Work Text:
Ron didn’t bat an eye when she said they should postpone the wedding.
While everyone else was distracted squealing over Ginny’s lavish ring and slapping Harry on the back in congratulations, Ron had looked over at her from across the living room at the Burrow, and she got the sense that they both knew it was coming. Knew the words she would say when they stepped out into the orchard for a breath of fresh air, away from the suffocating happiness of the new engagement, because she’d had them stuffed away for a while and Ron had always been extremely perceptive—that was nothing new.
And it wasn’t even about Harry and Ginny; that was just the spark that lit the mountain of insecurities building up inside her. They were supposed to get married in a month, and at this point, cold feet would have been an improvement.
Ron hadn’t even argued with her, just nodded and said, “I’ll tell Mum,” and though Hermione knew that the news would break Molly’s heart, she also knew that with those three words, everything would be taken care of. Molly would take care of everything because Molly was great at taking care of things. Hermione wasn’t even great at taking care of Ron, and worse at taking care of herself. What about the everything else that would come along once they were married—a house, a family? What if she couldn’t do it? Ron deserved better.
So he’d gone inside and told his mum to postpone the wedding—postpone, not cancel, she was very clear about that. Hermione had followed and told Ginny she was happy for her before she went home and cried herself to sleep.
***
They still kept separate flats for reasons they’d never bothered to look too closely at, always quick with a rationale. Hermione’s place was closer to work. Ron kept odd hours working his shifts as an Auror. They slept most nights together at one place or the other, anyway, so what difference did it make if they hadn’t officially lived under the same roof since Hogwarts?
At least, it hadn’t felt like it made a difference until the old beaded bag Hermione used as an overnighter sat untouched in her closet for a week, and she went to sleep every night in a bed too big for just her, bribing Crookshanks with treats so there was some warmth between the sheets to sooth the nightmares she had never managed to fully squash.
They still saw each other every day, and the simple diamond ring never left its place on Hermione’s finger, and she told herself that it wasn’t a big deal, the pause they had put on their wedding. It wasn’t like they had broken up.
But sometimes at night, sharing a bed with only her second-favorite ginger, it felt like they had.
***
Ginny wanted to look at wedding dresses right away, because of course she did. She looked radiant in everything, lighting up the room in one gorgeous gown after the next. People love an ingenue, and Ginny certainly was that, between her meteoric rise to Quidditch stardom and her fairytale romance with the Boy-Who-Lived-Long-Enough-to-Defeat-Voldemort. Witch Weekly was already heralding the Potter-Weasley wedding as the social event of the year—though which year wasn’t specified, as they hadn’t even set a date yet.
Hermione wasn’t exactly faking smiles as Ginny changed from satin to lace to brocade, but she was definitely forcing them. She thought of the tulle monstrosity she had let her mum talk her into selecting, safely tucked away at the tailor’s for the time being, and took another large swig of champagne.
Maybe it was the dress. When they had started planning the wedding, they had discussed Muggle traditions versus wizarding ones and all the superstitions that went along with them. Apparently “don’t see the bride in her dress before the wedding” was a universal no-no, so when she wanted Ron’s opinion about the poofy princess gown, he had assured her she would look beautiful in whatever she picked—which was very sweet but not at all helpful.
As usual, Hermione hadn’t relented, and Ron finally agreed to let her show him something similar—he remained insistent that he didn’t want to see the dress—in one of the bridal magazines scattered around her flat. But he had just sort of shrugged and said, “I dunno, it looks pretty,” which also didn’t help, and so she had stuck with the decision but maybe also cursed their wedding in the process.
So maybe it was the dress.
***
“You didn’t have to come,” Ginny said later over dinner, when it was just the two of them and not every one of their female relatives and what felt like half of the Harpies team. “I shouldn’t have even asked, considering.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and scooped another mouthful of pasta. “I’m your maid of honour.”
“You’re my best friend first,” Ginny retorted. “I’m glad you were there, but—”
“No buts. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes before Ginny spoke again. “You’ll figure it out, you know. It’s you and Ron. You always do.”
An innocent farfalle noodle bore the brunt of Hermione’s frustration as she stabbed it with her fork. “I think I really fucked it up this time.”
“Nah.” Ginny’s nonchalance was equal parts reassuring and infuriating. “You just need to figure out what’s bothering you. What scares you? Is it the wedding or is it the marriage?” Hermione didn’t answer immediately, taking another pesto-covered victim, and Ginny dropped her fork with a clatter, eyes wide. “Okay, I thought that would be an easy one.”
“Well, it’s both, but it’s not the marriage. I mean, it’s not about Ron.” If she was sure of anything, it was that her doubts were absolutely, definitely not about Ron. “It’s…marriage. In general. What if I’m not any good at it?”
“Not any good at what?”
“Wife things. The cooking and the cleaning and the taking care of kids…I’m terrible at that stuff.”
Ginny snorted. “Ron knows. Trust me, we all know.”
“Thanks for that.”
“I’m just saying. He knows who he’s marrying, Hermione.”
“But what if I don’t change? He’s already Victoire’s favorite uncle, so I know he’ll be super-dad when the time comes, and then will he still want me when I’m nothing new, the same old Hermione who burns baby formula and always picks out the wrong toy?”
“Okay, I hope this is as stupid a question as I think it is but…does Ron want you to change?”
“Well, no—I mean, he hasn’t said—”
“Then you’re bloody mental. I say that with love.” Ginny reached across the table for Hermione’s hand. “Look, I can tell you this stuff until I’m blue in the face—and I will, if you want—but I think you need to hear it from Ron. It doesn’t mean anything coming from me.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m totally right. At the end of the day, you’ve got to have your head on straight going into this, so take whatever time you need. But talk to Ron. And if you need help re-planning the entire wedding, I’m your girl.”
