A/N: No point in beating around the bush. We all know what's happening here. Thank you all for coming along on the ride thus far. This chapter has been in the works since I first started writing this story back in July, and I'm really excited that it's finally done! Even though I've always worked with the mindset that I'm not writing this to please anyone but myself, I really hope you guys enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am just a poor college student doing this for funsies. Don't sue me, please.
"The Last Proposal"
22-23 February 2002
Ron paced intensely back and forth outside the door to Hermione's flat, attempting to take deep breaths but failing miserably. It wasn't often that he didn't go inside straight away, but today was different. Today he'd brought the ring. Today, he was going to propose. He was going to do it. He was. The only problem was that every time he came to the conclusion that he was, in fact, going to propose, he'd chicken out the second his hand moved toward the door handle.
He knew she was in there alone; she'd been off work since four that afternoon. When they'd discussed their plans for the evening earlier, she had been very excited about ordering Chinese takeaway and rereading the latest novel she'd become obsessed with. As far as she knew, he was working the late shift and wouldn't be joining her until nearly midnight. That was a lie, of course; he'd been off since three and had spent the last five hours working up the courage to actually go to her flat.
How was one supposed to ask somebody else to be with them forever, anyway? Ron had tried to string some words together a couple of times, but what he came up with always sounded so forced—and that simply wouldn't do, because shouldn't getting married be a natural thing? It was natural, really; it was what he most wanted to do. But no matter how many times he practiced the words, they never sounded quite right. Hermione had a way with words, but he couldn't very well ask her for help, could he?
Ron sighed deeply for probably the hundredth time since he'd begun pacing nearly half an hour ago. Thankfully nobody else had seemed to notice his presence there, because frankly, he reckoned he looked a little like a psychopath. But of course, he could only blame himself for his current anxiety; he wouldn't be having this problem if he'd just proposed last week like he'd intended to.
On Valentine's Day, Ron had taken Hermione out to a nice restaurant for a romantic dinner. Everything was going swimmingly, and he had been planning to take her back to Grimmauld Place afterward. He'd put out roses and candles in his bedroom—which, incidentally, was charmed shut so that only he could open it, because he wasn't about to take Harry or Ginny's abuse for his loving gestures. But then, they'd seen another couple get engaged a few tables away from their own, and it hit Ron just how terribly cliché it was to propose on Valentine's Day,of all days. She didn't even particularly like the damn holiday, come to think of it. So, he'd suggested they go back to her place instead, and the ring remained in his desk drawer another week.
But now, he had it with him. It was in the inside pocket of his jacket, just waiting for him to summon the nerve to go in there and ask her. There was nothing holding him back now. It was a perfectly ordinary, thoroughly non-clichéd Friday evening, and she certainly wouldn't be expecting anything. He even had her father's blessing on his side, and obtaining that had taken a certain level of Gryffindor courage in itself.
Six Weeks Previously
The lunch had gone well so far; Mr. Granger and Ron had managed to small-talk their way through most of the meal. Mr. Granger discussed the holiday he'd just taken with his wife, and Ron talked about Harry and Ginny's wedding. They'd become pretty good at this over the years; that is, at talking for prolonged periods of time about nothing particularly important. It was a necessary skill, because whenever they started to talk about something too terribly significant, Mr. Granger would tend to lose any semblance of tact and Ron would go on the defensive. Ron was hoping to avoid that on this particular occasion.
At Ron's suggestion, they were eating at a favorite spot of Mr. Granger's; he wasn't about to take any chances. Everything had come together quite well, and both men were feeling fairly relaxed. It wasn't until Ron was about halfway through his chicken parmesan that the real conversation began.
"So, Ron," Mr. Granger began, "I don't suppose you wanted to have lunch so that you could hear about France, though I wouldn't begrudge you if you did—fascinating country, it is."
"Indeed, it sounds that way," Ron said, though truthfully he hadn't taken in much of anything Mr. Granger had told him thus far, about France or otherwise. He cleared his throat before continuing, "Erm, right. Well, I wanted to talk to you, you see. About Hermione, that is." He could feel his ears heating up, but he forced himself to meet the elder man's eyes, which were scrutinizing him in a way that made him feel quite uncomfortable.
"Yes?" Mr. Granger prompted after a moment of silence.
Ron took a deep breath. "I'm gonna ask…askhertomarryme," Ron said, the words falling out of his mouth at an alarming rate. It was best to get it all out there, he supposed. When Mr. Granger didn't respond right away, he continued rapidly: "I've got a ring, and I've got some money saved so she and I can look into getting our own place; her flat will do for now, but obviously we can't very well stay there forever. And I know Hermione would probably kick my arse six ways to Sunday if she knew I'd gone to ask your permission, but my family's always been pretty traditional, so I wanted your blessing before I…y'know. Ask her," he finished, shrugging uncomfortably before taking a quick bite of his meal, simply to have something to do other than look directly at Hermione's father.
"Well Ron, you know as well as I do that whether or not I give you my blessing, Hermione will do as she pleases," Mr. Granger said pointedly, chuckling a little at his own remark. Ron managed a pained smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "You love my daughter, do you not?"
"Of course I do," Ron replied hastily. "More than anything."
Mr. Granger nodded shortly. "Good. She deserves nothing less. And tell me, do you think you're ready for this kind of commitment?"
Ron could hardly get his voice to work; he had to clear his throat loudly before any sound would come out. He tried to remind himself that he'd faced Death Eaters many times before, but somehow Hermione's father seemed much more intimidating at the moment. "It's been her since I was seventeen, and that was just when I realized it," he said honestly, once he could finally choke the words out.
