A/N – Er… we apologize for being lazy and almost-mortally wounded by Writers' Block. It's an evil disease, I tell you. But we did manage to finally, at long last finish the next chapter and we're back into the swing of things, ready to see this fic out to the very end! Thanks to all of you who have been the most faithful, patient, FANTASTIC readers EVER in the history of the universe. (Yes, we're sucking up. But you guys really so rock immeasurably.)
This chapter and the next contain much, much more angst and seriousness than the rest of the fic. We still did out best to be funny, but, well… heartbroken people aren't typically funny. Do enjoy anyway! Oh, and please also note that this chapter's title has changed (due to the breaking uo of some ideas and the fleshing out of some others). In Chapter 6, we said 7 would be titled 'Love Actually', but that title has been pushed back to Chapter 8. This chapter is now known as 'Analyze This'. Now, without further adieu….
"Analyze This"
The sound of the door creaking open almost didn't wake her up, and she hated to admit that she might have fallen asleep in the first place. She yawned, looked at the clock – it read four-thirty-four – and set aside the book she had been reading. Two of the pages were bent, and the spine cracked from how she had lain on it – just wonderful.
A light came on dully in the kitchen, and the door banged shut. There was the faint noise of feet on a wood floor, then a thump, and a crash: "Shit!" If she squinted, she could make out a bent-over shadow trying to upright a lamp and fit the plug into an outlet in the semi-darkness. She stretched, and moved to get up; "Ron?" she called, stifling another yawn. "Is that you, honey?"
There was a moment of silence, and the shadow in the other room paused in his efforts with the lamp, as if his mental struggle was taking all his concentration. "No, it's-" before deciding that wasn't the most intelligent course of action. That was Ron all over.
"Yeah, it's me," he said, finally setting the lamp on its side and cautiously shuffling into the parlour where she was swinging her legs off the couch and onto the floor. "Hey, you can go back to sleep, I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered, kissing her cheek and sitting in the chair opposite her.
"No, I have work in a couple hours… It's going to be just horrible." With a sigh, she sat up and gathered her mass of curls at the nape of her neck. "I waited for you… I didn't mean to fall asleep, but I've been so tired…."
"Aw, 'Mione, you didn't have to do that." Ron scratched his head and closed his eyes as she turned on the overhead light. "I just went out with Harry for a bit and we fell asleep watching some God-awful tele-fission show."
Hermione didn't bother to correct him, just folded the blanket she had been using and fixed her askew blouse. "I was worried anyway. I know you don't like phones, but you could have had Harry call. Or you could have just run across the street and let me know how long you would be."
He sighed and stood up, putting his arms around her waist. "But I'm fine, and I'm sorry, and I won't do it ever again. Okay?"
"Promise?"
"Promise." She twisted in his arms and kissed his cheek, but he just buried his face in her shoulder. She pulled away.
"Ron, is anything wrong? You seem… testy. Or apprehensive."
Leave it to Hermione to use a big word like "apprehensive" that would just confuse him while he was having an inner battle with his conscience.
Actually, it wasn't a battle. It was more like a war, and somehow the skinny, wimpy conscience-soldiers were wiping the floor with the big, burly, "I'm a man and I have needs" enemy. It was funny how ironic life was sometimes. Or maybe it wasn't irony – Ron never knew the difference between all those literary terms.
All he knew was that he needed to act casual and he was failing. Miserably.
He shook his head and, smiling, made to pull her close again. "No, I'm really all right." She just held him at arms' length and scrutinized him. They were quiet for a minute, staring at each other, then –
"You squeaked."
"I did?" Ron frowned.
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, you did."
For a second he didn't reply; then he forced a laugh. "I didn't squeak, I haven't squeaked in awhile and I'm not nervous or anything-"
"And you buttoned wrong," she affirmed, cutting him off. "You squeaked and you buttoned wrong."
He looked down at his chest and paled. "But there's nothing wrong, I promise – Nothing."
