I Thee Wed

Chapter 1:

Quite the Welcome

Author's Note: I cannot even tell you all how excited I am about this story. I think it has potential, and hope you feel the same way. However, you must be warned: this story contains adult themes and language, and isn't really meant for the kiddies. I'm rating it PG-13 for now, but if anybody feels it should be R, I'll change it. I don't think that's necessary, however, as I don't plan on making anything explicit. This chapter, at least, is perfectly fine at its current rating.

Also, I'm a little fuzzy on what I'm going to do with the quidditch here, so bear with me as I figure that out.

Disclaimer: Trust me, I don't think this is how Rowling intends to have Ron and Hermione get together. I can only hope she doesn't haunt me for what I'm about to do. :-)

***

Drinking makes such fools of people, and people are such fools to begin with, that it's compounding a felony.

-Robert Benchley

***

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all sat expectantly in the dark kitchen. They had tried walking around a bit, but Ginny had tripped over Hermione's foot and fallen into Harry, before promptly having a pot slip off the counter and fall on her foot. After that, they decided it would be safer if they were stationary.

          "What's taking him so bloody long?" Ginny murmured. Hermione would have chided her language if she hadn't been thinking the same thing.

          "You know Ron," the brown-haired girl said. "Why should he be on time when he can be late?"

Harry remained silent. He'd heard Ginny and Hermione go off on men in general before, and found that they'd stop sooner if he didn't make his presence known.

Just then, a doorknob turned and a door at the end of the hall opened. A shadow was cast that those in the kitchen knew well. "Harry? Where are you, mate?" A pause. "Harry?"

For the last several months Ron had been touring all around the world with his quidditch team, the Cannons. After Hogwarts he worked at all kinds of jobs for them, content to be part of their team, though he had never considered actually trying for a position. Promotion after promotion finally led him to his current one: manager. His devotion to his job rivaled that of the Minister of Magic. For the last three years he had poured his strength and energy into making the team respectable, and finally succeeded. He was back in the United Kingdom now, a hero to Cannons fans everywhere. The next few games that his team played could very well be the most important of his career.

Footsteps could be heard walking closer and closer, and Ginny fought back a snicker. She didn't fight in thoroughly enough, though, because Ron's feet picked up a faster pace.

          "Come out where I can see you!" his deep voice growled. "I'm armed and I'm not afraid of blasting you into smithereens."

          "Ooh, I'm trembling," Ginny whispered under her breath.

          "He thinks we're intruders!" Hermione hissed. "What do we do?"

Luckily, the trio was saved the decision as Ron turned the lights on in the area where they were hiding. Fear forgotten, they all jumped up and yelled, "Surprise!" with great enthusiasm. Thankfully for them Ron didn't take the scare badly enough to create his promised smithereens.

The quidditch manager just stared at them all, wand slack in his hand and hair disheveled from a long day of traveling.

He raised an eyebrow at them. It wasn't everyday that three people who invited you over tried to surprise you with their presence. Suspicion arose in his tired body. "What are you three up to?" he asked.

Harry laughed loudly. "Nice to see you, too, Mr. Cannons." The two friends walked up to each other and hugged just long enough for the embrace to be considered manly.

Not that they cared, or anything.

Ginny looked over at Hermione and rolled her eyes. "Men," they said in unison.

Of course, Ginny ruined her solemn expression when she burst into giggles and ran towards her brother. "Ronny!"

He picked her up and whirled her around, but when he put her down his smile turned to a frown. "Don't ever call me that again."

          "Of course, Ronny," Ginny said. She then turned on her heels and ran into the living room.

          "I'll get you for that!" Ron took off after his sister. It was hard to believe the two were 27 and 28 years in age.

Harry looked over at Hermione and grinned. "Show time," he commented, wiggling his eyebrows. Hermione laughed at his antics. They both walked into the living room after the pair of siblings, just in time to hear a loud noise erupt, signifying that Fred and George had gotten their cue. For when Ron had entered the door they'd lit up Harry's flat with multi-colored lights that had been hanging in the air for the past three hours. The lights began to fizzle, and finally, to explode repeatedly as their glow spread out over the room.

"They're new!" George was screaming. "They're called 'Ever-Lasting Light Bombs'!"

Harry's flat continued to shine in the tinted glow. It was large for a flat, actually, as well as very un-bachelor-esque. Harry had had his friends help him decorate it, and their efforts had not been in vain. (Okay, Ginny and Hermione had done most of it, but Harry and Ron had carried what the girls told them to.) The walls were an inviting red, and the wooden floors had gorgeous rugs thrown over them that matched the gold of the throw pillows on the furniture. The couches were large and comfortable, though at the moment they could not be seen.

Instead, dozens and dozens of witches and wizards smiled back at one very surprised redhead. Ginny was high-fiving Fred, congratulating him on his idea to taunt Ron with his least favorite nickname.

A large sign was strung across the room. In big bold letters the words "Welcome home, Ron!" were written.

