Elvis Is Our King

Ursula Lives

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 05/08/2004
Last Updated: 05/08/2004
Status: in_progress

Men just don’t pick up on things like not so subtle hints towards marriage. And unfortunately, Harry was a man. Is a man. You’d think he’d have gotten the message through his thick skull when I dragged him off to look at wedding dresses.

Chapters

1. Elvis Is Our King

1. Elvis Is Our King

A/N: Wow. I finally got my author ok! I was originally going to post Tug (my response to THE Challenge by Ramoning Along) as my first story, but I decided to thrust upon everyone here at Portkey the first HP fan fiction I ever wrote (9/14/03). I’ve tried to keep my hands from doing any quick edits on it, but I did tweak it a little here and there. Oh, this goes by fast (Or so the people on ff.n told me)

Disclaimer: Don’t own anything associated with Harry Potter, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Lazaro, or Yolanda. If I forgot anything, just include it in here.

Summary: Men just don’t pick up on things like not so subtle hints towards marriage. And unfortunately, Harry was a man. Is a man. You’d think he’d have gotten the message through his thick skull when I dragged him off to look at wedding dresses.

Elvis Is Our King

If someone where to have come up to me a years ago from today and told me I would be happy I would have been skeptical. To tell the truth, I’d have probably pulled out my wand and hexed them till kingdom come. Not that I’m not happy now, because I am. Just not the happy I thought.

I always had this image of me and Harry coming out of Hogwarts all smiles and engagement rings. Yes, engagement rings. Shows what I know. We came out smiling all right, but my ring finger...Nothing. Empty. Zilch. Nada. Zip-zap gone. Completely and utterly bare.

It’s not exactly Harry’s fault it was empty. I mean, he was of the male species after all. Men just don’t pick up on things like not so subtle hints towards marriage. And unfortunately, Harry was a man. Is a man. You’d think he’d have gotten the message through his thick skull when I dragged him off to look at wedding dresses.

“Who’re you getting married to?” Harry had asked confused as I came out of the dressing room in a lovely Yolanda dress. Gee, you’d think he’d have been excited to see me in a wedding dress. Or, maybe it freaked him out to be dragged all the way across town by his rabid best friend, who tried on wedding dresses for five straight hours. See what I mean by not so subtle hints?

Over the course of three months I had already planned the perfect wedding. Flowers? White roses. Lots of roses. Church? An old Gothic cathedral that my parents had gotten married in. Recital? Hogwarts’ hall in ivory and gold. Food? I already knew the whole menu by heart. Wedding song? “When You Say Nothing At All” as sung by Randy Travis. Dress? An ivory ball gown with gold embroidery from Lazaro’s Fall collection. Groom? Harry. Do I even need to go on?

After I had planned the wedding of my dreams and had everyone on speed dial, I did the only thing I had left to do. I threw myself a bachelorette party. Ginny, Lavender, Pavarti, and me. We trekked out to the Hog’s Head and got drunk off our skinny asses. Hobbling down the cobblestone street we ran into my husband-to-be-who-didn’t-know-he-was-my-husband-to-be and Ron. I don’t really remember much that happened after that, only that the next morning as the sun filtered through the sheer curtains (That by the way, weren’t mine) I had someone’s arm around my waist. I turned to see who it was and screamed my bushy head off.

Harry.

“What’s the matter?” Harry had mumbled, his head burrowing further into the crook of my neck. Breath, Hermione. Breath. In, out. In, out.

“Harry?” I’d squeaked out. I’ve always hated the way my voice would suddenly go all high pitch on me. He’d just mumbled and rolled over onto his back. “Harry?”

“Hermy?” He’d asked as he propped himself up on an elbow. He was squinting at me, and I could tell he wasn’t quite sure without his glasses.

“Hi?” I’d said uncertainly as I gave a small wave. Harry had sat up right so fast I almost had whiplash.

“HERMY?!”

We both jumped out of bed. Harry holding a pillow in front, and me wrapped in a dark green sheet. We both just sort of stood there looking at each other with a shocked expression. Harry raised a hand warily and ran it through his hair, the pillow slipping down. I let out a squeak and ran out of the room. I had no idea where I was going, all I knew was that I had to get out of there before I did something I regretted even more. Before I knew what had happened, I was standing on Ginny’s doorstep in nothing but the sheet from Harry’s bed.

“Who is it?” Ginny’s voice asked through the bright red door.

“Open the door,” I yelled. “I’m wearing a sheet.”

The door flew open as I raised my hand to knock again, my hand connecting with Ginny’s skull. She scowled and pulled me quickly inside. I looked at her pleadingly, silently begging for her to understand my desperate need for clothes. The scowl fell from her face as she let out a deep laugh.

“You’re unbelievable,” Ginny laughed.

“Stop being a git and get me some clothes,” I sighed as I ran a hand through my sweat matted hair.

I ended up talking to her for hours. About Harry, my feelings, everything and nothing. Halfway through a discussion on the possibility of Snape and McGonagall ever having a secret affair Pig zoomed his way through the living room window. Ginny quickly read the letter and handed it to me. It was from Ron, saying he desperately needed to talk to me. Before I knew it I was at Ron’s, and he opened the door before I had even knocked.

“Hello,” He’d smiled.

“Hi.”

“So…”

“Yeah…”

“Harry told me,” He blurted. “I forced him to, so don’t be mad.”

I talked to Ron for hours, too. About what I should do. He told me to go to Harry’s house in nothing but a raincoat and throw myself at his feet while confessing my undying love for him. Please.

“What are you doing?” Harry had asked confused as I stood on his doorstep in nothing but a bright green raincoat. I opened my mouth to speak and quickly closed it, unsure of what exactly I was doing there.

To make a short story shorter, I did confess my undying love to him. After I’d opened my raincoat to flash him. He’d just stood there with his mouth open, before asking me if I’d wanted to elope. So, that’s how we ended up in Las Vegas at a small chapel that smelled of stale chips with Elvis marrying us.

Was it the perfect wedding?

Flowers? Fake fabric roses, in a faded red. Church? Not exactly the Gothic cathedral I‘d wanted, but I did have Elvis and Harry. Recital? A cramped room at Motel 6. Food? Tons of candy from a vending machine. Wedding song? The theme song to Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Dress? I was wearing Harry‘s old sweats and my raincoat. Groom? Harry.

Perfect?

Unbelievably.

………………….

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(Subtle, huh?)