Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or the song in this fic.
This is loosely based on the song 'Brown Eyed Girl' by Van Morrison. I always thought the lyrics were perfect for Ron and Hermione. Hope you enjoy it.
Brown Eyed Girl
This was it.
I take a deep breath, so deep that the air hurts my lungs, threatening to tear them apart. As I straighten my jacket and swallow, I catch sight of my own pale, terrified face in the mirror hanging on the wall facing me.
My old room is still the vibrant colour it was in my school days but the personal touches littering the small space have changed dramatically.
Instead of a pile on books about the Chudley Cannons, Auror training books stand in a pile next to my bed. The bed, unused for several months now, has been removed and in its place stands a low table strewn with Muggle artefacts my father has been tinkering with. These items are clearly the subject of top priority research as he has taken to bringing such items into the house, now that the Gnomes have worked out how to get into the shed.
The chestnut desk in the corner no longer holds the untidy muddle of school effects it once did. It is now remarkably tidy with only a few items on it. As I pick up the silver cufflinks I find there and proceed fastening them onto my shirt my eyes stray to the bottle standing next to them.
My fingers itch to pour a drink.
I clench my fists and look away to the last item on the surface, a wooden photo frame in the middle of the desk.
I want to be sober today. I want to be sober for her.
A slight smile graces my lips as I look at the small rectangular picture in the frame. It was taken last summer and shows the two of us smiling and laughing
My beautiful, clever girl.
"Ron?" My best friend, brother-in-law and best man enters the room, closing the door behind him softly.
"She's here. Just saw her arrive."
"Thanks, Harry", I say, my voice scratching my throat.
"She wouldn't change her mind, mate", Harry says softly, as always reading my thoughts with as much skill as my future wife reads the books she loves so much.
Hermione has not changed one iota from the irritating know-it-all she was the day she burst into our carriage, babbling on about God-knows what.
She still can't go out without bringing back at least three new books. She still interrupts me to correct my mispronunciation of some minor word or other. She still has the ability to annoy me like no-one else can.
And I love her for it.
Without those little quirks she wouldn't be my Hermione. The girl I fell in love with. She makes me want to scream in frustration sometimes but I wouldn't be without her for anything in the world.
In our fourth year of Hogwarts he came along.
Viktor Krum, my long-standing idol, took my Hermione to the Yule Ball. I watched her all night, my stomach clenching painfully, as my girl, the most beautiful I'd ever seen her, danced with another man.
I gritted my teeth as he smiled at her, clenched my fists as he pulled her close and bit the inside of my cheek until it bled when I saw him lean in and whisper in her ear.
I think that was the moment I realised I was in love with her.
I said some hurtful things to her that night. Jealousy can do that to a man.
When she ran off in tears the pain in my chest increased to an excruciating agony. I never wanted to be the source of those tears again.
But my foolishness and insensitivity meant that I'd hurt her many more times over the years.
From now on I only want to make her happy. The way she makes me.
It was almost seven years after we first met that it finally happened. She kissed me. It was during the final battle and I'd said something about house elves when she threw her arms around me and pressed her lips to mine.
Something in my chest exploded. I picked her up and kissed back in earnest, wanting to show her in that one kiss all the things I'd been too scared to say for years.
I knew I had no reason to be so happy when a war was raging around us but for that moment I didn't care. I had my Hermione at last and, if we lived through this, I would never let her go.
It took Harry yelling at us to break us apart and the look on her face made my heart swell. She looked as if she had wanted it as much as I had. Her brown eyes stared into mine and shone with something I had never seen before.
As we ran to join the battle only one thought was present in my mind.
Our first date had been on a Tuesday, some time later. After the dead had been buried and the world showed some semblance of healing I thought it was time to carry on with our lives.
When I asked her to go for a meal she immediately consented. It had been a long time coming.
It went without a hitch, not at all like the rest of our tumultuous relationship up to that point. The restaurant was elegant, without being pretentious and Hermione looked stunning. We managed to hold a conversation for hours without it erupting into a blazing argument.
Outside her door she leaned up to whisper something in my ear. Her breath made me shiver even in the relatively warm September air. As she stepped back, I pulled her into a hug and looked into her eyes, finally able to place that look that had been in her there for months now.
"I love you too, Hermione."
I had asked her to marry me on a Wednesday. It was the summer after our first date and we were sitting together on a bench in the park, not doing anything special. Her head was resting on my knee as she held a book in front of her face, effectively shielding her beautiful brown eyes from the sun as she read. I stroked her hair and looked contentedly around us. It felt right.
"Hermione?" I said quietly.
"Hmm?" she replied, only half listening, still engrossed in 'The Complete Works of Jane Austen.'
"Can I ask you something?"
"Go on then."
"Will you put the book down?"
She picked up her bookmark from its resting place on her chest and slotted it between pages 126 and 127. Placing her right hand on her brow, so as to block out the glare of the sun, she squinted up at me.
"You have my undivided attention."
"Hermione… are you happy with me?" I asked quietly.
Sensing the seriousness of the situation in my tone she sat up and faced me on the bench, her legs crossed and her hands resting on her lap.
"Of course I am. I love you, Ron. What's wrong? Aren't you happy?" she said timidly.
"Oh no, I am, of course. Don't look so worried. I love you very much. In fact I don't ever want to be without you." I paused, looking up at her confused face, as I pulled out the ring box that had been in my pocket for three weeks, waiting for the right time. Thinking for a second, I opted for the simple, straightforward approach.
"Will you marry me, Hermione Granger?" My hands were sweating as I opened the box and turned it towards her. It felt as though something very large had lodged in my throat as she said nothing, just stared at the simple diamond ring with wide, shocked eyes. For a few seconds neither of us spoke.
"Yes!" she launched herself forward on the bench and threw her arms around my neck.
"I mean, are you serious? You really want to marry me?" she said, pulling back and looking at me intently.
"Of course I do. So was that a yes then?" I asked.
"Yes." She smiled as I reached down and kissed my fiancée softly on the lips.
As I stand in front of the altar that has been erected in the back garden of my childhood home, it almost feels like the end of a journey. It's taken us a long time to get here but I think we both knew we would eventually wind up here. We were meant to be here. We were meant to be together.
I watch my girl, my angel, slowly walk down the aisle towards me, her eyes fixed on mine, and all my worries disappear. Everything is going to be alright.
Her long white dress and dazzling smile make her look even more beautiful to me now than she did the night of the Yule Ball. As she stands next to me at the altar I feel happier than ever. My sister, 4 months pregnant and on a hormone overdrive, stands in her lilac bridesmaid's dress behind Hermione, tears streaming down her face as she smiles at us.
I'm barely listening to the priest as he welcomes everybody and begins the ceremony. All I can focus on is Hermione. Her eyes, her hair, her dress, everything about her is stunning today and I find myself praying that she won't suddenly stop the wedding, pronouncing that she has made a terrible mistake.
But she doesn't. She stands next to me, beaming happily as she repeats after the minister and agrees to be my wife. Finally, after I dutifully recite my lines, we are pronounced man and wife.
My heart seems to fill my entire chest as I kiss her and our friends and family erupt into applause. My wife and I turn to face them and, as we begin the walk down the aisle into our shared future into new adventure, I am sure that the word echoing in my mind is the one running through the minds of the congregation, too.