A/N: This is Chaser 1 of the Chudley Cannons checking in for Season 8 Round 11 of the QLFC.

Chaser 1 Prompt: Take inspiration from "You Can't Predict It All"

Optional Prompts: 3. (color) ivory; 4. (object) invitation; and 15. (object) piano

Word Count (before A/N): 3,000 words exactly (according to Google docs)

Warnings: One instance of a not-so-very-nice curse word.

Thank you to my lovely teammates Queenie and Ashleigh for beta-ing for me!

Brrrrrriiiiiiiiinnnnggggg.

Ron's eyes landed on the cordless phone on his coffee table. The little green square on the receiver lit up with another bbrrrriiiiinnnnngggggg.

He swallowed. Normally, Hermione handled all Muggle communications, but she'd left half an hour before to pick up her dress.

Ron leaned forward, his hand curling around the phone as it let out another ring. He clicked the button just like Hermione taught him to do and took a deep breath.

"'Ello?" he said.

"Good morning, is Miss Hermione Granger present?" a cheerful voice said.

"She's—out." How much detail was he supposed to give again? His pulse jumped. He loved Hermione dearly, but living in the Muggle world still felt foreign sometimes.

"Oh, well, is Mr. Ronald Weasley available?"

"Uh, yes." There was a long pause. Ron pulled the phone from his ear to make sure he hadn't accidentally shut it off, but the screen was still lit. He pressed it against his ear and tried again. "Me, I'm Ron."

"Oh, good! This is Amanda Figgins from Stoney Creek Events Centre." Her voice somehow sounded even more cheerful than before. Briefly, Ron wondered if he hadn't been happy enough back, and Amanda Figgins thought he was being rude.

"The reception hall?" he asked, this time smiling so his voice came across with more enthusiasm.

Phone calls were weird, he thought.

"That's it, yes!" Amanda all but shouted. "We've been so excited to host your wedding reception this upcoming weekend, but—"

Silence. Ron, again, looked to see if they'd been disconnected.

"But?" he pressed.

"It's ruined!" Amanda Figgins sobbed into his ear. "A pipe burst overnight, and now our whole facility is under water!" Her last word was so saturated by sobs, Ron almost thought she'd said "ladders." But before he could ask for clarification, Amanda Figgins continued. "We have to cancel everything!"

Dumbfounded, Ron clutched the phone to his ear. "The wedding's on Saturday," he said slowly. "That's six days."

"We'll refund you!" Amanda Figgins shouted.

But Ron didn't care about money. Where were he and Hermione going to get married now?

"What is this?"

"It's your dress."

Hermione looked to her mum.

"It's white." Hermione was assessing herself in the biggest mirror she'd ever seen, taking in the custom-fitted lace and tulle that hugged her body. It was a gorgeous dress, one Hermione had picked six months before.

"Yes, it's white," her mum said.

"But," Hermione looked at her again,"I ordered it in ivory."

"Well, yes." Her mum's voice was strained. "And after we left the boutique, I called and told them you wanted white."

Hermione's eyes widened. About a million different thoughts ran through her head, most of which were laced with incredulity and anger, but she bit them down, trying her best not to become the infamous 'bridezilla' of Muggle lore.

"I ordered ivory, because it didn't wash me out like the white does," she tried calmly.

"And I changed it, because white's tradition."

Hermione actually bit down on her tongue. At the start of all this wedding planning, Hermione truly believed it would be a bonding experience between herself and her mum. Things had been strained since the whole Australia fiasco, and Hermione desperately wanted to find a way to true forgiveness. Her dad was already there, happy to have his old life back and his daughter safe and sound.

It was Hermione's mum, however, who had been more than upset. Betrayed, Ron had rightfully deduced. "She thought you'd tell her anything, but you left out a big portion of your life. For good reasons, sure, but she doesn't see that yet."

Wedding planning was supposed to help mend that bond.

