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The kitchen in Harry’s flat is small and incredibly cluttered, but Ginny has learned to find her way around. The old fireplace to the side stands in stark contrast to the Muggle kitchen unit, and she still wrinkles her nose whenever she opens the fridge.
“Hey, Gin,” Harry calls over from the adjoining sitting room, where she knows he’s slumped on the sofa, drowning in Auror-paperwork. “Found a letter from Bill in between all the other nonsense… Sent about a dozen photos, too. All of them of Victoire… no surprises, there… Your worries were unfounded, she’s still as adorable as she was before they went on holiday to France.”
Ginny hums in vague approval. Suddenly, there’s a well-known, rushing sound behind her and she glances over her shoulder to see a lot of green fire and a flash of red hair.
“Harry! I need help,” Ron shouts as he stumbles out of the fireplace, before looking up and spotting Ginny. “Why are you always here when I come by?” he asks in greeting. “Don’t you have your own place?”
“I do, but the water pressure in Harry’s shower is just much better,” Ginny says nonchalantly. “Also, my cat decided she likes it better here and I can’t leave her alone with Harry’s ridiculous throw pillows for too long.”
“Ah well, I would’ve come to you next, anyway. Saves me the trouble of explaining everything twice.”
“How convenient. Want a Butterbeer, too?”
“Sure,” Ron accepts and shakes the soot out of his hair. “Where’s Harry?”
“In here,” the other man calls, and Ron goes to join him.
Ginny kicks the annoying fridge shut with her heel, grabs a Butterbeer and follows her brother, the other two bottles levitating along beside her.
“Hey, mate,” Harry greets, glancing up from another short letter (from Neville, judging by the handwriting), “Something wrong? I thought we were on for drinks tomorrow night? And dinner at yours on Friday… wasn’t it?”
“He’s a little stressed,” Ginny stage-whispers confidentially, and sends the Butterbeers drifting towards the two men with a flick of her wand.
“No, sorry, this is more of an emergency visit. I came to a decision this morning that requires immediate discussion.”
“That sound awfully serious,” Ginny mocks. She shoves the parchment littering the sofa unceremoniously away and drops down next to Harry, putting her feet in his lap. “Spill.”
Ron takes the armchair on the other side of the coffee table and fidgets. Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Ginny regards her brother with apprehension. Simultaneously, Harry takes hold of her ankle in a death grip.
They haven’t really had to hear any bad news in two years (at least not the kind of bad they were used to back then; Percy attending Sunday lunch at the Burrow, undoubtedly bringing with him another terribly boring Ministry debate about cauldron thickness, is its own kind of bad news), but Harry hasn’t gotten rid of his habit of expecting the worst.
“Look, if it’s something bad, tell us quickly, before this one gives me bruises.”
Harry lets go at once. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Ginny soothes and scoots closer, taking Harry’s hand into hers instead.
Ron’s eyes widen. “No! No, I’m sorry, it’s nothing bad, nothing happened. It’s actually good news - I mean, I think it is, at least it could be, under certain circumstances, I guess. It’s just this decision I made, that could make, like, a huge difference to my life, and ‘Mione’s-“
“Are you quitting the Aurors to pursue an acting career?” Ginny guesses wildly and sarcastically, getting a little impatient. “Because I’d have to veto that idea, and anything similar.”
“This is important, Gin, don’t make me regret telling you. Anyway, it’s a big decision and I need opinions and advice and-“
“Ron,” Ginny says intently, leaning forward, “I’ve spent all day on a broomstick practicing in this weather,” she point to the window, where rain is pelting against the glass, “I’m tried, and I’m missing out on quality time with my boyfriend here. What is it?”
“I’m going to ask Hermione to marry me.”
Several beats of utter silence follow that blurted-out confession, disrupted only by the distant sound of the cat ripping apart one of the throw pillows.
“YES,” Ginny calls out then, pumping her fist obnoxiously. “I knew you were gonna do it soon, George owes me twenty galleons. Oh, this is awesome.”
Harry is baffled into absolute speechlessness. Entirely unperturbed by this, Ginny claps her hands in delight, but Ron keeps his eyes on Harry.
He clears his throat. “You’re, like. I mean, you’re okay with that, right?”
“…Are you asking me for permission?” Harry gets out bemusedly and Ron fidgets some more.
“Yeah. Kind of. Your blessing, more like.”
Harry blinks. “Are you kidding me right now? Gin, is he kidding me?”
Ginny watches her brother in concentration, mouth standing slightly open. “I honestly can’t tell.”
Ron rolls his eyes at them.
“No, for real,” Harry says seriously, “Shouldn’t you be asking her dad?”
“I will!” Ron says, waving his arms around, “But still. You’re like her brother, and the three of us, we’re, like… you know.”
He glances at Ginny for help and is met with a panicked expression.
“Why are you looking at me?” Ginny demands, “You’re not going to ask me for ‘my blessing’, too, are you? Because if you are, I’m going to have to get the Spectrespecs Luna gave me for Christmas and check you for Wrackspurts. You’re brain seems particularly fuzzy today. Like, more so than usual.”
