Almost at the end. Standard disclaimers apply.
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Chapter Eighteen - Falling Into Place
In which Harry makes life a little more perfect and Ron finally figures some things out.
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Harry was of a firm belief that when fate screwed with your life, it makes it a point to do better if you're good. So he was very glad that when Hermione made a full recovery after they discharged her from the hospital, went to trial the following day and got acquitted on that same afternoon. The book containing Lysander Athanasius was shipped off to the Special Detainees section of Azkaban and would be contained there until Lysander was truly and sincerely reformed. Hermione was guessing he'd break free in about five hundred years or so, which was fine by Harry, so long as the arrogant bugger really was reformed enough not to get any notions about binding unwilling witches again.
Strangely enough, the papers were silent about the entire thing, and everyday, Harry expected a bomb to drop, but the bomb never came. He didn't know if he should be relieved or nervous.
True to form, Hermione was near impossible being stuck at home. Under doctor's orders, she wasn't even allowed to do any cleaning in the house. She would have done it anyway if Harry hadn't been prepared for her. He warned her that he had cursed the cleaning materials and certain dirty spots in the house so that if she did any dusting or sweeping or anything similar, she'd get green face, and that meant he'd have to immobilize her again. Doctor's orders.
Predictably, that put her in a very bad mood and she raged and stomped and became petulant, but Harry was prepared for that as well. He could very well buy her good mood with sweet things, a book, and a nice gentle shag.
The Weasley brothers were all properly impressed.
The moment Hermione was declared completely healed, she bolted with a vengeance. She ran Harry ragged shopping all day and practically sent him into a coma having wild, indelicate sex with her all night, which Harry had to admit was really the highlight of his life, by far.
She went back to work with renewed vigor, had lunch with him everyday whilst serious snogging (the papers caught that on one occasion) and made dinner arrangements with old girlfriends, among which included Ginny.
Following Hermione's acquittal and Lysander's official incarceration, Ms. Samantha Northanger herself came to Grimmauld Place to deliver some legal documents.
Samantha explained that the reason the newspapers have been quiet about the entire affair was because they'd been paid millions of hush galleons, and that they were able to appeal to the Quibbler's sense of propriety not to reveal that Nordic Elves were back in circulation. It was interesting to note that the one creature the Quibbler could prove existed had so politely asked them not to. Life certainly was funnier than fiction.
The Athanasius estates would go to Lysander's nearest relative, which was a third cousin of his, twice removed, who lived in Scotland as a bagpiper.
Hermione characteristically worried about what would happen to the employees.
Samantha waved her worries away. "Most of the companies are run by self-sufficient boards, anyway. Mr. Athanasius's majority shares in the company would be proportionately distributed to board members in trust until his return. The smaller businesses might be dissolved, but young employees will get a one year severance pay and the elder ones will get their retirement packages in full."
Hermione found her words to be very comforting. "But what does any of this have to do with me?"
"Nothing, really," said Samantha. "I'm merely here to ask you to sign some papers confirming that the binding had indeed transpired and what you did to prevent it. Insurance matters and such. Of course, you don't have to sign anything now. It would be most prudent of you to look everything over before you owl the signed papers back to me. I assure you, Ms. Granger, none of these documents are spellbound, so you needn't worry. You can even have an Elf of your own choosing to look it over for binding traps, as I don't blame you at all for being wary. In the meantime, you've been given compensation for the trouble Mr. Athanasius has caused you."
Hermione exchanged worried glances with Harry.
"I'd really rather not accept anything from him anymore…"
"Oh, this isn't from him," said Samantha. "This is from Isidore Athanasius's Posthumous Contingency Fund. In accordance with the terms and conditions of the fund, a pro-rated amount shall be released to any witch or wizard subjected to the unfortunate fancies of his dear son. In the event that the witch or wizard was unsuccessful in thwarting the binding process, the monies shall go to the witch or wizard's next of kin. Mr. Isidore Athanasius was a bit of a seer, Ms. Granger, and he probably knew his son was prone to do this. I'm sure Isidore Athanasius would appreciate it if you keep mum about his son's indiscretions to the media, but the terms and conditions of the fund don't really say you should."