But, as it turned out, they disagreed on everything. Where Hermione wanted ivory, her mother wanted white. Where Hermione wanted a small ceremony, her mother wanted the entire Granger clan involved. Where Hermione wanted magic, her mother wanted none.

That last one stung, especially because it was Ron's wedding, too. But he'd been more than willing to adopt a few Muggle customs along the way.

Hermione tore her eyes from her mum's and instead looked at her pale skin blending with the stark white of the dress she did not want.

Her mum's eyes were beaming.

"It looks nice," Hermione said.

She could always charm it ivory anyways, right?

Ron had been pacing the length of the living room ever since Amanda Figgins had sobbed into his ear. The phone was still clutched in his hand, the receiver beeping incessantly. He didn't know how to stop it.

He'd thought about calling Harry, but then remembered Harry didn't have a house phone. Then he thought about Flooing to Grimmauld Place, but he wasn't interested in telling Ginny what happened before telling Hermione.

So he settled on pacing, because what else could he do?

There was a knock at the door.

Ron paused in his strides. The last time he'd answered the door alone, he'd almost joined a new religion. Hermione had found him and the pair of—what did they call themselves? Witnesses?—drinking lemonade on the porch and talking about the leatherbound book in their hands.

He had no idea what they'd been talking about, but he had liked their enthusiasm.

His new visitor knocked again. Ron quickly opened the door with his free hand.

"Mr. Weasley?" a squat man greeted him.

"Yes?"

"We're with Simply Keys. We have your delivery ready." He motioned behind him to a white delivery truck with the words 'Simply Keys' emblazoned across it in bold black lettering. Two other men were hauling a large white object out the back.

"Delivery?" Ron asked.

"A white Steinway."

"A what?"

"Steinway. A piano." The man gave Ron a quizzical look. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a yellow slip of paper. "Yeah," he continued, looking at the slip, "a baby grand in white for Miss Hermione Granger and Mr. Ronald Weasley."

In the distance, Ron watched the two men haul the piano out and set it gently onto the grass, the keys releasing a light twiddling sound upon impact.

"A what?" he repeated. The phone in his hand continued to beep.

The delivery man frowned, looking back at the yellow slip. But Ron couldn't pull his eyes away from the enormous piano on his tiny lawn.

Just as he was about to ask for a third time what the hell was happening, he saw Hermione's blue car pull around the bend.

"Thank, Merlin," he mumbled. The three delivery guys and Ron all stopped to watch Hermione park her car. They could see her head moving around like a little buzzing bee, from the back of the truck to the men on her lawn to Ron at the door. Finally her eyes fixed on the piano, her mouth dropping into a perfect 'o.'

Hermione got out of the car and went straight for the truck.

Ron couldn't move. A mysterious piano had just shown up, their wedding venue was flooded, Amanda Figgins was sobbing in a dingy office downtown, the phone kept beeping, and now Hermione was arguing with the Simply Keys delivery team.

What the hell was happening?

"I think I'm in shock."

Ron turned to face Hermione in their bed, the navy blue covers tucked tight under her chin. He gently reached for her under the covers and wrapped his hand around her own.

"How did we go from 'yay, we're getting married in a few days!' to 'ahhhh! We're getting married in a few days?' "

"I have no idea," he sighed. After some tense words, followed by uncharacteristic yelling from Hermione, they had finally learned that the grand piano, which they had indeed rented for their ceremony, had mistakenly been sent to their house instead of the church. But because it was already off the truck, the Simply Keys delivery men weren't allowed to take it back.

Even though, Ron thought bitterly, no one had asked them to remove the damned thing from the truck in the first place.

Hermione had been steaming earlier, so Ron quickly shrank the blasted instrument and brought it inside. Currently, it was seated atop the coffee table in its shrunken state.

"I don't even want live music," Hermione said, her brown eyes searching his face. "I don't want a white dress. I don't want a big reception."

"I've only ever wanted you," he said, trying to give her his sweetest smile. Luckily, it seemed to work. The roller coaster of a day visibly began to melt off her, and she nuzzled her way into his arms, her face squished into his chest. He held her close, feeling her breathe against him.