Silently, Hermione circled her fiancé, arms still crossed, not smiling. "You had to button… Let me guess. Harry wanted to see your rippling pectorals?"
"Er… yea." He smiled; she gave him an opening. "We had a muscle contest. He was so jealous."
"But I bet Sirius mopped the floor with you – even after being imprisoned forever." Dryly, sarcastically.
Ouch. That hurt. He felt his bruised ego throbbing. She just killed another dozen anti-conscience knights.
"But you promise that's all that happened? That nothing's wrong."
"I promise. Nothing's wrong," he added, arms moving around her waist almost automatically. Gently, he kissed her, and she ruined it by grinning. Smiling back, he pulled her next to him on the couch.
"Guess I'd better help you learn how to button correctly," she mumbled around his lips, pulling at his collar. They lapsed into another silence, more comfortable than the first few, until Hermione opened her eyes and started, "Ron, I have to get ready for work and this isn't – Oh my God, is that a hickey?"
"Mm-hm, right…"
With a speed she had never before possessed, Hermione jumped up and moved clear across the room, kneeing the redhead in the groin in the process. As he doubled over she pulled her blouse closed and began evenly, "That is not my hickey!"
He was dazed for a moment, before he could realise what happened. She was suspicious again! And he thought he was home-free.
Another dozen soldiers dead.
"Hermione, come on, it isn't what it looks like." She was silent for a moment, unmoving, and he took his chance. "Dear, can we-"
"Don't call me that!" she shrieked, turning around and stalking off to their bedroom. Or, more specifically, hers: he had been sleeping on the couch until the wedding.
"But I…" he sputtered, following her at a safe distance. "Can I at least explain?"
The response was automatic: the door slammed in his face, bumping his nose, crushing his big toe. Well, he thought, he deserved that.
One, two, three… three-and-a-half… and the door opened a crack. "What?" came her muffled voice.
He took a deep breath; put his fingers on the edge of the door to steady himself. "I didn't know it would happen. The guys took me to a bachelor party, and I got drunk. And I slept with a stripper." He saw the fire in her eyes and quickly added, "Not with, next to! Next to!"
Too late. The door slammed again. Or would have, if it could have shut completely.
"Ow! Hermione, for the love of- Those were my fingers!"
"Good!"
"Not good! Hermione, you're not giving me a chance to explain!" Jamming his fingers into his mouth, Ron opened the door carefully. "Thish ish shtupid, will you jus' lish-"
He was cut off when something hard hit his left temple; for a minute he saw stars, then Hermione packing a suitcase.
"Stop it!" Hurrying over, he made to wrestle the suitcase from her, but she just took her hairbrush and brandished it. When Ron backed off she snapped the suitcase shut, raked her sweaty fringe from her eyes, and looked straight at him.
"I'm leaving."
For a second nothing happened; but when he made a reach for her – "'Mione, please!" – she recoiled and he felt the hairbrush hit his eye and fall harmlessly at his feet.
It took him a confused pause to follow her, and by that time she was out the door and starting across the backyard. He took a deep breath, not knowing that to do. The soldiers from both his armies were dead; he had nothing to say, no idea where to go from here.
She was melting into the darkness. Last chance.
"Hermione, wait!" It was desperate and he knew it, she knew it, and it sounded so small in the dimness of the sunrise but he had no other choice.
She did stop. And he ran up to her, ran just up to the edge of her reach where she could slap him if she wanted but he wouldn't care. He took a deep breath.
"I love you."
The tears were easy to see on her face, illuminated almost, and he reached out a hand to brush them away. Without warning she turned away, trembling, and started up a tirade: "Ronald Weasley, you are the biggest son-of-a-"
She cut herself off when she tripped and, with a splash, fell smack in the middle of the koi pond.
Time passed, and they were both quiet. Ron crossed the rest of the yard and held out a hand to her. It almost seemed as if she would take it, before he made his mistake.
A giggle. That's all it took and she grabbed his wrist, forcing him to land next to her.
