Mr. Matchmaker by RiXX

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 11/07/2006
Last Updated: 23/09/2006
Status: Completed

After reading something he *really* shouldn't have, Ron takes it upon himself to bring his
two best friends together. By any means necessary.




1. Revelations
--------------

**Disclaimer****: Nope, not mine. Just this arrangement of words. Harry Potter, sadly,
belongs to Ms. Rowling, the WB Corporate Juggernaut, and anyone else who has a slice of the
proverbial pie.**

**Mr. Matchmaker (The Trials and Tribulations of Ronald Weasley).**

Three months ago…

“I’m telling you now, one more comment and…”

“And what, Ronald *Bilius* Weasley?”

“And…well…I’m not sure. But I can guarantee you won’t like it!”

“For heaven’s sake, I’m just asking for a bit of consideration every now and again Ron!”
Hermione huffed angrily, before crossing her arms over her chest and turning away from her
red-haired boyfriend. The usage of the word “boyfriend” being somewhat loose, to say the least.
They’d finally gotten together several weeks previously after dancing around each other for a good
couple of months, but Hermione couldn’t deny that she knew it’d be trouble from the start. She
loved Ron, god, she really did, but they were just so…incompatible.

He was a slob; she was a hygiene freak.

He was sporty; she was bookish.

She was deep…he was about as deep as a half-filled watering can.

“How can you say I don’t give you consideration Hermione? I’m always giving you space when you
want it, and comfort as well. For crying out loud, I gave up bloody Quidditch with Harry today,
just because you wanted me to stay here.” *Point in evidence.* She wheeled on him angrily,
tears springing to the corners of her eyes as she shouted at him, voice cracking in
mid-sentence.

“Oh Ron, that’s not the *point*!” She half-shrieked, half-sobbed. “Why have I felt like
I’ve known you less and less every day since we…since we…”

“Snogged?”

“*RON FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE*!” His hands immediately went up in a placating gesture, eyes
widening at her sudden outburst. Hermione released a final, choked sob before turning back around,
a conjured tissue clutched firmly between her fingers.

Ron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so. The truth of the matter was that he’d
been thinking the exact same thing for a while now. He missed his best friend, the girl who’d
berate him about failing to do his homework rather than the dirty sock he’d forgotten to clean up,
who’d smile and laugh with him and Harry on summer afternoons by the Great Lake rather than scream
and rail at him for being insensitive (well, more so than usual). He missed seeing her smile,
rather than seeing her cry. There was only really one thing to do; they both knew the direction
that this conversation was heading in, one of them just needed to take the first step.

*Fortune favours the bold*, he thought wryly to himself before tentatively taking the few
steps necessary to close the distance between his girlfriend and himself. Reaching out, he placed
both hands on either trembling shoulder, wincing as she flinched at his touch. Her back was still
turned to him, but the sniffling became quieter, the involuntary convulsions stilled slightly.
*Now*, he thought, *do it now*. *Make it clean.*

“I know what you mean.” He half-whispered, half-forced out. *For god’s sake Weasley, suck it
up*. He cleared his throat subtly before continuing, ignoring the second stiffening of her body
at his words. “We both know why.” He added sadly, albeit more authoritatively. Suddenly he was
engulfed by a swirling mane of curly brown hair as she whipped around, throwing herself at him with
such abandon that Ron wasn’t sure whether she was going to hug him, or stab him in the face.

“I love you so much,” She sobbed into his shoulder. He closed his eyes, feeling the tell-tale
signs of an impending loss of masculinity headed his way. His throat tightened painfully, hands
shook and he had to bite his lip to keep it from trembling.

*Fortune favours the bold*.

“I love you too Hermione.” He replied, absently stroking her hair with one hand, keeping the
other arm wrapped around her. “You’re my best friend, love. Well, you and Harry.” She tightened her
grip about him; a fresh bout of shakes overcoming her. “But that’s the problem. You’re my *best
friend*, you always have been and you always will be.”

“Oh, Ron…” She breathed.

“No, let me finish. I had a crush on you for the longest time, all through our fourth and fifth
years. Sixth year, it was waning, but I refused to acknowledge it. When we kissed, it was
fantastic; it was great; it was everything I wanted for the last few years…for so long. When we got
together I was ecstatic, until I realised that we *were* together. That we couldn’t just be
two best mates who had a quick snog every now and again, that the…what’s the word…” He trailed off,
hinting for her support.

“Dynamic?” Hermione offered automatically. Ron nodded.

“Yeah, the dynamic of our relationship had changed. Fundamentally.” He would never admit it, but
he felt a twinge of pride at being so eloquent, not stuttering and not fouling up words.

Well, apart from that last one. Maybe he was learning after all.

“And Hermione…” He pulled back from her slightly, causing her to look up at him with such a
vulnerable look in her eyes that it made his heart melt. He steeled himself, reaching a hand up to
stroke her cheek lightly, affectionately. “I don’t want that. I miss my best friend.” She opened
her eyes slowly, a ghost of a smile faintly tracing the corners of her mouth.

“Sweetheart…” She sighed, and leant in to brush their lips together. He accepted her, taking her
bottom lip between his as they met in a brief, chaste kiss. A last kiss.

“So…best friends?” He asked quietly, after they’d pulled back, staring at each other’s bloodshot
eyes. She smiled fully this time, leaning in once again but kissing him on the cheek this time. A
sweet, platonic meeting of flesh. He could live with that.

“Always, Ron. Always.”

**Present…**

The wind whipped around Ron furiously as he descended a little faster than he meant to, pulling
up on his broom belatedly as his knees jarred on impact with the ground. Wincing in pain, he glared
at the graceful descent of his best friend, who landed next to him with a smirk on his face and
amusement dancing behind his green eyes. *One word Potter*, he thought irritably through the
shooting pain in his kneecaps, *one word…*

“Smooth.”

*Bastard.*

“Yeah, well,” Ron grumbled as he achingly slid off his Cleansweep. *Christ, that smarted*.
“Not all of us have Firebolts, snitchboy.”

“Or ability?”

“Watch it Potter.” He smiled and clapped the other boy on the back, revelling once again in the
fact that they were back, here, at Hogwarts. He’d been so certain he’d never get to practice
Quidditch again, or even ride a broom when it wasn’t on a suicidal mission to destroy a piece of a
maniac’s soul, or trying to escape said mission with most body parts intact. As it stood, it was
Hermione of course who convinced their well-meaning, but tragically short-sighted friend that they
stood the best chance of devising a way to search for and destroy the Horcruxes if they had a base
of operations from which to work from. And even without their late Headmaster, Hogwarts was still
one of, if not *the* safest place in the Wizarding world. Ancient magic protected them here,
things born of the Old times. Even someone as dangerously unbalanced and deliriously self-important
as Voldemort wouldn’t try to tinker with things that were meant to lie sleeping. The consequences
could be too terrible to behold.