"And you're prepared to support her? Start a family with her?" Mr. Granger inquired.
Ron nodded, knowing what the elder man was getting at but thankful he hadn't explicitly gone there. "I'm working my way up in my department, which'll mean a desk job, eventually. Boring, but safe," he said carefully. "Having a family with Hermione's more important than any job, anyway."
Mr. Granger nodded again. "That's all I wanted to hear. I've known this day was coming, Ron. It's been clear enough since the day you lot came for us in Australia. My blessing is yours."
Ron smiled uneasily. He'd been hoping to avoid any mention of the Australia incident. "I…thank you sir," he said gratefully, relieved that the hard part was over.
"So when do you suppose the wedding will be?" Mr. Granger asked not-quite-casually as he returned to his meal. Ron had to stop himself from groaning aloud. The hard part was over, but apparently, the inquisition was not.
Pacing in the Hallway Once Again
Ron had been planning the Valentine's Day proposal since he'd talked to Mr. Granger. When that had fallen to pieces, he'd sent himself into a bit of a desperate tailspin. He had briefly considered just putting the ring on her finger while she slept or something equally cowardly, but that wouldn't do, not for someone as important as Hermione. So he set himself a deadline—he would ask her before his birthday. That had given him two weeks to get over himself and just do the thing already.
But then things got complicated; he couldn't propose on his birthday, or right near it, because then she'd feel like she had to say yes. Granted, he was pretty sure she was going to say yes—hopefully, anyway—but he wasn't about to leave her without a way out if that's what she wanted. He didn't want to propose on a weeknight, either, because then they wouldn't be able to spend the entire night celebrating. So, that left this weekend. Sometime in the next forty-eight hours, he was going to ask Hermione to marry him. No, that wasn't right—he was going to do it now. He just had to walk in there and do it. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, Ron could think of about forty-seven things that could go wrong, and that was just off the top of his head. However, he forced himself to shove those thoughts to the back of his mind and focus instead on what he was going to say. This was proving to be the really tricky part. When he'd awkwardly broached the subject with Harry the other day, he'd found out that Harry hadn't even prepared a speech at all—he'd said something about "looking at her and knowing what to say." Frankly, that sounded like a load of bullshit to Ron. He was quite certain that he'd just get tongue-tied if he tried to tell Hermione what she really meant to him off the top of his head.
But maybe, just maybe, he didn't need to give a speech, he realized in a stroke of brilliance. He nearly tripped over his own feet as his pacing increased rapidly with his excitement. She knew exactly how he felt about her; they'd had enough of that mushy pillow talk to ensure that much. Maybe all he had to say was what he'd told her dad, that he loved her and that he wanted to be with her. No, that sounded cliché…he should be more specific. Okay, he thought to himself—he'd figure it out piece by piece.
Hermione, I love you. Wait, should he use her full name? Yeah, that sounded more proper. Hermione Jean Granger, I love you. Yes, that sounded official. Then she'd know he had something important to say and wouldn't try to cut him off. Hermione Jean Granger, I love you. Right, that sounded good. He could say that. He'd been saying that for awhile, though he didn't often use her full name while doing so. Still, this he knew he could do well. Even better, he could tell her he loved her more than anything. Yes, that was brilliant. Hermione Jean Granger, I love you more than anything. Perfect. What next?
I want to be with you forever. But did that sound too creepy or obsessive? Forever was a weird word, Ron thought, because he did want to be with her forever, but the word itself just sounded ridiculous. It was the kind of thing someone might say in a muggle fairytale, or maybe in one of those terrible romance films Hermione and Ginny would sometimes watch together when he and Harry went out with the blokes. No, he could come up with a better way to say what he meant. After some brainstorming, he had it: You're it for me. I want to be with you, have a family with you, and grow old with you. There, that covered all of his main objectives, and it was even in a list format. Hermione liked lists.
Hermione Jean Granger, I love you. You're it for me. I want to be with you, have a family with you, and grow old with you. That was good, he decided. He went over it a few more times, repeating it in his head so that he wouldn't forget or trip over his words when he finally went inside. All he had to do was tack the will you marry me part onto the end. Those words would be the tough ones. Will you marry me? Will you marry me? Will you marry me? He tested them again and again, until he was sure he could say them without sounding like a complete tit. He still wasn't entirely sure he'd reached that objective when he stopped, but he figured it was as good as it would get.
The words were there. The only thing he was leaving to chance was his ability to get down on one knee without falling, but he wasn't about to practice that in an open hallway. He'd been fortunate enough not to be disturbed thus far, but it'd be just his luck for a neighbor to come out the moment he decided to practice his kneeling—or even worse, Hermione could hypothetically stick her head out at any second. That'd ruin the surprise once and for all.
He went through his speech one more time and decided it was satisfactory. It wasn't too formal or too over-the-top. And besides, it was the best he could do. He was asking her to marry him, so there was no point in pretending to be something other than he was, because she knew better anyway. And besides, he should really be up front with her about just what she was getting herself into by saying yes.
Taking one more deep breath and wiping a few beads of sweat off his forehead, Ron dug his key out of his pocket and turned it in the lock. Tapping his jacket pocket one more time to make sure the ring was within easy reach, he pushed the door open and walked in, the practiced words on the tip of his tongue. But what he saw when he entered stopped him right in his tracks.
He'd expected to see Hermione curled up in her favorite armchair with her book, possibly still munching on the last bits of her dinner. He'd got the location right, but she wasn't reading. Instead, she was crying, and it didn't look like the kind of crying that came after reading something particularly heart-wrenching. No, these were real-life tears. Proposal forgotten, he hastily took off his jacket and hung it up, muttering a charm to make the pocket undetectable before hurrying over to kneel in front of Hermione.