He started to say something and with a pop she was gone.
Ron didn't move. Didn't dare breathe, or the water would move, would ripple, and he might be washed away. Or he might falter, do something wrong again, and drown. Then at his funeral Harry would give the eulogy and mention how he drowned in a six-inch deep koi pond and Ron would be even more pathetic than he already was.
And maybe it would get worse. Maybe Hermione would skip his funeral – No. Even better: Hermione and Harry would skip his funeral. And they'd run away together, run away to someplace warm – Australia, or New Zealand, Hawaii, someplace perfect. And they'd have a million babies, and Harry would never make any mistakes.
Hermione wouldn't even need to know what Harry had done to him.
Harry.
There he was, at the other end of the yard. He didn't move and there were so many things Ron wanted to ask: 'How long were you standing there? Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't your scar predict this? Why didn't you listen to me when I told you no, no, I didn't want to go in there, I didn't want to hurt Hermione, I didn't, no…
'What kind of friend are you?'
But he didn't say anything. And Harry crossed the lawn, didn't hesitate, and sat beside him in the water.
Harry put his arms around his best friend and pulled him close, like Fred would comfort George, and Ron cried even though he knew he shouldn't.
The sun barely rose, and Ron could see the ripples his tears made when they hit the water and after that the ripples of the raindrops. He was surprised; he didn't drown.
But he wanted to, so he didn't move.
Harry didn't move either, and it was hours later when he finally spoke.
"Don't worry mate. I'll fix it for you."
Ron didn't have the heart to tell him that this couldn't be fixed.
-
Sirius Black awoke two days after the ill-fated bachelor party to find himself with a foul-tasting mouth and pounding headache. He rolled over, swiping his hair out of his eyes and cursing under his breath. It looked as if he were in for the mother of all hangovers. With a groan, he flopped back on the pillows. He couldn't even remember what he had done the other night; he vaguely remembered Remus kissing a blonde man in a thong, but it grew hazy after that.
Well. Nothing a shower couldn't fix. He got out of bed, noticing that Remus was missing. However, the smell of bacon and kippers reached his nose as he opened the bedroom door. Remus was playing the good little homemaker, as he always did. Sirius smiled.
The shower and three aspirin did a little to help his headache. Toothpaste solved the nasty taste in his mouth. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom, stretching and heading towards the kitchen to kiss his lover good morning.
He stopped short. Sitting around his table were no less than seven people. One was Harry; the other six were all red-haired and freckled. One of these was Ron. The other five were his aunt, uncle, and cousins. Remus was dishing out breakfast, but paused when he saw Sirius standing in the doorway, dripping wet, wearing one towel around his waist and another wrapped around his hair. Suddenly Sirius felt as if he were standing in a bright spotlight. Bobbie Sue was staring at him as if her eyes would fall out.
"How... nice... of you to join us, Sirius," Remus said faintly. "You... do know you're half-dressed, right?"
Sirius felt really stupid. He had forgotten all about the Weasleys coming to stay... but what was Ron doing there? He raised an eyebrow in Ron's direction.
" 'Mione kicked me out," Ron muttered sullenly, before he could ask.
"Love, please get dressed," Remus said. Sirius backed out of the room, burying his face in his hands as soon as he was out of sight and groaning.
The sound of the postman's truck driving away caught his attention. Their house had a rather large flaw; rather, it had no letterbox in the front door. Instead, they had to rely on a postbox at the end of the drive.
You may think it mad for Sirius to go and check the mail in only a towel; but keep in mind, Azkaban has left him slightly unhinged. And on top of that, he was eagerly awaiting the latest issue of The Quibbler, which he loved reading despite Remus' and Hermione's comments that it was complete trash. And so, the old-enough-to-know-better-but-doesn't man headed out to retrieve the post.
At the same time, Bobbie Sue was lurking behind the living room curtains, watching Sirius. Her eyes had latched on to his arse, and she seemed almost hypnotized by it.