At least for now, anyway. They had time. Not a lot of it, but some nonetheless, and Lord only
knew they needed it to prepare. To strategise. To research.

Certainly not to play Quidditch outside on a warm, lazy Sunday afternoon. No sir.

“RONALD WEASLEY, HARRY POTTER, GET OVER HERE *NOW*!” A shrill scream came from the general
direction of the locker room. Neither boy needed to turn around, they knew exactly who had been so
ungraciously demanding their attention, and they knew exactly why said person was so horrendously
angry. Somewhat terrified, the two friends glanced at each other worriedly.

“Uh oh.”

“How did she know?”

“I’ve been saying it for years, Harry, SHE KNOWS EVERYTHING!”

“*I HEARD THAT RONALD*.” The redhead winced.

“I told you this was a bad idea.” He sighed, glancing over at a furious Hermione, her hands
placed firmly on her hips in a gesture so reminiscent of McGonagall, he actually started for a
second.

“I guess we’d better get over there before she…you know…has an aneurysm.” Harry said quietly,
before he eventually sighed heavily, picked up his Firebolt and began to trudge resignedly over
towards their mutual best friend.

Or as Ron preferred to call her at the moment, Medusa.

Discounting the idea that discretion was the better part of valour at this point, and would most
probably earn him a swift kick in the shins at the dinner table, he too slung his broom over his
shoulders before following Harry’s long walk over. As he drew closer, the conversation between the
two became clearer, although he only heard parts of it clearly over the distance between them.

“Don’t believe…utterly irresponsible…have a mission, Harry!”

“We…nice day…unwind…god, don’t hurt me.”

He finally got close enough to cancel out the annoying staccato effect of their voices, only to
hear the end of the conversation.

“I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW WHY I BOTHER WITH YOU HARRY JAMES POTTER, I REALLY DON’T!” With a final,
withering glare at Ron she swung her book bag in a wide arc, causing all who were watching to hiss
in empathy for poor Harry as it connected with his arm. She turned smartly on her heel and began to
storm off immediately, Harry shooting an apologetic glance at Ron before taking off after her.
Neither of them noticed the dark green book that had fallen out of Hermione’s bag upon its
high-speed collision at Bicep Junction.

Once he could hear the sound of heavy footfalls and Harry’s belated attempts to calm Hermione
down disappear, and also once the redheaded Keeper had gotten over his initial shock at yet another
one of her undoubtedly stress-related outbursts, he hurried over and retrieved the item before
anyone else noticed. Running his fingers over the smooth Wyrmhide leather binding, he raised an
eyebrow at the word “TORI” embossed in golden fire at the bottom-right corner.

“I know she loves her books…” he muttered under his breath, thumbing the lettering tentatively,
“But naming them is going way too far.”

As he turned the object over in his hands a silver latch came into view, roughly the width of a
sickle; that bound both covers to each other. Curious, he tried popping it, but to no avail. In
fact, there didn’t seem to be a mechanism for opening it at all. Grinning smugly, he pulled his
wand from the pocket in his sleeve he’d had sewn into all his robes, before pointing the wooden
shaft directly at the latch.

“*Alohomora*.” He enunciated clearly, pleased at the fact he’d managed to outwit one of
Hermione’s puzzles. He’d have to brag, and jest, and possibly tease the girl to the point of
psychosis later on. If it had actually worked, of course.

The latch stayed firmly secure, the covers not budging a millimetre in either direction.

“Bugger.” Ron muttered once more, before sighing and shaking his head irritably. He moved to
stash the book inside his robes. “Guess that’s why she’s the brains of the Trio.”

A soft click and a gentle, thrumming vibration in his hand halted his movements, as he slowly
drew the book back out of the folds of his clothing. Sure enough, the metal bar was now at a ninety
degree angle to where it once was, the pages open and accessible. More out of morbid, possibly
masochistic curiosity than anything else, the boy replaced the catch slowly, feeling the vibration
cease as soon as both ends touched the leather. Turning to the front cover once more, he grinned as
he realised he’d actually figured it out this time.

Not by accident, of course.

He touched the golden writing in the corner once more, enunciating clearly once more.

“Tori. Shit…I mean, TRIO!” He flushed red, despite the lack of anyone around to witness his
momentary lapse in mental competency, grinning even wider as the latch flipped open once more.
“Let’s see what’s worth all this trouble.” He murmured idly, opening the book as he did so. Without
warning, the pages began to fly open at the first hint of physical coercion, flipping to one side
quickly as if searching for a specific place. With a final leap of a few inches into the air before
settling back down into Ron’s hand, the book seemed to have arrived at whatever destination it was
travelling towards. With a start, he watched as the blank page began to ink itself, writing in
slanted, jade-green writing that he recognised instantly. Ignoring the sinking feeling that he
shouldn’t be reading this, he glanced at the header.

September 23rd

*It happened again.*

No, he definitely shouldn’t be reading this.

It happened again. That dream, *the* dream. The one where I’m lying on the common room sofa in
strong arms, being kissed with a passion I didn’t even know existed. Being kissed by…

Ron’s heart caught in his throat.

*…Harry…*

Ron’s heart leapt out of his throat, slapped him around both cheeks and darted straight back in
through his open, hanging mouth.

This time he leant back, gave me a smile, and I felt his lips brush mine again just as I woke up
on said sofa. God, I hoped it was real this time. I hate that it wasn’t.

I suppose that’s why they’re called dreams, though, and not reality.

With an involuntary jerk of his hands, Ron slammed the book shut, wide-eyed and mouthing the
words “God, I hoped it was real this time”. Well…that was…well it was certainly something.

He had had an inkling that Harry’s feelings towards their female best friend had been somewhat
less than platonic for a fair while, since their fifth year really. They seemed to have a bond that
he could never surpass with her. Whilst he knew that he was Harry’s best mate, he also knew there
was *something*, which transcended that between his other two friends.

Now, of course, he had concrete proof of the other half’s feelings.

Squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, Ron began to stride purposefully up towards
Hogwarts, forgetting all about the robes and schoolbag he’d left in the locker room.

He was going to help his best friends find each other, recognise their feelings for each other,
even if he had to lock them in the dungeon together for a week with no-one but Dobby for
company.

Because that’s what best friends did for each other.