"But-"
"This fund's terms and conditions are available for examination in Gringotts London. Here is the access pass." Samantha handed Hermione a scroll. "I believe you have a curse-breaker in acquaintance in Gringotts."
"Y-Yes. Bill Weasley."
"Perfect! You may ask him to look the fund over for you, just for your peace of mind. Again, I assure you, it will not bind you in any way, magically or legally. It's rather clear cut: Just give the money to the poor bloke or bird who had to put up with Lysander's intolerance. At any rate, the monies are already in your bank account and you are now several million galleons richer. Do not attempt to give it back, as I will only make that difficult for you and not worth your trouble. You may opt to give a portion of the monies to the Elven Mothers' Research Foundation, a scientific group aiming to discover ways to make the delivery of Elven off-spring easier and safer for Elven mothers everywhere."
Samantha handed her a brochure.
Hermione took all the documents Samantha handed her in a daze. Business done, Samantha left.
One look at her bank account and Hermione wondered if she'd ever run out of money in her lifetime.
"Shite," Harry said, glancing over her shoulder. "What are you going to do with all those galleons?"
Hermione's brows knitted with thought. "Charity?"
Harry shrugged. "Alright."
"Think I can pass my Elf proposals if I buy the Enactment Committees' favor?"
"Probably, but I wouldn't recommend that course of action."
"I thought you'd say that."
Hermione then spent the next couple of weeks tying the loose ends pertaining to the matter of Lysander Athanasius and consulting with Bill about giving the money to charity.
It was with great consternation she listened to Bill as he explained to her that while she can give away as much of the money as she wanted, there was a great portion of the money spelled to remain in her account unless she used the money on herself and her future heirs. It was still a lot of money.
Bill said that she could circumvent this spelled clause by simply using the money to buy gifts and giving those gifts away.
"I have no time to do that!" she cried. "Do you realize with the amount of money I have, I can buy lavish gifts everyday, for the next ten years and I'd still have money in my account? I mean, the interest I'll earn simply won't let me squander it all!"
Bill had simply shrugged. "Indeed, why go through all that trouble getting rid of it then? Just keep the money, have twelve kids with Potter and live comfortably for the rest of your damn lives."
"Twelve!"
Harry had smirked. "We can shop at the Cheaper By the Dozen store."
Bill seemed to find it all very amusing. "Why go discount with all your galleons? Buy the best to be had. Heck, serve caviar everyday. Raise the kids to be cultured."
"You find this funny, William?" Hermione demanded, sounding suspiciously like Molly Weasley.
"Hilarious!"
"Humph! Harry, we're leaving!"
Harry shrugged and exchanged handshakes with Bill.
"Poker night on Friday," said Harry.
"I'll be there," said Bill, grinning. "Have a good day, Hermione!"
"Good day!" said Hermione crisply. "Oh, and please tell Fleur her recipe for Floating Frosted Cake was simply divine and that she and I must do lunch soon."
"I will."
Hermione stormed out of Gringotts with Harry in tow.
And so the poor little rich girl had to endure her millions.
Several weeks later, Harry had an epiphany. And so excited was he by it that he took Hermione out for an evening of fine dining and the play "Troilus and Cressida" in West End.
He wasn't much for Shakespeare but she adored it, and she watched the play with rapt attention from their perfect box seats.
It was amazing how intently she watched each and every scene, sometimes mouthing dialogue along with the characters on stage, as if she had memorized lines and lines of the play.
"Are you sure this is the first time you've seen this play?" Harry whispered in her ear during a particularly intense scene.
