A/N: So there isn't actually a moment in the book where this could happen—per Harry's narration, there isn't a moment where Ron and Harry are alone at the wedding—so it's a bit of artistic freedom that I've taken here.

10. Ottery St. Catchpole, Twilight

Harry could not have imagined a more perfect evening.

At long last, a cool breeze had started blowing gently through the tent, offering some relief from the August heat that lingered even in the sunset's wake. He'd never seen Molly nor Arthur glow quite so brightly, and he swore even Ron had a downright joyful air about him that Harry knew he'd deny vehemently if asked.

Harry leaned back in his lawn chair and took a long swig of his butterbeer. It would only be more perfect, he reckoned, if in the morning he, Ron, and Hermione weren't fleeing into a dark future of unknown in the face of what would undoubtedly be a brutal war.

Ron crashed into the chair next to him with a contagious smile on his face.

"What a night! Reckon Mum hasn't danced this much since her Hogwarts days." The pair of them watched as Molly spun a rather green-looking Charlie about the floor. "Almost makes you wish we didn't have to leave, doesn't it?"

That familiar pang of guilt prodded Harry in the same way it had been for months. He felt his mood switch to one of annoyance—he hadn't asked them to do this for him, to make sacrifices, to come—

But before he could speak, Ron's arm was around his shoulder, his familiar laugh filling the warm air around them.

"Oi, you thick git—when are you going to realize that no matter what we say, we're not looking for you to give us a way out of this?"

Harry let out a bitter half-laugh. "Never, I'd wager. You'd have to be mad not to want a way out."

Ron nodded and took a long pull from his butterbeer. "Barking."

Ron's irises were sparkling in the lights of the tent, a pure shade of blue Harry had come to associate with Ron's happiest moments. He followed Ron's line of sight, unsurprised to find a certain bushy-haired genius at the end of it, although slightly baffled to find two redheads with her.

The twins, dashing in their expensive suits, were twirling Hermione between them. After several rotations, she held up a staggering hand and pressed the other over her heart. Her voice was lost in the crowd, but Harry could imagine her laugh—familiar, untainted by war, safe. Her sleek hair, no doubt the result of what must've been a complex Glamour Charm, had started to puff out a bit in the oppressive humidity that was making even Harry's thin, straight hair frizz slightly.

Under his breath, Ron muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "wankers."

Harry snorted into his drink, which was getting dangerously low in volume. "Who, your doting twin brothers?"

"Ought to get their mitts off her, don't you think?" His tone was indignant, but the mirth written plainly on his face belied him.

"Getting a little defensive, don't you think?"

Ron flushed a light shade of pink but said nothing.

Harry laughed. "Perhaps this is when you ask her if she'd like to dance with you. Y'know, before Krum does. Better yet, maybe McLaggen'll show his face—haven't seen him yet, but you can't be sure with that one, can you—"

Ron sputtered, spraying a thin stream of butterbeer from his lips. The skin of his neck was now a dangerous shade of red. Harry patted his back.

"Hey, speaking of—there's a sight!"

Across the tent, Luna had somehow guided Krum into an upbeat foxtrot of sorts; she looked, in her typical fashion, unruffled and distantly amused. Krum, on the other hand, gave Harry the impression that he feared for his life, albeit mildly.

The sight was too much for Ron: he bent at the waist, torn between hacking and laughing, although clearly teetering on the edge of hypoxia.

Harry allowed him a moment to collect himself before saying impishly, "Gone a little heavy on the butterbeer?"

But as the song changed to a slower one, Ron simply let out a deep, satisfied sigh, closed his eyes, and said, "Just a good night, mate."

Harry let his eyes wander. At the centre of the tent, Charlie had taken Fleur's arm and was guiding her delicately about on the floor. Not far from them, Bill did the same with Gabrielle. It was hard to look anywhere else, but even so, off to the side, slightly eclipsed by Muriel's ancient form, were Hermione and Mr. Weasley.

His hand floated over her waist, not quite touching, and Hermione's had found his shoulder. Their free hands were clasped. Hermione was grinning and enraptured by whatever Mr. Weasley was saying.

There was a tenderness to this that was not lost on Harry. It was easy to forget that Ron's family had taken Hermione under their wing, too. Despite her intelligence, not even Hermione could navigate the wizarding world alone at the age of eleven—she had relied heavily on the Weasleys for their assistance. She and Ginny were fast friends. Hermione was just as welcome as Harry at the Burrow for every dinner and holiday (even more so now that Molly was satisfied with the relationship between Ron and Hermione).

Harry realized, upon reflection, that with Hermione's family gone, everyone left that she loved was within the Weasley's wards.

Harry allowed himself a quiet smile before sneaking a look at Ron, who had since opened his eyes. Though he could've imagined it, they seemed uncharacteristically moist—Harry was shocked at this sentimentality—but all Ron offered was one mysterious sniffle before clearing his throat and rising to his feet.

"Wish it could all stay like this," he murmured. "No You-Know-Who. No war. No Fidelius Charms or Polyjuice Potion. Just another year at Hogwarts, with Snape being a tosser and Dumbledore being alive."

"And quidditch," said Harry.

"Quidditch," Ron moaned. "Blimey, I'm gonna miss Quidditch. Let's win the war quick, then. I'd like to be back in time to flatten Slytherin for the House Cup."

"I dunno," Harry mused. "Without Dumbledore around—"

"Oh, bollocks, you're right," Ron laughed. "Always at the end-of-term feast"—he donned his best Dumbledore impression, which was, admittedly, quite terrible—"'And for his unprecedented bravery, I award one trillion points to Gryffindor in the blessed name of Harry James P—"

Harry was surprised into laughing. "Alright—"

"What I wouldn't give to see the look on Malfoy's face as we positively bowled him over in the last Quidditch game of the season."

"No chance," Harry said. "I haven't the foggiest as to where to even begin with all this, really. It could take ages." When Ron said nothing, he added, "Still not too late to back out."

Ron chuckled warmly and clapped a hand over Harry's back, shaking his head before taking a deep drink of butterbeer.

"Gonna take a bit more'n that to get rid of me, mate."