"What's wrong?" he asked intensely, taking her hands in his. She seemed to be gaining control of herself, which was a good sign—though he couldn't help but blame himself for not being there whenever the tears had started.
"I thought you were working late," she said softly with a hiccup, turning her hands so that their palms were touching.
"Got off early," he lied, trying to swallow his guilt. "What's happened? Is everyone okay?"
Hermione sighed heavily and cleared her throat. "My dad was in an accident. He's okay, I think. My mum wouldn't even let me come to the hospital tonight; she said it could wait until tomorrow."
"Oh, Hermione," Ron said in his very best soothing tone. He pulled her up off the chair, only to take her spot and guide her back into his lap. She turned to face him so that she was straddling him, and he did his best not to respond to this—she was still crying, after all. "But he's okay, yeah?" he asked worriedly.
"I think so. Mum wouldn't tell me much, but if he was going to…you know…she would have asked me to come, I'm sure of it," she replied, burrowing her face into his neck as a fresh round of tears came to her eyes. "I don't know if there's even a reason to be crying, I'm just worried. And relieved at the same time, if that makes any sense."
"Doesn't need to," Ron replied, rubbing her back comfortingly. "What kind of an accident, do you know?"
"He and Mum were driving home from the practice, and someone else's car hit theirs on the driver's side. Mum wasn't hurt, save a few scratches; Dad got the brunt of it. She made it sound like he'd been in surgery tonight. I do wish she'd let me come," Hermione said fretfully.
"We can go if you want," Ron offered immediately.
"She won't even tell me which hospital he's in until tomorrow," Hermione lamented. "Though how she expects me to have a quiet evening at home, I've no idea."
"We'll go first thing in the morning, then," Ron said decisively. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt his hopes of proposing slip away. Even he knew it was not tactful to do so when her mind was so clearly on something else; once again, it would simply have to wait. Besides, he wanted to see for himself that Mr. Granger was okay—he'd never known anyone that had been in a car accident before, but from what he understood, a lot of the victims couldn't walk away unscathed.
"You don't have to come if you don't want to," Hermione said quietly, pressing a light kiss to his cheek before leaning back to look at him properly.
"I do want to," he assured her, causing her to look immensely relieved. "Now, why don't I make us some tea, and we can have a nice, quiet evening at home, yeah?"
Hermione bit her lip and nodded. "I don't suppose there's any more we can do, anyhow."
"He's going to be just fine," Ron repeated confidently, though he really had no idea. He leaned in to peck her on the lips before they got up off the chair. She muttered something about blankets and disappeared toward the bedroom while Ron focused on making the tea. Several minutes later found them sitting on the sofa together, Hermione resting her feet on Ron's lap. They sipped their tea without talking; Hermione turned on her television and flipped to the news channel. Neither one of them was paying much attention, but it was nice to have something distracting in the background.
"Ron?" Hermione said tentatively after a few minutes, breaking their comfortable silence.
"Hmm?"
"I was just thinking…" she trailed off, her eyes on her tea.
"You'll have to be more specific. You think a lot," Ron teased, rubbing one of her feet tenderly.
Hermione pursed her lips in response. "As I was saying," she began again with an air of importance, "I was just thinking about the word home."
"What about it?" Ron asked curiously, turning to look at her—he was surprised to see that she was blushing a little.
"You said we could spend a nice evening at home," she said pointedly, "and I was just thinking…maybe it's time that you do call this place home."
Ron gave an involuntary start. "You mean move in here permanently?"
Hermione bit her lip again. "You don't have to, if you don't want to. It's just that you spend quite a bit of time here anyway, especially since Harry and Ginny got married…"
"I'd love to," he cut in, wishing to quell any of her misgivings before they could properly form. He'd practically been living in her flat for months; more than half of his things were here. It wasn't a huge step, in the long run, but making it official was definitely something he'd like to do—especially given what else he wanted to make official in the very near future. "I just didn't know if you wanted me to, since you like your space and what not," he admitted.
"Of course I do," Hermione said reassuringly with a brilliant smile. "It's about time I shared my space with you officially, don't you think?"
"Absolutely," Ron replied, beaming at her. "It's settled then."
"Perfect," Hermione said contentedly, scooting closer so that she could rest her head on his shoulder. "I'm really glad you were able to get off early tonight."
"So am I," Ron replied, ignoring the return of the guilty feeling in his gut. "Do you want to call it an early night? This week has been exhausting."
"Okay," Hermione said, stretching a little before getting up. "I'll set an early alarm for tomorrow. Mum said she wouldn't tell me anything more until then, so I hope she's alright with a six o'clock wakeup call in the morning."
Ron laughed in appreciation. "That's my girl."
Hermione fell asleep straight away, probably tired from the emotional spiral her night had turned out to be, but sleep didn't come so quickly for Ron. Instead, he lay awake, thinking of everything and nothing all at the same time. Most of his thoughts had something to do with the ring in his jacket pocket and the woman lying at his side, and how he would very much like the ring to be on her finger before the weekend was up.
He hoped that their visit to the hospital would prove uneventful, not only because he cared about Mr. Granger's health, which he did, but also because he wanted another try at his speech. It was a good speech, he assured himself again. She'd like it, he knew she would. She had to.