"Oh, yes," she whispered back, gasping as Troilus demanded Hector to fight for Troy in the name of honor and love. "Oh, dear! Poor Hector!"
Harry put his arm around her, holding her as he nuzzled her neck to place intimate kisses on her skin. "Poor Hector indeed…"
Hermione was beyond lovely that evening, of course. They had dressed up, and Harry found that he quite liked Hermione in revealing evening gowns after all. Apparently, so long as she was dressing up for him, he had absolutely no problem with her showing quite a bit of skin and back.
She looked beautiful in gold silk, and with her hair tied up in a lovely upsweep and glittering barrettes, he had every access to her slender neck and perfect shoulders. He had made it a point to take full advantage of that freedom.
She continued to watch the play, but she wasn't completely unresponsive to Harry's attentions. She caressed his thigh affectionately as he kissed her, and while she never removed her eyes from the stage, she did express her appreciation for Harry's attentive lips.
"Ooh! That felt nice, love! Do it again," she would whisper while she gasped when Agamemnon delivered his despicable philosophies on stage.
Harry was most glad to oblige her, of course, but he did have a mission of sorts.
He was only too glad that their box seats offered them the privacy he craved, and while Helen of Troy had everyone's attention on stage, Harry was not everyone. Only one woman in the world had his attention now.
"Hermione," he whispered as Helen began her aria in a soft, captivating voice.
"Yes, love?" breathed Hermione, entranced by the elegance of Helen's understated intro.
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Immensely! But my! This actress has a beautiful voice, doesn't she?"
"Mmm, yes. Would you classify this night as perfect, then?"
"Near perfect. I'm yet to shag you senseless, later. Ooh, Harry, the song is picking up! Lovely!"
Harry thrilled at her promise. "You look breathtaking in that gown, you know. Something you'd be proud to tell our children about."
At this point she grinned at him, rewarding him with several kisses. "And you're perfectly handsome in that tux, Harry. I'll definitely tell our children about it."
She went back to watching.
He smiled. "And this place, the Olivier Theatre… very nice."
"Exquisite. These box seats make it more magical," she said, leaning back against him as he enveloped her in his arms from behind.
"I'm glad you approve."
Helen of Troy was building up a crescendo now, the impending explosive climax of her song sending electric charges through the air.
"Hermione?" he said softly.
Her eyes magnetized to the stage, Hermione barely managed to whisper a response. "Yes?"
"Will you marry me?" He turned up his hand, a velvet box swirling into it and taking form.
Helen burst out in glorious song, but Hermione wasn't listening to her anymore. She was staring at the box in his hand, jaw dropping in utter surprise.
She turned on her seat to look at him and he held the box out in front of her, magically flipping the lid open for her to see the ring inside. She stared at it.
The ring was-to put it mildly-divine. There was a huge diamond in the center, like a rock, but around it, like layered rays of the sun, were several gems in alternating yellow and red. The colors rippled and shimmered so subtly that it wasn't quite distracting, but it certainly deserved attention. Each stone was set in platinum frames. It was, literally, a Sun Ring.
"So, what do you think?" Harry asked when she kept staring at him and the ring for longer than he expected. "About marrying me, I mean. The ring, I'm pretty sure, is a crowd pleaser. I was betting you'd like it when Ron let loose a string of the worse swear words to go along with his compliments. It is quite pretty, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"See, I knew you'd like it!" He grinned, elated.
"Harry," she said, cupping his face in her hands. "I mean yes, I'll marry you."
Hearing her say the words was unlike anything he expected. He had, to an extent, expected her to say she would, but nothing prepared him for the flood of emotion that was overcoming him when she said she would.
"I'll marry you."
Merlin… that is positively the most beautiful song I ever did hear in my entire life.
"Sweet angels singing," he breathed, hardly daring to believe it. "D'you really mean that?"
"Yes," she said. She paused, pretending to think about it. "Yes, I'm quite positive I mean it."