**Author’s Note**:

*Hi again all, this is being written in response to a challenge on the PK forums entitled “Mr.
Matchmaker”. I actually started it a long time ago, but work’s been so hectic recently I haven’t
had a change to write, much less beta poor Pickle’s work. Sorry, I’ll get on it soon I
promise!*

*Anyway, updates to MM and Priori by the weekend. Promise ;)*



2. Foundations
--------------

**Disclaimer****: Nope, not mine. Just this arrangement of words. Harry Potter, sadly,
belongs to Ms. Rowling, the WB Corporate Juggernaut, and anyone else who has a slice of the
proverbial pie.**

**“The monthly visit to Hogsmeade Village will be held on Tuesday 26th September.
This may only be attended by students in the Third Year and above, with appropriate permissions
signed and delivered to their Head of House.”**

Ron arrived back in the Common Room twenty minutes later, to the clamouring sounds of his fellow
Gryffindors pushing, shoving, and nudging their way into the large group that had gathered by the
notice board. Spying Hermione to his left, he waved, only to be met with a crossing of her arms and
a rolling of her eyes.

“Hey,” the voice of his best friend came from his other side. He looked over to see Harry, still
in his Quidditch gear and Firebolt in tow give him a nod in greeting. Ron returned the gesture,
before pointing in the direction of the group that was currently mobbing the corner of the
room.

“What’s this?” He asked, turning to face them fully as Harry did the same.

“Hogsmeade weekend.” Harry replied mournfully. “This Tuesday.”

Ron empathised with his friend after a quick glance over at Hermione, who was attempting to mask
her interest in the rapidly growing crowd. Unsuccessfully, to the redhead’s amusement. He knew that
after their ill-fated attempt to bunk off her regular Sunday library time under the pretence of
being ill to go play Quidditch, she’d force them to make it up whilst everyone else was enjoying
themselves in Zonko’s, or downing pints of butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks.

“You going?” Ron asked casually, a plan already forming in his mind. *This was perfect, oh my
yes. Utterly perfect timing*. Harry turned to him, a slightly incredulous look in his eyes.

“You kidding? After how pissed Hermione was, *and still is I might add*, I don’t think
there’s a chance in high hell we could go to bloody Hogsmeade and return with all parts of our
anatomy intact.” He sighed, deflated and despondent. “It’s the library for us Ron. The library.”
Ron smirked, to the chagrin of the black-haired boy next to him, who tightened his grip on his
broom menacingly. “Don’t even be trying to think of a way out of this Ron. I’m not buying it again.
*‘Don’t worry Harry, she’ll never notice. You know Hermione, Harry, once she’s in the library
getting her out is like prising Percy from the Minister’s arse cheek. She’ll never find…*”

“Okay!” Ron exclaimed, raising his voice as he held his hands out in a gesture of appeasement.
“Point taken!”

“I’m just saying; the bruises on my arm aren’t going away soon. Girl’s got a hard swing.” He
subconsciously rubbed his triceps, brow furrowed in discomfort.

“Exactly.” Ron agreed, a grin that couldn’t be described as anything less than shit eating
plastered across his face. Harry’s eyes narrowed warily.

“Glad we understand each other, then.”

“We do.”

“Good.”

“Which is why *I’m* going to talk to Hermione this time.” He finished triumphantly. Harry’s
mouth opened and closed several times, a hundred responses obviously dying on his tongue, before he
made a sighing sound in the back of his throat and turned around, walking towards their
dormitory.

*You’ll thank me for this later*, Ron thought smugly to himself as he watched his friend
trudge up the stairs, Firebolt trailing after him. Filled with bravado, he spun about face towards
the direction in which he’d last seen his other best friend. Except she wasn’t there any more. She
was in front of his face. Angry.

He gulped.

“No.” She said simply, in a low, threatening voice. “No way, Ron.”

“No er…heh…no what?” He chuckled nervously, buying time and frantically avoiding her piercing
gaze. The stray thread on his cuff became fascinating over the course of a few seconds.

“You *know* what, and we’re *not* going.” She growled; hands firmly placed on her
hips. Turning on as much of the ‘forlorn Weasley’ charm that had worked so well in the past, he
looked at her with horrifically mournful doe-eyes, smirking inwardly as she glanced away
instantly.

“Come on, Hermione.” He pleaded in a soft voice. “Pleeeease.”

“No, Ron.”

“It’ll be the last time in ages we get to go, with everything this year.”

“*No*, Ron.”

“Is this about today?” Her sharp look gave him the answer. “Look, it was my fault. I practically
dragged Harry with me. He was going on about *not wanting to let you down, about how important it
was to focus on the job in hand*…” Her gaze softened, he smirked inwardly again.

“Harry said that?” She asked softly, a smile quirking ever so slightly at the side of her
mouth.

Oh yeah, got you.

If he could do it without getting punched out, he’d be dancing in the vein of victory right now.
Instead, he simply nodded fervently in the affirmative.

“Oh yeah. And look, I know I’ve done bad, but I’ll make it up to you. Just let Harry go to
Hogsmeade.”

“I don’t know…” She sighed, her hands coming to fold over her chest.

“Look,” He said, placing both his hands on her shoulders, looking her square in the eye. “I’ll
make you a deal. A bet, if you will, between honest folk.”

“I don’t gamble.” Her short response came, nearly spat at him.

“Make an exception.” He paused for dramatic effect, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Hermione in
turn narrowed hers warily, much like Harry had done not two minutes earlier.

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll bet you that I can show you the best day of your Hogwarts career,” At her apprehensive
look, he hurried to reassure her. “And it will be, with one catch.”

“Which is…?”

“Just do exactly what I say.”

“Ron, I really don’t think…”

“Oh come on Hermione, when have I let you down before?” He asked, kicking himself internally as
soon as the words left his mouth.

“About an hour ago, if I’m not mistaken.” She replied coldly, her folded arms tightening with
her lips.

“Hah! Er, yeah, but this is penance.” He stroked the sides of her arms in what he hoped was a
soothing manner, earning a look down from Hermione at his hands first, then a raised eyebrow in his
direction immediately afterwards.

He stopped.

“Alright, say, through some stroke of temporary lunacy, I take you up on this. What do I get if,
through some stroke of *cosmic* lunacy mind, I don’t consider it worth our while.”

“Er…” Ron stammered. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. “I’ll err…I’ll take over night research
for a week.” She sighed before rolling her eyes.

“Better sweeten the deal, Ronald.”

“Okay okay! I’ll…I’ll alphabetically organise your entire bookshelf.”

“Already done.”

