Time to get SAD, people! We all know why we're here.

Chapter Two: Dresses and Distress

There was little time for Harry to recover from this latest emotional tumult; Ron had scarcely been able to make it three days after Ginny's departure before unveiling the news to his family, which had left Molly Weasley on cloud nine. Things were looking up for the Weasley family, it seemed, and the Weasley matriarch had even taken the opportunity to bring Hermione around the Burrow as often as possible, intending to impart her knowledge in order to better prepare Hermione to "bring the next generation into the world". Hermione was less than thrilled at these impromptu "lessons", though it bore the unintended side-effect of occupying any time she could have been spending with Harry and Ron. Trio Time suffered, but Harry was honestly pleased over it.

He wanted some time alone to brood.

It was a complex twist of emotions, and Harry had never really done well with even the simplest of them. Growing up being routinely stuffed in a cupboard for displaying any sort of outburst of feeling left one a bit stunted as such. He longed, as he often did, for the counsel of Sirius, of Remus, of…anyone. But those musings sent him down a different sort of spiral.

Ironically, he realized that he was very much following in his godfather's footsteps in the worst of ways, rattling around Grimmauld Place and wishing for the better days of his youth.

He wondered if Sirius had ever pined after Lily.

He then decided never to pursue that avenue of thought again.

It was on a sunny but brisk September morning a couple of weeks after the disastrous engagement announcement that this monotonous new routine of his was thrown a spanner, and he should have easily guessed the culprit the moment he heard the doorbell ring. His brain as sad and sluggish as it was, however, he had no time to prepare himself for the sight of Hermione Granger, whose beaming smile dropped at the sight of him.

"Harry?" she asked. "You look awful."

"Lovely to see you too," Harry said. He supposed he didn't look his best; at Keacher's insistence, he had at least kept up with a daily shower routine and fed himself often enough, though some of the minutiae of personal grooming had fallen by the wayside. He had to be sporting something of a beard by now, at the very least.

"I quite like this, though," Hermione told him with a smile, reaching up to scratch at the scruff on his face and sending a white-hot jolt through him where her fingers brushed his skin. "You've the jaw for a good beard."

"Oh, well…with that ringing endorsement, I suppose I'll keep it," he said. Bugger, was he blushing? It wasn't like Hermione had never touched his face before. "So, um…what brings you by?"

"Do I need a reason to visit my best friend?" Hermione asked. "I feel like you've been playing the hermit lately, hiding away in here."

"Well, you know us famous folk, we're reclusive," Harry said, and Hermione rolled her eyes, giving him a gentle smack in the arm.

"Harry James Potter, you can hide from everyone else, but you can't hide from me," she pouted.

As if I'd ever want to.

"As a matter of fact, though," Hermione went on, bouncing on her feet in an anxious gesture that Harry found agonizingly cute, "well, I had been planning to go dress shopping today, just to get a feel for the style I want to be on the lookout for."

"…This is not going where I think it is, is it?" Harry asked.

"Harry, please?" she begged him. "I don't really… Well, Mum will be there, but she's rubbish at being impartial, she'll say I look good in everything. I'd ask Ginny, but she's off training, and if I have to deal with Molly's…Molly-ness for a moment longer, I'm going to actually physically explode. You're my only hope, Harry."

"Alright, Princess Leia," Harry snorted, and Hermione grinned at him, stepping quite close and fixing those unbearably brown eyes on him in a wide and beseeching gaze.

"Pretty please?"

Oh, of all the no-good, dirty, rotten, low-handed –

"Fine."

…

Harry had often been told (in a sort of half-joking way likely meant to spare his feelings) that he was a bit of masochist, gladly throwing himself into situations where he was sure to suffer if it meant the happiness of one of his friends, an innocent bystander, or even someone he had just met forty seconds ago. It at least suited him well in his career as an auror, he reasoned, though there was a running joke around the office that most of the commendations adoring his wall had been paid for in his own direct suffering.

In the past, he had scoffed at such claims, laughed along with Higgins and Willingham but not taken their words overly seriously. He was dedicated to his work, that was all. Any auror worth his salt sacrificed a bit of his wellbeing in the name of the job. Just look at Alastor Moody's sterling reputation!

Well...alright, that was probably not a point in his favor.

Today, though, he was willing to concede that he did in fact have some tendency to an almost masochistic level of self-sacrifice, or what Hermione had once eloquently called a "saving people thing". Coincidentally enough, it was Hermione herself that was the cause of his musings.

