Chapter Two: The Past

"Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love."

--Charles M. Schulz

A week later and the guilt was eating away at her. She hadn't owled him, she had skipped out on Sunday afternoon tea with his mother, and she had yet to stop by and see Mr. Weasley—all for fear that she might run into the happy couple.

Despite her self-imposed distance from all things Weasley, Harry had turned into a valuable, if expensive, spy. It seemed that he had information in abundance and she had chocolate cake, it was therefore a foregone conclusion that they would meet every night to discuss the latest developments.

Six nights had come and gone, full of amusing stories of Mrs. Weasley's threats to disinherit Ron for pulling such a stunt upon hearing that the wedding would take place in a mere six weeks (an idle threat since the Weasley bank account was never exactly overflowing), to the twins earnest attempts to welcome Saint Cindy, as she had become known in their evening gossip fests, into the family in a way they felt was appropriate for the future wife of their little brother. Ginny had been remarkably restrained about the whole affair and Harry, in turn, suspiciously silent on why the youngest Weasley was keeping a low profile.

But Hermione was never one to avoid problems—with the exception of one little annoyance that was still nagging at the back of her mind—so when Harry begged off their normal evening together in order to fulfill other best man duties as assigned (namely picking out dress robes for the ceremony), she had made up her mind to go visit the man who had become like a second father to her.

After all, it wasn't like she had gotten much accomplished the last few days anyway. Her research into ancient rituals and defensive charms, while still important, was not quite so urgent now that Harry had taken care of Voldemort.

The little bit of progress she had made she gathered up to take with her to the hospital for Mr. Weasley to review. Although technically he wasn't her supervisor, as head of the newly formed Department for the Protection of Muggles and other Non-magical Creatures her work was of some interest to him. As the clock chimed to announce the end of another work day, she considered apparating directly to Mr. Weasley's floor but quickly discounted the idea in favor of walking the short distance to St. Mungo's.

While officially employed in the Department of Mysteries, the Aurors were currently escorting the more senior employees as they moved the entire inventory of oddities to another—more secure—location. Until it was completely relocated, she was assigned to the Research and Development agency with which the Ministry contracted.

She enjoyed her temporary job, what wasn't to love about being surrounded by some of the oldest and rarest books in the wizarding world? The only drawback was being stuck underground all day. There hadn't even been a clock when she first arrived but she had requested one on her second day. Percy Weasley himself had come down to install it and learning of her slight claustrophobia charmed a small part of the stone wall to look like a window that reflected the weather outside. When she asked where he learned the spell, he had directed her to the revised edition of Hogwarts, A History.

In spite of the best efforts of Percy, however, the sight of a sunny day didn't quite match the feel of one. As she stepped out of the Ministry, she felt the gentle breeze on her face and opened her robes to allow the fresh air to carry away the slightly mildewed smell that always cling to her when she left the underground library. In no time at all, she had arrived at Mr. Weasley's room.

Knocking tentatively before pushing open the door, she peeked in to see the man in question carefully packing several pairs of pajamas into his little battered suitcase. He had looked up as she smiled at him, motioning her further into the room. "Hermione, just in time."

"In time?"

"For the engagement party."

Panicked, she repeated, "Engagement party?"

He studied her with concern, no doubt wondering at her sudden lack of communication skills, and said, "Yes, the engagement party for Ron and Cynthia. I was just about to floo home."

Pain tore through her leaving a dull ache in her chest as she took in the information that not only had the plans progressed to the point that gifts were involved but Ron had apparently thought it unnecessary to invite her. Stupid, idiotic little gnome of a man that he was (well, maybe not so little anymore), he had completely forgot that he had a best friend who might possibly be interested in being around for one of the most important events of his life. Feeling awkward, she picked at the scratchy sheets on the hospital bed and admitted quietly, "I don't think I was invited, Mr. Weasley."

He studied her again, looking at her as if she had a blast-ended skrewt growing out of her head, before his expression of confusion cleared and he laughed. "Molly will hex me into next Tuesday when she finds out I forgot!"

She barely paid attention to his ramblings as she fought feelings of betrayal and relief. The former because she had to wonder if Harry, her supposed partner in crime, had lied about going to find wedding clothes when the plan was really to go to the apparently exclusive engagement party. The latter due to the fact that she had the perfect excuse to not attend and didn't have to worry about inventing a lame story to get her out of meeting the future Mrs. Ronald Weasley.

"It's a total surprise, Molly's idea obviously. Asked me to ask you days ago but Harry brought me these wonderful Muggle magazines, Popular Mechanics, and I didn't give it another thought," he prattled on, totally oblivious to the fact that she wasn't hearing half of what he said.

"But Harry said—"

"Hermione, you know Harry is a horrible liar, he'll be as surprised as Ron. Bill will make sure they both get there on time," he pointed out with a grin. "Speaking of which, we had best get going if we don't want to be late."