Ron smiled as he felt her breath tickle his neck and saw her wild curls splayed out on the pillow. He didn't watch her sleep too often, mostly because she thought it was a little weird (though he knew for a fact that she did the same thing), but she really did look angelic—peaceful, serene, and beautiful. There was something nice about seeing her that way. She was normally so fiery and passionate, which was brilliant, but he was the only one that saw this particular side of her—the most vulnerable side. He squeezed the hand that was resting on his chest as he felt his heart swell with something like pride. She squeezed back in her sleep, and his grin broadened. His last thought before he too drifted off to sleep was that he was going to ask her, and she was going to say yes. Tomorrow.
Ten Hours Later
Eight hours of sleep, several frantic phone calls, a couple strong cups of coffee, and one slightly painful bus ride later, Ron and Hermione found themselves in the waiting room of a muggle hospital Ron hadn't heard of before or bothered to get the name of now. All he knew was that he didn't like it; the walls were completely white and everything was unnervingly clean, which made Ron feel quite out of place in his old jacket and just-a-bit-too-small trainers. He was trying his hardest not to think about what was still in the inside pocket of his jacket, because there were more pressing matters at hand. Hermione's mum had instructed them to wait here for her, and Hermione was getting quite impatient.
"She said she'd be here at eight," Hermione fretted, checking her watch for the fourth time since they'd arrived a few minutes ago.
"And it's just now four minutes til," Ron pointed out as kindly as he possibly could.
"Sorry," Hermione replied, without the least bit of an actual apology in her tone. "I just want to know exactly what's happened."
"If it was anything too terrible, she'd have told you already," Ron said comfortingly, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders and squeezing gently. "Relax, love."
"Here she comes," Hermione said suddenly, giving no indication whatsoever that she'd even heard Ron speak. Instead, she stood up and hurried toward her mother, who had just appeared in the waiting room. Mrs. Granger calmly ignored her daughter's demand for information and instead hugged them both in greeting and motioned for them to follow her out of the room.
"I told you, dear, he's just fine," Mrs. Granger said at last as they made their way down the hallway.
"Yes, you told me that," Hermione snapped. "I would appreciate further detail, please."
"One of his legs was fractured, but that was an easy fix; a few weeks with a cast and it'll be good as new. He also suffered some minor internal injuries, but it was nothing too threatening," Mrs. Granger began. "I couldn't give you all of the details if I wanted to; I'm afraid my medical expertise is limited to teeth, and his appear to be just fine. Anyway, he went into surgery late last night and seems to be responding well. They'll be keeping him here for a few days to recover, but he should be back to one hundred percent in several weeks at the very latest." She said this all very calmly and matter-of-factly.
Hermione nodded tersely in response. "And you couldn't have told me this last night?"
"I told you almost the same thing verbatim last night," Mrs. Granger replied. "You were just in too much of a frenzy to hear what I was saying, dear, which is why I told you to wait until today to come. You're just like him, you know, so easily excitable."
"How can you be so calm about this?" Hermione asked her mother incredulously.
"Your father doesn't need us to be making a fuss. He's going to be fine," Mrs. Granger said firmly. "And how are you, Ron? It's been awhile since I've seen you!"
"I'm doing well," Ron answered uncomfortably, keeping a nervous eye on Hermione. She looked as though she was on the verge of either shouting or crying, and neither was a particularly desirable option.
"Good," Mrs. Granger said absentmindedly. "Ah, here we are." She had stopped outside a room that was marked as private. It was at the very end of a long hallway, which had signs proclaiming it to be the "Recovery Ward" hung up every few meters. The impeccable neatness of the building was still a little overwhelming, but the further they got into the hospital, the more similar it appeared to St. Mungo's, which brought Ron at least a little comfort. "Now, your father is supposed to be asleep, so please don't try to wake him, dear," Mrs. Granger said gently.
Hermione nodded and reached out impatiently to turn the door handle. She let out a loud gasp as she entered; Mrs. Granger quickly put an arm around her shoulders and guided her to the nearest chair. Ron followed shortly after and immediately saw the cause of her shock.
Mr. Granger looked terrible. His face appeared gaunt and pale, and he was hooked into so many strange machines that Ron couldn't help but shudder a little. He was asleep, alright, but Ron was fairly certain it was not a natural sleep—he wasn't moving at all. The only sign of life was the beeping machine next to him that Ron had only ever seen on television—Hermione had once explained that it monitored a person's heartbeat. Quite frankly, Mr. Granger looked the exact opposite of fine.
"Like I said, he has a few days of recovery ahead of him," Mrs. Granger said quietly, "but he is going to be back to normal before we know it."
The room settled into an uncomfortable silence. Ron sat in the chair next to Hermione's and took her right hand in his left, hoping to offer some form of comfort. She squeezed his hand appreciatively, but she didn't take her eyes off of her father. Mrs. Granger kissed her daughter on the forehead, then sat in a chair at her husband's side and took a book out of her bag.
They remained like that for most of the morning. Ron knew that Hermione was crying a little from time to time, but she was clearly trying her hardest to make sure no one noticed; every time a tear escaped her eyes, she would wipe it away furiously with the hand that wasn't holding Ron's. Ron, meanwhile, was trying to look at anything except Mr. Granger—seeing a man who was normally quite formidable look so vulnerable made him uneasy. Once he got sick of examining the walls and ceiling, he kept his eyes trained on his and Hermione's interlocked fingers.
At last, around eleven, Mr. Granger began to stir. Hermione sat up anxiously in her chair, and Mrs. Granger calmly placed a marker in her book. "Good morning, dear," she greeted her husband. "You got enough rest, I hope?"
"Think so," Mr. Granger croaked back slowly. "I can't remember much after getting back from surgery."
"They knocked you out straight away," Mrs. Granger replied. "You look much better this morning. Hermione and Ron are here to see you, by the way."
