unable to speak and thinking that this was by far the most unusual conversation she had ever had with Ron, which was saying a lot since they'd known each other from the tender age when discussing belly buttons and cooties was commonplace. She felt his fingers slip slowly off the exposed skin of her knee and ignoring the irrational thought that she was very happy she wore a skirt that morning, she finally found her voice. "I have a feeling you're right."
At his perplexed expression, she continued, "I won't like what you have to say."
It seemed her words had spurned something in him because he nodded slightly, as if agreeing with an internal statement, and said with feigned nonchalance, "I've met someone."
To say that her day went downhill from there would be inaccurate. As she tried to read the ancient manuscript for the twentieth time that afternoon, she reasoned that it was the shock of hearing that Ronald Weasley, the man who proudly wore his limited emotional sensitivity like a prefect's badge, had found someone who would put up with his sulky temper and Quidditch obsession that she was finding so upsetting. And any queasiness she had felt when he went on to tell her that he was proposing to this saintly woman was strictly from the oddity of the conversation, perhaps even the abundance of caffeine in her system, and not the idea that she had missed out on something very important, something that was as fragile and delicate as it was unnamed and unrealized.
She had tried to salvage the morning by asking what she hoped were appropriate questions like who the hell was this mystery woman that he had apparently met and fell in love with without the first mention of her to his friends and why was he rushing into to such a monumental decision after so short a courtship. When these pertinent questions failed to produce much beyond shy smiles and wistful responses, she had dug in her heels and brought out the big guns.
She closed her eyes and pictured the slightly panicked expression that had crossed his face when she had pointedly asked, "And what does your mother say about this? I can't imagine she'll be happy to find out her baby boy has run off and gotten himself engaged to a woman she has never even met."
From that comment on, she might as well have been talking to herself. When they had finished their breakfast, or rather when he had finished and she had reduced her grapefruit to a shredded pulp, he had taken her hands and with pleading eyes asked her to understand that this was something that he had to do.
Her stomach clenched tightly, bringing her mind back to the task at hand. Glancing at the clock, she calculated she only had about two more hours before she could ditch the office and escape back to her cozy, if somewhat unlived in, flat. Persistent to a fault, she started for the twenty-first time trying to pull some meaning out of the faded Latin text.
No, the day hadn't gone downhill for Hermione Granger. She had already hit rock bottom.
She heard the pop of someone apparating into her home but didn't bother herself with climbing down off the counter where she was currently finishing off a plate of very expensive, very sinful, chocolate cake.
"I thought you were going to go by and see Mr. Weasley after work," a masculine voice commented from the doorway to her kitchen. She turned to see Harry Potter, all messy hair and rugged build, standing not ten feet away looking like he was posing for Witch Weekly magazine.
"I guess you've talked with Ron today," she replied, her mouth full of silky frosting. She thought about asking if he knew before she did, if she was the last person that Ron had told but settled for taking another large forkful of her dinner instead.
"I guess he told you the good news," Harry shot back, arching a dark eyebrow quizzically as he pushed off the doorframe and made his way to her side. Settling next to her on the narrow counter, he surveyed the nearly empty plate and in a wry tone guessed, "Death by chocolate?"
"What a way to go," she muttered, reaching between her legs to open the drawer and grab him a fork. Handing it to him solemnly, she said, "I'm only sharing this so I don't feel guilty about pumping you for information on Saint Cynthia."
He studied her for a long moment before taking the bribe and digging out a heaping helping of the sweet dessert. Shrugging, he stated with a full mouth, "Fair enough."
They ate on in silence, neither one speaking as they did their best to get every crumb and smear of frosting off the plate. When she showed no sign of starting the promised inquisition, he asked with a trace of awe, "Did you make that?"
She snorted, wondering if Harry was trying to flatter her or if he really was clueless enough to think she had learned to cook overnight. "No, got it from the bakery down the street."
They lapsed into silence again but it was the comfortable kind that enveloped you like the sunshine on a warm summer's day. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, feeling his shoulders rub against her lightly as he rocked back and forth in the way he sometimes did when he was deep in thought. He really was adorable at times, too bad that she had never been attracted to him. It certainly would have made her day a hell of a lot easier.
"So, Saint Cynthia, eh?"
Getting defensive, she snapped, "He always has nicknames for all my boyfriends! Perhaps you think he would prefer Cindy."
"Hey, not the enemy here," he replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm just as confused by this as you are. But out of curiosity, why Saint Cynthia?"
"Well, the woman, if she even is a woman and not some teenager fresh out of Hogwarts, obviously has the patience of one if she's going to put up with him for the rest of her life," she fumed.
"She's our age," he assured her, jumping down off the counter and grabbing some pumpkin juice out of her refrigerator. "Want some?"
Shaking her head no, she asked, "How do you know?"
"I had lunch with her today," Harry explained before noisily gulping down the chilled juice directly from the glass bottle she kept it in—he had sworn to her on numerous occasions that it tasted better that way.
"That's disgusting, not to mention that this isn't even your house, your fridge, your juice, or your container," she griped on principle because it wasn't like Harry acting like a man was her biggest problem right now.
Rolling his eyes, he finished off the juice before aiming his wand at the dish and muttering a cleaning charm. "There, good as new. Although you probably could have gotten some money for it if you advertised that it had been used by the Boy-Who-Lived."
"Why don't you autograph it while you're here and I'll take it to my vault as a keepsake for my grandchildren," she retorted, causing him to chuckle and blush faintly.
She looked up, meeting his startling green eyes and whispered, "Is she pretty?"
"Oh yeah," he said with feeling. With a sympathetic look, he added, "Sorry, Hermione, you know his type. Blonde, blue eyes, thin in a borderline unhealthy way."
Grinning in exasperation, she concluded, "That's because the only thing that scares Ron nowadays is that he might run out of food. He couldn't handle the competition at every meal if he actually dated someone who had to have more than a piece of lettuce to fill her up."
Trying to look on the bright side, she said, "Maybe Saint Cynthia will come to her senses and refuse to marry him."
"Hermione, you don't want his heart broken. And despite the fact that it's sudden and insane to think Ron might be getting married, I know you don't want him hurt," Harry scolded quietly.
"No, you're right, I'd rather him be happy no matter how weird this is," she admitted. "It's just sad."
"Like the end of something," he added.
Nodding her agreement, she remained still as he took her hands and squeezed gently. Forcing a smile, he mischievously ordered, "Put on something decent, we'd better go get some more cake."