CHAPTER 10: A Weekend in Paris
Nobody could quite believe that it had been exactly two years since Ron and Hermione officially decided that they were crazy about each other. Some couldn't believe they had made it this far without killing each other; others were so in love with the idea of Ron and Hermione being in love that they were determined to see them grandparents before they'd turned 21.
"'Mione," said Ron, one lazy Sunday afternoon, "I have a surprise for you."
Hermione sat bolt upright, in shock. Ron was not one for surprises; he lacked the creative ability, for a start; along with intuition, tact and general common sense. To have him proclaim a surprise was, well, a complete surprise.
He rustled around in his bag and pulled out an envelope.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Well, it's an envelope," he said, almost seriously.
"Oh, shut up, I know that!" she said. She took the envelope and ripped it open. "Oh, wow!"
Two crisp new plane tickets fell into her hands. Not only was the surprise wonderful, but it was an enormous gesture; it meant that Ron had actually gone to the rather colossal effort of working out how to buy Muggle plane tickets, and actually doing it. She'd been telling him for months how much she wanted to go to Paris again; that she wanted to do it the way she'd done it with her parents.
"How did you –" she asked.
"Been saving up for months," he said, rather proudly. "I knew you wanted to go on a holiday on one of those flying Muggle things, so…well…I asked Dad to help me, and we did it."
Hermione wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the forehead. "You are wonderful!" she cried.
"I do my best," he said.
She looked at the tickets again. "Fourteenth of September. That's…three weeks from now."
"Yeah," said Ron. "I figured, sooner the better, hey? I booked us a nice little hotel room overlooking the Trifle Tower."
Hermione burst out laughing. "The Trifle Tower? Are you sure?"
"Yeah," said Ron, a little hurt. "The big metal thing those crazy Muggles built. You know."
"Ron, darling," she said, a little condescendingly, patting him on the shoulder. "I feel I must correct you. It's actually the Eiffel Tower. Not the Trifle Tower."
Ron looked shocked for a split second, then shrugged. "Oh, well. Same ruddy difference, anyway."
Later that night, while everybody was finishing their dinner and little Teddy was trying to create a symphony orchestra with his fork and bowl, Pigwidgeon flapped madly toward the window, but didn't quite make it; he slammed headfirst into the glass and vanished from sight.
"Oh, that poor bird," said Hermione, scraping her chair backward and dashing out the door. She scooped the owl into her arms and carried him inside. He let out a feeble hoot before, rather unsteadily, flapping toward his cage.
"Who's that from?" asked Ron, through a mouthful of steak-and-kidney pie.
Hermione tore open the envelope Pigwidgeon had been clutching in his talons. She scanned the letter and let out a gasp.
"Quick, Hermione, read it to us," said Mrs Weasley.
"Dear Weasley family, Mr Harry Potter and Miss Hermione Granger: The Longbottom and Lovegood families request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of their son and daughter, Neville and Luna, on Sunday 16 September. The ceremony will begin at 3:30pm at Southshire Cathedral, followed by a celebratory feast in the Great Hall at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Ron's fork dropped to the floor with a loud clatter, and Ginny began coughing so hard that Harry had to give her a few good thumps to the back.
"Gee, he's full of secrets," said Ron, finally. "I mean, the guy's engaged to Looney Lovegood and he doesn't even tell us 'til three weeks before the wedding? That's –" He stopped short, sudden realisation hitting him. "Oh, no. That's – that's –" He looked in Hermione's direction and mouthed, "Paris."
Hermione's face fell.
"We have to go," said Hermione later. Dinner had been long forgotten, and everybody had parted ways to go to bed. "Ron, we can't miss Neville's wedding. He'd be so hurt. We can change Paris, can't we?"
"I dunno," said Ron, glumly. He was lying in the middle of his bedroom floor, staring gloomily up at the ceiling. "Don't care, really. All my plans get messed up."
"That's not true," said Hermione. "We can change the trip. We could even Apparate there the day after!"
"No!" said Ron. "We were going to fly there. We were going to do it the Muggle way. Just so I could prove to you I could. If we can't do it the Muggle way, we won't do it at all!"
"Ron, you're being unreasonable," said Hermione. She tried to lie down next to him, but he stiffened and looked away. "Don't be angry with me, Ronald! It's not my fault Neville's getting married then! How could anything I do change that?"
"Well, I don't know! Maybe if you could see me as being important, for a change?" Ron knew he was being ridiculous, he knew he was being irrational; but he was riled now, he was furious with Neville, with the world, for ruining his great plan to make Hermione happy; and now his anger, his adrenaline had picked up momentum, like he was on a bullet train that wouldn't stop.
Hermione's mouth fell open. She felt as though she had been kicked, hard, in the stomach. "I have never seen you as unimportant. Never." She stood. "If you're going to be like this, Ron, then I'm leaving."
"Fine," said Ron, sulkily. When the door slammed hard behind her, a wave of panic washed over him. He hadn't actually expected her to go. What if she didn't come back? He loved her too much for that. He sprang up, tearing downstairs after her, but she'd already jumped into the little Muggle car she'd bought and driven off down the road, the illumination from her headlights swinging wildly through the trees.
He threw himself onto their bed. His body felt like glue. He could barely process thought or feeling. He rolled over and caught a whiff of Hermione's wonderful soapy scent in the pillow. An unwilling tear rolled down his cheek, which he soon wiped away furiously. He couldn't cry – he had to be strong. He had to be a man. He had to be Ron.