"At least we have the Burrow," she sighed.

Yes, the one silver lining they'd found. They would still get married at the church Hermione's parents had picked, and then the guests would find their way to the Burrow for dinner and dancing. They'd already run the idea by both sets of parents, and while the Grangers—mostly Hermione's mum—had made it very clear that there could be no traces of magic, the switch in venue was an easy fix. Ginny and Hermione even made plans to send out a fresh set of invitations the next day to alert their guests.

"Yes," he said. "The Burrow. And you can charm your dress, and we can bring the—"

He was cut off by a loud crashing noise. Hermione and Ron were both on their feet, wands ready, before the noise had even finished. Silence grew, and Ron felt his Auror training kick into high gear. He signaled for Hermione to follow him out their bedroom and down the narrow stairs.

Hermione flicked on the lights in the living room as they both crept off the landing. Ron blinked at the sudden brightness, but soon lowered his wand. There was no real threat—just a piano.

A full-sized baby grand piano.

In the living room.

"Bloody hell…"

Hermione growled at the sight. "Guess the charm wore off!"

Neither one moved toward the now-regularly-sized piano. Ron looked at the broken coffee table shattered underneath the weight of the fully grown instrument. One of the piano's legs had somehow managed to embed itself into the couch, stuffing pluming around it in clouds.

"I'm taking a hammer to that tomorrow morning." Hermione turned on her heel and marched upstairs.

"Isn't—isn't it rented?" Ron asked, his feet following her, though his eyes stayed trained on the destruction in his living room.

"That's why we got insurance!" she yelled back. Ron paused and gave the piano one last glance before flicking the light off.

He was afraid to ask what insurance even was.

Hermione sat across from her soon-to-be sister-in-law, smiling as Ginny relayed another Harpies story. It was nice to have a quiet night after the utter chaos of the last few days.

Somehow, she and Ron had got their wedding back on track. Now, they had one night to relax, and they were spending it with Harry and Ginny.

"I still can't believe you guys had to replan everything," Harry said, setting down another round of drinks.

"I can't believe we pulled it off," Ron replied. Hermione smiled at him, relieved to have had Ron through all the mess. If it wasn't for his calm approach, she doubted she'd have made it through.

Her pocket began to vibrate, the cell phone her parents had insisted on buying buzzing against her thigh. Gently, she slipped her hand into her pocket to silence it.

"I'm grateful Ginny mailed the second set of invitations," Hermione said, pulling her hand from her pocket and grabbing a glass. "The amount of calling just to get the flowers moved from one venue to the Burrow was a fulltime job."

"It was nothing!" Ginny smiled. "A quick trip to the owlery was an easy task."

The glass paused midair on the way to Hermione's mouth. "And the post office?" she asked slowly.

Ginny's smile faded. "What?"

"Hermione?" Her head snapped over to Ron. She could see him struggling to pull a silver rectangle from his pocket. "I think your dad keeps calling my celly phone," he said, finally wrestling it from his pants.

Hermione looked back to Ginny. "And the post office," she repeated, her own cell phone vibrating again.

"Uhhh..." Ginny looked to Harry, who was watching on, stunned.

"For my Muggle relatives," Hermione said. She, too, pulled her phone from her pocket. "Who don't understand owl post." She laid her phone beside Ron's on the table.

"I'm so sorry, I—" Hermione held up a hand, stopping Ginny. Her eyes were focused on the tiny screens of the identical flip phones she had been forced to buy, each blinking with "Mum" and "Dad," "Joan" and "Dave."

She stood. She couldn't even look Ron in the eyes as she pulled out her wand and said, "Reducto." Both phones burst into tiny pieces of plastic and shredded electronics. Hermione turned on her heel.

She was going home.

Ron had waited half an hour before leaving Harry and Ginny. He had listened to his sister apologize profusely, and while he was irked, he couldn't blame her for not thinking through the Muggle side of things.

