Chapter 3 – The Reward For Honest Toil

It was nearly noon when a sluggish broom eased down and deposited a lanky fellow of the Weasley persuasion on my balcony. Even through the frosted glass doors I could tell that the broom was a worn-out Cleansweep Eleven and the Weasley was an even more worn-out Ronald Bilius. I accio'ed the doorknobs – a spell that, if cast as I do it, wandless and without much verve, merely causes the doors to swing open toward the caster. This allowed me to invite Ron in without having to get up from my chair.

"What ho, Ron," I chirped with gusto.

"What ho, Harry," he replied with a noticeable absence of same.

"Come in, come in, and have a seat."

I gestured toward the sofa he had already plopped down on and he availed himself of my hospitality by staying there and eating Every Flavor Beans from a dish Creeves had put out.

"I received your owl. Something about a temporary setback on your road to wedded bliss?"

"Oh, Harry, I hope it's only temporary. That's why I need to see Creeves right away. Can you call him in here?"

"I can call until I'm blue in the face, but Creeves is still at the market buying the ingredients for our luncheon. I hadn't expected you so early."

"Why? I said I'd be here at noon."

"Point of order, my old chum: You said you'd be here for lunch."

"Well, don't you eat lunch at noon?"

"Schedules here at Hogsmeade are a bit out of sync with those at Ottery St. Catchpole, due to what we like to call 'The night-life.' If I were to force-feed myself a meal at noon, it would smack up against the breakfast I finished a mere half an h. ago. Accordingly, I told Creeves to plan a 2-ish lunch for us."

"It doesn't matter. I haven't a bit of appetite now that Hermione has left me. How I worship her, Harry. She is a goddess to me. I will starve myself to death if I can't win her back!"

"I can't help but notice you've got outside that entire dish of Every Flavor Beans."

"Oh sorry. You know, I think there was a bogey one in there."

"Enough with pleasantries, Ron. Tell me what has happened between you and Hermione. I thought you were comfortably wrapped round her little finger."

"Oh yes, comfy-dandy, but now she's called me a bungling brute and says she never wants to see me again."

"She called you a 'bungling brute'? You? I suppose I can see the 'bungling' part, but 'brute' is beyond the pale? What on earth did you do?"

"Well, I got up early this morning and went over to her house to de-gnome her garden. Sort of as a present, you see?"

"Clearly. Nothing brutish there. Dashed decent of you, in fact."

"So there I am swinging gnomes by the bushel full, bunging them over the hedge. It was quite a job. She had really let the garden go, so there were rather a lot of them."

"That must have made an awful noise. How early did you say you were doing this?"

"Around about seven o'clock I should say."

"Seven?"

"Yes."

"Ante meridiem?"

"Naturally."

"Greenwich Mean Time?"

"Of course, Harry, now let me finish."

"There's no need. I see all. And I don't blame Hermione in the least. If you woke me out of a sound slumber with bushels of shrieking gnomes, I wouldn't marry you either."

"Oh dash it, Harry, Hermione doesn't follow your Hogsmeade night-life schedule any more than I do. She was awake and breakfasting when I started. But the noise did bring her out to see what was what. That was part of my plan, to have her see how hard I was willing to work to give her a proper home and such."

"Good plan, that. She does appreciate honest toil."

"Right, so she came out into the garden and I spotted her before she spotted me. And Harry, she was breathtaking. Wearing one of those adorable Muggle outfits she likes so much, the dawn shining on her bushy hair. I tell you, I couldn't take my eyes off her. When she spotted me I wanted to be in the middle of a really good toss to impress her so I grabbed one without really looking, you see?"

"Because you couldn't take your eyes off her. I'm with you."

"Right, and it was a rather heavy one, this gnome, so I mustered up some extra vim for the spin and heave, so as not to appear weak."

"Heavy gnome. Double vim. Go on."

"It was just as I was about to let go of the ankles and send it over the hedge that I noticed that it was not a gnome at all but rather a house-elf."

"No!"

"I'm afraid so."

On hearing this the scales fell from my eyes. I should, at this point, mention to the newcomers that Hermione is a staunch advocate of house-elf rights and has been since our days at school when she used to knit atrocious winter-wear for them.

"Ron, tell me you didn't toss it over the hedge."

"No."

"There's a mercy at least."

"I only tossed him into the hedge."

"Oh for – what was the little blighter doing there in the first place? Certainly Hermione doesn't keep house-elves."

"She had hired him as a gardener. His name is Deeble."

"And Hermione saw you fling her gardener into this hedge, I presume."

"She saw all right, and started right in with the name-calling. Bungling brute was just the tail-end of it. I can't even remember what else she said about me."

Ron's face registered pain at the memory of the whatever-it-was-he-couldn't-remember and my heart went out to him. When Hermione returned yours truly to store, she did so with stream of invective that ended with the words "scar-faced prat."

"But Ron, surely she saw that it was an honest mistake. You must have explained to her that you thought it was a gnome."

"I did! I even took her around the hedge to show her what I had accomplished up to then. But that just made things worse."

"How could it?"

"Turns out she's crusading for gnomes' rights now. Her garden is a sanctuary for them and the elf was hired to take care of them."

It was just then that Creeves returned from the market, and it was not a moment too soon. I called out for his immediate aid.

"Creeves! Two butter beers, heavy on the beer, butter optional!"