So first off, don't get me wrong. I loved Deathly Hallows. I loved the RHr interaction. I loved the kiss over the welfare of house elves. but, in being such a pathetically hopeless romantic, I wanted... more. I know that Ron was supposed to be Mr. Ladies Man because of the book the twins gave him, but this eliminated the awkward Ron and Hermione tension between them that I loved so dearly! So I dreamed up my own little tale of how things might have gone, with the subtle help of a muggle wedding tradition. And here it is. None of this universe is really mine, only a meager attempt to replicate a most amazing book. (Lets not mention how heartbroken I am that it's over!)

It was just a joke.


People think that Hermione Granger doesn't know how to kid around, but that just goes to show how simple people can be! Simply because a girl cares about her marks doesn't mean she can't have a good time just like anyone else!

Just a laugh... after all...oh dear...

In all honestly though, she had absolutely no idea what had compelled her to do it.

She did think it would be quite a laugh, but thinking something might be funny and actually carrying out with said task are two vastly different subjects. The whole was quite easily the most impulsive and irrational thing she had ever done! So random, so childish, so completely and utterly un-Hermione.

There had to have been something in that champagne Fleur's parents had brought from France.

Or maybe, just maybe, her behavior had just a little something to do with the youngest brother of the groom.

Dearest Ron, he always had displayed such an exceptional...awkwardness. And the wedding, with all of the blood, sweat and tears Mrs. Weasley and Fleur had poured into this thing, of course could be no different. Oh the look on the poor boys face, it was almost as though he had just been stupefied! The very sight of him was so entirely laughable, and yet for her so entirely endearing. He always had that effect on her, instilling a nice little warmth around her abdomen with his adorable little spasms of ineptitude. Ron, with his eyes slightly glazed, his cheeks slightly pink, his mouth slightly open… Well, of course it would be highly inappropriate to even joke about an unforgivable curse given the present circumstance, but truly enough, it felt as though she were a woman possessed!

Because it seemed the most sensible thing in the world to do! Ron was just standing there, staring at that bloody garter Bill had just thrown with the same sort of terror and wonderment as though the scrap of fabric was the final horcrux!

And you know what he does to her!

So of course, it was at this point that she carried out the single most impulsive and irrational task she had ever done. She swooped down upon him (literally, Hermione Granger swooped) right in the midst of his brothers, Harry (err, cousin Barney), and the rest of the single male wedding guests who had congregated on the magical dance floor to catch the garter as Bill removed it from under his new bride's gown. With one instant of insanity she had infiltrated the circle of testosterone and snatched the flimsy piece of lace right from out of Ron's slightly sweaty hands. She flashed him a downright devious smile (again, most un-Hermione like) and in that one split-second after her lips curled upward, an icy sense of dread gripped hold of her stomach and froze her right on the spot.

What the hell had she been thinking, to be standing half-tipsy off champagne that was probably Veela-laced, and dangling a GARTER (still warm from Fleur's thigh) right in front of the face of the one boy whom she pretty much had been madly in love with since third year?

So naturally, she did the one thing any sensible witch (or any girl, for that matter) would do.

She bloody well ran for it.

She didn't hear any of it, of course, because she was already making a crazy beeline for the fields beyond the Weasley gardens, but Hermione's not-so-little "performance" did not go unnoticed by the horde's of party-goers. Instead, her impromptu departure caused quite the reaction. The twins, characteristically, made loud and rather crude whoops of appreciation, clapping their little brother roughly on the back. The bride and groom, slightly starry-eyed, shared a knowing sort of smile with one another. Harry (Barney…whatever!) appeared to have fallen rather ill and was trying his very hardest not to make eye contact with Ginny, and Molly seemed quite fretful as the well-dressed figure disappeared alone over the top of a green hill. Only Ron, it seemed, remained oblivious to the commotion, staring dazedly into the distance, his open hands now empty.

The sentiments of the guests were boisterously unanimous, but by the time Charlie voiced their standpoint, shouting, "What the bloody hell are you waiting for Ronnie? Go after her!" it was for nothing.

He was already off and running.

Ahead of him, Hermione was cutting through the field like a woman on fire. She had never been much of the athletic type, but with the wind whipping against her face, her billowing skirt pulled above her knees, and a delightfully tingly feeling spreading throughout her body (due in part to both the alcohol she had consumed and the boy she was running from), she felt strangely and delightfully invigorated. She was able, for the first time since Dumbledore's death, to push away the all-encompassing fears of what was to come and just let herself be consumed with what she was doing.

And who she was doing it for.

So she ran a little faster, smiled a little wider, and felt the little shiver going through her jolt in the most delicious way at the sound of rapidly approaching footfalls meeting her ears.

Ron was chasing her.

Oh, how lovely it was to be pursued!

"Hermione! What on earth are you doing? Come back here!" he called to her, his tone a mixture of perplexed frustration that was being issued not at all from very far behind her.

Damn Harry and his rigorous Quidditch practices.

Her downfall was in turning to steal a glance back at him, the temporary loss of sight causing her to stumble over a bit of an exposed tree root and lose some ground. The delay gave him just enough time to catch up and seize hold of her, his hand closing down snugly around her forearm. Emitting a squeak at her capture, she attempted to free herself and yanked her limb away from him with force that surprised the both of them. His hand remained wrapped around her arm, but she succeeded in losing her balance completely and collapsing onto the earth.

In the process, bringing him down on top of her.

She squealed involuntarily once more at the sudden weight atop her and struggled feebly to free herself from it. They were both wheezing from their run and breathless from the fall, so neither one put up much of a fight. She couldn't quite distinguish just who it was that laughed first, but someone did and suddenly they were both dissolving in mirth. She could feel his deep laughter rumbling in the chest that was pressed against her own and couldn't stop herself from giggling even more furiously when he deftly retrieved the garter from her weak grasp and wiggled it teasingly over her head.

It was perfect and, of course, it had to end all too abruptly.

In an awful instant they were both painfully aware of the close proximity of their faces to each others, to the vast expanses of their bodies pressing firmly against one another, and, though they would never admit it, to just how right everything they were doing felt.

Ron's ears went red and Hermione's heart sunk. She knew it was only a matter of moments until he rolled off of her, clambered to his feet and started mumbling apologies and excuses about why he had come after her, about how his Mum was worried, they must be getting back, and he didn't really care about some silly old garter anyway. She knew this, because she knew him, and in numbed anticipation she subconsciously released a dejected little sigh and let her head fall to the side.

But then another minute passed, and he still hadn't moved. Her heart was thudding so vehemently that she was sure he could feel it, and if she moved she was afraid the spell would break and everything she dreaded would spring forth. She tentatively looked up, her gaze anxiously meeting his. The blush that had started in his ears had now spread out over his face and was rapidly approaching his neck, and her fingers itched to press themselves softly against its warmth. Above her, his head had cocked slightly, and he was staring down at her almost fearfully.

"Hermione?" he asked, his voice sounding peculiarly strangled, and she knew with a surge of embarrassment and…something else, that her sigh has reached his ears.


It was an awkward position, craning her neck up to kiss him, but when their lips brushed up against each others he gladly leaned down to meet her and she changed her mind.

This was the most impulsive thing she had ever done.

And quite possibly, the best.

It's cliche and fluffy and pathetic...and I am dying to know what you think!