He might have choked on a laugh. She did too, and grinning at one another, he slipped the ring on her finger. She stared at it a moment before flinging herself into his arms.
Their seats toppled over as they crashed to the carpeted floor, but Harry didn't care in the least. She was on top of him, and she was kissing him very, very intensely.
He might have hitched up her golden skirts, just so he can help her get her legs to straddle him, because really, everyone concerned would be happy with this arrangement.
Lights and sounds and explosive drama continued on stage; a perfect backdrop to what was fast become Harry and Hermione's engagement shag.
"Hermione," he said raggedly as he kissed and lavished attention on her neck, shoulders and arms. "Not that I'm complaining, but don't you think we should wait until we can get to the limo-"
"Can't wait," she hissed, undoing the buttons of his trousers. "I must have you now, Harry."
"Oh, well, can't argue with that, then!" He helped her undo him.
"Harry, I want you to take me on this floor-"
"Love, you know I want to, but you'll suffer rug burn."
"Right… well, then I'll just have to ride you!"
"Oh, heavens, yes! Ride me!"
"Oh, dear! But it would be exquisite to do it in the limo, wouldn't it?"
Harry was beginning to feel terribly giddy amidst the Greek Tragedy that was unfolding on the stage beyond their little love box. "I solemnly swear I'll be quite ready to do you again in the limo."
Hermione was terribly pleased by that solemnly sworn oath because she commanded him to rip what knickers she had on account that they were just getting in the bloody way.
And so off went her knickers and on went the show.
As soon as they came together, Harry knew he was going to give rave reviews. Oh, yes he was!
Spectacular performance! Captivating scenery! Moving dialogue!
("Move… just… like… that… Harry!")
He held her by her bum underneath her hiked up gown and let her rock to her own orchestra.
Her honey-gold eyes went amber and he pulled her closer so he could kiss her. The tangling of their tongues awoke something in her and the rhythm of her hips changed dramatically.
It was a gift to know your witch was landing her role perfectly, and he watched her lose herself completely to her performance. He believed he had never seen or heard anything more beautiful in his life.
When he felt her tighten around him, he was more floored than he already was. The pounding soundwaves of the orchestra reverberated through his body and he pushed himself into her, groaning like a vanquished man, their lips clamped together to muffle their screams of combined ecstasy.
It was a breathtaking climax capable of shaking the theater in all its dramatic glory. Harry saw stars.
The sensations merited a standing ovation, but they both weren't quite ready to stand just yet, as their legs felt blessedly useless.
"Oh, Merlin," she murmured with her head on his chest. "Wasn't that the best play ever?"
He ran his hands up her back. "Bra-vo..."
She smiled, leaning her chin on the back of her hands as she looked up at him. "I think maybe I'll skip this part in the telling with the children."
"That would be best, yes. No need to scar them for life! Daddy has plenty enough of that."
Hermione touched his chin delicately. "That would be lovely, wouldn't it? Hearing the little sprogs calling you daddy…"
He grinned. "A dream come true… how many of them do you want?"
"You mean twelve is negotiable?"
He chuckled. "Yes."
"Three."
"Nine," he bargained.
"Four!"
He shook his head, smiling. "Seven."
"Six, and that's it! I'm not spitting out any more than that."
Harry laughed, flipping her over on her back and staring down at her. "That'll be negotiable for the rest of our lives."
She gave him a loving smile. "I reckon it would be. Harry? I love you so very much."
He smiled, kissing her for saying such wonderful words, and because he felt absolutely the same way.
They exchanged sweet promises and kisses while Hector sang in the background, and they would have stayed entangled on the carpeted floor the rest of the play if they didn't hear someone climbing the stairs.
"Shite! That'll be the champagne I arranged for!" said Harry, scrambling to right himself.
Hermione gave a squeak, struggling to regain her composure as she smoothed out her dress and tried her best to put her hair back in its upsweep.
