Usually, Ron Wealsey loved Christmas. The presents were amazing. (Though he always complained, he even appreciated the maroon sweater his mother inevitably knitted for him every single year.) The food was outstanding. (During the holidays, no one ever complained if you ate too much or too loudly!) The company was excellent. (The holidays were one time of year when it was a benefit if you came from a large family.)
This year, however, Ron was miserable, and the source of his misery came in the form of the girlish squeals that erupted from the now cleared dinner table. Silvery blonde, curly brown, and vibrant red heads were bent over the mound of books, planners, and samples that lie on the table. Each of them was giving her opinion on the most flattering styles for the wedding dress, the colors of the flowers, and even the most popular honeymoon spots.
Ron didn't want to think of dresses and flowers…and definitely not honeymoons…as he knew all these things were being planned for his baby sister. Yes, it was finally official: Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter were getting married.
And between the holidays and wedding details, his mother was in a planning frenzy. The Burrow was full of dress patterns and fabric swatches and menu ideas and cake samples. (Okay, so he didn't so much mind the cake samples.) All of it, quite frankly, made Ron queasy.
When he realized that he was no longer following Percy's latest rant about the newly proposed wand regulations, Ron gave his dad a pained grimace and stood. Before he knew what he was doing, he was hovering over Hermione's shoulder. He almost felt sorry for Harry who sat there with a slightly frightened look on his face nodding at each of the women's suggestions.
Then Ron looked down at the table and literally became lost in a sea of lace and silk…and what were those? Bewitched cocktail napkins?!
With a disgusted snort, he leaned down and whispered, "When we get married, Hermione, we won't have to do all this, will we?"
It's quite amazing how a single whisper can carry even in a crowded, noisy room. Ron, however, didn't notice that all other conversation and movement in the room had stopped. Instead, he could only look into Hermione's eyes as he realized what he'd just said.
"Ronald, did you just… I mean, do you really want to…" Hermione's words trailed off and she simply stared at Ron, who was now muttering to himself.
"This isn't how I intended to do this."
With those words, he produced a small velvet box from his pocket. He didn't notice his mother's muffled tears or the proud smiles on his brothers' faces as he opened the lid. He only saw Hermione. "So, will you?"
Still unable to find her voice, Hermione answered him with a kiss.