I'm sorry this has taken so long for me to get out! I've been SUPER busy. It's kind of short, but I wanted to update right away. Also, for those looking for more fanfic, check out my Price of War. I just updated it a little while ago, and will be updating it again by the end of next week. So check it out! :D
So, anyway, read and enjoy! and please do review! I love to hear what you guys think!
Chapter 3
Hermione and Ron have been walking on eggshells around me all day. Ever since my break down, they've been a little nervous to say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing, in case it sets me off again. They needn't worry though; I've no desire to have a repeat of yesterday.
"Ginny?" Hermione asks tentatively from the other side of my door. She found the perfect (her words, not mine) bridesmaid/maid of honor dress, and brought it straight over for me to try on. She is now waiting on the other side of my door. "Ginny, how does it look? I mean—does it look all right? If it doesn't, I'm sure I can take it back and find something else…"
She continues to ramble outside my door. The dress is actually very nice. It's emerald green, and stops just below my knees. It's a strapless that is tight at the waist, but then flows out. And the embroidery. Oh such beautiful designs are embroidered into it.
Hearing Hermione still rambling to herself, I open the door wide and smile.
"Oh," she breaths out, taking a step back. "It looks beautiful. Just beautiful," she blinks a few times. "I mean, if that's what you think—"
"Stop," I put my hands up, and laugh slightly. "Please stop."
"Stop, what?" She looks confused.
"Stop with the kid gloves. You and Ron have been doing it all day—" she starts to interrupt me, but I shush her, "No, you have. And I understand why. But trust me when I say, I don't want a repeat of yesterday, anymore than you do."
"I'm sorry Gin, really," she starts to hug me, but I back away from her.
"I'm not a china doll, I'm not made of porcelain. I won't break with rough handling." I grab her hands and look her in the eyes, "please, just stop with the kid gloves. It's driving me mental."
"Okay," she nods, biting her lip.
I smile, drop her hands, and do a little twirl in the dress, showing her how it fans out.
"You're right," I say once I stop. "It's beautiful."
"I'm so glad I got your size right! It's just the perfect dress, really," she smiles to herself.
I do another twirl, watching as the dress fans out around me.
"Muggle clothes aren't so bad," I confess. "How did you get Ron on board with the idea?"
"Easy," she grins. "I told him he either wears a tux for our wedding, or he can move back into the Burrow and forgo certain…things."
I wrinkle my nose, "let's not elaborate on those things."
Hermione laughs at my obvious discomfort, her hair bouncing off her shoulders with each new wave of laughter. I glare at her, but can only do so for a few seconds before succumbing to laughter myself.
"Plus," she starts to say after our laughter dies down, "I had Harry's help—" she stops abruptly, watching me anxiously.
"It's all right Hermione, honestly," I roll my eyes at her. I will not fall apart again; certainly not from the mere mention of his name.
"I know, I know," a nervous laugh escapes her lips.
"Go on then," I coax her, "how did Harry help you?"
"Well," she smiles slightly, "he explained to Ron how traditional muggle weddings are supposed to go, and what they wear and everything."
"And Ron believed him?" I let out a laugh. "He didn't think it was a big joke?"
"Harry and I showed him pictures of my parents' wedding, so he had to believe us," she says. "Though while we were showing him, he kept tapping the photos, trying to make them move." She shakes her head, laughing.
"That's my brother for you," I stifle another laugh.
"Oi! Someone talking about me?" Ron joins Hermione on the landing, closely followed by—I take an involuntary step backwards—Harry.
He seems as surprised to see me, as I am to see him—which is odd, as I live here. My first instinct is to slam my door shut and barricade myself in the room, but that would only prove to Ron and Hermione how fragile I am, and I am not fragile. So instead, I stand tall and muster a smile, while at the same time, trying to block out images from our past—especially the kiss in my bedroom before the war. Stop it. I shake my head to clear it.
"Yes Ron, we were talking about you," Hermione's voice is slightly strained as she looks from Ron, to Harry, then to me.
"What for?" Ron asks. Harry just stands against the wall with his hands in his pockets, looking at the floor.
"Hermione told me you were poking and prodding all her parents' wedding photos," I say, "you know muggle photos don't move, you git."
"Well they ought to!" He fires back.
I roll my eyes and sigh loudly. My brother, the half-wit.
"Is that the dress for the wedding?" Harry asks suddenly, watching me. His green eyes taking in everything from my disheveled hair, to my bare toes. I feel myself start to blush.
Stop it, I tell myself, but it doesn't work. His gaze still has the same effect on me as it ever has.
"Yes," I hear myself answer. "Hermione just brought it over. It's lovely, isn't it?"
"Very," Harry nods, then looks away and clears his throat. "I—er—should be getting going." He starts to head back down the stairs, then turns back toward us, and looks at me again. He opens his mouth, closes it, gives a little nod, and continues down the rest of the stairs.
"But you only just got here!" Ron yells after him, taking the stairs two at a time.
Hermione turns to me, beaming.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"Oh nothing," she says softly, still beaming.
"What?" I ask a little louder, becoming irritated.
"It's just," she laughs, "I think that boy's still in love with you."
"Wh-what?" I stammer. "No. No, you're mental."
That's not possible. He stopped loving me a long time ago. I know it. At least I'm pretty sure…
I look over to see Hermione trying to stifle a laugh.
"I'm telling you," I say more to myself than to her, "you're mental."