By the time the server arrived, Harry and Hermione were perfectly decent theater patrons, intimately discussing the quality of Hector's tenor blending with Troilus's alto.
"Champagne for the lady, sir?" the server said as he set up the bucket and glass stand.
"Ah, perfect timing, my good man!" said Harry with a twinkle in his eyes. "Hermione, dear fiancée, would you care for a refreshing bubbly?"
"Oh, yes, Harry, dear husband-to-be, that would be divine!"
And so they were served the best champagne and Harry tipped the server most generously for his excellent timing, for if that same server had arrived any sooner, there would have been a flop, or sorts, and that would have dampened the reviews considerably.
They enjoyed the rest of the play in blissful silence, with Hermione leaning back against his chest and his hand running up and down her arm. Two glasses of champagne and three acts later, they were snogging again.
Having completely lost track of the play, anyway, Harry decided that his encore performance would have to be done in the limo.
And so hand in hand, they left their box seats and hurried down the stairs, out of the theater and into a life of a million new possibilities.
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Ten months later, Mr. and Mrs. Potter sat in the Cocina de la Madre with Ron Weasley and his strangely beautiful-well-something, Luna Lovegood.
It was odd, really, this relationship Ron had with Loony. He was, by all intents and purposes, absolutely bedazzled by this enigma of a woman, but when asked if they were dating, Luna would reply, in her dreamy voice, "I don't know. By dating, that would mean we were going out and having dinner and dancing and all that, but we seem to be… experiencing each other, is more how I'd like to put it."
Ron was completely nonplussed. At times he would think they were boyfriend and girlfriend, but just when he began to get comfortable with things, she would-say-refuse to go to some ball with him because she had "other plans". Clearly, there would be times he wasn't her first priority when he would fully expect that he would be during those particular occasions.
"D'you think she's seeing someone else on the side? You know, the way she keeps on seeing me?" Ron asked Hermione in a completely helpless tone.
Hermione had frowned then. Luna had, at that point, told her very little about what she and Ron were, and Hermione never pried. What she did know was that Luna had told Ron they were free to see other people, something Luna may have very well done and something Ron hasn't.
"I think maybe you're it as far as 'the one she keeps seeing' is concerned," said Hermione. "But you and she agreed to this arrangement, didn't you? You're as free to see other people as she is. It astounds me that you're… like this."
Ron wasn't all that pleased with Hermione's reply. Maybe he had expected Hermione would come out with some lovely revelation about Luna seeing no one but him. He looked to Harry. Maybe the Old Boy Who Lived can give another boy a break. "What do you reckon, mate?"
"Same as the missus," said Harry, draping an arm around her and kissing her shoulder. "You should talk to Luna about it."
Ron hadn't been happy about that. In fact, he looked seriously annoyed. Did Harry think he hadn't tried the talking thing? That's all he'd been trying to do with Luna, and it was driving him nutters. The girl just-she just doesn't make sense! Not when she decided she didn't want to, at least. There were times Luna seemed like the most sensible person in the world, but when she went batty on him, it was like getting back on a twisting, dropping and rising rollercoaster. Exhilarating, but when it was over, it left one feeling empty.
"Did Hermione neuter you during your wedding night, or something?" he said spitefully. "I swear, mate, it's like you lost your bullocks when you married her."
Hermione had frowned. "That's not true. Harry has a lot of say in this marriage! And just because he agrees with me, it doesn't mean he's lost his bullocks! He does, in fact, have a nice and hefty package, don't you, love?"
Harry grinned stupidly, sticking his tongue out at Ron.
Ron then decided to excuse himself from Grimmauld Place and apparate back to his newly purchased flat in Marylebone. It was times like these he was glad he had finally gotten a flat of his own. Grimmauld Place was all fine and dandy when they were all just friends crashing together, but now that Harry and Hermione were Mr. and Mrs. Potter, he rather preferred having his own place. It beat explaining why he was living with his married best friends, at any rate.