“I’ll numerically organise your editions of ‘Hogwarts: A History’.” Once again, her glare
conveyed the message that it had been done, redone, and done a third time for posterity better than
words ever could. A wicked thought crossed his mind, and before his natural survival instinct could
kick in and stop him doing something so monumentally stupid, he pulled Hermione’s diary out of his
robes.

Her eyes suddenly widened in abject terror.

“I’ll give you back this if you agree!” He smiled cheerfully, the grin fading as the deep red
flush that consumed his female friend’s face mirrored the look of pure, unbridled anger in her
eyes.

“*You give me that back, right now*.” She hissed. Ron’s feet wanted to move backwards out
of fear for their own safety, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stare Hermione down,
whilst willing his body not to shit itself.

“Say yes.” He demanded.

“Ronald Weasley, I swear to god…”

“Say yes and it’s yours!” He demanded again, moving the object just out of her reach as she
swiped for it.

“OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE! FINE!” She screamed, causing nearly everyone in the room to glance
wide-eyed at the head girl’s completely unprecedented use of cursing. With angry tears in her eyes,
she snatched the book out of his hands before storming off to the cushy armchair in the corner,
flopping down on it with a thump that belied her slight frame.

Ron walked over.

“Where did you get this?” She snapped, and he instantly regretted using it as leverage as he saw
a tear fall down her cheek.

“It fell out of your bag when you…err…clubbed Harry. Nice swing by the way.” He tried to joke,
his smile fading again as he saw she was plainly not amused. “Look,” he lied, “I haven’t read
anything in it, you’d already stormed off by the time I noticed it.” Hermione sniffed, and his hand
automatically went to the back of her head, stroking her hair comfortingly as he pulled her onto
his thigh, ignoring the slightly apprehensive glance she cast him.

“You haven’t looked in it?” She murmured in a hoarse voice, her throat obviously sore from the
tears she’d just spilt.

“Nope.” He lied again, feeling like the biggest charlatan in history. *It’s for a good
cause*, he told himself. *It’s for a good cause. Harry and Hermione, and my ability to
reproduce ever again.* “I’m sorry I blackmailed you with it. I just want you to relax. You’ve
been so tightly wound over this Hor…”

“*Ron!*” She hissed suddenly, reminding him where they were.

“Er...with this…Horse…business. We all want a pony. Heh.” He miserably failed to cover up;
shooting a worried glance at a fifth year that was looking at him oddly.

“You’re so gay, Weasley.” The boy muttered, before standing up and moving to the sofa furthest
away from him. Hermione giggled. Ron’s expression darkened, his mouth silently speaking the word
“Gay” in disbelief.

“Right.” He murmured before seizing Hermione’s face without warning, ignoring her muffled cries
of astonishment as he pressed his lips to hers. Hard. He pulled away quickly, levelling a
triumphant look at the little shit across the seating area before darting off the arm of his best
friend’s chair, giving her an apologetic glance as well.

“Remember, my rules. Blind date. Be at that new café, Sallusands or something, at 1pm.” He then
strode up towards the boy’s dormitory determinedly, but not being able to hide the smug grin on his
face.

One down, one to go.

He failed to notice Hermione’s confused and troubled expression, doubt clouding her eyes as he
left.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

“No, Ron.” Harry said distractedly, as he pulled off his Quidditch jersey, throwing it
unceremoniously into his wash basket before pulling out a clean t-shirt from his trunk. “No way in
hell.” Ron sat himself on the edge of Harry’s bed, rolling his eyes as he did so.

“Look, I spoke to Hermione, she thought it was a great idea.” He pleaded. Harry glared at him.
“Okay, a bit of gentle cajoling was required, but really, she’s fine with it!”

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” The taller boy grumbled, pulling his shirt on before
starting on his trousers. Ron dutifully turned his head. There’d been all too much mention of
homoeroticism for his liking today without adding to it.

“Look, seriously, I got her to agree.” He replied as the sounds of Harry shuffling around began
to cease.

“Yeah? What did you have to do in exchange?” Ron’s face blushed at the impromptu kiss. He really
shouldn’t have done that, but honestly, he was protecting his libido.

“Don’t worry about that. The point is, we’re in the clear, and I have just the thing to cheer
you up.”

Harry grumbled incoherently.

“Come on mate, when was the last time you were with a girl.” Ron asked, knowing the answer
immediately. Him being the girl in question’s brother. He looked round finally, to find his best
friend glaring at him.

“Do I really have to credit that with a response?” He asked bitterly, doing up his belt once
more and reaching for some clean socks as he sat down next to the redhead.

“Well, no. But honestly, it’s a good idea.”

“Ron, I can’t be involv…” Harry started, giving a long-suffering sigh before Ron cut in.

“I know, but it’s just one date.” He exclaimed hurriedly. “It’s just a bit of fun, come on!”
Harry was silent for a few moments, and Ron knew he was weighing the pros and cons.

Weasley 2 – Lovebirds 0.

Finally, Harry sighed again before speaking.

“Who is it, then?”

“That, my friend, would defeat the purpose of a blind date.” Ron grinned, folding his arms over
his chest triumphantly as Harry began to massage his temples gently.

“Help me out a bit, ‘mate’. Do I know her?”

“Let’s just say it’s a girl we’ve both known for years.”

“Oh.” Harry muttered, with the enthusiasm of someone about to be strip-searched at customs.
“Good. Anything else I should know?”

“Well, I know she has a thing for you.” Ron remarked subtly, his grin still permanently affixed
to his face. Harry wanted to slap it off. “And I’m fairly sure you like her as well.”

Harry felt a cold feeling begin to form in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t be suggesting…no,
not again…

“Fairly short, bad temper?” He asked casually.

“I’m not saying any more, but you’re on the right path.” His friend remarked. Harry’s cold
feeling spread towards his lungs.

“*I really don’t think*…”

“Look mate, let yourself live for one day. You can go back to being the martyr and all that
afterwards. Just help a fella out?” He glared at the redheaded boy.

“Help you out? Why would I need to do that?”

Ron’s mind raced.

“I err…might be otherwise engaged.”

Harry’s eyebrow rose inquisitively.

“Oh piss off Potter, just do what I ask. Think of it as a favour.”

Harry groaned.

“Fine.” He said finally. “Where and when?”

He shoots, he scores!

“One o’clock, Sallusands.”

“*Where*?”

“That new place, near Scrivenshaft’s.”

“Ugh, fine.” Harry grumbled, finally pulling his shoe on before heading towards the door. Ron
thought he heard him grumble about the things he did for his friends, before the door closed,
leaving the boy feeling pretty damn pleased with himself, and his friend worrying about an
impending situation with a certain redheaded girl that he really, *really* didn’t want to
happen.