"That there's the prettiest man I ever did see," she whispered to herself, fingering the end of one flaming-red pigtail.
Most unfortunately, Johnny Boy heard her. And like most brothers, Johnny Boy was quite protective of his sister, and quite suspicious of any man she took a fancy to. Furious, he locked the front door to keep Sirius from coming back in.
Sirius wandered up the drive, reading The Quibbler and giggling. "'Dragon Eggs Found to Contain Baby Thestrals'," he read aloud. "Sweet Merlin. Where do they get this shite?"
He turned the doorknob. It wouldn't turn.
He tried again. The door was locked.
"Bolloks - who locked the door!" he exclaimed. He could see Bobbie Sue and Johnny Boy peeking at him from the living-room windows, and gestured furiously at the door. "Open up!"
Either they couldn't hear him, or didn't know how to work the lock. Sirius opted for the latter - anyone who lived in a house without indoor plumbing probably didn't have normal locks on their front doors. He pounded furiously on the door. "Open it!"
Johnny Boy opened the window. "You ain't gettin' your convict-y hands on my sister!" he shouted.
"What the - why in the world would I want to get my hands on your sister!" Sirius spluttered. "Let me in!"
"Nothin' doin'!" Johnny Boy slammed the window. The brat! He must have used a Silencing Charm or something to keep everyone in the kitchen from hearing the commotion outside. Sirius shivered. He was still slightly wet, and a breeze had kicked up. In fact, it was more like a wind. A high wind.
A high wind which seized the towel around his waist and tugged it away, sending it flying into a tree, leaving Sirius standing stark naked on the front porch with only The Quibbler to cover himself with.
Their next-door neighbour was just passing by with her children, on the way to the shops. Her eyes widened when she saw Sirius standing on the porch, trying to cover himself with a magazine and failing miserably. She shrieked, and her two children promptly burst into tears.
Sirius jumped a foot in the air at the noise, and tried to hide himself by holding one of the deck chairs in front of him. It didn't help, and the shrieks got louder. Sooner or later, their screeching would attract a policeman, and he'd be in a lot of trouble. Sirius began to cry as well, just as the door flew open.
"Honestly, what is all this racket -" Remus stopped in the doorway, his eyes wide. "Sirius!"
"Help me, Remmie!" Sirius ducked into the house, grabbing his coat from its hook beside the door and wrapping it around himself.
Remus looked around, saw no one but the screaming children, and pulled out his wand. "Obliviate!" The woman and her children stopped crying and carrying on. As they blinked around at their surroundings, getting their bearings back, Remus shut the door.
"Sirius, what happened?" he asked, taking the blanket off the couch and draping it around his shivering lover's shoulders.
"I got locked out," he whimpered pathetically. He didn't bother to mention that it was Johnny Boy's fault. Who would believe him?
"That's why you should get dressed before checking the post," Remus reprimanded him. "I -"
But Remus was cut off by a blood-curdling shriek.
"Good Lord. What now?" Harry muttered.
The scream was coming from the kitchen. Remus, Sirius, Harry, and the Weasleys charged into the kitchen to see what was wrong.
Wally had his hand caught in the toaster, and was screaming his head off. Uwaine and Billie Jean began screaming too, so that Harry and Ron clamped their hands over their ears, and Sirius began crying once more. His poor, poor head.
"Wally! Boy, what HAPPENED!" Uwaine shouted.
"Paw, that thing's a'eatin' his hand!" Bobbie Sue cried.
"It's bewitched, I tells ya!" Billie Jean shrieked.
"Of course it is! It's a bloody WIZARDING TOASTER!" Harry bellowed.
Remus grabbed the toaster plug and yanked it out of its socket; then he took Wally by the wrist and gently extracted his hand from the toaster. "Poor boy... come on, let's fix this..." He led a sniffling Wally into the bathroom, where he applied aloe cream and bandages to the boy's hand. "There. All better." He kissed Wally on the forehead, and gave him a piece of chocolate. (No wonder the man is so poor; he must use all his money to feed his chocolate habit.)