Everything she did was adorable. Absolutely every smile, every little laugh, every happy noise she made at his side as dress after dress was brought out to them was pure torment. The worst part was that Harry knew nothing had changed. Hermione hadn't suddenly adopted an entirely new set of mannerisms meant to entice him or attract his attention. All of it was just the Hermione experience- things she had been doing for years—colored now by his recent realization of his feelings for her.

Again, he cursed himself for being so mind-numbingly slow on the uptake. Only when she had been placed soundly out of reach had he realized how much he wanted her solidly there for all time.

"What d'you think, Harry?"

The question, repeated ad nauseum for the past few hours, had each time preceded yet another figurative punch in Harry's gut, and as he looked up to the sight of Hermione adorned in yet another white dress, the feeling struck him once more. He wasn't getting used to it, the blow was the same as the first in every single instance. Hermione, the vision of bridal perfection striding toward him wearing yet another dress, seemed oblivious to the effect she was having on him even as he once again let himself get caught up imagining that she was in fact walking down the aisle toward him, bouquet clutched in her hands and smiling only for him.

Why, oh why, had she dragged him along for this!?

"Oh, love, that looks beautiful!" Helen Granger gushed, as she had every single time. It seemed that she was so enamored of the wedding itself, that her daughter was actually engaged to be wed, that all sense of objectivity had gone out the window. Any wedding dress, in her opinion, was perfect for Hermione.

"Mum, you've said that every single time," Hermione said with a wry smile. She did a little spin, letting the dress flair up ever so slightly around her. "I do rather like this style, though."

It did suit her, Harry thought. The past few dresses had been intricate affairs, covered in pearls and sewn with complex patterns that felt overly busy to him. None of them had felt like Hermione's wedding dress, to him. But this one...

"I like it," he found himself reluctantly admitting. "It suits you."

Hermione smiled at him, her face flush with excitement.

"You think so as well?" she asked. Turning, she found her reflection in one of the many mirrors of the boutique's dressing room, studying herself carefully.

"It's not as busy as the last few," Harry went on, standing and making his way over to her. "You don't seem like the type for a busy dress."

Standing next to her, Harry couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from her reflection. She was beautiful, he realized. Her expression was one of such fervent excitement, the same she'd worn when telling him she'd gotten her Committee for the Ethical Treatment of Magical Beings off the ground. He loved that excited look, loved sharing in her latest bit of good news.

He loved...her.

"You've that look on your face again," Hermione accused him with a gentle smile. "What are you thinking, Harry?"

"Oh, just fretting about work," Harry told her. Hermione snorted at him, an unladylike sound compounded by her present attire.

"Harry James Potter, you never fret about work," she insisted. "You could take a nap in the Ministry atrium and Kingsley would just make sure you had enough pillows."

Harry chuckled at that, grinning down at her and watching her stick her tongue out at him.

"I think this is a fine dress," he finally said. "It's the sort of dress I'd want to see you walking down the aisle in if I was waiting for you."

"You really like it?" she asked softly, and Harry ached to just hold her in that moment, to tell her she could pick the most garish, poofy monstrosity of chiffon and lace and he would still gladly marry her in it.

But he'd lost that chance before he'd even realized he'd had it, realized he'd wanted it.

"I do," he said, feeling a sentimental fool for wishing he was saying the same thing under different circumstances.

"Harry..." Hermione glanced up from his face in the mirror to look him directly in the eyes. There was that searching expression she got, when she knew he was hiding something but hadn't yet sussed out exactly what. Harry turned away, but her hand came up to gently press against his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"Yes?" he asked with what he hoped was a blithe smile, desperately attempting to undercut what he felt was a dramatically building moment. He didn't need drama, not with Hermione, not now.

"Tell me what's wrong," she said. "You all but disappeared the past couple weeks. Did something happen with Ginny?"

Ginny? Harry hadn't even really spared Ginny much of a thought since things had ended between them. She'd written him one letter, and he'd cobbled together a response to send off with Brigitta, but that had been the beginning and end of their recent correspondence.

"No, Ginny and I... We aren't together anymore," he said. "Haven't been for weeks."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione pouted. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was going to, but..." Harry shrugged, but Hermione displayed her usual knack for reading his mind without even the need for legilimency.