**Author’s Note:**

*Whew, this took a while to update, didn’t it? My profuse apologies, faithful readers. I got
caught up in writing Priori, and this was sadly waylined.*

*The good news, however, is that I’ve nearly finished writing it, and I’ll be posting the
subsequent chapters later today. Hopefully you’ll enjoy the next one and the epilogue, I giggled
when writing it. Yes, giggled like a little girl. Anyway, the link to the original challenge is
here: http://talk.portkey.org/index.php?showtopic=20876&hl=Matchmaker.
My apologies to blondegirlshavefun for the time it’s taken to post up, but rest assured, it’ll be
finished soon. Thank you to everyone who reviewed last time, and a thank you in advance to everyone
who will this time! :p*

*- Castledown.*



3. The Best Laid Plans...
-------------------------

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Just this arrangement of words. Harry Potter, sadly, belongs
to Ms. Rowling, the WB Corporate Juggernaut, and anyone else who has a slice of the proverbial
pie.


There was something about this time of year that Harry loved. It wasn’t so much the lingering heat
of the Indian summer they’d experienced, or the fact that they had a day off lessons for Hogsmeade
(which, incidentally, suited his fourth-period schedule of Potions perfectly), but it was the
transition between seasons he liked. The gentle browning of the leaves, the crispness of the
mornings and the almost languid, warm afternoons.

He would have appreciated it a lot more, however, if he didn’t feel as if he were condemned to
some awful, unspeakable fate.

DEAD MAN WALKING ON THE MILE!

Yeah, something like that. He idly kicked a pebble out of his path before stuffing his
hands into his pockets. They were nearing the village now, its clustered streets seeming more and
more foreboding with every step he took towards them. His only comfort was the conclusion he’d
drawn from the events of the last couple of days, through berating himself heavily for ever being
talked into this fool’s errand.

Ronald Weasley must die.

And die he would. Slowly. Somehow involving many sharp and rusty implements.

“You okay?” A voice came from beside him, snapping him out his funk as he followed its
direction.

“Yeah,” He smiled unreassuringly at his best friend, watching how the sun gently played across
her face, the shadows of her slight frown highlighted by its soft car...

Stop it.

Harry sighed as another pebble met the toe of his shoe, skipping along the dusty road and into
the grass that lined it.

“Sure?” She asked, placing a soothing hand on his back. He looked up at her again, giving her a
warmer grin this time that belied the turmoil inside his mind.

Knives are too quick, maybe some sort of band saw.

“Yeah, just re-assessing my plans for today.” He grumbled. Hermione threw an equally dark look
towards the village that mirrored his.

“Tell me about it.” She murmured, before turning back to him as they ambled slowly into the high
street.

“What are you up to?” He asked, having not seen her since that fateful day on the Quidditch
field. She seemed to have gotten over her earlier annoyance, and much to his delight, she’d left
her book bag at home.

“Don’t even ask.” She replied shortly. “You?”

“Same.” He grunted in reply.

A fork. A serrated fork. A spork! That’d do the trick.

They passed the rest of the distance to Sallusand’s in companionable silence, looking at each
other curiously as they both stopped outside.

“Well…” they started at the same time, before smiling and looking away. Harry could have sworn
the faintest trace of a blush marked her cheeks as he did so.

Trick of the light. Now think. Some sort of chisel perhaps? That’d hurt.

“I have to…” She trailed off resignedly, glancing at the coffee shop with a look that Harry
couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah…” Harry replied, equally distantly. They both reached for the door handle at the same
time, hands jerking back as they made contact.

“You’re going here?!” They both nearly shrieked simultaneously, voices higher than they
should have been.

Ron fucking Weasley, you are going down.

Harry sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose before resetting
them.

“Yeah, Ron seems to have this idea that I need to unwind.” He explained, chuckling slightly when
Hermione snorted.

“Let me guess, blind date?” She asked distastefully, glancing further up the hill. They spied
their friend making his way down, still a good quarter of a mile off, his shock of bright red hair
reflecting the light on the hill.

“Got it in one.” Harry grumbled. “And I’ve got a sneaking suspicion I know who it is.” He
finished this sentence with a glare towards the head of the street, where Ginny was making her way
down, talking animatedly to Dean and Seamus, as well as a sixth-year Hufflepuff whose name he
couldn’t quite place.

“He wouldn’t!” Hermione said in shock, obviously following his train of thought. Harry turned
his head and gave her a lazy look.

“It’s Ron.” He said simply, Hermione harrumphing in response. A few moments passed, before Harry
made a move to go towards the door.

“I guess we’d better…” He started, before she grabbed his hand, pulling him back towards
her.

“No, we don’t.” She smiled wickedly. “Come on.” Ignoring the (admittedly quiet) noises of
protest Harry made, she dragged him towards the alleyway next door to the coffee shop, pulling him
into it until they were obscured from view by the street. He became aware of the uncomfortably
cramped nature of the gap almost immediately, what with Hermione being pressed flush against him in
order for the two of them to fit in. With a sharp intake of breath, he realised that she had also,
glancing away whilst (Harry assumed) blushing horribly.

“This is…cosy…” he remarked after a few moments. Hermione glared at him.

“Don’t let me halt your whirlwind arranged romance, if that’s what you want.” She replied
snarkily, the raised eyebrow letting him know she wasn’t really being serious.

“No, no…” He began, fighting the urge to smile. “Here is good.”

And it was. Merlin, it really was. Maybe he should buy Ron some flowers.

“Okay,” She replied, inadvertently fidgeting against Harry’s body. “I reckon, we wait until he
goes past, then we can go out the back there and end up near the Broomsticks?”

“Miss Granger!” Harry exclaimed in mock surprise. “Are you suggesting we ditch?” Hermione simply
smiled, laying her hands palm down on his chest.

“Unless you have a better idea, Mr. Potter?” She asked with a wink, which caused any number of
chills to run up the back of his neck.

Stop. It.

“Couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do.” He replied, tucking an errant curl behind his best
friend’s ear.

Your best friend, who you may as well be having sex standing up with at the moment.

Harry ignored the voice, as Hermione turned slightly, causing her…more feminine qualities to
press against him firmly as she struggled to look out the mouth of the alley. He cleared his throat
both noisily and nervously, earning him an eye roll from the girl.

“Honestly Harry.” She sighed, the amusement behind her eyes apparent, as she none-too-subtly
pressed further forward. To get a better view, you see. After a few more moments in which Harry
grew steadily more agitated, struggling to keep any noises or movements from escaping his
treacherous body as she leaned into him, she finally fell slightly backwards.