"But I don't have a present!"

"Nonsense, they'll be happy to have you there."

"I have so much work to do . . ." she trailed off weakly, knowing even as she made this last ditch effort that Mr. Weasley would not take no for an answer.

"I was counting on you to get me back to the Borrow," he countered. "I'm still weak and I could use the help."

He really was incorrigible. He looked healthier than she did, not to mention the fact that he didn't know she was coming by until she knocked on the door five minutes ago so there was no way he was counting on her for anything. That being said, she still knew she was trapped. And what was so amusing was that he knew she knew she was trapped, she could tell by the twitching of his lips. "Fine, I'll sign my name on whatever Ginny got them."

"That's the spirit! Now have you seen my rubber duck?"

Ten minutes later, rubber duck secured safely in a worn Weasley jumper, she crouched down in the fireplace as Mr. Weasley said the words that had them traveling recklessly towards what she jokingly referred to as her summer home in the country. The trip was rough, more so than usual, but it wasn't until she went flying out of the opening at the Burrow, directly into a rather large, rather pleasant smelling lump that she wondered if the Ministry had a rookie monitoring the network that evening. Honestly, she was fortunate to be alive.

Of course, it wasn't surprising that the hunt for the plastic bath toy had put them behind schedule and therefore a room full of people celebrating the upcoming union of the gnome and his beanpole witnessed her grand entrance. Furthermore, as she groaned and blew the wild frizzy curls that had escaped her haphazard bun out of her eyes, she caught that Mr. Weasley had fared much better than her, merely looking a little pale with black smudges covering him from head to toe, giving him a slight resemblance to a large dalmatian.

She tried to push herself off her lump and felt a strong pair of arms tighten at her waist as her would-be savior began to shake with laughter. Still in a very compromising and very horizontal position, she lifted her head enough to watch as Charlie Weasley grinned up at her from the floor. How he managed to look like there was no place he would rather be amazed her as she felt her own cheeks grow hot with embarrassment, hearing the shocked murmurs (obviously Saint Cindy's family) and stifled laughter (apparently Harry and twins had front row seats) from their audience.

"You sure know how to make an entrance," Charlie whispered to her, his eyes twinkling playfully. "I can't say I didn't enjoy it though."

"Charlie!" Her voice broke as she squeaked at him, trying to keep from giggling at his antics.

"That's enough, Charlie. Let her up," Ron called from somewhere above them, sounding more stern than the situation called for in her opinion.

She pushed herself off again, this time meeting no resistance. Jumping to her feet and briskly dusting off her robes, she hoped everyone would go back to doing whatever it was people did at an engagement party and ignore her. When she finally gathered the courage to look at something higher than the dozens of feet scattered around her, she realized she wasn't that lucky.

Nervously running a hand over her hair to smooth it down, she stammered, "Um, hello everyone. Hermione Granger, the best friend." She nearly winced when she heard how silly her words sounded. But really what did they expect from someone who couldn't even floo like a normal witch?

"One of the best friends," Harry pointed out loudly, taking pity on her and drawing attention away as she escaped to the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, she began to lightly beat her forehead against the icebox.

"So much for cool, calm, and collected," she muttered, resting her head in her hands.

"But on the bright side, I haven't seen Charlie that happy since he rescued those twin dragons three years ago," an amused voice stated beside her. Weakly, she turned her head enough to spy Ginny as she grabbed a warm peanut butter cookie from one of the many trays of food perched throughout the kitchen.

"I hate you," she said without heat.

"What did I do?"

"You eat whatever you want and never gain any weight," Hermione answered, reaching over to break off a small piece of the cookie. Feeling the tiny pieces of peanut butter melt in her mouth, she moaned.

"I think you're enjoying that a little too much," Ginny teased. "Besides, we're the same size, which is really quite convenient since I want to borrow your black dress on Saturday."

"What if I have a hot date that night?"

"What if . . . Hermione, you have never had a hot date."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. I have to find a date to your brother's wedding," she mumbled, grabbing another cookie.

"I'm sure Charlie would volunteer," her companion joked as she stuffed half a chocolate cookie in her mouth. "Besides, I like the red one on you better."

"Only because it clashes with your hair," she pointed out.

"I don't deny it," Ginny answered. Thoughtfully she added, "Harry would go with you."

Sighing, Hermione nodded. She wasn't too fond of having a pity date to Ron's wedding but it was still better than going alone. And at least Harry knew their history and wouldn't ask annoying questions all night. "I suppose. Do you know what you're wearing yet?"

"Where is this unnatural obsession with food and clothes coming from, Hermione? Since when have you cared?"

"Just making conversation," she shrugged. Feeling Ginny's penetrating gaze on her, she confessed, "Okay, I'm trying to delay going back out there. Humor me."