Ron groans in annoyance. “I’m going to ignore everything you just said. Harry, can you just tell me if you’re okay with me and ‘Mione possibly getting engaged?”
“Okay with it?” Harry repeats incredulously, “Mate, I’m thrilled. I don’t think I really got that this is actually happening yet, but I know I’m really happy for you. So much I can’t really cope with it right now.”
They grin at each other a little awkwardly and Ron’s ears turn red. They get up at the same time to hug across the coffee table.
“Aw,” Ginny coos only slightly mockingly and gets up as well, to give her brother a hug of her own (although she walks around the table to do it).
“Honest thoughts?” Ron mumbles into her hair.
“My reputation is the only thing keeping me from squealing over this like a little girl over a puppy. So, yeah, pretty decent idea,” Ginny says earnestly and Ron huffs out a relieved laugh as he pulls away.
“Glad you think so,” he tells her.
Ginny winks and goes to retake her place on the sofa (she has to shoo away the cat first, who sits enthroned on the cushions with feathers stuck to her muzzle, the little devil).
Ron drops back into his armchair, breathes in, breathes out, and says, “She’s going to say yes, isn’t she?”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Harry asks, looking honestly confused and a little worried. Ginny rolls her eyes fondly.
“Well, it’s just, I know we’ve known each other since we were eleven, but we’ve only really been truly together for a little over two years, right. And ‘Mione’s only been out of Hogwarts for one, but it’s already obvious that she’s going to make it really far in the Ministry…”
“So?” Harry prompts.
Ron scratches his chin. “Sometimes I just wonder what she sees in me, you know.”
“I do, too,” Ginny deadpans, “But that’s still a stupid thing to worry about. Hermione loves you. Beats me why, but she’s one of the smartest people I know, so she probably has some good reasons. Merlin only knows what they might be, because you’re a bit of a prat, you know. But she still loves you, ridiculously so, and any career she makes isn’t ever going to change that. And I can promise you she’s going to say yes if you actually pluck up the courage to ask her.”
“That was mean,” Ron notes slowly, “but oddly comforting.”
Ginny smirks. “Yeah, I’m good at that.”
The three of them sit in silence for a while, slowly coming to terms with what this means.
Ginny sips her Butterbeer in slow motion and says to nobody in particular, “That wedding is going to be one hell of a hassle.”
“Hey, that’s my wedding you’re talking about.”
“She’s right, though,” Harry says with a shrug. “Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, war heroine, marries Ron Weasley, the ‘King’, also war hero. I can see the newspapers exploding.”
Ginny scoffs. “Well, I can see the entire Weasley clan meeting Hermione’s muggle family. Dad going absolutely spare with excitement and asking random muggles about rubber ducks. Mum going absolutely spare with stress and emotions. Security wizards trying to keep dozens of reporters out-“
“Okay, okay,” Ron breaks her off, looking slightly panicked. “We’ll worry about that when the time comes, alright? Right now I have different problems.”
“Deep, immobilizing fear and a sense of arising doom?” Ginny suggests lightly.
“No,” Ron growls, “Believe it or not, I actually came here to ask for some help.”
“You can’t be helped, brother mine.”
Ron ignores both that comments and Harry’s badly masked snort of laughter. “I’m serious. I know I want to ask her, I know I want to do it as soon as possible, but I don’t know how. I want it to be perfect, because she’s Hermione and everything about her is perfect, so she deserves a perfect proposal, but I haven’t got a single bloody idea.”
Harry and Ginny look at each other.
“So you want advice... from us?” Ginny wonders uncertainly, feeling very much out of her depth, and Harry looks equally clueless.
“Well, yeah,” Ron says, “You’re her best friend, Harry, you know her as well as I do, and Gin, I really need a woman’s opinion on this. And you’re her best girl friend.”
“Luna is, too,” Ginny notes quickly.
Ron looks at her as though she’s lost her mind. “Yeah, well, Luna would probably tell me to have the ring delivered to ‘Mione by a Blibbering Humdinger or some shit.”
“I don’t think the Blibbering Humdinger can fly.”
“Whatever,” Ron grits out, his eyelid twitching.
“I also really feel like this is a job for mum.”
“Yeah,” Harry agrees hastily, “I don’t want that much responsibility.”
“Says the Boy Who Lived.”
“By all means, Gin, feel free to plan Ron’s proposal for him.”
“I’m gonna have to refuse based on the mere absurdity of it all.”
“The two of you are useless,” Ron cuts in, eyebrows furrowed. His ears have reached the colour of tomatoes. “I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.”
Looking at the slightly irritated but mostly dejected expression on his face, Ginny bites back a retort and sighs in defeat. “Alright, alright, don’t get your wand in a twist. Let’s think… er- Harry?”
“I got nothing,” Harry says blankly, “All of this goes over my head.”
“Thanks, Harry, that was very helpful.”
“I got your back, mate.”
For Hermione’s sake, Ginny racks her brain going through every magical and muggle method of proposing she’s ever heard of. It’s not much of a success.
