Author's Notes: The entirely italicized section is a flashback, just to let you know. It's the scene Ron is telling Hermione, but I thought it would be better to illustrate it in a flashback. Rest of notes will follow chapter.
Chapter Five--A Memory, A Lie, And Other Dumpster Incidents
Hermione had a difficult time sleeping that night. What was she going to do? What in the bloody hell was she going to do?
Tossing and turning, she considered her options.
One. She could tell Harry the truth.
Ha. Fat chance.
Two. She could tell Hannah horrible things about Harry and try to break them up.
No, that would never work. She couldn't lie about Harry. Anyone who knew him at all would see through that, and even Hannah wasn't that daft.
Three. She could tell Harry the truth about Hannah.
It would break Harry's heart if his best friend hated his fiancee. Besides, if she made him choose, she wasn't all that sure he'd pick her, and Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to find out.
Four. She could quit planning the wedding.
That was appealing, but still left Harry marrying Hannah.
Five. She could stay on the account and spend as much time with Harry as possible, until he realized she was the one for him.
Hmmmm. That had possibilities, but it still depended on Harry's feelings for her, and Hermione wasn't entirely convinced they were anything more than friendship Maybe if she adapted it a little...
Six. She could spend as much time with Harry as possible, until Hannah got jealous and showed her true colors and told Harry to stop being friends with Hermione or she'd call off the wedding...
That sounded good in theory, but would it work?
Seven. She could bloody well stop kidding herself and go and talk to Ron.
Bingo.
'And we have a winner!' thought Hermione, pulling on some robes and preparing to leave.
'Don't want Harry to see me, I suppose I'll have to run the risk of Apparating directly into Ron's rooms,' the witch reasoned. And off she went.
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"Ron," mumbled Hermione, "Ron...."
Ron stirred, mumbled "I told you to stop milking the cat," and went promptly back to sleep.
"Ron!" hissed Hermione. Casting a quick silencing charm, she resorted to yelling in his ear.
"RONALD WEASLEY!"
Ron sat up like with a jolt. "Mum?"
"NO, it's me," sighed Hermione as Ron rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
"Bloody hell, Mione, it's nearly two in the morning. What are you doing here? Why didn't you knock? I could've been with Luna!"
"Oh, shut up Ron, I took a chance. I needed to talk to you, and I didn't want Harry to know, okay?"
Ron gazed at her evenly. "So you're finally ready to talk about this?"
"Talk about what? I just came to ask you if you think...okay, well, even if I'm planning a really big wedding, if I break the cardinal rule of wedding planners, should I drop the account?" Hermione paced the room.
"What's the cardinal rule of wedding planners?"
"Don't fall in love with the groom."
Ron pushed down the sheet and scratched his naked torso. "I'm confused. I thought you'd come to talk about Harry."
Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation. "Harry is the groom, the groom is Harry!"
"Oh," replied Ron stupidly. Then he brightened. "Blimey, Mione, it's about time you figured out
you're in love with Harry! How long have you known?"
Hermione sighed and glanced at the clock. "About five hours. Now, listen, Ron, you've got to tell me the truth...do you think Harry could ever feel that way about me?" The woman chewed her lip nervously.
"Hermione," said Ron gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, "I think Harry already feels that way about you. I just don't think he knows it yet."
Her brown eyes shimmered with hopeful tears. "Really?"
"Come here," said Ron, patting the place besides him. Hermione crawled up on the bed and curled up in the crook of Ron's arm.
"Listen, Mione, I'm going to tell you something I should have told you a long time ago. When we were in seventh year, Harry fancied you something awful. I mean, really, it got to be ridiculous, the way he stared at you all the time, the way I'd find him in our dormitory, writing silly love poems and singing sappy songs. He never said anything to me, mind you, it was just so obvious that, finally, on Valentine's Day, when he was moping, I blew up at him....
"For Merlin's sake, Harry!" Ron yelled suddenly. Harry looked abruptly up from the parchment he was writing on.
"What, Ron?" he asked crossly, shifting on his bed.
"Stop pouting and go tell her." Ron pointed at the dormitory exit.
"Wh-what?" stuttered Harry, startled.
"Go find Hermione and tell her you fancy her."
"Ron, what are you--"
Ron held up a hand. "Don't even try it, Harry. And if you're worried that I'm upset, don't be, I'm not...well, not for the reason you think. Yes, I liked Hermione in fifth year, no, I don't anymore, and yes, I am upset, but only because I've watched you moon after her all year!"
