This wedding business was going to drive him abso-bloody-lutely mad.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ron heaved a heavy sigh. Ever since the planning had begun in earnest, it seemed like he existed in a world dictated by chaotic decisions that followed no apparent logical progression. It was hell on his nature, going against every rule any decent chess player followed. Everything was so tied up in emotion and tradition and ceremony—it disgusted him to think about it.

The gown, the shoes, the bridesmaids' robes, the guest list, the food, the venue—the list was not only never ending, but also the details of each item were subject to change at a moment's notice. Several times in the past few weeks some snag in the plans would take on more importance than any thing else, and the world (which he, regrettably, was part of) was supposed to just hold its breath until things were once again back on track.

Of course, if things were to get back on any kind of recognizable track that generally meant Hermione was needed. And if Hermione was given the slightest inkling that she maybe, possibly, might be needed, it meant she would go rushing off to save the day. It did not matter what her previous plans were…no, the bloody wedding had to be saved and she was the only person capable of doing it. It had happened numerous times, and today's cancellation of their lunch date was just one more source of irritation.

Ron reached into his desk for a sheet of parchment to respond to Hermione's hastily dashed explanation of why she wouldn't be joining him at the Leaky Cauldron. In truth, he hadn't really read her excuse, because he was sure if he saw the phrase "emergency with fill-in-the-blank wedding item", he was going to curse the next person to walk into his office out of sheer frustration. He didn't think he would be quite so hurt and angry if it were their wedding she was devoting practically her every waking moment to. Then he might understand the constant sheets of parchment fluttering into his office with words like 'I'm sorry' or 'Next time—I promise!' written in her damnably elegant script.

But no, it wasn't her own wedding Hermione was so wrapped up in. No, instead it was the wedding of his bloody stupid little sister and his clearly demented best friend. Once Ginny and Harry had decided to move up the date of their wedding by six months and Ginny appointed Hermione maid-of-honor, Ron had begun to spend more and more evenings in their flat alone with his brooding feelings. Now that the wedding was only a week away, Ron saw more of his co-workers than he did of his fiancé, and his patience was wearing thin.

All the combined factors, plus his empty stomach may have been what caused him to begin his response so sarcastically.

Dearest Hermione;

So sorry to hear that you won't be able to make our lunch plans—although I suppose I should be used to it by now. Will you at least be home for supper? It would be nice to actually see you for more than five minutes before I go to take care of the final preparations for Harry's stag night.

Eagerly awaiting having my fiancé back,

Ronald B. Weasley

As he watched the paper fly out of his office, Ron let out a growl. No doubt his sarcastic and petty note would only serve to increase the tension between him and Hermione, but at this point he could not help himself. They had been engaged just over a month, and so far hardly anything about living with Hermione was as he imagined it.

Truthfully, the first week had been bliss. Secluded in the haven of the Burrow at Christmas-time, they had begun to relearn one another; sharing in person things that had previously only been revealed behind the veil of parchment and ink. Ron had a thousand moments of that idyllic week emblazoned upon his memory.

The way her hand felt in his as they walked down to the Village to see the Christmas lights.

The sight of her soft smile as they spoke of what their future—a concept that was glorious in and of itself—might hold, each scarcely believing that their dreams were so close to becoming reality.

The taste of her kisses lingering on his mouth long after they had returned to more public gatherings, causing his ears to flush beet red whenever one of his brothers called him from his reverie.

Or undoubtedly his favorite, the way she had spoken his name after the first time they had made love. Lying there with his face buried in her lily-of-the-valley scented hair, thrills had traveled up and down his spine to hear her almost breathless voice caress the syllables of his name.

Sitting in his office at the Ministry, Ron leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on the desk in an attempt to relax. Yes, there were plenty of blissful memories he could lose himself in, and he had thought surely such things would continue, that nothing could remove him from this utopian existence. They well might have stayed in that happy world had it not been for that damnable New Year's Eve party his mother had thrown.

The New Year's Eve party where Harry and Ginny decided to announce that not only did they want to move up the wedding to early February, but they wanted Ron and Hermione to serve as best man and maid of honor.