Now, sitting in the intimate Spanish restaurant with his best friends and his-well, something, Ron wondered what manner of nauseatingly sweet occasion the Potters had concocted again to have this nice little dinner.
They did that a lot; celebrating the littlest victories by eating out; sometimes by themselves, but often with friends and family. They were just the perfect couple, with their perfect occasions.
Ron didn't mean to be bitter, just that his crazy relationship with Luna was driving him spare. It was like all those women he had played around with were coming back to haunt him in the form of Luna Lovegood. She had him desperately hooked and begging for more but he couldn't have her dammit!
Oh, they had sex. They shagged like ruddy bunnies! But he was yet to figure out what she was doing to him, and he loved it and hated it in equal parts.
"So," said Ron, downing another glass of wine to stave off the naughty thoughts Luna's wandering hands were inciting. "What's the occasion? Bagged an important Death Eater? Mixed a ground breaking potion?"
Hermione and Harry exchanged the most tender smile ever to cross the face of the Wizarding World.
"Something much better than that, Ron," Hermione said.
"I know," said Luna. "You caught sight of the Merulian Acknerthauble, and you were able to take a picture."
Harry scoffed. "That's nothing compared to this, Luna."
Ron chuckled. "Good lord, get on with it, then, you sappy bastards!"
Hermione laughed, falling into Harry's embrace and leaning her head on his shoulder.
Harry wiggled an eyebrow. "You ready for this, mate?"
"Probably not."
Hermione's honey gold eyes sparkled. "Ron… Harry and I are going to have a baby." And she smiled so beautifully that Luna's usually dreamy blue orbs went suspiciously liquid at the sight of it.
Ron wasn't ready for that, but only because he hadn't expected to feel so much happiness for the two friends dearest to his heart. He looked at Harry and saw utter felicity and devotion in his best friend's eyes as he peered down at Hermione Potter.
Ron saw and understood the ethereal glow surrounding Hermione that night; the protective way Harry has kept his arm around her all evening, and it gave him weird fluttery sensations in the pit of his stomach.
"R-Really?" asked Ron, overwhelmed for his best friends; his best friends in the whole world.
Hermione nodded as Harry pulled her deeper into his embrace. They laughed softly, kissing as they held each other and catching moments of complete oblivion.
Ron watched them getting lost in each other's gazes, forgetting about their surroundings for several heartbeats.
"Harry, you limey bastard, come here then!" Ron finally cried, jumping up his seat and thumping Harry on the back as he gave his friend a hearty bear hug.
Harry gasped at the exchange but grinned all the same.
With Harry properly beaten, Ron went to Hermione. Her, he treated with utmost tenderness and deepest affection. Because not only was she carrying something precious inside her, she was precious in herself. Hermione, the eleven year old girl who came to their compartment looking for a frog; the girl who screamed and dodged as a troll attacked her; the girl who fought basilisks, dark wizards, freed elves, prisoners from Azkaban and doomed Hippogriffs; the girl he fancied once upon a time and the girl who fell in love with his best friend was now going to become a mum. That was surreal. That was just amazing.
He took her in an embrace, twirled her off the ground and listened to her giggles.
He kissed her forehead before he let her down and watched as Luna offered Hermione her sincerest and weirdest wishes.
When Ron had properly expressed how happy he was for them, they sat back down to dinner.
"How far along are you?" Luna asked.
"We're three months along," said Harry, idly trailing his hands down Hermione's hair.
Ron grinned. Only six more months to go! It was funny how excited that made him. He was going to be an uncle! That was just crazy! "D'you know what it's going to be, yet?"
Hermione looked up at Harry. "Well, Harry doesn't want to know. He wants it to be a surprise." She reached up and pinched Harry's chin.
Ron chuckled. "I take it practical and logical Hermione wants to know the gender now so she can have everything planned down to the last baby bottle."