“All clear.” She smiled, as she placed a hand on his (still tender) upper arm and pushed him
gently in the other direction. “Come on, Harry. You have the pleasure of being my date for the
day.”

Did she have to say that?

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

The plan was working perfectly, Ron thought to himself as he noticed a brown-haired girl and a
black haired boy reach the door of Sallusand’s.

Ron Weasley, you sir, are a fucking genius.

“Ronald?” The light, airy voice called to him, causing him to shake his head back into
reality.

“Sorry, Luna,” He apologised, flashing her his best cheeky grin. She returned it with a small
smile, gesturing towards the row of shops they were rapidly approaching.

“I said, where would you like to go first?” He thought for a moment, before his eyes danced with
delight.

“Quality Quidditch Supplies just got the latest kee…” He started, and then quickly changed tack
as he noticed the girl’s face fall slightly. “But actually, I heard Eeylop’s opened a new branch in
Hogsmeade recently. Maybe we could go there?” He felt a satisfied glow rise up inside him as the
girl’s face lit up again.

“Ooh,” She cooed, excitedly looping her arm through his. “Perfect. I’ve been meaning to replace
my stock of Nargle Vanishing Powder this week. It’ll save poor Jinks a flight.” Ron smiled
indulgently down at his date, and then spared another glance towards Sallusand’s.

Genius.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

Several pints of butterbeer, and several hours later, Harry and Hermione reclined lazily in the
Three Broomsticks, having managed to arrive early on and snag one of the sofas in the corner, an
unnecessarily roaring and hot fireplace just in front of their table.

“Haha, it was just ridiculous.” Hermione giggled, taking a brief sip of her tankard before
setting it back down on the table. Harry smiled at her, noticing the brief glint of gold under the
neckline of her shirt. For her birthday this year, he’d given her a solid gold replica
(non-functional, of course) of the time turner she’d used in their third year, the image of a
Hippogriff embossed on the rims of the device.

And she wore it! He thought triumphantly to himself, his mind snapping back to
attention as she continued

“Him actually thinking I hadn’t organised my books. Doesn’t he know me at all by now?”

“Apparently not.” Harry laughed with her, also lifting his butterbeer to his lips briefly. “What
amuses me more is that he thought that it’d actually work. I mean, him getting back with you like
this, and me getting back with Ginny, of all people.” He chuckled softly, cradling his mug in his
hands like a precious item as he looked down into the foamy surface.

“I know we’ve never really talked about it, Harry.” Hermione suddenly spoke up, her voice more
subdued than their last exchange as he looked back up at her amiably. “But I mean…why did you break
up with Ginny?” Harry sighed; he’d been expecting this a lot earlier from her. Whereas Ron, Fred,
George, Seamus, Dean, Neville, and everyone else…even the Creevey brothers for Christ’s sake…had
asked him incessantly about it, she’d stayed quiet. He couldn’t tell her how much he appreciated
her simply accepting it, being there to comfort him like a true friend should. He sighed before
beginning his explanation.

“It wasn’t safe for h…” He started, then immediately ceased as Hermione shot him a
‘don’t-give-your-best-friend-of-seven-years-that-crap look.

“Why did you really break up?” She asked softly, giving him an understanding, small smile.

“I just…I dunno.” He said noncommittally. “Last year was such a mess…we weren’t acting ourselves
at all.” Hermione gave an almost imperceptible nod, but Harry caught it anyway. “I guess…it was the
easy way out. She was there, I needed that, I went for it. It was only afterwards that I found out
my feelings for her were just that. Superficial. Skin deep.” Hermione started to speak, but Harry
waved her off. “No, I care about Ginny. It’s just…she’s Ron’s sister. She’s Fred and George’s, Bill
and Charlie’s sister. Molly and Arthur’s daughter. I felt like I was breaking the law or something.
It was…”

“…a little bit too weird.” Hermione finished, understanding in her eyes. And because the
girl I really wanted was taken, he added silently to himself. “I know the feeling.” Harry
started chuckling, to Hermione’s confusion. “What?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, in between laughs. “I was…heh…”

“Come on Harry, tell me!” She demanded jovially, shifting herself up on the sofa, moving their
discarded jumpers to one side. Mirth danced behind her eyes as she focused on him.

“I remember one time…in the broom closet on the third floor.” At the rolling of her eyes, he
quickly added, “Yes! A broom closet! To my eternal shame. Anyway, we were kissing…just
kissing, mind…and the only thing that I had going through my head was Mad-Eye Moody and
Dumbledore’s voices telling me to choose between what was easy and what was right.” Hermione was
silent for a few moments, looking at him quizzically, before suddenly bursting into a peal of
laughter.

“You mean to tell me…” She gasped for air, wiping a tear that had escaped her eye, “That the
whole time you were fumbling around in a broom closet with our best friend’s sister, you could only
think about your Headmaster and a grizzled old Auror calling your girlfriend easy?”

“Kissing!” Harry emphasised, to a renewed bout of laughter.

“That’s so terrible!” Hermione proclaimed amusedly, after her shakes had died down. “Oh Harry…”
He smirked, playfully punching her on the arm.

“Come on, don’t tell me you didn’t think any of that at all with Ron.” He prayed the hopeful
note in his voice wasn’t too apparent. Hermione chuckled one last time, before glancing up at
him.

“Sometimes…” She trailed off, looking away again.

“But?” He pressed, inching slightly closer to her, his arm resting behind him, just shy of her
shoulder.

“Ever get the feeling you were with the wrong person?” She said finally, her eyes meeting his as
his heartbeat began to race.

“All the time.” He whispered, feeling immediately embarrassed at the husky quality of his voice
and the subsequent blush from his drinking partner.

Way to go, Harry. Bet she loves porn style seduction.

“I’ve been wondering something.” She said, glancing his way with an almost shy smile.

“What’s that?” He asked, his voice back to normal levels, although the obstruction in his throat
was still present. Making itself known.

“It’s stupid.” She grimaced, before placing her tankard back onto the table. Harry hadn’t even
noticed she’d picked it up.

“Tell me.” He asked softly, almost pleadingly. She smiled again, locking contact between their
eyes.

“I’m just wondering…” She bit her bottom lip quickly, as if mulling over how to phrase
something. With a barely noticeable exhalation, she continued. “I was wondering if there actually
were any other blind dates for us earlier.” Her words sent a hundred, a thousand, fuck it, hundreds
of thousands of butterflies swarming through his insides as he struggled to find the words to
respond.

Oh for god’s sake. His internal monologue took over. Let me.

“Would…would that be such a bad thing?” He asked shyly, the words falling unbidden but steadily
from his mouth. Her eyes became glassy, and Harry immediately began kicking himself as he looked
back down into his butterbeer.