At first, Ron had been honored that Harry wanted chosen to have him to stand at his side on the big day. Ron's next thought had been one of mischievous glee as he realized that he would be the one to plan Harry's Stag Night. Both he and Hermione had readily agreed to the offers of their best friends.

But what started out as an honor quickly turned into a chore. It became apparent that Hermione was taking on far more responsibility than a typical maid of honor. This put her in the position of mediator between Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. Ron's highly independent baby sister was struggling to cope with their mother's desire to throw the perfect wedding for her only daughter. He knew from Hermione's stories that they two Weasley women were on each other's last nerve and he quickly surmised that were it not for Hermione's diplomatic efforts, they would probably have killed one another by this point.

Instead, the three of them became as thick as thieves and spent their days preparing for the ceremony amidst the flash of cameras and reporters begging for interviews about Harry Potter's wedding. Harry had taken to referring to the three women as "The Wedding Trio," which he claimed was quickly becoming the new favorite of the media, now that they were finally over reporting on news of "The Golden Trio." And while Ron did not envy Ginny the prospect of planning her nuptials whilst under the spotlight, a part of him did miss the closeness he had shared with Harry and Hermione during the hay-day of their trio.

It was especially hard to listen to conversations between the three women. While he couldn't really bring himself to care about the details they were going over, the inside jokes they had plagued him with a sense of loss. He recalled a day when, after a seemingly innocent word from another, he could send a glance Hermione and Harry's way during an ordinary conversation and cause them both to burst into laughter. The demands of work—and now this stupid bloody wedding—meant that he spent continuously less time with his two best friends. He knew he was being petulant, but there was a part of him that truly missed when it had just been the three of them, with no other factors to consider.

Even as the sadness passed through his head, he knew it was immature and really made no logical sense. They were growing older; of course they would be spending more time apart. Especially now that they were getting married, he knew that they would want time with their spouses—even if that meant him and Hermione being apart from Harry more than ever before. Ron scowled to himself—for something that was supposed to make him so happy it sure was causing a lot of change in his life, and he truly hated change.

With a sigh, Ron realized he was back to feeling the way he had when Harry had first told him of wanting to ask for Ginny's hand. In true Harry fashion, he had told Ron about it before anyone else, trusting his best friend's judgment on the issue, and wanting his permission to join the family. Ron had readily agreed and encouraged Harry, despite the knot of anxiety that formed in his stomach. Though he had expected this question for years, it made the fact that they were all growing up far too real. A part of him felt betrayed by Harry's desire to take this step in life—one that truly felt like a step away from him. Ron knew that it was foolish, but a part of him longed for their Hogwarts days, when he and Harry had been inseparable and things like women and their damnable wedding plans didn't complicate matters any.

He was so engrossed in what he was sure his mother would term a 'pity party' that it took Hermione's response smacking him in the forehead to get his attention. Irritably, he grabbed the note out of the air and felt his face heat with anger as his gaze traveled the page.

From: Hermione Jean Granger, Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures

To: Ronald Bilius Weasley, Auror Headquarters

Re: Your oh-so-elegant supper invitation

Regrettably, I will have to turn down your eloquent and romantic suggestion for dinner, as I will be helping my best friend prepare for the most important day of her life. I am so sorry if this does fit in with what you had planned, but both of us agreed to help Ginny and Harry. It is not my fault if your job primarily consists of planning a get together for the guys—something you all would have done on your own without any problem. After all, it's not as if you've had to do any real planning.

Unlike you, I have to be concerned with the events of the actual day, and while YOU may not consider the—how did you phrase it? Ah yes—'stupid traditions and fluffy ceremony' to be the important part of the day, Ginny does. Therefore while you are making sure that you satisfy your stomach, I will be taking care of Ginny. I am quite sure you can fix something adequate for yourself to consume before leaving for your evening of debauchery.

Perhaps you could ask Harry if you could stay at Grimmauld Place tonight, as I am sure a bed there would be substantially more comfortable then the couch in our sitting room.