Wally managed a watery smile, gazing adoringly up at Remus. Uwaine and Billie Jean were beaming as well, and Sirius had stopped crying. Sometimes, he was really thankful for Remus' maternal instincts.
Uwaine cast a dark look at the toaster. "Dang robots, always knowed they'd take over the world," he drawled.
-
An hour later, peace had been restored. Sirius had finally dressed and breakfasted, and he, Remus, and Harry were in the kitchen, washing dishes and leaving Ron to entertain his relatives. It was only fair, after what Sirius and Remus had been through."So Hermione's kicked Ron out," Sirius said, as he dried a plate and handed it to Harry.
His godson nodded, putting it in the cupboard. "Yeah. He's really depressed about it, too. I think we should talk to Hermione, see if we can't fix this." He didn't say anything about the enormous guilt he felt over being the sole cause of this; but he didn't need to. Remus and Sirius knew him too well.
"You should do it, Remmie," Sirius said to his lover. "You and Hermione have always been close and chatty. She'll listen to you."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, nodding. "She likes you a lot, Remus, and you're just about the only person in existence who she can never get mad at. Give it a try, please?"
"I suppose I should." Remus sighed, pulling the drain plug out and drying his sudsy hands on a towel. "Where might I find her at this time of day?"
"Work," Harry supplied. "This is her day to work at the library, I think; if she's not there, try Madame Malkin's."
"Okay." Remus kissed Sirius on the cheek, and Harry on the forehead. "I'll do my best." He shrugged on his old, threadbare overcoat, and Disapparated. Harry and Sirius were left standing in the kitchen, looking glumly at each other.
"I guess we should go help Ron out," Harry said, nodding towards the living room. Sirius sighed.
-
It was easy enough to find the library where Hermione worked weekday mornings, and the minute Remus stepped through the door he spotted Hermione's bushy hair over by the Winston Churchill memorabilia. Non-fiction. His favourite section.
But he wasn't here to read. Sirius and Harry had sent him on the important mission of finding Hermione and helping to clear up the mishap with Ron (though he didn't plan to fix the entire, or even most, of the mess himself) – and since he loved Harry's two best friends almost like his own children (if he had any, of course) he was more than happy to help.
But the moment he came face-to-face with Ron's fiancée he knew it would be harder than he thought.
"Remus, I don't want to talk right now, and I'd appreciate it if every reminder of my ex-fiancé were to leave. Immediately." With that she haughtily turned, swept her hair over a shoulder, and went back to shelving books.
And rather poorly, he thought, by the looks of it.
"Hermione, I truly don't think 'Shakespeare" follows 'Stoker' in the Dewey Decimal System."
The back of her neck became very red and for a moment Remus wondered if he would have to dodge flying books – that is, until she coldly informed him, "They do if I'm shelving backwards."
Remus resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes. "Hermione, come and talk with me. Five minutes," he all but pleaded.
"But I have ever so much work to do!"
He quickly scanned the room: a cursory glance revealed an old many struggling with super-tiny print, two college students trying to argue "intelligently" over Aristotle (the first insisting the philosopher hung himself), and a couple "discreetly" making out. "This place is empty."
"But what if they start flooding in? Coming in droves, itching with questions about locating Non-fiction. It takes a genius, you know!"
He wondered if she might be going a bit mad but kept the thought to himself.
Luckily her supervisor, an older woman of about fifty, was floating by. Putting on his most charming smile, Remus asked in his usual polite manner, "Dear, would it be dreadful if I stole Hermione here for an afternoon tea?"
The woman fixed her gaze on the former-professor; at the glare he considered running home and letting Ron deal with his own problems.
All at once she threw her arms in the air and burst, "Oh for goodness sakes, go! It's not as if anyone actually reads anymore!"