"We announced our engagement instead," she said. "Is that what's been bothering you?"

"...Yeah," Harry said, figuring it best to let her believe that rather than know the truth of the situation. The last thing Hermione needed right now was to know he was...pining after her.

"Harry," her voice was the slightest bit stern, though she also seemed amused at his continued efforts to deflect her concerns. "It's something else, I can tell. What aren't you telling me?"

That I'm in love with you? That I'm actually really conflicted over these new feelings because they didn't surface until after finding out you were engaged and out of reach? That I feel like scum for pining after my best mate's fiancée?

Harry of course said none of these things, reaching up to gently pull her hand away from his face. It was warm, slightly dry under his touch as he lowered it down, and he could feel the massive stone of her engagement ring, mocking him with its presence.

"I think that dress is the one," he said. "You might not even have to try on any others."

Hermione was silent for a moment, staring down at their linked hands and chewing nervously on her lip. Harry stopped himself at least four times in that moment from doing something rather foolish, be it blurting out his feelings, pulling her into his arms, or simply kissing her.

"You used to tell me everything," she said quietly.

"Hermione...there are some things I'd rather you didn't know," he said. "That you don't need to know, not now. Focus on your wedding."

"What do you mean 'not now'?" she asked, and Harry cursed himself for giving so much away. He said nothing now, worried at what else he might blab to her, but Hermione seemed to read plenty from his silence. Lifting her left hand, she stared at Ron's gaudy ring, at the absolute skating rink of a stone attached to it, before peering back up at him.

"Do you..." she trailed off, her eyes shining now, and Harry wished more than anything that she would just stop talking, stop thinking for a moment. "Would you prefer this was a silver band? With a black diamond?"

She'd remembered, after all these weeks and the flurry of wedding preparation activity. Harry was almost flattered, before the reality of her question sank in.

"It's not," he said. "That's what matters."

"Harry - "

"Hermione, please!" Harry said. "I can't do this. I can't have this conversation with you. I already feel like scum, let's not twist the knife while we're at it."

"But...but, Harry - "

Unable to listen further, Harry whirled away and simply left, passing by a bewildered Helen, who looked up from some brochure to regard the scene with confusion.

"What's happened?" Harry heard her ask as the door shut behind him.

Bugger, he needed a drink.

…

He loved muggle London. He loved all of the people, crowds the likes of which one never saw in the wizarding world. He loved the way he could disappear amidst them, something impossible in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. To these masses—salarymen and shoppers and schoolkids and street-hawkers—he was just one face in a thousand, some young punk in need of a shave. No one looked twice, no one stared at his scar or made the exact same comments about his resemblance to his father (except for his eyes, of course), the most he got was the occasional "sorry, lad" when someone bumped into him.

Even now, with his nineteenth birthday nearly two months behind him, it still felt strange to walk so freely. Every moment of his life for as long as he could remember had been spent under someone's supervision, it felt like. The Dursleys and their beady eyes on the lookout for any manner of mischief or rule-breaking, Dumbledore and the Order's carefully-crafted circle of protection, even Voldemort in his own right had been a watchful eye ensuring a lack of total independence.

But now, well…no one had any idea where he was, none of these people even knew who he was.

He was alone.

A sign called out to him, 'The Banded Barrel'. That sounded promising. Inside a heavy wooden door, Harry saw a simple enough pub, the sort that had been built about two-hundred years ago and not really changed much since then. At least everything seemed clean enough, unlike the Leaky Cauldron and its ever-present layer of dust and grime.

"C'mon in, grab a seat," a voice called from behind a high wooden bar near the door. The place was small but with a high ceiling that kept it from feeling cramped. Harry made his way to a booth near a window, sitting and staring unseeingly at a menu that awaited him.

She knew. She knew how he felt. It had taken her half a conversation to wring it out of him! So much for the brooding boy who never even dropped so much as a hint that Dolores Umbridge was spending their detentions torturing him. Who ran a secret education ring under the noses of the entire Hogwarts staff.

But then, Hermione had been privy to all of that as well.

He really did tell her everything. Because she always knew what to do. Because he'd be lost without her.

Because he loved her.

"Drink, mate?" Harry looked up into the face of a young man not much older than him, with a pad and pencil at the ready.

"Guinness," he said, poking at the menu before him. "And the roast beef sandwich."

"Comin' up," the bloke nodded, whisking away the menu and making his way to the back.