Harry gaped at him.
"Harry."
"What?"
"Do you like the girl?"
"Yes," mumbled Harry.
"Do you want to be with her?"
"Yes."
"Go tell her." Ron pointed to the door once more.
"What if she doesn't like-"
"Not possible, I've been in a room with you two. Go." Ron shook his head.
"But--"
"GO!"
Harry went.
"So...Harry fancied me?" asked Hermione, stricken.
"Something awful. But when he went down to the library to tell you, with flowers and everything, ...Draco was there."
"Oh, Merlin..."
Ron nodded. "Yeah. And Harry came back upstairs and said all he wanted was for you to be happy. He threw those roses away, and he never talked about it again."
"But Malfoy and I broke up right after graduation. It's been years since then, why hasn't he said anything?"
Ron shrugged. "I think he's convinced himself that you'd never care for him that way. And you know that he's always wanted a real family, so now that he found someone he thinks he loves..." The redhead trailed off, looking sad.
"Ron," said Hermione, "I can't let him marry her. I love him. That's my Harry."
Ron grinned. "I agree with you. Luna and I've been plotting strategies, but so far, we've come up with nothing."
"You talked to Luna about this?" asked Hermione, surprised.
Ron smiled guiltily. "And Draco and Neville and Ginny. We don't want Harry to marry that great lunatic of a witch, even if you weren't in love with him!"
Hermione yawned and snuggled closer to Ron. "That's really sweet Ron. Mind if I stay here tonight, and we'll try to come up with something in the morning?"
"Nah,,," Ron yawned also, laying down.
"Ron?" asked Hermione suddenly.
"Yeah?"
"What color were those roses Harry was going to bring me?"
"Uh...yellow. Yes, yellow."
Hermione smiled as she drifted off to sleep.
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Harry plodded out of the bathroom and down the hall. If Ron didn't get up soon, they were going to be late for their appointment at the tuxedo shop.
He banged on the door. "RON!" he bellowed. "RON!"
Harry paused a moment. 'Ah,' he thought, smiling slyly, 'Silencing charms. He must have brought Luna home last night, I'll have to go in.'
Opening up the door, Harry was greeted with the usual bright orange of Cannons paraphernalia...and then his heart stopped as he glanced at the bed.
Curled up against Ron's bare chest was Hermione, brown curls tousled everywhere, breathing slow and steady. Even in her sleep, Harry couldn't help noticing how beautiful she was.
"Oh my gosh," muttered the wizard.
He turned to make a hasty retreat, tripped over a garbage can, fell into Ron's bookcase and landed in a pile of rubbish and Quidditch magazines. Ron and Hermione both jumped up, wands drawn.
"Uh, morning," said Harry, gathering himself up hastily, "I came to wake you, Ron, we've got to get fitted today..." He trailed off, his eyes never leaving Hermione.
Ron looked uncomfortable. "Listen, mate, this isn't what it looks like, it's just that..."
"No need to explain to me," said Harry stiffly. "It's not my business, I have Hannah."
Somehow, Harry's cavalier remark hurt Hermione worse than any yelling or chastising he could have given. She was angry, and before she could think clearly, words were jumping out of her mouth.
"I'm sorry we didn't tell you," blurted out Hermione.
Harry looked at her suspiciously. "Tell me what, exactly?"
"Yeah," echoed Ron, wide-eyed, "Tell him what?"
"Oh, Ronnie, don't play dumb," cooed Hermione. She met Harry's eyes evenly. "Ron and I are engaged."
"WHAT?" said Harry.
"What?" croaked Ron.
Hermione smiled. "Yes, we've been together since you left and it just felt right, didn't it Honey-Bunch?"
Ron put on a forced smile. "That's right, Poopy-Head."
Harry looked crestfallen. "Why didn't you tell me? Ron, you said you were seeing Luna."
"I, er, well the thing is--" stammered Ron.
"We asked her to cover for us," Hermione intervened smoothly. "We thought that you might feel left out whenever you came home, so we agreed that we'd wait til you got settled and all but...we never planned on you coming home early and having a fiancee, so..." she shrugged, "We didn't really have time to adapt the plan."
"Oh," Harry appeared confused, but accepted this explanation for the time being.
Ron, meanwhile, seemed ready to choke Hermione.
"Hermione," he mumbled through gritted teeth.
"What is it, Sweetie-Pie?" asked Hermione, batting her eyelashes and laying it on thickly.