And that was how Hermione found herself sitting across from Remus at a mostly-deserted tea shop, not, as she had suspected, being lectured about forgiveness, but rather making strained conversation about the weather with a man she never before had trouble talking to. But she knew he had an underlying agenda; because Remus's attempts at small-talk were about the most pathetic she had ever heard, and that included her first date with Ron to Hogsmeade village.
But she wouldn't think about Ron now. She scowled.
"…as I said, lovely weather, just lovely." Remus sipped his tea. A fat raindrop hit Hermione's forehead and she scowled harder.
"Can you lecture me about Ron so after I tell you to mind your own business I can get back to work, guilt gnawing away at me while I incorrectly shelve The Anarchist's Cookbook after Shadow Puppets because I forgot that the "the" doesn't count when you shelve?"
He forgot to take a sip and stared at her blankly. "You've been planning that for the last half hour, haven't you?"
"…well, yes," she admitted sheepishly.
For a minute he was quiet, stirring his lukewarm tea with a finger, then:
"I wasn't going to lecture you about Ron."
She sat back, dumbfounded. "You weren't?"
"No. I was going to ask you when he could go back to your house though, because, quite frankly, between his family, Sirius, Harry, and I, there isn't room enough at our house for another Weasley."
"Oh. Um, tonight? Or, no… tomorrow? After I get my stuff. Whenever." Still dumbfounded.
"Hermione, I'm surprised at you! You should have thought these things through more clearly before you decided to go calling off a wedding and thrusting Ron on us…"
She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's not like I planned this! I only left him this morning!"
"Well, maybe you should have let him speak and all this wouldn't have happened." He allowed himself a little smirk.
"Reverse psychology! I'm onto you, Remus."
His smirk died. He knew he shouldn't have tried to be the "bad" guy; that part just wasn't cut out for him. If he had tried something different…
But she wasn't finished.
"I'm onto your charade, so it won't work. You're going about it all wrong. This isn't you. You aren't this kind of angry, uncaring person. It would have worked better, the lecturing me thing, because that is you, and it would have made more sense-"
"I know."
She still wasn't done.
"And furthermore I shouldn't listen to you anyway because you always forgive Sirius when he comes back drunken and stupid and that's not setting much of a precedent."
Silence. She smiled.
He frowned. "Whoa. Wait a minute. Go back to that."
She smiled even wider. "Check, and mate."
"I don't know what to address first. The fact that you stole that from Ron, or the fact that you have no clue what you're talking about."
"Don't I?"
"No, you don't! You think you're strong for not forgiving Ron for whatever reason and you think I'm the weak one. Well, let me tell you something, Hermione Granger." He had never been upset with her before, and now he leaned close, his voice hoarse and low. "I forgive Sirius because I don't pass judgment, and because I love him. The fact that he apologizes to me and never does anything too outlandish is proof enough that he feels the same. And if ever the time comes when I need him to forgive me I want to know that's possible. We all make mistakes, and love's supposed to overcome them, and I thought it could be that way for you and Ron. I guess it's not. Maybe I was wrong."
He was breathless, and when he stopped to regain his composure Hermione made to say something – but didn't… tried again – and couldn't. It was as if she was rendered completely incapable of any sort of human speech and, in fact, human reaction, save letting her mouth hang open wordlessly, stupidly.
But that was only for a moment. A brief moment.
Then she stood, clenched her fists, and whispered quickly, furiously, "Just because you're a saint doesn't mean we all are. We all have our faults, and one of mine happens to be judging quickly – but that's too bad because I did love Ron and he knew my faults and, dammit, he should have known what this would do! He should have known…"
And she turned. He could only see her back but she was trembling, and he knew that with trembling came silent sobs that meant they were at the halfway point. He rose from his chair, went to stand behind her, but made no move to reach out. He just started softly, slowly, "Hermione, you're right. We all have our faults."
She didn't respond. He reached up, put his hands on her shoulders; and she leaned back, and he half-hugged her, and went on in his soothing voice.
"Ron's faults are that he's stupid, and he's childish, and he's not even close to being omniscient. He's your complete opposite."