Left alone, Harry continued to do what he did best lately: yelled at himself.

Why did these feelings need to come to light now? He'd been happy in his ignorance for so long, why had it all suddenly decided to rattle into place now? Or, with the benefit of hindsight, why couldn't he have realized things sooner? He'd wasted so much time mooning over Cho Chang and Ginny, and meanwhile Hermione had been right next to him! He was sure she would have given him a chance, likely would have seized control of the whole thing and decided their first date, the time, even picked out an outfit and insisted he not be nervous. He would have probably messed it all up from start to finish, and she'd still insist she had a lovely time, because that was simply how she was. Stern, authoritarian, and downright medieval in her methods from time to time, Hermione Granger always had time to care about Harry Potter.

And you, you blithering fool, never took the hint.

Would she have reciprocated? Harry liked to think so. There had always been the occasional moment between them where even his addled teenage mind had been able to pick up on some tension. Third year, during their jaunt back in time. Fourth year when it was just Harry and Hermione at his side against the unbelieving masses who though he'd put himself down for the Tournament. Even in his fifth year, when he thought Voldemort was possessing him and pushed everyone away, Hermione had simply refused, pushed back and insisted on being heard.

"You'd best have a good reason for dragging me into this dingy hole in the wall," an annoyed voice spoke as someone slid into the booth opposite him.

No. How in the world? Well, ridiculous question, really.

Hermione always found a way.

"Footstep Charm," Hermione said with a knowing smile, able as ever to read his thoughts. "You almost had me, though. I had to change out of the dress and make a few excuses, and by the time I picked up your trail it had faded a bit, but luckily you tend to move slow when you're brooding – "

"Hermione, what are you doing here?" Harry asked, even as a small part of him drank in her presence in front of him. Every second spent in her company was equal parts bliss and hateful regret. He wanted to take comfort in that warm smile, to know once again that everything would be fine because she obviously always had a plan for how to handle whatever mess he'd gotten himself into.

But she was the mess this time. How exactly she hoped to fix it was beyond him.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow. "You fly off the handle and storm out when you were supposed to be helping me try on dresses?"

"Of course," Harry said dryly. "How rude of me to abandon you after you emotionally blackmailed me – "

"Emotional blackmail?" Hermione scoffed with a grin. "Is that what I did?"

"Those eyes and that damnable look you give are impossible, Granger!" Harry said, his face heating up as Hermione smirked at him.

"Well, I hardly knew how…potent they would be at the time, did I?" she said, her own cheeks flushing ever so slightly. The barman returned with Harry's pint, setting it down on a paper coaster in front of him.

"Sandwich in a moment," he said, turning to Hermione. "Drink, ma'am?"

"Tea?" Hermione asked. "Earl Gray."

"To eat?"

"Oh, no thank you," Hermione said.

"Get her some chips," Harry sighed. "She always steals food."

"I do not," Hermione scoffed as the barman wandered off with a chuckle.

"I have never finished a full plate of food whenever we go out together because you always just get a salad and then start picking at my plate," Harry insisted.

"Well, Ron always gets so territorial about his," Hermione admitted, giggling a bit. "I even used to do that when we'd take lunch at the Three Broomsticks, didn't I? Lavender and Parvati asked once if you and I were dating."

Harry was glad he hadn't taken a drink yet, or he would have spat it all over.

"That so?" he asked in what he thought was a rather calm voice.

"I said we weren't, that I didn't even think you saw me in that way," Hermione said.

He said nothing at that, and a moment later, the barman appeared with Harry's sandwich and Hermione's tea and chips, placing them on the table and then tactfully leaving them to their moment.

"Harry, what happened?" Hermione asked quietly. "Everything was alright until…well, Ron told you we were engaged."

"I'd rather not talk about this, Hermione," Harry said. "It would just…"

"Just what?" Hermione asked, popping a chip in her mouth. "Make things awkward between us? I think that ship's sailed. Might as well wade into it now."

As always, she had a perfectly-constructed rebuttal pulled seemingly from nowhere. Likely, she'd rehearsed all manner of permutations of this very conversation in her head while tracking him down, perfectly guessed everything he'd say.

It was maddening sometimes. And he loved her for it.

"You have feelings for me?" she prompted him.

"…Yeah," Harry sighed, taking a swig of his drink.

"When did this happen?" she asked. Her voice lacked any tone of accusation, any trace of self-serving curiosity. This was Hermione, as usual doing her best to help him out of a sticky spot.