Hermione stood up so quickly she almost knocked the chair over in her haste to get to her father's side. "How are you feeling, Dad?" she asked fretfully.
"Well, I've been better," Mr. Granger replied frankly. "Speaking of which, Karen, would you mind fetching a doctor? I could use some more painkillers."
"Of course," Mrs. Granger said sweetly, kissing her husband on the forehead before making her way out of the room.
"Please, Dad, how bad is it?" Hermione insisted as soon as her mother was out of earshot.
"I'm going to be just fine, dear," Mr. Granger replied gently, reaching out with some effort to take his daughter's left hand. Ron noticed the elder man frown a little as he did—something he guessed had to do with her empty ring finger. "This is why your mother didn't call you here last night, I imagine. Now, it's not to say I wouldn't like to have a few choice words with the bleeding idiot who crashed into my car, but things could have been much worse. Now, your mother said Ron's here too?"
"Right here, sir," Ron said, walking over to stand at Hermione's side.
"Good, good. Calm her down a bit, won't you?" Mr. Granger requested.
"Dad!" Hermione protested. "You can't possibly fault me for being worried!"
"I'm alright, dear," Mr. Granger insisted, patting her hand comfortingly. "Ah, here we are!"
Mrs. Granger reentered the room with two doctors at her side, but she clearly did not have the intention to stay for the doctors' inspection. "So long as you're in good hands, Peter, the three of us are going to go get a bite to eat," she said, gesturing for Ron and Hermione to follow her out the door.
"Enjoy it for me," Mr. Granger replied with a grimace as the doctors began to examine him. Ron was only too happy to leave the room and follow Mrs. Granger downstairs to the hospital's cafeteria. Breakfast had been more than four hours ago, and he was starving. Hermione, however, appeared to be in a mood the whole way down.
The hospital's selection of food proved to be less than stellar, much to Ron's disappointment. He eventually chose to purchase a sandwich and an apple, which were the only two things that looked properly edible. After making his selection, Ron proudly handed the disgruntled-looking worker a handful of muggle money that Hermione had made him put in his pocket that morning. The woman gave him a strange look before returning the majority of the money back to him as change, but Ron did not let this diminish his accomplishment. With a bit of a spring in his step, he made his way over to a table in the corner where Mrs. Granger and Hermione were sitting, each eating a small salad.
"I wish you would have called me here last night," Hermione told her mother pointedly. "Clearly his injuries are much more serious than you're making them out to be."
"By the time I got you on the telephone last night, we knew he was going to be just fine," Mrs. Granger said steadily. "There was no reason for you to come here so late in the evening."
"Stop saying he's 'fine.' I'm sick of that word. And besides, if it was ever in question for a moment you ought to have let me know straight away!" Hermione snapped. "I would have wanted to be here either way."
"You're overreacting, dear," Mrs. Granger insisted.
"Am I? I don't think I am, all things considered!" Hermione said wildly, her voice slowly rising to a shriek. She whirled around to face Ron then. "Don't you think I would have been a bit more relaxed if I'd been able to come last night?"
Ron's eyes flickered comically between the two women, not wanting to upset his girlfriend or her mother—though he didn't think either one of them was entirely right, anyway. "Erm…yeah, probably. But there wasn't much you could have done had you been here. Not that I think you're overreacting," he added hurriedly as her eyes narrowed. She then rolled them exaggeratedly and turned back to her salad.
"Excuse me for caring about the well-being of my family," she muttered dramatically.
"Hermione Jean!" Mrs. Granger said firmly, remarkably abstaining from raising her voice. "Believe it or not, I was trying to make decisions that would be best for our family."
"Mum, I'm twenty-two, not twelve," Hermione groaned again, clearly not in the mood to be criticized.
"Yes, you are," Mrs. Granger replied, "and I am forty-seven. I am not going to pretend that you're a child anymore, dear, but you are still my child. I am going to do what I think is best for our family, just as you would do in a similar situation—just as you have done. Now is not the time to moan and groan at each other, it's a time to count our blessings and be thankful for what we have, which is quite a lot, I believe."
The women exchanged an intense look. Eventually, Hermione nodded succinctly and continued eating. Ron was not at all sure what had just happened, but he thought they'd come to some sort of an understanding. The argument was over for the moment, anyway, and the rest of their meal passed in another uncomfortable silence, by the end of which Ron was certain that women were completely mental.
The walk back to Mr. Granger's room was quiet as well, but Ron took it as a good sign that Hermione reached for his hand as they exited the cafeteria. He grinned at her in response, and she offered him a half-smile. By the time they reached the room, Mr. Granger was already asleep again, so the three resumed their former positions. After about an hour of silence, Mrs. Granger reached into her bag again and offered each Ron and Hermione a book, which they took gratefully, thankful beyond belief for something to do other than stare at Mr. Granger. Still, nobody spoke.
Ron wasn't entirely sure what his book was about, but he expected nothing less of a book given to him by a Granger. All he knew was that it had something to do with philosophy and that, based on the style, it must have been written many, many years ago. Since he had nothing better to do, he made a sort of game out of trying to figure out what exactly the author had been getting at. Of course, he had no idea if he was right or not, but it was something to do as the hours passed.
The light from the small window was beginning to disappear by the time Mr. Granger woke up again. This time, Ron ducked out of the room in order to give the family a bit of privacy. He ventured down the hall a little ways, eventually finding a portion of the wall that looked a little less spotless than the rest and sitting back against it. He'd been in this damn hospital all day, and it was starting to drive him insane. Sitting near even the slightest imperfection was strangely comforting.