"Could I talk to you for a minute, Stinky-Ass?" asked Ron sweetly. He turned to Harry. "Would you mind excusing us for a moment, mate?"
"Uh, sure," said Harry awkwardly. "I'll just go make some coffee." He left and shut the door.
"Hermione!" exploded Ron.
"Yes, dear?"
Ron groaned. "First of all, stop batting your eyes like that, you look like a demented hippogriff. Second...WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING?? ARE YOU INSANE? MY FAMILY IS GOING TO BE FURIOUS, NOT TO MENTION WHAT LUNA WILL SAY! ARE YOU TRYING TO RUIN MY LIFE?"
Hermione burst into tears.
"I'm really sorry Ron, I wasn't thinking, it's just that I got so hurt, and mad at Harry and...please, Ron, can't we just pretend for awhile? We'll tell Luna, I know she'll understand."
The tall man scowled.
"Please, Ronnie," pleaded Hermione. His expression softened. She only called him Ronnie when teasing or begging.
"Okay,' he agreed reluctantly, "But only for a little while, until we think of a better solution. Understand?"
"Agreed," said Hermione, then she grinned cheekily at him. "Maybe we should seal it with a kiss?"
Ron threw a pillow at her.
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Harry was sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee and waiting for his two best friends to emerge from Ron's room.
This was all so unexpected, he wasn't sure how to take it. It had hurt to see Hermione and Ron sleeping together, so content and happy. He didn't sleep well, even when Hannah was with him, he still had nightmares...
Hermione. Hermione. Hermione.
Harry remembered when he's first met her on the train to Hogwarts, he hadn't thought much of her. But as he'd gotten to know her, he'd grown to like her, to respect her, to love her as his own flesh and blood...to love her as something more.
But he hadn't felt that way about her in years, he told himself. After all, she obviously loved Ron, and he wanted her to be happy. Yes, she loved Ron and he loved Hannah...didn't he?
Did he?
Of course he did. He was marrying her, wasn't he?
Harry moaned and clutched his face in his hands. Why did he feel so broken at the thought of Hermione with Ron?
'I'm just feeling left out, like they thought I would,' Harry explained to himself. 'Yes, that has to be it. I love Hannah. I missed my chance with Mione, I just have to let it go.'
Just then, a sheepish Ron and Hermione entered the kitchen.
"Hey, lovebirds," he smiled. "Grab some breakfast and get dressed quick, Ron, won't you? We've got to leave in a little while."
Ron snatched an apple, kissed Hermione on top of the head, and exited.
"So," said Harry.
"So," said Hermione.
Harry paused for a moment, listening to Ron start the shower, and leaned in to talk to Hermione.
"Listen, Mione," he sighed. "I'm...happy for you."
"Do you mean that?" asked the woman softly. "Do you really want me to marry Ron and live the rest of my life as Hermione Weasley?"
Harry opened his mouth, and just then, Hannah's head popped in the fireplace.
"Anna," he greeted shortly. "I thought you were coming round for Hermione at ten?"
"Yeah, I am," said Hannah irritably, "But listen. They just called me from that dance studio, the one Hermione recommended, and it seems they've got an opening in their class tonight. I think we should take it, I need as much time as I can to improve."
"That's fine. Hermione will show you where it is after you two have finished with the bridesmaids' dresses, okay? I'll meet you there at..."
"Six," supplied Hannah.
"Fine, six it is."
"I love you, Harry-Beary-Bear."
"I love you, too, Anna-Banana."
"By the way," she smiled in a genuine way Hermione had never seen before, "Look in the freezer."
Hannah's head disappeared. Harry, grinning, walked over to the freezer and opened it. Inside was a carton of moose tracks ice-cream, Harry's favorite, with a note attached.
Darling-
Remember our first date?
~Your Anna
Harry stood there for a moment with a dreamy expression
"Harry?" said Hermione gently.
"Our first date," explained Harry. "I ran into Hannah at the same hotel we were using as a base. She recognized me, said hello, and....we hit it off. We really, really hit it off . I've only felt that way one other time...anyway, we agreed to meet after dinner, we took a walk...and saw an Ice Cream Parlour. She ordered a waffle cone with moose tracks ice cream... my favorite...and I knew, right then, Mione, I knew."
Harry noticed Hermione's disapproving look.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"C'mon, Hermione what is it?"
"You knew because of an ice cream cone? That seems really rash, Potter."