"You bet," said Harry, grinning. "But we flipped a galleon for it. I won!"
And that was how you won an argument with Hermione: Stay stubborn and flip a coin!
"It's much better not to know," said Luna. "That way, you won't think you know and buy-say-girl stuff and then find yourself with a boy."
Hermione smiled. "Well, if that were the case, Harry junior would just have to like pink, now would he?"
Ron made a face. "Is that what you're going to name it if it's a boy? Harry junior?"
"Oy! What's wrong with that?" asked Harry.
"It'll get called Junior all his life as if he didn't have a proper name attached to him!"
Harry laughed. "Yes, well, it won't be named junior. We have names picked out, actually. If it's a girl, we have Rose, for Hermione's mum, and we're thinking of Veronica as a first name…"
"And if it's a boy," said Hermione, "I certainly love the sound of James."
Ron nodded. "Lovely names, that."
Hermione reached across the table and took his hand. "Ron, you're our best friend… so it would really mean a lot to us-"
"I'm so going to be its Godfather. No question about it!"
They smiled.
"Of course you're the Godfather, mate," said Harry. "What we were going to ask was… well, we really like the sound of James Ronald Potter. And anyway, Veronica Rose Potter is just perfect in itself, since I'd probably be calling my baby girl Ronnie sometimes…"
Harry's words sunk in and Ron's eyes widened.
I will not cry.
I WILL NOT cry.
"Excuse me, there's something in my eye and it really hurts!" Ron yelled, bolting from the table to run for the rest room.
He burst through the bathroom doors and made a desperate run for the sink. He splashed his face with water and tried his best to control himself.
Minutes later, Harry came into the bathroom and stood beside him facing the mirrors.
"Alright, there?" Harry asked.
"Yeah. My eye's better now."
Harry nodded, a small smile cocked on his lips. "You're our best friend, Ron. We want you to understand that you'll always be part of our lives. Our kids are going to grow up knowing you and thinking that every kid in the world has an uncle who loves them rotten."
"Shite, mate," Ron muttered. "Of course I'll love your sprogs like they were my own, and I know all that stuff about being part of your lives, but do you… do you really want to name it Veronica? Or James Ronald? Because that would be-that would be wicked beyond belief!"
Harry grinned. "Are you sure you want to be godfather, though? If some Dark Wizard comes along and A.K.s me and Hermione, you're likely to end up betrayed by some sniveling Gryffindor and shipped off to Azkaban for it."
Ron glared at him. Honestly! Harry could be so macabre sometimes!
Harry laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "So the baby names are settled then, ey?"
"At least!" agreed Ron. "So, do you reckon Hermione's going to let the sprog on a broom? Major potential for your kiddies to have mucho Quidditch talent, you know! 'Fraid your kids are doomed to a lifetime of bad-hair days, though. I think Hermione's do is cute and all, but with your genes in the mix, it's a disaster waiting to happen!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "C'mon then, you bastard, let's get you to the table and feed you. And if you value your life, you'd best not say things like that in front of Hermione. She's very hormonal right now."
"You know what that means for you, of course," Ron said, wiggling his eyebrows.
Harry slanted him a warning glance.
As they approached the table, Ron could see the dim candlelight illuminating the faces of the two women seated at the table. Hermione's eyes were animated with breathless anticipation and Luna's was dreamier than ever.
Hermione looked up and saw them approaching, her gaze instantly meeting that of her husbands as her lips spread into a radiant smile. There was excitement there, and the promise of eternal affection. He was her hero; her strength and she trusted him implicitly.
Ron watched for Harry's reaction and found absolute adoration, like he was staring at the most precious, most essential thing in his life. At that moment, they were each other's reason for living.
Ron Weasley was no sentimental sap, but watching his two best friends, love was beautiful indeed.
They sat back down at the table and Ron momentarily let the happy married couple share a private moment.
He turned to Luna who was staring at him in her usual spacey way.