That is the last time, and I mean the last time you ever get to
drive.

As he glanced sombrely into his drink, mind racing with how the hell he was going to get himself
out of this one, it began to move. Not of it’s own accord, but by a small, feminine hand lifting it
out of his lap and onto the table. He dared to glance up, finding the girl…no…the woman that
occupied his thoughts sitting close to him. Dangerously close. He prepared himself for the
inevitable bruising of his cheek, hoping that she made it quick. What he wasn’t expecting was the
soft caress of her fingertips trailing across it as she levelled his gaze with hers.

“I don’t think so.” She said quietly. As one they moved together, closing the distance between
their lips slowly as they met for a long, languorous meeting. Eyes fluttered closed, hands stayed
perfectly still as Harry saw stars, and Hermione saw comets.

I’ll buy him flowers; I’ll buy him his own Firebolt. Hell, I’ll buy him his own damn
Quidditch team! After I punch his lights out.

The world stopped for them, the wry smiles of several of their Housemates ignored as galleons
and pints were exchanged whilst the scene before them unfolded. One fifth-year Gryffindor began to
clap, before a sharp blow to the back of the head from Madam Rosmerta silenced him.

After an eternity, they broke apart, staring breathlessly at each other.

“Wow.” Harry whispered; it being the only word he could muster the cognisance to utter.

“Wow.” Hermione echoed, before she leant in again, whispering to herself. “I guess that’s why
they’re called dreams.”

Author’s Note:

Hope you enjoyed it. Just the ending to go now, and we’ll see if Ron gets what’s coming to
him ;) Thank you to all my reviewers, you’ve made my day today with all your kind words :)

<shameless plug> Of course, if you enjoyed MM, check out my other fics ;)
</shameless plug>

*ahem* I’ll get my coat…

- Castledown



4. One Good Turn
----------------

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Just this arrangement of words. Harry Potter, sadly, belongs
to Ms. Rowling, the WB Corporate Juggernaut, and anyone else who has a slice of the proverbial
pie. Epilogue – One Good Turn…

Ron Weasley was a happy man. Not only had he enjoyed a thoroughly interesting day with Luna, but
also his other endeavours seemed to be succeeding beyond his wildest dreams. The plan had gone off
without a hitch, something he’d realised with his keen and penetrating powers of observation, when
he and Luna had entered the Three Broomsticks only to be immediately assailed by Seamus Finnigan
and Dean Thomas.

“You.” Seamus said by manner of greeting, his arms folded across his chest. “You’ve done this,
haven’t you?” Ron glanced at Luna, who was simply smiling serenely back at him, before turning back
to his dorm mate.

“I…what?” He stammered, scratching the top of his head with his free hand. The other, of course,
currently ensconced in the grip of the Ravenclaw at his side.

“You’ve just lost me ten galleons Weasley.” Seamus replied, punctuating each word with a jab of
his finger to Ron’s chest.

“And me five.” Dean growled from beside him, his posture mimicking his friends’.

“What the bloody hell are you two on about?” The redhead asked bemusedly, not quite sure whether
to grin, or to pick up the empty butterbeer bottle on the table next to him in defence.

“See for yourself.” Dean spat, before he and Seamus parted ways in a slightly choreographed
manner (which, he’d reflect later on, it might well have been). Luna squealed in delight.

“Oh *good*…” she positively gushed. Ron’s jaw hit the floor.

It was Harry. And Hermione. Hermione and Harry. Hermy and Harmione doing things that were
decidedly *un*-friendly, that leant much more towards the hormonal end of the spectrum. For
all intents and purposes, they looked as if they were desperately struggling to become one
singular, amorphorous blob of Harry and Hermione. And doing quite well, at that.

“I am a fucking genius.” He said out loud, ignoring the disapproving *‘tsk’* that came from
his date.

“Oh, is that so?” Seamus asked, closing the gap so the view of the couple was blocked. “Mind
tellin’ us exactly why that is, now?”

“Erm…”

“You know, if it was anyone else,” came a familiar voice from behind the two boys in front of
him. “They’d be lying in a pool of something foul, belching slugs by now.”

“Hermione!” Ron started, a slightly desperate grin plastered across his face. “And how’s your
day been?” The girl, who’d pushed through Dean and Seamus to stand in front of him, cast her eyes
back over her shoulder briefly, a small smile playing across her features as she sighed
happily.

“The best…” She said softly, a fond expression on her face. Ron beamed, although the smile
quickly fell as her head snapped back to him, her eyes narrowing as she took another step forward.
“Now, Ron. Hi Luna…” She said distractedly, noticing the willowy blonde for the first time.

“Hello Hermione. How’s Harry?”

“He’s great,” She replied, grinning. Seamus and Dean exchanged dark, significant looks. “Now…GET
BACK HERE RONALD!” She snapped, at the sight of her best friend attempting to slowly sidestep out
of whacking range. She closed the distance once more. “I know exactly what you did,” she hissed in
a voice just low enough for him to hear it. “I know exactly what you read, and I know exactly what
today has been all about. I don’t know whether to hit you or kiss you, although I suspect we got
all the kissing out of our system the other day, *didn’t we*?”

He cringed.

“Now, the way I see it, you owe me big-time, lest you want dear Harry to find out where you’ve
been sticking your nose?” She stated forcefully. Not for the first time in his life, Ron Weasley
was rather scared of Hermione Granger.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry, okay?” He whispered pleadingly, keeping his voice at the same
volume as she, thankfully, had.

“No it’s not okay Ron. You owe me, and I might not call it in today, tomorrow, or even this
year. But it will be called in.”

“Right you are.” He gulped. She smiled beatifically, before stepping back to stand with Dean and
Seamus.

“Alright boys, Ron’s very kindly offered to get the round in.” A quick, shared glance as the
other two men cheered told him that this *wasn’t* anywhere near even.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

Five months later…

Being Head Boy had some very definite benefits, Harry decided. The private suite (which,
incidentally, he shared with the Head Girl…a tiring, forced arrangement that they somehow found the
courage to struggle through), the ability to roam the halls at night with impunity, and the
capability to get away with damn near everything.

And, of course, the responsibility for the decorations every year at major events. Like the
Valentine’s Ball, for instance.

Alright, so maybe that wasn’t a plus, but Harry was determined to find a good side in
everything. The last few months had after all, been so full of darkness, so full of bitter
struggle. The Horcruxes, that terrifying battle with Nagini, the loss of Grimmauld…

The shining beacon in all of it was Hermione. She was the other half of his soul, the reason he
kept pushing forward when everything screamed to go back. She was his essence, his everything. And
nothing could take that from him, she was his light in the shadows that surrounded him.