"The day you told me you and Ron were…engaged," Harry said with a shrug. He reached for his sandwich and took a meager bite while Hermione sipped at her tea. Peering at him over the rim of the cup, she bore only a thoughtful expression.

"And that was the moment you realized that you…fancied me?" she asked. Harry sighed, slumping in his seat.

"We are not having this conversation – "

"Yes we are," Hermione said firmly. "I won't have this driving a wedge between us, Harry James Potter. All of the other mess we've been through, I won't have this falling apart now."

"I think…I took you for granted," Harry said after a moment, looking up and meeting her eyes. "I never had to think about you not being there because you always were. Even when it felt like there was something there with you and Ron, I knew on some level that I was your priority. Not consciously, I'm not…proud of that, but there it was. So when we started going off and doing our own things, when I realized that there were…were parts of my life that I would have to spend without you… And I'd have to see you spend those moments with someone else…"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed, nibbling on her lip as she stared across the table at him. She broke eye contact for the first time since he'd started rambling at her, her gaze darting down to the ring on her finger.

"I'm…sorry about all this," Harry sighed. Under the table, Hermione gave him a gentle kick.

"Don't you apologize, it's not as though you had any control over it," she insisted, her shoulders hunching a bit as a lock of hair fell into her face. "I suppose it's…flattering, in a way."

Unable to resist (and probably under the influence of half a glass of Guinness on an empty stomach by now), Harry reached across the table, watching Hermione's eyes go wide as his finger brushed the offending bit of hair away from her face. Her own hand came up to finish the job and tuck it behind her ear, her cheeks blooming very slightly pink as she did.

"Um…then…" she seemed to visibly collect herself, only to do so again as her eyes darted away from his. "Then the only thing left is to see if we can't do something about this."

"Do what?" Harry asked, nearly knocking over his glass in his haste to pull his hands back once he realized what he'd just gone and done. Sure, just mess about with your best friend's hair, that's not really weird, Harry! "I can't just make it go away. I don't even know if I want to."

"You don't want to?" Hermione asked him.

"It's…hard to describe," Harry said with a shake of his head. "Probably mad."

"Well, these sorts of feelings have been described as mad by a lot of people," Hermione told him with a small smile. "Could you…try to describe it? Please?"

"It's…like the first time I went flying," Harry said. "The first time I felt my feet lift off the ground, that I went up into the air and felt that sense of…of excitement, of freedom. I knew, as soon as I took off, I'd never be able to just not do it again. This…hurts, so much. But I never knew it was possible to feel this way about someone, the way I feel about…you. I don't think I'd want to forget that."

"Harry…" Hermione trailed off, eyes shining over a watery smile.

"Just…don't worry about me, alright?" Harry told her. "You've done nothing wrong. And I've no intention of messing things up between you and Ron. In case you forgot, he's my other best friend."

Hermione giggled a bit at that, nodding.

"I'm supposed to be making you feel better, not getting you to reassure me," she said.

"You've spent our whole friendship pulling me from some funk or another," Harry said with a shake of his head. "And now I'm here telling you I fancy you when you're engaged."

"Well…I did chase you down and sort of force the confession," Hermione reminded him.

"That's true, it is your own fault," Harry said, and Hermione threw a chip at him, giggling as he managed to catch it in his mouth.

"Still the best seeker in decades, eh?" she said.

"I thought about going pro, you know," Harry told her. "Nearly every team sent me an offer. Ginny even told me once that the Holyhead Harpies' PR manager told them to seriously consider making me the first male team member."

"I don't doubt that a bit," Hermione told him. "Why did you decide not to?"

"Well…because every team sent me an offer," Harry shrugged. "Would I be getting in based off skill or because I'm…me? Would the other teams even want to try? Or would some blood-purist with a grudge sneak his wand on the pitch and try to chuck me?"

"That's terrible, though," Hermione said, snagging up half his sandwich and taking a bite. "The war ruined what could have been an exciting career opportunity."

"Well, it also gave me a chance to think about what quidditch really is, as well," Harry said. "And thinking back, it was always an escape. No matter what madness there was at school, I could go out to the pitch, hop a broom, and play a game. Most of the time."

"Things got a bit rocky the last couple years," Hermione said. "But if quidditch is an escape, that seems all the more reason to make a career out of it, doesn't it? To get away from it all?"