Soon everybody was laughing, drinking, and having an all around good time. The entire Weasley family was there, as well as all the members of the Cannons. Many Hogwarts graduates were gathered as well, and though they all were used to it, a few faces that had once been familiar were missing. Still, the evening was filled with enthusiasm and fun.

All except for Hermione.

Caught between depression and the urge to join in the celebrating, Hermione couldn't help but think back on the fact that Ron hadn't said hello to her. He hadn't said anything to her. He didn't even look at me, she thought grimly. For weeks she'd been planning this party diligently, only to be ignored for her efforts.

She downed a martini that had been sitting on the newly installed wooden bar. She was on her third when Harry came over and put a hand on her arm. "Ginny said you were getting yourself plastered over here," he said simply.

Hermione was too smart to disagree. She knew the name and capitol of every country ever to have existed; she knew when she was on her way to being drunk.

          "So?"

Harry didn't look as if he'd been expecting her to realize what she was doing. "Well, er…don't you think you should come talk to some people instead? Neville's been dying to tell you about some new plant he discovered."

Hermione rubbed her temples. "I'm not in the mood, Harry."

          "I'm sure he didn't mean to ignore you, Hermione," Harry went on. They both knew he wasn't talking about Neville anymore.

That did it! If Harry had noticed that Ron was acting weird, she wasn't just imagining it.

She started on drink number four, bewildering Harry to no end.

***

Ron, on the other hand, did not realize that anything was amiss. Nope, he was simply happy to be back in England with his friends and family.

His very nosy friends and family.

          "So," began Mrs. Weasley, "Have you met any foreigners, Ron? Because, we wouldn't mind at all if you brought home a girl of a different nationality. I mean, Bill married Fleur and everything is going well for him! You could follow in his footsteps, just—"

Bill, who had been listening for quite some time with a bemused Fleur on his arm, promptly took his mother aside. He told her that maybe Ron would like to be home a day before getting a wife lined up, with which she agreed heartily. ("Honestly, Bill, you make it sound like I was harping on about it!" she exclaimed.)

Even more disheartening, however, was Harry, who had come over halfway through the party and asked him why he was being so rotten to Hermione.

          "I am not!" Ron said.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You haven't even spoken to her. Last time I checked she was your best friend, too. You know, I had to cover for you at least a dozen times these past few months; every time she told me how it was so strange you never owled us."

          "Yeah, so?" Ron knew his question was a stupid one.

          "So?" Harry said incredulously. "I get at least an owl a week from you!"

          "Er…"

          "Listen, Ron, I don't know what's going on with you, but you'd better sort it out. She's on her fourth—Harry looked over at Hermione—make that fifth drink."

Immediately Ron felt guilty. Hermione never got drunk, and the fact that she was becoming so over him managed to penetrate the layers of oblivion he wore around him like a cloak.

          "I'll talk to her after the party," Ron concluded. "I'll even take her home. I was going to spend the night here, but I could use her guest room and we'll sort things out."

          "Much better," Harry agreed. "Besides, now I don't have to worry about you using up all my hot water."

Ron snickered. "Still haven't magicked the plumbing yet? To think, the great Harry Potter living like a Muggle."

A loud commotion broke out and Harry saw that his desk had been transfigured into a peacock.

          "Or not," he told Ron wryly.

***

It was well into the wee hours of the morning when the last guest left Harry's flat. The host looked somewhat eager to get the place cleared out, and Ron obligingly took Hermione down the elevator while Harry was busy vanishing random farm animals.

Or rather, Ron carried her down it, seeing as she couldn't even see straight, let alone walk. Sadly, he wasn't doing that much better. True, he'd only had a few drinks, but he was so tired he seemed to be getting drunker by the minute.

          "Never," he told her, "did I ever think to be taking care of a smashed Hermione Granger."

          "Codswallop," she mumbled into his chest. "You've dreamed about it." She giggled then. "What else have you dreamed of?"

          "You don't want to hear about my dreams," he said. "They're not smart and grown up like yours." Alcohol was making him blunt.

She giggled again, and it rang in Ron's ears. Hermione's little brownstone was only a block away, but he didn't think he'd be able to make it if she kept acting like this.

Eventually they made it to her front steps, neither of them capable of having an actual discussion on Ron's conduct of late. Instead, a more abbreviated form of it took place.

          "Ron," Hermione started, "do you hate me?"

          "No," he replied. "Not at all."

          "Good." She buried her face in his chest again sleepily. A second later she looked up at him. "I don't want to go in yet."

Ron shrugged from his place seated next to her on the concrete steps. "What do you want to do then?"

Hermione mimicked his shrug. "I dunno, what do you want to do."

They both laughed like the two drunks they were. They barely resembled the heroes that had helped Harry Potter defeat Lord Voldemort a scant ten years beforehand.

          "Let's think of something," Ron whispered in her ear. His voice held great promise.