"How's the eye, Ronald?" Luna asked.
"Better now," he said. "Just needed to wash it out."
She nodded. "Who would have thought that Ronald Bilius Weasley can get something in his eye when his best friends in the world tell him they love him?"
He reddened. "Yes, well…"
Luna leaned over, draping her arm over his shoulders to speak close to his ear. "You can still surprise me, it seems."
Ron cocked a grin with a superior bobbing of his chin. "That's me. I'm just full of surprises."
She narrowed her gaze at him but there was a rather wicked smile on her lips. "Do you know why I don't tell people we're dating?"
His eyes widened in shock, wondering what on Earth possessed her to bring this up now. He glanced briefly at Harry and Hermione and saw that they were still preoccupied with one another. That was a bit of a relief. This conversation Luna had broached was embarrassing!
He shook his head.
"Because you care too much about what other people say and that just makes me want to punish you."
Whenever Luna threw him these whammies, he always found himself completely speechless; utterly defeated and absolutely randy.
"Blimey, witch… you drive me totally spare thinking about you day and night, because half the time I can't bloody understand whatever it is that motivates you. You're weird beyond reason and bizarre past explanation, but you have me at the edge of my seat, pulling at my hair and thinking: What next? And bloody hell, I always want to know!"
"Well," she said softly, rubbing his leg. "I figured someone like you who seems to have the attention span of a six year old need be taunted with the unexpected. Luckily, the unexpected is my natural state, so don't you think we're rather perfect for one another?"
"I think so!"
"That look on your face, though. When Harry and Hermione told you they were… breeding…"
Ron laughed at the term. She's so blooming bizarre!
"… you showed pure, unadulterated happiness for them. You weren't jealous; you weren't sarcastic; and as far as being sensitive went, you almost turned into a girlie movie."
"Jealous, sarcastic or girlie movie… hmm, what to be?"
She grinned, her eyes glazing over. "I think, Ronald, that I'm going to like dating you… exclusively."
Ron's jaw dropped in astonishment. "Really?"
"Yes. You have finally caught my full attention."
His eyes lit and his smile broadened. "Brilliant."
"Now, after dinner, we will go to my apartment and celebrate this new development in our relationship. Is that fine by you?"
"Oh, most definitely!"
"Good." Luna turned her gaze back to dinner as the food arrived. "Hermione, you might want to avoid those mussels. They're bi-products of Borkovian Heggleschnocks and Heggleschnocks are not good for babies in development. Do you know why?"
"No Luna, I do not," said Hermione, pushing Harry's spoon away with her own when he started piling food on her plate with unwarranted enthusiasm.
"Because they turn children in to snarky little monsters, is what. You don't want a snarky baby. They cry all night and refuse to get burped."
"No, of course not! We'll have perfectly behaved babies, won't we, Harry?"
"Angels! Now, maybe you should avoid the mussels…"
"But-"
As they argued about Hermione's diet, Ron couldn't help but smile at the perfect turn the evening had taken. At the beginning of it, everything seemed so uncertain: Luna being something that resembled a girlfriend; Hermione and Harry being the duo more than part of the trio; him getting lost in the drama of it all… now Luna was his girlfriend, Harry and Hermione assured him that they would never leave him out and he was-well, he was him, but hopefully better for all these newly opened doors.
He draped an arm on the back of Luna's chair. "There's a Charity Ball at the end of the month sponsored by the Chudley Cannons. It's an important affair, and if you're available, it would really mean a lot to me for you to come as my date."
"I'd love to go, Ronald. You know I would."
He grinned. Truth is, he never knew with Luna, and that was just wicked.
Hermione and Harry pulled their gazes from each other long enough to give him congratulatory smiles.
"I'll throw you a dinner party," said Hermione, giving him a wink.
Ron laughed. These Potters. He loved them, and yes, he finally understood it: There was always something to celebrate.