"Well, you're looking at one of ten bridesmaids . . . so honestly, I'll probably be wearing some bright orange monstrosity with a crazy flowered hat," Ginny pouted.

Shocked, Hermione almost dropped her cookie. "Ten bridesmaids? Isn't that a bit . . .much? How are they going to plan all that in six weeks?"

"Five weeks now, my dear. Saint Cindy seems to have her heart set on a large wedding and honestly there's not much chance of having anything but in this family."

"You've been talking to Harry," she observed wryly.

"Can't keep a secret, that one," Ginny said sagely. "Since you're so vulnerable right now, I won't berate you for not inviting me to your nightly meetings. Just remember that Harry is a man and only sees so much, I'm a more reliable source."

"Vulnerable? I'm not vulnerable. I was surprised, but if he's happy, I'm happy." And if anyone believes that, she would eat the flowery bridemaids' hats . . .all ten of them.

"I meant because you flew out of the floo network," Ginny explained with a saucy wink.

She was exhausted. Her cheeks hurt from pretending to smile all night, her tongue would probably have to be surgically reattached from all the times she had to bite it to keep from making a retort to the Not-So-Saintly Cindy's numerous veiled insults. The woman might look like an angel but her claws were sharp enough to draw blood.

Thank goodness the Weasleys were such a large clan because it took all night to say hello to everyone, giving her a ready-made reason to spend as little time in Sinister Cindy's presence as possible.

But the worst part was that Ron seemed completely besotted with Cynthia and totally blind to her faults, which Hermione had found in abundance in the first minute of their acquaintance.

Firstly, she talked down to people, either from a belief that they were all too stupid to understand her or that they were simply beneath her notice. She was pretty, even Hermione had to admit that as much as it pained her, but it was a high-maintenance kind of beauty. There was no way Cindy rolled out of bed looking like that in the morning. Even Cynthia's family set her nerves on edge, several of them had a shifty look about them like they were in on some plot or waiting for the lights to go out so they could steal the rug out from under the Weasleys' feet.

Something wasn't right there. She knew it.

Or maybe she was just jealous . . .

Sighing for the umpteenth time that night, she sprawled out on her couch and amused herself for the next hour by staring blankly at the ceiling. If she looked at the textured finish long enough, she could start picking out shapes. As the spot about two feet to her left began to take on the look of the too large engagement ring Cindy was sporting that evening, the roar of flames filled the room and she turned on her side to watch as Ron's head appeared in the green tongues of light.

"Busy?"

"Terribly, can't you tell?"

"I'm coming over," he stated, though he needn't have bothered since he stepped into her living room seconds later. Holding a package of some sort, he took in her relaxed position and casual attire and commented, "Don't you look comfy?"

"No choice," she replied, allowing him to move her feet so he could sit next to her, "all my sexy lingerie was dirty. It's been an eventful week." Not to mention an incredibly long night . . .

Laughing at her melodramatic tone, he said, "I'd suggest you invite him--or them--to the wedding but judging from the guest list Mum showed me yesterday, they're probably already on it."

"Serves you right for springing this on her at the last minute," she scolded him, trying to not notice the way he had lifted her feet into his lap and allowed his hand to rest on her ankles. He had done this countless times before and it had never (hardly ever) affected her quite this way.

Maybe she just wanted what she couldn't have. Or maybe she finally felt comfortable admitting her feelings to herself now that she had a justifiable reason not to share them.

"She figured you'd take her side so she packed you some supper," he announced tossing the package of food onto her stomach, making her gasp and double over. "Said you were too skinny and you didn't touch a thing at the party."

Sitting up and carefully avoiding his eyes so he couldn't guess about her pre-dinner cookie-eating contest with Ginny, she poked through the bag. "Have I mentioned lately how much I love your mother? Hey, my chicken has been nibbled on!"

"Sorry about that, got hungry earlier," Ron said sheepishly. Silence grew between them, filling in the void left by things they never had and now never would discuss. "I'm glad you could make it tonight."

"I really should have been working."

"Somehow I doubt that but it's comforting to hear anyway," he answered, relaxing against the back of the couch. She gave him a questioning look and although he didn't seem to notice it, he answered her silent inquiry of his own accord. "Things are changing so fast, at least I can count on you to be a workaholic."

"Good old Hermione," she muttered, surprised at the bitterness that had found its way into her voice.

"That's not what I meant," he argued. She wanted badly to start a row with him, wanted him to get mad and yell and shout and perhaps end their friendship that very night so she didn't have to sit in Mrs. Weasley's garden and hear him say I do. Unfortunately, he had chosen to be rational tonight.

"Mum said something interesting before the party," he continued, still not looking at her but tracing his fingertips along the tender skin on the top of her foot. Her breath hitched but he seemed unaware of what he was doing and her reaction to it. "Mentioned that Charlie had been talking about you a lot more recently."