“Okay, I’m just going to tell you what definitely not to do,” she compromises. “Don’t buy her a bunch of flowers, at least not exclusively. Don’t do any stupidly big gestures, like, I don’t know, kidnap a dragon to set fire to heart-shaped candles or something. Don’t get anything of Wizard Wheezes’ involved, no matter what George says about singing flower bouquets. Also don’t write a song or a poem-“
“And especially don’t have it recited to her by a dwarf with golden wings,” Harry adds with a smirk and gets slapped over the head.
Ginny talks on as though nothing happened. “And whatever you decide on, don’t do it in public. Like, not in Diagon Alley or Hogsmead, especially not in the Ministry, because people would watch and she’d hate it. No family gatherings, Christmas parties, birthdays… just don’t. Not even we should be there when you do it.”
Ron looks stricken. “What can I do?”
“Something privet and personal,” Ginny decides on a whim, trying to get rid of the utterly helpless look on her brother’s face because it makes her inexplicably nervous. “Something sweet, but not cheesy.”
“And what’s that?”
“I dunno. Write a letter?”
“You do realize that Hermione was the one keeping my essays from being shitty all throughout school? I can’t exactly ask her to go through her own proposal.”
“Make a speech? You know, tell her what you love about her and all that.”
“Believe it or not, but I don’t think I’ll be able to rely on my voice in that moment, Ginny.”
“You do know you’re not being very cooperative, don’t you?”
“That’s because all of your ideas are stupid.”
“That’s it, I’m done. Your turn, Harry,” Ginny snaps and leans back with her arms crossed in front of her chest.
Harry looks positively terrified at that. “...Something sweet?” he repeats weakly, “Gin, I’ve known those two for nine years, and they spent, like, seven of them constantly bickering. Merlin, it started on the Hogwarts Express the very first day and went on forever.”
“Yes, Harry, I was there, too. I remember. And it’s not like they don’t still bicker, these days it just ends with them having sex instead of them not talking to each other.”
“Please don’t-“
“I’VE GOT AN IDEA!” Ron shouts suddenly, making the other two jump.
“Congratulations,” Ginny tells him, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, “Are you going to share it with us?”
Already back on his feet with a bit of a maniac look on his face, Ron only spares her a glance. “Nah, I don’t want you talking me out of it. But thanks for the help, appreciate it. And sorry for barging in, I’ll be out of your hair now. Got some planning to do! Harry, see you tomorrow, and you on Sunday, Gin.”
And with that, he leaves for the kitchen and its fireplace with long determined strides.
“Oi!” Ginny calls, and gets up to follow, “Aren’t you even gonna tell us when-” She stops in the doorway to the kitchen and watches her brother being swallowed by green fire. “Aaand... he’s gone. You know,” Ginny chuckles as soon as the last flame has vanished, “Hermione being so in love with my oaf of a brother really makes me question her intelligence sometimes.”
“You’re being unreasonably biased,” Harry says good-naturedly, going back to his letters as though nothing happened. (But Ginny knows that the impact of his best friends possibly getting married will hit him by the time they go to bed.) “Ron’s a great guy. He’s loyal, brave, funny…”
Ginny drains her drink with raised eyebrows. “Would you rather he married you instead of Hermione?”
“Ha, ha. Actually, while I do intend on marrying a Weasley, I was hoping it would be one with less stubble.”
“I know for a fact that Percy shaves every day, would you like me to set you up?”
Harry just sticks his tongue out at her, and Ginny laughs on her way to the kitchen, where she gets herself another Butterbeer. When she comes back, though, Harry’s starring past his letter into open space, his eyes going a tiny little bit out of focus, and Ginny knows that expression.
“Oh, no, no, no,” she says and snaps her fingers to get his attention, “I know what that look on your face means. Don’t you get any ideas, Potter!”
“What do you mean?” Harry asks, looking a little hurt.
“I mean,” Ginny says sternly, “that I love you, and I definitely plan on marrying you one day, but if you pop the question before I turn twenty-one, I will hex you.”
*
When Ron gets home, Hermione is out on the tiny balcony of their tiny flat, leaning against the railing with her face turned towards the last feeble sunrays of the day.
“Hi,” he says quietly as he joins her outside, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“Hi,” she says back, smiles without opening her eyes. “Did you realize what day it is?”
“Yeah. First of September.”
“Still feels weird, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, a little,” he agrees, and smiles when Hermione blinks her eyes open.
“Oh, I think you’ve got a little dirt on your nose,” she says, squinting at him and reaching for her wand. “I’ll get it for you, hang on.”
“No, don’t,” Ron says gently, grasping her hand, “It’s for luck.”
Hermione frowns in bemusement. “Is that another wizard superstition from your mum? Because I thought I knew them all by now.”
“I had dirt on my nose when we met,” Ron explains carefully, excitement curling in the pit of his stomach as he reaches into the pocket of his robes. “Remember? Beginning of first year, on the-”
“On the train! Of course,” Hermione nods with a small smile, her confusion still evident in the way he can see her brain ratter behind her eyes, trying to work out what is going on. “That’s sweet. But what do you need luck for?”
Ron takes a deep breath and gets on one knee.