"You can't escape forever, though," Harry said. "You do, that's just running away."

Hermione favored him with a fond smile that caused another of those thuds in his chest. She was seriously bad for his heart.

"Plus, it's a frightful waste of your talents," she said. "You should consider teaching. Professor McGonagall is still looking for a fulltime Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. She'd probably make you head of Gryffindor, as well."

"Well…" Harry trailed off with a shrug.

"What?" Hermione asked, peering curiously at him. "Harry, what is it?"

"It's nothing," Harry told her, stuffing another bite of sandwich in his mouth.

"Harry, tell meee," she all but whined, pouting playfully at him. "Please?"

"That is hardly fair," he said, pointing a stern finger at her.

"Won't you tell me?" she asked him, now with an impish smile on her face.

"If you must know…I have occasionally thought about…lesson plans," he confessed. "Things I'd teach the firsties, tell the older years, caution them against becoming an auror just to go about taking revenge on dark wizards."

"That's hardly so embarrassing," Hermione told him. "Especially since you have taught students before. You had job experience before you'd even left Hogwarts."

"It'd be nice to go back," he finally admitted. "I've…missed Hogwarts. Sometimes…sometimes so bad it aches."

"Why not go there and teach, then?" Hermione asked. "Surely you've been offered the job."

"McGonagall's dropped hints here and there," Harry said. "But… It would be so different. The Hogwarts I miss isn't around anymore."

"You don't just miss Hogwarts, you want things as simple as they were back then," Hermione surmised, and Harry nodded, chuckling inwardly at how she was so easily able to understand him, better even than he understood himself sometimes. "You know, Harry, things weren't so simple as you're remembering."

At his chuckle, she looked a bit confused, and Harry stole one of the chips from her plate, laughing even harder at her playfully affronted expression.

"You stole from my plate?" she asked.

"Revenge is best served with a bit too much salt, after all," Harry said. "I was only laughing because you said exactly what I knew you'd say. About things being not so simple at all back then."

"We don't long for the past, we long for the predictability," Hermione said. "Staring forward into the scary and new is…well, scary."

"You're right," Harry said. "As ever."

"It's about time you cottoned on," Hermione smirked. "It only took nine years."

"Oh, I've known the whole time," Harry said airily, finishing his half of his sandwich. "It just so happens I have a bit of a stubborn streak."

"A bit?" Hermione spat. "Just a bit, do you, Harry Potter?"

"A very small bit of one," Harry said, and Hermione threw another chip at him, which he again caught in his mouth.

"You are insufferable," she huffed.

In short order, Harry settled his check, and Hermione insisted on escorting him home.

"I've only had one drink, Hermione."

"Then you shouldn't be sick when I apparate you back home, should you?"

Sighing but deciding the discomfort of side-along apparation wasn't worth navigating all the way to the Leaky Cauldron or braving Knight Bus, Harry allowed her to slide a hand into his (which he did not blush over like a schoolboy), and only a few disquieting seconds later, they were standing in his sitting room, whereupon he collapsed onto the couch.

"I hate apparating," he sighed.

"You say that every time I take you anywhere," Hermione told him. "But look how much time you've saved."

"My love of introversion is always at odds with my hatred of instantaneous travel," Harry agreed, parroting back the very same thing she had once told him.

"Exactly," Hermione said. "Now, I've agreed to go over some dress decisions I've made with Ron, so I need to…to go, alright?"

She trailed off, and Harry knew he'd let his emotions show on his face at the reminder of their situation. With all the perfectly normal talk of life and catching up they'd done, it had slipped his mind for a blissful half hour or so. But as much of her time as he could steal, that's what it would always be. Stealing her away from Ron, who got to have a life with her, who would get to marry her.

"Harry?"

"Sorry, um…yeah, it's alright," he said. "Go ahead, don't let me keep you."

"…Harry, I – "

"Just go, Hermione," he said, trying for a smile but sure it looked somewhere closer to a grimace. "We'll…see each other soon, yeah?"

"Of course," Hermione said, her eyes shining as she smiled at him. "Really soon."

Slumping into his sofa, he watched her leave, doing his level best not to look pathetic, lonely, or despondent so as not to make her feel bad as she went.

He very likely did not succeed.

…

Perhaps when Hermione had promised to see him "really soon", she hadn't meant only two hours later, yet later that afternoon, with the sun disappearing behind the distant London skyline, a sharp and vigorous knocking came at his door.