Sighing heavily, Ron reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the small box that had been tormenting him for so long. He opened it carefully and stared at the ring inside. The three small diamonds on it were sparkling just as beautifully as the day he'd bought it, he noticed. Had it really been more than six months since he'd bought the bloody thing? He plucked the ring out of its box and held it up to the light. Brilliant. He'd always been sure he'd get the words wrong when it came time to ask, but he knew this ring was perfect. It wasn't too flashy, but it wasn't cheap either. It was traditional, but it was still distinctive enough that it was clear he'd put some thought into it. He'd even had the inside engraved for good measure: RW & HG. He was positive Hermione would like it, if he found the right moment to give her the damn thing.
He'd been so ready to do it last night, before everything had gone to hell. He'd even been optimistic that he could do it after their visit to the hospital, but in light of Mr. Granger's condition and the emotional trek Hermione seemed to be on, that possibility was looking less and less likely by the minute. Ron stared at the ring intensely, as though it might hold within it the answer to his problems.
He just wanted to propose to Hermione in a way that she would be able to talk about for the rest of their lives without feeling embarrassed or short-changed. She deserved nothing less than the best he could give—if not a story for others, then a memory for herself. He knew she didn't want some flashy, elaborate plan, but he reckoned she'd want something more than a fumbling proposal at an inopportune moment.
"Is that what I think it is?"
Ron snapped out of his trance and looked around wildly for the source of the noise. He sighed with relief when he realized that the voice had come not from Hermione, as he'd feared, but her mother, who was standing before him with a raised eyebrow. On second thought, he wasn't sure that this scenario was much better.
"Reckon so," Ron said shortly as he placed the ring carefully back in its box. He didn't close it, though; he couldn't quite take his eyes off of it.
Much to Ron's surprise, Mrs. Granger sat down next to him against the wall. He could feel her inquisitive eyes on him, but he continued to stare at the ring. "It looks very nice. I'm sure she'll love it."
Ron grunted noncommittally.
Mrs. Granger, however, did not back down. "You asked Peter for his blessing nearly two months ago, did you not?"
A disturbing thought occurred to Ron just then. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you too—"
"Oh, don't be. The tradition is to ask the father, after all. And you've had my blessing for ages anyway," Mrs. Granger said dismissively, a twinkle in her eye as she spoke. "So why haven't you asked her?"
Ron sighed again before giving the answer he'd been giving everyone for more than a year: "I've been waiting for the right moment."
"Who's to say what the right moment is?" Mrs. Granger asked kindly.
"I don't know," Ron replied honestly, "but there certainly seem to be a lot of wrong moments."
"What do you mean by that?" Mrs. Granger inquired in a gentle tone.
"I was going to do it last night," Ron replied, feeling only a little uncomfortable at the admission. Mrs. Granger had a way about her that induced honesty, but there was only so much he was willing to share with the woman who would hopefully be his future mother-in-law.
"But Hermione was a bit preoccupied?" Mrs. Granger guessed.
"Yeah," Ron affirmed, finally forcing himself to make eye contact. He couldn't quite read her expression; while Hermione's face was an open book, her mum could be a bit more reserved when she wanted to be—though perhaps that was simply because Ron didn't have practice reading her like he did Hermione.
"Hmm," Mrs. Granger said thoughtfully. "How were you going to do it?"
Ron gulped audibly. "I was just going to ask. Say a few words, get down on one knee. Maybe conjure a few roses afterward, provided she'd say yes."
"That's a good plan," Mrs. Granger replied wisely. "I can't see Hermione particularly enjoying a loud or boisterous proposal. She likes to leave the noise for rows, it seems."
Ron managed a smile at the elder woman's joke. "It was the only plan I could come up with. I'm not terribly creative, see."
"Follow through with it, dear," Mrs. Granger advised. "It doesn't matter when you do it. I'd guess you've wanted to do it plenty of times already, but stopped yourself. My advice to you is, well, don't stop yourself."
Ron looked at her doubtfully. "But—"
"You're overthinking it. Hermione is not going to care when, where, or how. You're asking her to spend her life with you, and I'm sure she's going to be much more interested in that than in any of the details. I speak from experience," Mrs. Granger said emphatically, holding up her left hand to display her engagement and wedding rings.
"Everyone's been telling me the same thing," Ron admitted apprehensively.
"But you haven't been listening," Mrs. Granger pointed out.
"Because I want it to come from me," Ron confessed quietly, voicing for the first time why he'd been so hesitant to ask in the first place.
"It is from you," Mrs. Granger insisted. "It absolutely is. Just think about it, dear." With that, she patted his hand and stood up, walking back down the hallway toward her husband's room.
Ron sighed heavily and pocketed the ring again. He knew she was right; everyone had been right. But they weren't the ones that were proposing—he was, and it just wasn't as straightforward as it should have been.
A few moments later, he heard footsteps coming from the far end of the hall. This time, it was Hermione. She was wearing her winter coat and rubbing her eyes furiously. Though it seemed that the tears themselves were long gone, she looked rather worn out.
"Ready to go?" Ron asked, standing up.
Hermione bit her lip nervously before speaking: "I think I'm just going to go home. Why don't you stay at Grimmauld Place tonight?"
Ron frowned immediately. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No! No, not at all," Hermione assured him, wrapping her arms around him tightly as if to say the opposite. "I just won't be a lot of fun to be around tonight, that's all. I've already used my mum's mobile to call for a taxi to come pick me up. I don't much feel like apparating or taking the bus."
"So what?" Ron asked defiantly, hugging her back just as fiercely.
"So you've spent all day in this hospital, and you've been here for me while I've been a mess," Hermione said gently. "You ought to relax a bit. I'll come over first thing tomorrow so we can go to the Burrow together for brunch."