He took a deep breath; she said nothing, and he continued. "But that means you can't expect him to react like you would. And so you have to give a little. So does he. And he's trying… you need to try at least as much. Okay?"
She gave a little hiccough. Rubbed her hand against her eyes and pulled away, still looking down at the street. They were quiet for a moment, and he could feel the cars drive past.
Slowly she turned, reached into her pocket, and pressed some coins into his hand. "Thank you for the tea, Professor Lupin," she added solemnly, never pulling her eyes from the cobbled stones.
And then she walked away, and he let her.
He did his part. It was up to her now.
-
They had barely entered the chaotic living room when Sirius turned to his godson as if suddenly remembering something. "Oi. Harry, mind keeping an eye on the Weasleys for me? I -"
SMASH. Followed by giggles.
"Go-lly, Bobbie Sue, I didn't think you couldn't juggle that!" Wally's voice. He seemed to have recovered astonishingly fast from his burn.
Sirius closed his eyes briefly as though praying for courage; he finally opened them and tried again. "I want to talk to Ron for a minute."
"Oh." Harry blinked as he realised what Sirius meant; he nodded vigorously. "Sure... I'll do my best."
"Thanks." Sirius caught Ron's upper arm in a vise-like grip, and the redhead squeaked. "Just don't let them find -"
"Maw! Paw! Looki-here! The men in these here picture-y books ain't wearin' no clothes! They's kissin'!" Johnny Boy shouted. "And they's - gorry - they's - I didn't even know people could do that..."
"-That," Sirius winced, hauling Ron out the back door and into the garden. Harry was left to pry his godfather's gay pornography from the hands of Ron's young, impressionable cousins. He seized the magazine from Johnny Boy's hands and stuffed it hastily under a sofa cushion.
"Er -" he had to think of a way to distract them, fast. Johnny Boy looked traumatized by what he had seen in the wank mags, and had crumpled to the floor with his thumb in his mouth; but his brother and sister were still jumping around like kangaroos. Harry looked 'round wildly, and his eyes landed on the game cupboard. He wrenched it open, surveying the stack of boxes. "What would you all say to a round of 'The Game of Loaf'?"
No response. Wally and Bobbie Sue were ripping apart the living room, while their parents were sitting on the sofa flipping through channel after channel on the television. Harry made a vain attempt to pick up some of the mess. "Come on, guys, Sirius and Remus are going to be mad - Remus lives for neatness, when he comes home he's going to have a mental breakdown..."
No one showed any signs of listening. To his horror, Harry looked up in time to see Bobbie Sue opening the record cabinet. "What's this here thing?"
"No, no!" Harry cried. If the Weasleys even so much as touched Sirius' precious records, death and destruction would follow. Swiftly. Without mercy. "No, don't touch!" he shrieked, his voice reaching scared-little-girl levels, and he dropped the armload of stuff he had just picked up in order to lunge between the Weasleys and the record cabinet. "Sirius will kill us! I mean it!"
"Go-lly, I didn't think there was anythin' important in there," Wally said, his eyes widening. "I just thunk it were more picture-y books..."
"You don't want to be a-lookin' in them, Wally," Johnny Boy whispered from behind them, where he was curled up on the carpet in the fetal position. "They's scary."
Harry took off his specs and rubbed at his forehead, suddenly more tired than he could ever remember feeling. Defending Sirius' records and wank mags wasn't worth all the Galleons in the world.
-
Meanwhile, Sirius had dragged Ron to the edge of the garden. He turned to face the younger man, hands deep in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically - no pun intended - serious. He took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. Ron waited.
"Er -" Sirius looked up at the sky, almost as if the words he wanted to say were written there. "Ron, look... about the other night. The - bachelor party, I mean."
Ron gulped. He should have known. "Um... sure, Sirius."