"Kreacher, look after this while I get the door?" Harry called out, and Kreacher cracked into the kitchen, surveying the griddle where Harry had been cooking up a melt. "And not a word about my technique."

"Not a word, Master Harry," Kreacher said. "Not a word about adequate flipping at all."

"Everyone's a critic," Harry muttered on the way out of the kitchen. Really, if he was the one eating it, who cared about levels of browning or cheese meltage? He endured enough of that sort of chatter from –

"Hermione?"

The front door had opened, Hermione pocketing her wand and looking equal parts furious and despondent.

"Harry," she said. "I just… I'm sorry to barge in, I know you're… Well, I know it's weird right now, but Ron's being… Ugh, you don't need to hear this!"

Without even pausing her stride, she rounded and seemed to be on her way back to the door before Harry rushed forward, taking her by the wrist.

"Hermione Granger, you cannot just leave me with that," he said. "What's happened? What did Ron do?"

"He… Harry, he laughed at the dresses!" Hermione said in a shrill voice. "He thought they looked silly! He expected me to come to him with a bunch of wedding robes, like witches wear! I asked him, Harry, I'd…I had asked him what sort of dress he wanted me to pick out, and he said 'I dunno, whatever you think suits you,' like he didn't even care! It's like he didn't even think that muggle styles were worth considering!"

Harry led her toward the downstairs lounge, letting her rant while he steered her to a loveseat. Without a word, Kreacher popped in with tea for the both of them. Scooping a small spoonful of sugar and some cream into Hermione's (just the way she liked it, he remembered), he slid the cup toward her before fixing his own with significantly more of both.

"You'll rot your teeth out," she said in a throaty voice without even looking, and he snickered at her.

"Was there quite a row?" Harry asked.

"I wouldn't say it was a row," she said. "I just asked him why he expects me to do all the planning and not plan a muggle wedding. I don't want a wizarding wedding ceremony. For almost ten years, I've had to do things the wizard way, to appeal to these…these backwards fools and their traditions. This is my wedding. I told him he could wear a wizard dress robe, but there would have to be compromises, too. I don't want a wedding that my entire family can't attend because of the Statute of Secrecy."

"That makes sense to me," Harry said.

"It's just been so maddening with him!" Hermione went on, having built up steam now. "He doesn't want to help with any of the planning, but he wants full veto rights on all of the decisions. I suggested periwinkle blue and ivory as the wedding colors, and he says 'Nah…' with that little wave of his hand, so of course, I ask him what he'd like, and what does he say?"

"'I dunno, whatever you think suits you.'?" Harry guessed, and Hermione snickered.

"Right in one," she said. "It's—Ron, that's what I think suits us both! A nice light blue would go with his hair and not clash horribly."

"Maybe it reminds him too much of your Yule Ball robes, and that reminds him of you dancing about with Viktor," Harry suggested jokingly, but Hermione's eyes went wide with furious realization.

"That… I bet that's it!" she said despairingly. "That childish…child!"

"Well, at least there wasn't a row?" Harry shrugged, and Hermione let a scoff.

"Oh, no, he just called his mum over," she said in lofty tones.

"Nooo," Harry groaned.

"And Molly, oh you know how she is," Hermione rambled on. Harry only nodded, because he knew exactly how Molly Weasley was. Molly Weasley was overbearing and loved coddling her boys.

They had most likely named it mollycoddling after her.

"She shows up in her little traveling cloak and her hat and with this smile on her face, and she promptly tries to explain to me that 'Dear, wizard weddings aren't like muggle weddings,' as though I hadn't just attended her eldest son's wizarding wedding a couple of years ago."

"As if you probably didn't read up on them when you were twelve anyway," Harry muttered, and Hermione snickered at him.

"Thirteen, but close enough," she said before sighing. "It was just so patronizing, Harry. I've known this woman for nearly half my life, and she treats me like I'm some aborigine squatting in the mud and she's enlightening me."

"There has always been this sort of…disdain?' Harry glanced at her.

"Disdain is good," she said.

"For muggles," he said. "Even from the muggle sympathizers, it seems more like muggles are still in the stone age to them."

"I've noticed that, too," Hermione sighed.

"How'd it go with Molly?" Harry asked, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I went to go use the loo and apparated here," she said.