"You ought to relax, too," Ron insisted, but Hermione appeared to have made up her mind already.
"I'm going to take the taxi home and watch some bad television to take my mind off things. You should go out and have some fun," she declared. "When was the last time you and Harry spent some time together?"
"Harry and I live and work together," Ron replied, doing his best to keep from rolling her eyes. "But if you want to be alone…"
"Well, no one wants to be alone, but I think it's for the best tonight," Hermione said, a little sadly.
"Hermione…" Ron pleaded. If only he could tell her she was being mental without setting off her temper.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she replied, leaning in and kissing him softly. "I love you, Ron."
"Love you too," he sighed, squeezing her hand once more. She smiled softly, then turned on her heel and made her way down the hall.
Once she was out of sight, Ron walked slowly back toward Mr. Granger's room, intending to say goodbye before heading back to Grimmauld Place—the place that wasn't supposed to be home anymore, he thought ironically. He'd just entered the room and seen Mr. and Mrs. Granger's questioning looks when he realized what a terrible plan that was.
"What the hell am I doing?" he muttered to himself. He shook his head as if to clear it, then addressed the now very confused Grangers: "There's no way she really wants to be alone; I'm going after her. I'm glad you're doing alright, Mr. Granger."
Mrs. Granger looked as though she was on the verge of tears, and Mr. Granger nodded meaningfully. "You're a good man, Ron."
"Thank you," Ron said absentmindedly. He waved awkwardly, then turned on his heel and sprinted down the hallway as fast as he could. If he went fast enough, maybe he could catch her before she got in one of those damn taxi-things…
After nearly running into several people, actually running into a couple of walls, and shouting hurried apologies the whole way, he finally made it out the main doors. It was nearly dark now, but he could just make out Hermione's silhouette down the street, about to get into a car…
"HERMIONE!" Ron shouted. "HERMIONE!" She swiveled around to face him, and he ran toward her as fast as he could. He had to stop her from going. He didn't know why it was so important to be with her tonight, but he knew that it was.
"What is it? Has something happened?" she asked immediately when he reached her side.
"No, everyone's fine," Ron said absentmindedly. He stuck his head inside the car that was still waiting. "Sorry, your services won't be needed," he told the irritated driver matter-of-factly before standing up straight and slamming the door shut. The taxi sped away immediately, leaving Ron with an annoyed Hermione on a dark, nearly-empty street.
"Ron," Hermione began reproachfully. "Honestly, I'll be fine. Have a night to yourself; I'm not going to be any fun to be around—"
"I don't care," Ron said emphatically, grabbing her hands and lacing her fingers with his.
"Listen, Ron—" she tried again, sighing heavily.
"No, you listen," he insisted fiercely. Something inside of him had snapped. To hell with it.
"What on Earth…" Hermione met his eyes searchingly with her forehead crinkled and one of her eyebrows raised. She looked frustrated, tired, and so damn beautiful that Ron could hardly stand it.
"For better or for worse, right?" he said wildly. "Hermione, I don't care if you think you'll be downright miserable to be around. I'd much rather be watching bad television with you than doing anything else, and I'd much rather spend tonight cheering each other up than wallowing on our own in separate beds! Quite frankly, I don't ever want to sleep in separate beds again if we can help it! When are you going to get it through your head that I'm always gonna want to be with you, no matter what kind of shit is going on around us, or how irritable either of us is, or whatever else?"
"Ron…" Hermione said softly, but he cut in again before she could say anything else. This was it. He'd started down that road, and there was no going back now. Really, there'd been no turning back for a long time. He didn't even care that he couldn't remember a damn word of the speech he'd so carefully practiced last night, he didn't care that this was the very definition of the wrong time, and he didn't care that they were on a chilly street outside of an entirely-too-clean muggle hospital, because everyone was right. He was overthinking it when really, it was so incredibly simple.
"Hermione," he exhaled with an elated laugh. It was so easy, how had he not seen it before? He took one last deep breath before continuing, in the most honest, heartfelt tone he'd ever used in his life.
"Hermione Jean Granger, I love you so fucking much. And I've been wanting to do this since I was seventeen, but it was never the right time or place, and hell, I'm pretty sure now's not the right time either, but I'm through with waiting. I—" he broke off then and looking imploringly into her eyes, which were beginning to fill with tears once again. But these seemed to be a much better kind of tears, and that made all the difference. Somehow, it gave him the courage to continue.
"I—you're everything, you know that? I mean, you're it for me, and you always have been, and I really hope you feel the same way. I mean, I guess I know you do, you've said so anyway, but…you make everything better, you make me better, and I just—Hermione…"
He took a deep breath and tugged his hands out of hers so that he could reach into his jacket pocket. This was it. He was doing it, he really was. He felt almost disconnected from himself, but at the same time, he was certain he'd never been more aware of his every action. Pulling out the box, he bent down on one knee, taking extra care to make sure he didn't fall flat on his face in the process. When he carefully opened the box to reveal the ring, he could hear Hermione gasp audibly, and he looked up to meet her gaze. He wasn't surprised to find that his eyes were probably just as wet as hers.
"I love you," he said with a confidence he'd never known he had, but that he had to have, because this was the one thing he knew without a doubt. His voice wavered only with the intensity of the emotion that felt as though it was coursing through every fiber of his being. "I love you more than anything, and I promise I always will. Hermione, will you marry me?"