As if catching his thoughts, the object of his musing turned and flashed him one of her rare,
secret smiles. The ones she gave him in private, the ones that lit up her whole face, like she’d
finally figured out a puzzle she’d been trying to solve for weeks and suddenly had an epiphany
over. It made him feel like the centre of the universe.

*Which is a lie, of course, she’s my centre* he thought to himself as he watched his
girlfriend levitate another oversized bauble onto the crowded ceiling, the light reflecting dully
off of it and casting a golden hue over her face. Mixed in with the reds, the pinks and the deep
purples of the other decorations…the Great Hall now looked fit for a king. Or an utterly
extravagant blue movie set, he hadn’t decided yet.

“Okay?” He heard that familiar, soft voice come from beside him. Somewhere in between looking up
at the ceiling and back down again, Hermione had made her way to him, slipping her hand into his as
she whispered in his ear. He grinned, and placed a light kiss on her forehead as she leant against
him.

“Yeah,” he replied, his brow furrowing in thought. “Although it feels like it’s…I dunno, missing
something.”

“A centrepiece.” She concurred, scratching behind her ear as she did so. Harry felt himself lose
another hundred “man-points” as Ron called them by remarking inwardly how utterly adorable that
simple gesture was. Then again, according to his red-headed best friend, he was so far in the minus
figures by now it wasn’t even a joke any more. He sighed dramatically, wrapping an arm around
Hermione’s shoulder as he leaned against one of the tables that hadn’t been cleared to the side
yet.

“Alas, the show must go on without it.” He decreed with mock levity, waiting for a response from
her that never came. He spared a quick glance to his side.

She was chewing her lip.

Which meant she was thinking.

Was this good, or bad?

“I have just the thing for it.” She announced, smiling in a way that, to Harry, seemed vaguely
unsettling. “FRED!” In a heartbeat, one half of the Weasley twins appeared at her side. The
brothers were there as official sponsors, their joke shop having, surprisingly, flourished during
the war. Harry supposed that even in dangerous times such as these, there was never a lack of
demand for dungbombs.

“You rang?” He asked amicably, settling down on the other side of Hermione and throwing an arm
over her shoulder, mimicking her boyfriend. “And don’t the pair of you look precious.”

“Hush,” she chided gently. “I need you to get your brother…no not George, Ron for me Fred. We
have a job for him.” Apparently, Fred hadn’t missed the devious, slightly manic gleam in her
eyes.

“What’s he done to you now?” He asked warily.

“Oh, nothing. He owes me a favour from a while back. I intend for him to make good on it
today.”

“Hermione,” Harry started, “this wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain diary, and a
certain Hogsmeade visit would it?” The full story of that day had come to light not long ago, with
him still being slightly peeved at Ron for reading Hermione’s most intimate thoughts. And for
trying to play them like cheap violins.

“It might.” She answered vaguely. Fred, by this point, had already gone off to retrieve his
errant brother. “But, enough questions Mr. Potter. It’s Valentine’s Day, and since you’ve cruelly
failed to give me a present so far, I require some other form of compensation.” She smiled, and
moved in towards him when a noise of disdain came from in front of them.

“Oh please, in the Great Hall and everything.” Hermione sighed, readjusting herself so she was
actually sitting on Harry’s lap now.

“Ron.” She greeted. “You might recall a certain…service you’ve promised to render me in exchange
for…oh for god’s sake Harry, get your mind out of the gutter…my reluctance to speak on certain
events that may have occurred last year.” Ron shifted uneasily.

“Um, yeah. I might remember that.” He replied, shooting Harry a questioning glance that was met
with a ‘don’t-look-at-me, I’m-just-the-boyfriend’ shrug of the shoulders.

“Then I’ve got one word for you.” She stated, twirling her wand around her fingers.

“What’s that?”

She smiled, the tip of her wand now pointing straight at him.

“*Confundus*.”

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

The ball had been a huge success, the band a hit with everyone, and of course, the main
attraction had tickled nearly everyone pink.

Nearly everyone, of course.

“Mr. Potter! Miss Granger!” The shrill voice of Professor McGonagall cut through the reverie
that Harry and Hermione had shared, twirling gently to the sound of a slow song, wrapped tenderly
in an embrace as they danced along with the other couples on the main floor. The Head students
looked up abruptly, Hermione having the good grace to blush as the Headmistress approached.

“Professor,” she greeted cordially as she gave another flick of her wand. The stylised Cupid
floating above them span languorously off in another direction, to the cheers of (but not limited
to) the sixth and seventh year Gryffindors watching with amusement below.

“Don’t ‘Professor’ me, Hermione.” She snapped waspishly, before arching an eyebrow to the
display above. “Is that…is that Mr. Weasley?!”

Harry suppressed a giggle as they followed her line of sight. From behind you couldn’t tell, but
as Cupid turned into view, the overly large loincloth and plastic fairy wings moving to give clear
view of a shock of bright red hair and a dazed, confused face, there really was no mistaking
it.

“I believe it might be, Headmistress.” Hermione replied coyly, the smile on her face conveying
the only slightly apologetic tone to her voice.

“This is…in all my years…” She sputtered, her hands coming to her hips as she stared in
disbelief.

“You’re right, Professor, there’s something missing.” Harry replied, and with a wave of his
hand, a conjured sign appeared around his friend’s neck. More bemused by the situation than by her
head boy’s casual display of wandless magic, McGonagall’s mouth opened and closed several times,
before her lips came together in a thin, austere line.

“Hmph.” She grunted in indignation before stalking back towards the head of the room. “Well, I
hope he’s learned his lesson.” Harry chuckled as Ron rotated again, the words “BEHOLD THE PERILS OF
THE MATCHMAKER” clearly visible in glowing script along the scriptor over his neck.

“Me too,” Hermione sighed, placing her head back on her boyfriend’s chest as they resumed their
slow waltz. “Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

**The End.**

Author’s Note:

*And there we have the end of this little fic. A little fic that, surprisingly, has taken a
long time to finish. Haha, erm, yeah. Sorry about that ;)*

*Thank you to all my reviewers, I was surprised at the response to this story…it was only
intended as a little bit of fun, but people have seemed to enjoy it, and I’m glad for that. I’m
still working on* Priori *– that’s next on the update list, and I currently have a plan in the
works for a Post-Voldemort fic that should be hitting PK soonish.*

*Feel free to leave a review - I hope you liked the epilogue. I went through a number of
revisions, but just decided to keep it short and sweet in the end. So yeah, tell me what you
thought :)*

Until next time…

*- Castledown.*