“It has gotten a bit out of hand, hasn't it? My parents were just so excited about everything, especially my mum. I didn’t want to let them down.”
“I’ve only been engaged for a week, and I’ve already seen all too well how the plans just spiral when you’re the only daughter. I’m sure it’s worse as an only child. But it’s not their wedding.”
“You’re right again.”
“No shit.” Ginny gave her a soft smile to balance the quip. “Talk to Ron,” she said again. “You’ll figure it out.”
***
She’d had too much to drink tonight, champagne at the bridal shop followed by merlot at dinner, which should have knocked her clean out til morning. But it was the middle of the night, and Hermione was awake.
Hermione was awake, and she wanted Ron.
His flat was silent when she Flooed in, and for a moment she almost turned around and went home, not wanting to wake him up, too. But then she heard her name from his bedroom, his voice low and questioning and enticing, and her feet carried her toward the sound without hesitation.
Ron was half sitting up in bed, and he didn’t look like he’d been woken by her arrival. He probably hadn’t been sleeping either, though he didn’t look half the wreck she knew she did. She thought she’d utterly ruined things between them, but he looked just the same as always. Maybe he wasn’t as torn up by the wedding postponement as she was.
Or maybe she just hadn’t ruined things and needed to stop jumping to all the worst conclusions.
Hermione slipped under the sheets beside Ron and tucked herself against his side, breathing out a contented sigh when his arms wrapped around her. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured. “I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you, too.” She pressed her nose against his neck and inhaled, letting the scent of sandalwood soothe her nerves. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh. Don’t be sorry.” His hand slid up and down her back, the motion tugging her t-shirt up to expose a strip of bare skin underneath, and she shivered as the cooler air hit it. Ron slept in practically nothing and still radiated heat, and she snuggled closer to him. “I just need to know you’re okay.”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“You. Us.” She pulled away to look at him, afraid of what she would find in his expression. “How badly I’ve screwed things up.”
Ron leaned in and kissed her, and she let herself get lost in it for a moment before he pulled away to reply. “You haven’t.”
“You still want to marry me?”
“Anytime, anywhere.” He sat back and raised an eyebrow at her, and she felt like an entire ocean had formed between them. “But I’m not the one who wanted to postpone the wedding.”
“I’m sorry,” Hermione said again, and Ron shook his head.
“Don’t be sorry. Just talk to me. What’s going on?”
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to quiet all of the thoughts and fears that swirled in her mind enough to get the words out to explain. Ron may as well have been a boggart sitting there as anxiety took hold again. But a boggart didn’t have Ron’s bright blue eyes, full of love and concern for her, or the warm hand that enclosed her fingers in his with a gentle squeeze.
“I’m scared of failing.”
She watched his lips twitch up with half a smile, and she knew he was thinking what a Hermione thing to say, but he just nodded for her to continue.
“I’m scared I won’t be good enough for you, that I’ll be a terrible wife and a terrible mother and then we’ll just be biding our time until I lose your attention and you find someone else who can be those things for you.”
“Hermione,” Ron started, and her name was almost a laugh, because she was being ridiculous, and in her rational brain, she knew she was being ridiculous, but she just couldn’t shake it. “I don’t want anyone else. Not now, not ever. Did—” He turned suddenly serious as he paused. “Did I say something? Or do something, to make you feel—”
“No!” Hermione hurried to interject, and Ron’s face relaxed. “No, it’s not you at all. I’ve just—I don’t know. How can a person know everything at eighteen and nothing at twenty-two?”
“Hermione, you’ve forgotten more than most people know in a lifetime. What are you on about?”
“I know how I feel about you. I love you more than anything, it’s not that. When we were young and we had first gotten together, it all sounded so easy—to be fair, everything sounded easy at the time after the hunt and the locket and Voldemort—but I had this perfect little fantasy about our life together. Now that it’s here and it’s real—I’m just overwhelmed.”
Ron exhaled and then pulled her into his embrace again. She settled against him like she was made to fit there, her cheek against his chest, her legs braided with his, and she knew that everything would be okay. She wasn’t sure how or when, but everything would be okay as long as she had Ron.
“I can’t tell you that our life is going to be perfect, but I’d like to think we’re pretty damn close.”
“This feels pretty perfect, right now.”
“And all the things you’re worried about—being some master chef, and never putting a diaper on backwards, or whatever—Hermione, those aren’t the things that are going to make you a good wife or mum. The love you have for the people in your life is what makes you those things.”
“You’re right.”
“I usually am.”
“Prat.” Hermione chuckled and gave him a light slap on the arm. “I wish we could just get married like this. That’s the other thing, I let the wedding plans get way out of hand.”
“Okay. Why don’t we?”
“Why don’t we what?”
“Get married.”
“When?”
“Now. Tonight.”
“What do you mean? It’s the middle of the night.”
“I mean, the wedding is a party. The marriage is just a spell. Like an Unbreakable Vow, but…y’know, happier.” Ron untangled them enough to look her in the eye, to gauge her reaction, but she already knew what her answer would be to his crazy idea. “We’ll go wake up Harry or George or someone and have them do it. Just for us. No one else even has to know. And then, whenever we’re ready, we’ll have the wedding. As planned, or toned down if you’d rather. And look, you’re already wearing white.”
He tugged at the hem of her t-shirt—it was his, really, one of many things she had swiped from his wardrobe over the years—and gave her the grin she loved so much. Hermione smiled back as she replied, “This is completely mental, you know.”
“Well that’s nothing new, for us. Is that a yes?”
Hermione threw her arms around Ron’s neck and kissed him, pulling back only when she realized if they didn’t stop now they might not leave the bed til morning. And she didn’t want to wait any longer to marry the man she loved.
“Absolutely. Yes.”