"That might have something to do with the fact he's actually had a conversation with me that lasted longer than a couple of minutes," she reasoned. She had never been particularly close to Ron's two oldest brothers because they were out on their own before she even started at Hogwarts but since working at the Ministry, she had gotten to know both of them better. They were experts in their fields and wonderful sources for information. Charlie was the brave man who volunteered to test Hermione's new fire shield once she perfected it and had taken an eager interest in the development of the charm to make sure he understood exactly what she was doing and why.

"He's a nice guy," Ron said, his words encouraging but sounding like he had to force them out against his better judgment.

"Ronald Weasley!" Snatching her feet out from his grasp, she flew away from the sofa and glared down at his worried face. "I can not believe you think you have the right to try to set me up with your brother just because you're settling down!"

"Why? Is my brother not good enough for you?"

"Honestly, Ron, are you always a prat at this time of night or is it only when you're around me," she huffed, sitting back down at the opposite end and crossing her arms angrily. "Besides, if you weren't so wrapped up in your own whirlwind romance you would have noticed he is smitten with Professor McGonagall's niece."

"Oh."

"Oh indeed."

"I was only passing along what I heard, that'll teach me to be helpful," he complained, reaching in to grab some food from her package.

Incensed, she pulled the food out of his reach and barely stopped herself from slapping his hand. "More like that'll teach you to be a gossip and matchmaker."

Stubbornly refusing to be the one to crack, she stared straight ahead. She felt the couch shift as he scooted over, knowing that if she looked at him he would have his best apologetic look in place. Not that he would mean it, apparently she had thought he meant a lot of things that he really hadn't and she wasn't going to delude herself anymore. "Believe it or not, I didn't come over here to start a fight or try to convince you to date my lousy brother . . ."

"A minute ago he was a nice guy," she reminded him obstinately.

"A minute ago I thought you might like him and I was trying to be supportive," he answered, nudging her a bit with his shoulder.

"How thoughtful."

"I know how hard it is when your friends don't like the person you do," he murmured.

His quiet observation shook her to the core. On one hand she wanted to ask him what he had expected when he dropped Cynthia on her without warning. If he thought they should become instant best friends just because she was his fiancée, he was living in a dreamworld. But on the other hand, she hadn't meant for her dislike of the other woman to be so obvious. By the expression on his face, he truly was troubled. Nudging him back, she offered, "I'll do better the next time I see her. I promise."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Hermione," he assured her. Softly, he said, "I got the feeling tonight that everyone was a little disappointed in me . . ."

Despite her own disappointment, she put an arm around him and gave him a heartening look. "It'll take some time but I'm sure they'll come to love her like you do."

She felt him tense at her words and suck in a deep breath as if he had been punched. Before she could ask why, he had relaxed and laid his cheek on her hair. "I had no idea it would be this hard."

As he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, she allowed herself one moment to savor the feel of being in his arms. Ron had never been the most affectionate man in the world, having never grown out of that awkwardness of youth when it came to physical contact. But tonight he seemed to be more at ease with their closeness even if she could feel tension rolling off him in waves.

He was her best friend, that was what she had to remember. Even if everything else was lost in the haze of hurt feelings and too late epiphanies, she still had their friendship. Something inside her started to ache but she pushed it away. "It'll be worth it in the end, Ron. You have to believe that."

He squeezed her, pulling her tightly against his side and said in a husky voice, "That's what I keep telling myself."

He let her go shortly thereafter. With a lopsided grin, he commented, "Now that I've thoroughly depressed us both, I'll get to the real reason I'm here."

He took her expectant look as a cue to continue. "I was wondering . . . that is, you know Harry is my best man. Which probably isn't too surprising really . . ."

"Right . . ."

"But it didn't feel right, not exactly anyway. So I thought that maybe, if you didn't mind, you could be my best man--in addition to Harry . . . kind of a back-up."

"In case Harry fails to perform to your expectations?"

"No! You're always twisting my words. I meant that I would feel better if you were both at my side on my wedding day."

She was touched even though it felt like someone had hit her with a Cruciatus curse. She was beginning to lose the battle with her frayed emotions and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. In a voice heavy with emotion, she answered, "Sure, Ron. It would be my honor."

He reached for her but she knew her heart might shatter at his touch so she jumped up and announced in an overly bright voice, "I'm worn out. I think it's time for me to get to bed."

"Oh, okay. Sorry to keep you up so late," he responded, acting a bit uncertain at her abrupt change in attitude. He looked like he might try to hug her but she took another step away and gave him what she hoped appeared to be a genuine smile. "Well, goodnight then."

She watched as he entered her fireplace and shot her a confused look right before he disappeared. He was gone when her words filled the darkness. "Goodbye, Ron."