"I know we shouldn't have done it..." Sirius was sweating slightly; he scratched at his stubbly chin nervously. "I mean, it was all supposed to be a bit of harmless fun, but then everything went... well. I guess I should blame myself... after all, I was the one who encouraged Harry to set it all up..." He looked dreadfully embarrassed. "I should've said something..."
"It's not your fault I did what I did," Ron muttered. It was really Harry's fault, but he didn't dare say that out loud. Of course, a certain amount of guilt fell upon his own shoulders.
"I shouldn't have let Harry do it," Sirius said stubbornly. "When he suggested a bachelor party, I expected a few drinks down at the Leaky Cauldron. But when he asked about strippers, I should have put a stop to it."
"What would you have done?" Ron blurted out. "It's not like Harry listens to anyone when they tell him not to do something, even if it is you. If you do something stupid, you always have Remus there to stop you - and you listen to him. But Harry never listens." He kicked angrily at a pebble. "It's not anyone's fault but mine," he admitted grudgingly. "I went along with it. I took the drinks, I kissed the stripper, and I was the one who took her to bed!" He stared at the ground. "And now Hermione's furious with me. I'm afraid she's going to break off the engagement."
There was a long pause as both men stared glumly at the ground, the sky, and the flowerbeds. Finally Sirius spoke.
"Listen, Ron... all people make mistakes in their relationships. If you and Hermione love each other enough - which I'm sure you do - you can overcome this."
"I don't know. You should have seen Hermione's face when I - er - let it slip. I swear, she hated me, mate. I could see it in her eyes." Ron looked anxiously at Sirius. "I don't know what I'm going to do."
Sirius hesitated, then reached out and gripped Ron's shoulder, giving it a kind of reassuring squeeze. "Hermione would never hate you. You have to prove to her that you truly regret ever doing what you did, and make it up to her. Make her see that she's the only one you love, and what happened at the party was a complete mistake!"
"And exactly how do I do that?" Ron couldn't help but feel skeptical. Sirius had it easy; he and Remus were magically bound, and Remus would love him no matter what stupid things he did. It wasn't so easy with Hermione. She could stay mad for a long time, and her vengeance would be swift and painful.
"I... hm. First off, you can try apologizing."
"I already tried. She closed the door on my fingers," Ron scowled.
"Oh. Well... when Remus is upset with me, I try to do nice things for him. Sometimes I bring flowers home for him, or a new book, or chocolates - real winners, those... I've tried making dinner for him once or twice. I haven't been very successful, but as they say, it's the thought that counts." He paused, remembering the last time he had tried to cook for Remus and ended up setting the stove on fire. "At least, Remus thinks so. It always melts his heart." A lecherous grin spread across his face. "Make-up sex is the best."
Ron cleared his throat loudly. Sirius jumped, and grinned sheepishly at him. "Sorry... anyway, my point is, you've got to get off your arse and do something to make Hermione fall in love with you all over again. This may surprise you, Ron, but relationships need constant work. If you work hard to prove to Hermione that you regret what you've done, and will never do it again, she'll be back in your arms in no time."
"Yeah..." Ron bit his lip. He could see what Sirius was getting at. He didn't like the idea of cooking for Hermione, but he could try doing something else for her. Even sending her a huge bouquet might help. He managed a small smile. "Thanks, Sirius."
Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. "No problem. Come on, let's see how Harry's doing."
"Sure." Ron followed the older man into the house. He stopped on the top step and looked back over his shoulder at the slowly sinking sun. He loved Hermione with all his heart, and somehow, with a bit of luck, he was going to prove it to her.
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Upcoming attractions….
Ch/8: 'Love Actually' – In a mishmash chapter, Ron sets about trying to prove to Hermione that he really loves her with a series of wacky schemes, each one more desperate and hopeless than the one before it and Harry and Hermione have a heart-to-heart discussion. Meanwhile, as the future bride and groom try to fix their romance, the wedding must go on! Mrs. Weasley tries to deal with her baby boy getting married; Ron and his ushers need to be fitted for tuxedos and end up battling… reject disco suits?