"Oh, that's going to go over well with Ron," Harry said wryly. "He'll probably think we've been here snogging or something."

"Maybe we should," Hermione suggested, and Harry's hand twitched on its way to his teacup, knocking it over and sending tea everywhere. "Oh! Oh, no, Harry, I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking, and you're…"

"Evanesco," Harry sighed out with a twitch of his wand, and the tea was gone. "Scourgify."

"Sorry," Hermione said contritely. "I sort of, um…"

"Forgot that I fancy you now?" Harry finished for her, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"In my defense, I've only just found out maybe three hours ago," she said. "It's still rather fresh."

"Well…what's the plan?" Harry asked. "Because right now, it sounds like Ron just wants you to keep bringing ideas to him until he points to one that he likes, and then you just move forward with that."

"He wants me to play the part of hired wedding planner for my own wedding," Hermione agreed. "Well, that won't be happening, Ronald Bilius Weasley."

"You tell him," Harry said, and Hermione grinned over at him. Their eyes met, and the beaming expression faded to an almost perplexed little smile.

"How would you want your wedding to be?" she asked. "Where would you have the ceremony and all that?"

"…Dunno, I…" Harry trailed off, stopping himself from telling her he'd just go with whatever she wanted. Instead, he made himself imagine, painful as it was, how he would marry her. "Probably…on a hilltop. Somewhere outside, with a tree. Not many people, just family and a few close friends. You would—she would be wearing a white dress and a flowered wreath in your hair. Teddy could be the ring-bearer."

"And the reception?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, a big dinner party," Harry said. "Outdoors, still, like a garden party. Music and food, but not too much ceremony about it, you know? Let everyone just mingle and do their own thing."

"But there has to be some silly games, hasn't there?" Hermione asked. "Wedding bingo and the guessing games, right?"

"Yeah, just lighthearted fun stuff like that," Harry said. "And if you don't feel like joining in, great, just stuff your face instead."

"That sounds perfectly lovely," Hermione said with a smile at him. "I'd go to that wedding."

Harry caught himself about to say something rather rash and very stupid, shutting his mouth and reaching for his teacup…before remembering he'd spilt it everywhere.

"What were you just about to say?" Hermione asked softly.

Bugger.

"Hermione – "

"It's okay, Harry, you can say it," she said.

"No, it's—I don't want to say it," he shot back. "If I say it, I…start thinking about it, and…"

He looked over to see her staring back with a watery smile.

"I'm sorry I just keep barging in and tormenting you," she said. "You're my best friend, and I rather like talking to you, though."

"It's a complicated situation," Harry agreed.

They lapsed into silence, Harry thinking about Ron and how much of a cad he was being, how lucky he was and seemed unable to understand. He thought of all the times Ron had…well, let him down. The two's friendship was legendary, of course, but in that moment, all Harry could seem to remember was the time Ron had abandoned him in fourth year, had ditched the both of them during the horcrux hunt.

Stop it. You're only dwelling on this because you fancy his fiancée.

Ron wasn't fourteen anymore. People grew, they changed. And despite tensions running high during the horcrux hunt (aided and abetted by a hostile horcrux they'd been foolishly wearing round their necks), Ron had immediately regretted his decision and even saved Harry's life in the frozen pond.

A shifting of weight next to him roused him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Hermione standing and giving a little stretch.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked before he could stop himself. Hermione turned and smiled warmly down at him.

"I…I just need to go home and think about…well, about a lot of things," she said. "It's been a really, really emotional day for me."

"I suppose it has," Harry said with a grin. "Sor – "

"If you apologize to me one more time, Harry Potter," Hermione cut him off, aiming her wand at him with a menacing pout.

"Well now I just want to apologize for apologizing," he grinned.

"You impossible prat," she sighed. "I'll see you."

"See you," Harry said, wondering how many times he'd have to watch her walk away from him, walk to the life she was setting up without him.

When once again it was just him and Grimmauld Place (and Kreacher puttering around the kitchen), Harry sighed, begging his eyes to stop burning.

"Once more, very clearly."

"Ridiculous."

I said there would be no Ron BASHING, and I stand by that fact. Having said that, I don't picture the Ron Weasley of canon being a picnic to plan a wedding with. Also, I've added a bit of social commentary on the very patronizing view even the most well-meaning purebloods have of muggles and their customs. This isn't going to morph into some muggle-wank piece, but it did allow for some interesting flavor.