There were times even he forgot about the Muggleness, and he lived it every day now.

"Hermione?" he called as he stepped out of the fireplace. His eyes immediately went to the couch, where, thank Merlin, the baby white grand piano was no longer nestled into the cushions. Instead, it had been shrunk again and moved into an empty corner of the room just in case it decided to return to its normal size.

Hermione was not on the couch either, and so Ron moved tentatively into his home.

"'Mione?" he called again.

"Here!" her muffled voice came from the kitchen.

He slowly entered the room, his eyes scanning for Hermione. When he spotted her, however, he quickly averted his eyes. "'Mione! I'm—I'm not supposed to see you in your dress!"

He closed his eyes, wondering what the hell was happening now. He could hear a sprinkling of laughter coming from his fiance, who, from what he'd briefly gathered, was sitting in front of the fridge.

"It's not my dress though, is it?"

Ron slowly peeked through pale lashes.

"Oh, just get over here and join me," she laughed. She extended a bottle of firewhisky toward him. Beside her lay two more empty bottles.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Why aren't you?"

Ron bit back a smile, his eyes taking in the absolute adorableness of Hermione like this. "Are you sloshed?" he asked.

"Can you blame me?"

Ron sank to the floor beside her. The billowy white dress took up most of the seating room, but Hermione helped push it aside for Ron to fit.

"Why are you wearing that?" he asked. He could still feel her chuckling beside him, her mirth making his own doubts and worries start to fade.

"Because I think I'm losing my mind over this bloody wedding." She handed him his own firewhisky. "And I wanted to see if I actually could charm the fabric the right color. Turns out, I cannot."

"You? Not able to do magic?"

"Never tried fabric charms before. Never had to. And certainly not ones meant to last for hours." She started giggling again. "Then I came down here and started drinking, because why not?"

"Yeah?" Ron sipped from the bottle. "Who would have thought," he mused, "that this is where we'd be two nights before our wedding."

"What? Drunk on the kitchen floor?"

"Yeah."

That set them off on another bout of giggles.

"Remember when you said we should just elope?" Hermione finally asked.

"Yes?" He hadn't meant it in the moment. But they'd just gone to the third flower shop in five hours, and he'd been feeling rather overwhelmed at the prospect of watching another person arrange flowers with names he would never remember in bunches he'd soon forget.

"We should do that," Hermione said, pulling him from his thoughts. "Elope."

"Hermione," he started, "you don't mean that…"

"Oh, but I do." She turned to face him, her eyes blazing. "I know you think I'm talking like this because of the firewhisky, but I'm serious. You said it best the other night—all I want is you. Why are we doing all the other stuff? The dumb dress, the church ceremony, the big party. The—the—oh, the fucking piano—" firewhisky sloshed from her bottle as she gestured wildly to the living room. "I just want you. Everything else was for my parents. Some for yours, too. I just want to marry you, and I'd rather it be on our terms."

Ron felt his chest burning with love for the crazy woman in front of him. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asked, gently taking her hands in his own. The firewhiskies dropped between them, spilling onto Hermione's dress. She didn't seem to mind.

"I've never been more certain about anything in my life," she said.

"So we're eloping?"

A grin spread wide across Hermione's face. "We're eloping."

"Right now?"

"Yes!"

"Today?"

"I can't think of a better time."

"But what if—"

"No," Hermione clutched his hands. "No 'what ifs.' The biggest what ifs already happened, and we were not prepared. There's no planning here. I'm marrying you right now, Ronald Weasley, because I love you with all my heart."

He smiled wide. "Who are you, and what have you done to Hermione Granger?"

"Well, you're looking at the soon-to-be Hermione Weasley." She gave him a tiny smirk. "And I've heard she's a lot more daring."

Ron let out a loud, boisterous laugh. It was the lightest he felt in days, really, and despite the nerves building, he knew they were starting their journey together, right there, curled up in a too-white dress, drinking firewhisky on the floor of their tiny kitchen.

It was perfect.