Hermione Jean Granger

Ron's fist banged on his desk in frustration. Damn her! Hermione had seen fit to respond with his snarky and sarcastic letter with something she knew would wound. Not only had she chosen to make out as if the Stag Night was the easiest thing in the world to coordinate, but she just had to throw in the careless way he'd described the wedding during the row they'd had a week ago.

He began balling up the letter in the hand that was not currently attempting to make a hole in his desk. She knew how much effort he had put into creating a Stag Night that was suited to Harry. Ron had spent ages contacting everyone and coordinating their various busy schedules to select and evening when all of Harry's chums could come together. His choice of venue was something he considered a stroke of brilliance, given that a typical night out at staring at strippers had been banned by both the bride and groom. He had worked very well around Ginny's stipulation that there be no nearly naked or naked women at this party. And the decorations, he thought with a smirk, they were brilliant in and of themselves.

He knew his planning was nothing compared to what Hermione had been working on, and he knew that his task was relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of the wedding, but he wanted it to be good for Harry. It was the last time that the two of them would be 'free men' together the last time they would be able to hang out without concerns about 'spouses' and what time the 'little women' would want them to come home.

His anxiety over what Harry would think of the party was what had caused the row where he'd uttered quite possibly the stupidest words of his life. Hermione knew that something was bothering him. She always did and as usual she wouldn't stop pestering him to just talk to her about it.

Ron had been in no mood, and told her that he was busy planning something for his best friend and that he didn't need to go into his feelings.

Hermione had snapped back at him that she thought him more than capable of organizing a simple party for the blokes.

Ron had known it was the wrong thing to say, but in his state of worry over his own responsibilities, he asked her if she didn't have to go work on something involving 'stupid traditions' for the ridiculously 'fluffy ceremony.'

A wounded look had crossed Hermione's face, and she had promptly left their flat, calling behind her that she would be staying with Ginny for the night.

They had existed in a calm state of avoidance of the issue since then. She had returned, they'd gone back to sharing the cramped double bed, and he had hoped and prayed his stupidity was forgiven and forgotten. Apparently that was not the case.

"Ron, Ron, RON! OI! Pay attention, damn it! There's a giant spider behind your head!" Jumping up from his desk chair, Ron hurriedly looked around, wand at the ready to smash the offending arachnid. It quickly became apparent that there was no such creature, and Ron twisted to look in his fireplace, where George's head was waiting with a huge grin.

"Damn, George, did you have to say there was a bloody spider? Couldn't you have just waited a moment?"

"Sorry baby brother, but you seemed so intent on turning your desk into wood pulp that I had to think of some way to get your attention. And you know it's customary for a customer of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes to receive notification when a delivery is about to be made. If I were you, I'd make myself scarce in about thirty seconds, before Potter can find you."

A grin split Ron's features, and he hurriedly thanked his brother. He left his office, trying to affect a casual stroll down the corridor to Harry's office. When he reached the door, he simply paused to wait.

It didn't take long. A trill of trumpets filled the air, followed by several large popping noises as his surprise began to fill Harry's office. The squeak of literally hundreds of Pygmy Puffs could be heard through the door, and Ron began to laugh hysterically. It was only made better when he best friend of twelve years flung open the door covered in Pygmy Puffs.

"Weasley, I am going to KILL YOU!"

A/N: HAHAHA Poor Harry, he is suffering rather a lot for the sake of my amusement. . .

Lots of love as always goes to my wonderful, beautiful beta hgfan1111, who patiently helped me get through this chapter. She was there to understand when I frustratingly stated: 'All I know is that Ron and Hermione are fighting, and they're both too stubborn to tell me why!'

Now I know I may have mentioned something about the Pygmy Puff mystery being revealed soon, I proooomise it will be in the next chapter, and my lovely hgfan1111 will be cowriting it with me, cause she's awesome like that. It was originally going to be part of this chapter, but the flow was no where near right for it.

Thank you to all my reviewers, you give me the confidence to keep going with this!

Glomps Hugs and Pygmy Puffs,

UD