Harry shook his head. "It wasn't just the ice cream, it was everything about her that first day we ran into one another. She was all excited, talking about her Ancient Runes research, the way she loved it, going on and on about various theorems and postulates, even though I had no idea what she was talking about. She had about three books sticking out of her bag, and when we were sitting there, eating our cones, she pulled out a problem she was working on and said 'You don't mind, Harry, do you? I really need to finish this.' And I couldn't take my eyes off her, chewing on the end of her quill and brightening whenever she'd worked something out."
Hermione listened with great interest. Hannah sounded like a completely different person.
"She was different than other girls, Hermione. She didn't care about make-up or how much money I had or even that I was famous. She just genuinely liked me. We did things together, simple things, walking and talking and laughing, and she always made it an adventure. I know she seems ditzy and superficial right now, but...a lot of that is the way she was raised. Her family cares about looks and money and status, even if they are nice about it. She can't be herself around them."
Hermione was thoughtful. The way he was describing the Hannah he knew was vaguely familiar...
"I know that once she relaxes, she'll be herself again. She's bookish and sweet and brave and thoughtful. Right now she's just stressed out about the wedding, and..." Harry shifted uncomfortably. "And, I know it's going to sound crazy, but she's really jealous of you. I hope she'll get over that, and then you two will hit it off, I'm sure of it."
"Boy-Who-Longs -To-Have-A-Family, " said Hermione, half-joking, half-serious, " How do you know that the Hannah you fell in love with was the real one, and this new one is only temporary?"
"I know,' said Harry firmly. "I know because if she isn't, I don't know what I'll do."
Hermione looked disappointed. What was wrong with Harry? This wasn't like him at all. He seemed...he seemed to believe that Hannah was his last chance for love. But he was so young!
Hermione stood up and walked over to Harry. She touched his face briefly.
"If you believe that, then you're not the Harry Potter that I know and love."
She stalked toward the door, then paused and turned back around.
"You're not going to be mad at me about lying to you about Ron, are you?" she asked softly.
"No," sighed Harry, "No, of course not."
Hermione beamed.
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Ron, as it turned out, didn't get it so easy.
"All I'm saying, mate," said Harry as the two wizards stood in front of magical tape measures, "Is that I wish you would have told me the truth."
"Believe me," muttered Ron, "I wish we would've told you the truth, too."
"I know that last time we talked about it, you said you didn't fancy Hermione..."
"I didn't!" protested Ron.
"I believe you, I just wish you would have written to me when things changed."
"Harry, we would have, honestly, it's just that..."
"All done, boys!" said the plump witch in the tuxedo store.
Both men hopped down from the stools they'd been standing on.
"So what's this about dancing lessons, mate?" asked Ron as they left the store and strolled around Diagon Alley.
"Actually, I'm a great dancer, Lupin taught me in sixth year," sighed Harry. "It's for Hannah. She may be a brilliant Ancient Runes professor, but when she dances she looks like a retarded stringbean."
Ron laughed. "Harry," he said slowly, unwilling to broach the subject, "Harry...can you...can you honestly see yourself with Hannah forever? I mean, you have to remember this is forever. Permanent. Irreversible."
"Ron, let me ask you something. Can you see you and Hermione together forever?"
Ron didn't get a chance to answer as Harry walked ahead of him into Quality Quidditch Supplies.
"Harry, mate," Ron said to himself, "You didn't answer the question."
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Hermione irritably grabbed the door of the studio for Hannah, trying to juggle a box of wedding invitations.
"After you," she mumbled.
Hannah had most certainly taken her by surprise, taking an interest in her, asking what she liked to so, what she liked to read, what kind of perfume she wore. Hermione supposed she should be happy that Hannah finally seemed to be warming up to her...but really, it wasn't all that much of an improvement. She found all the questions dead annoying, and Hannah was still rather gooey when it came to Harry. To make Hermione's mood even worse, she realized now that Hannah was being nice, she didn't even have anything to complain to Harry about.
"For Harry," she whispered to herself, "I'm doing what Harry wants."
Halfway up the stairs, Hermione realized she'd forgotten her bag. "Hannah," she said, "I have to run outside and grab my bag, I left it at the cafe across the street." She handed the box over to the blonde.
"Okay," smiled Hannah. "I'll just meet you upstairs, shall I?"
"Don't forget this is a Muggle dance studio," reminded Hermione.
Hannah grinned at her. "Look at these trousers," she laughed, "I'm not likely to forget. It's so much easier to walk in robes!"