It wasn't entirely perfect. His voice broke on the word marry, and he accidentally knelt in a puddle, and at least a dozen people on the otherwise deserted street had stopped to watch, but none of those things seemed to matter. Because no sooner than the words had left his lips, she'd run into him with such a force that it was a miracle he stayed upright. Leaning down and into him, she threw her arms around his neck and promptly began to sob into his hair. Ron snapped the box shut to protect the ring as he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her more tightly than he ever had before and struggling to contain his own tears as he buried his face into the crook of her neck.
Eventually, she pulled back again, and their eyes met, their expressions saying much more than any of their words ever could. "So?" Ron asked quietly, bringing his hands back around so that he could once again present her with the ring.
"Yes," Hermione choked out through her tears. "Absolutely, yes!"
Ron could feel himself grin so widely that he was almost sure his face would break. He carefully took the ring out of the box and slid it onto the third finger of her left hand. He breathed a sigh of relief when it fit perfectly, even though he knew he'd charmed it so that it would.
"I love you," Hermione sobbed, tugging on his hands to pull him into the standing position. "I love you so much, Ron."
Ron could vaguely hear their small audience clapping in the background, but he paid them no mind. He wrapped his arms around Hermione again, relishing in the feel of her body so close to his, in the scent of her shampoo, in everything about her—everything, which she chose to share with him, of all people.
"We're getting married," he muttered in slight disbelief, because it turned out there was a huge difference between being pretty sure she'd say yes and actually hearing her agree to marry him.
"We are," he heard her whisper into his chest. Then, she pulled back a little, but only so that she could stand up on her tiptoes and kiss him full on the mouth.
He responded as he had the first time she'd done just that; he literally lifted her up off the ground as he kissed her back with all the passion and joy and love he felt in that moment, which was sure as hell a lot of all of those things. He only tried to pull away for air a few minutes later, but Hermione was having none of it—something Ron didn't mind in the slightest, since it meant they could keep kissing, which was probably his favorite activity in the whole world. Well, almost his favorite, anyway.
Finally, after what could have been hours for all Ron knew, Hermione pulled back and found her footing again. "We're in public, aren't we?" she asked quietly, not willing to open her eyes yet.
"S'pose so," Ron answered with an easy laugh as he brought his hands to her face and brushed his thumbs over her flushed cheeks. "Sorry I asked you in public."
"Don't you even think about apologizing for a single ounce of this, Ronald Weasley," Hermione scolded him with a broad smile, her eyes finally fluttering open as his hands slid down to rest on her shoulders. He couldn't help but laugh blissfully again after seeing the pure joy reflected in them. "How long have you had that ring in your pocket?"
"Since I came over to your—our—flat last night," Ron admitted, "but I bought it last summer."
"Last summer?" Hermione asked in amazement. "You…"
"Idiot?" Ron supplied helpfully.
"No. A bit daft at times, maybe, but mostly? You're wonderful, loving, supportive, and perfect, that's what you are," Hermione said affectionately, leaning in to kiss him swiftly but soundly once again.
Ron laughed giddily when they broke apart. "We're getting married."
Hermione's grin broadened, a feat Ron hadn't thought was possible. "You said that already."
"Well yeah, but it's so much fun to say, try it!"
"We're getting married."
Ron grinned. "Try it louder, like you mean it!"
"We're getting MARRIED!" Hermione shouted, and they immediately collapsed into childish giggles. It had been a long time since he'd laughed this much—maybe it was because he simply couldn't smile any wider, so his mouth chose to laugh instead. Wondering how in the hell he got so lucky, he couldn't help but lean in to kiss Hermione one more time.
"Still want to spend the night apart?" Ron teased when they reluctantly separated several moments later.
"I'm afraid you convinced me otherwise," she said coyly, a statement which could only be followed by more kissing.
"Wanna go back in and tell your parents quick?" Ron asked when they came up for air. "I'm sure it'll cheer them right up, yeah?"
"Yes, please," Hermione said, wrapping an arm about his waist as they turned back toward the hospital. He responded with an arm around her shoulders. It wasn't the best way to walk anywhere, but neither of them was about to let go of the other one. "But why does it need to be quick?" she asked curiously.
"Well, we've got some personal matters to attend to, haven't we?" Ron asked suggestively, giving her an exaggerated wink.
Hermione blushed and giggled again. "Right," she said simply. "Quick is good."
"This part is quick," Ron corrected her hastily. "The part after won't be."
Hermione quirked an eyebrow up as they reached the doorway. "How thoughtful of you."
"Only the best for the future Mrs. Weasley," Ron quipped, unable to keep his remaining disbelief out of his voice. He was marrying Hermione. She said yes. They were getting married!
"Mrs. Weasley's your Mum's name," Hermione protested, wrinkling her nose as she stepped through the door Ron had courteously opened for her.
"Fine. The future Hermione Weasley, how's that sound?" he corrected himself with a smile as he followed her through the entrance.
"That sounds perfect," she said quietly, stopping abruptly in her tracks before turning around and reaching up to pull his face down to hers. Eventually, they would make it back into the room to tell her parents, and tomorrow, they would head to the Burrow to tell his family. But right now, it was just between them. And the dozen people that had overheard them on the street, but neither of them could be bothered by that. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were getting married, and everything was just as it should be.
A/N: Whew! That's by far the longest thing I've ever written. Weirdly, it got more than a thousand words longer after editing. Just so you know, I'm headed back to school in a couple of days, so the updates won't come quite so quickly—but there are only four chapters left now, can you believe it? As for this chapter…I hope you liked it, especially considering the ridiculous amount of build-up to this point. I am equal parts excited and nervous to post this, but I look forward to your feedback as always. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Also – a very happy Easter to all of you who celebrate it. Have a blessed holiday. :)