For the first time, Hermione and Hannah shared a mutual laugh.
Running down the stairs, and out the door, Hermione jogged across the street. The clerk was wonderfully nice, said people forgot things all the time, and gave her bag her favorite handbag.
Smiling at the young man's flirtations, and feeling better about herself than she had in weeks, Hermione crossed the street in a daze, unaware of the sewage grate that she was walking across...
Until she got stuck. Her strappy black heel got caught, and she could not move it.
"No!" she moaned, struggling to pull her foot out of the grate. Frustrated, she slipped her foot out of it, and bent over, trying desperately to pull it out with her hands.
"Oh! My new Morgana shoe! I paid a small fortune for this!"
Fighting with the stubborn shoes, Hermione did not notice a car speed past on the next block, bumping a dumpster, nor did she notice said dumpster flying in her direction until it was too late.
Hearing a low rumbling noise, Hermione looked up just in time to see a tall figure tackle her out of the way of the moving death object.
They rolled in a heap, said figure landing on top of her, and thought disoriented, Hermione was vaguely aware of hard lines contrasting with soft skin.
The figure pulled away, and Hermione noticed startling green eyes brought out by an emerald colored jumper.
Her savior was Harry.
"Whoa, hoa," panted Harry, his breathing ragged. Hermione noticed she was panting as well.
"Hermione...you okay? Are you okay?"
Hermione smiled up at him dazedly, acutely aware of the weight of his body on top of hers.
"I'm great," she said, gasping.
"Okay," Harry breathed.
"Where's my shoe?" asked Hermione weakly.
"Your shoe," Harry glanced at Hermione's right hand, which was clutching the cursed footwear. "You got it, right here."
Harry frowned. She looked a little disoriented, that was certain. He'd had first-aid training as part of his Auror requirements, and Hermione looked like someone who'd experienced head trauma. He peered at her anxiously, one arm still snaked under her head.
"Okay, now talk to me, how are you feeling? Are you experiencing any dizziness, nausea, difficulty breathing?" He cupped her face, trying to check her for any bruises.
"The breathing thing rings a bell," gasped Hermione. She paused.
"Then again, you are on top of me, cutting off my air supply."
Harry grinned and gave a small laugh. "Your mental clarity's excellent. That's good, that's good...you don't appear to have a concussion. You took quite a fall."
Hermione stared at him. "Why are you still on top of me?"
Harry looked up and down their bodies, distinctly aware that Hermione's dress was hugging her in all the right places.
He smiled awkwardly. "That's a good question." He nodded his head to indicate the nearly demolished dumpster.
"You see that dumpster? It seems that dumpster tried to kill you." He sat up, still supporting Hermione across her back. "The road was coming right at you...sit up straight, take your time."
Hermione sat up, blinking, feeling light-headed; whether this was from the fall, or Harry's closeness to her, she didn't know.
She turned and stared into those jade pools Harry had the nerve to call eyes.
"You saved....my shoe," she shook her head. "I mean my life."
"I was going for the shoe...you just turned out to be a bonus," he touched her face gently. "Now we're going to try and get up," he directed, still supporting much of the witch's weight. "Take your time...take your time..."
As they stood up, Hermione felt her knees weaken, and she reached out and clutched Harry instinctively.
"Whoa, oh, I got you, I got you," he soothed.
Hermione smiled, her eyes half-lidded. She buried her face in his neck.
"You smell like...sweet red plums and...grilled cheese sandwiches," she mumbled weakly.
Then she fainted dead away.
Harry caught her thin frame easily, scooping her up into his arms.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "I get that all the time, thank you."
And with an unconscious Hermione in his arms, Harry sighed and walked back towards the dance studio.
Author Notes: Ron's slightly rude pet names for Hermione were inspired by an episode of the X-Files called "Arcadia", in which Mulder and Scully pose as a married couple...every time Mulder used a "Sweetie" or "Darling", Scully called him something that doesn't make a good nickname, like "Poopy-Head." I thought it would work perfectly in Ron and Hermione's situation. Great episode of the X-Files too, one of my particular favorites.
The Killer Dumpster scene, of course, was taken verbatim from the Wedding Planner, in case you haven't seen it.
Raven, if you're reading this, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to email you, my email has a tendency to act up. Just thought I'd let you know that I'm working at such a furious pace that I decided to have someone I live with beta, that way I don't have to send it away to you and wait for it back. I guess this is just one of those stories that is coming along too fast, and I'm impatient to post! Please don't be disappointed!