High-heeled Shoes

A/N: Something fluffy I started a couple of years ago, probably right after HBP. I found it in my cupboard yesterday, so now I'm finishing it. And yes, I did make up the word "verticality". Enjoy!

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Hermione ran an appraising eye over the reflection staring back at her from the mirror. She tossed down the eyeliner pencil with a sigh.

"Who am I kidding?" she muttered to the thin air at large. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"The great Hermione Granger, not knowing what she's doing?" A readheaded witch bounced through the door and looked over Hermione's shoulder into the mirror. "I think you did fine."

Hermione scowled.

"Aw, cheer up," Ginny said, patting Hermione's cheek. "Looks lovely. Ready?" She bounced to her dresser and slid a pair of earrings through her lobes while Hermione eyed herself one last time in the looking-glass.

"You look fine, Hermione. Come on, Dad wants to take photographs."

"But I'm not--"

A look from Ginny interrupted her sentence. "You're as close as it gets, Hermione." As Hermione frowned, Ginny sped out the door and could be heard jumping down the stairs, two at a time. Hermione held back for a moment. It was so frustrating...

It wasn't as if she was getting married; and n one could ever hope to outshine the blushing bride. But Hermione had found herself gravitating toward the cosmetics shelves more and more lately, and it worried her. Why was she, bookworm of the century, worried about looking nice?

"Hermione!" a familiar voice called up the stairs. Hermione felt her stomach flutter ever so slightly; not an unpleasant feeling, but nonetheless unnerving. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and hurriedly stood, dumping her cosmetics into a handy drawer and reaching for her shoes.

"Coming?"

Ron looked very nice in his dress robes, she thought. He almost had to stoop to go through the rather small doorway into the bedroom. Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Ron smiled uncomfortably. "Umm.. we've been betting on who'll catch the bouquet." He rubbed his neck. "Most of the money's on Tonks. Wanna go in?"

Feeling extremely self-conscious, Hermione dragged her eyes away from the way he filled out his robes rather nicely... "You shouldn't bet, Ron, just think how furious Fleur would be if she found out--" She caught herself. "Never mind. Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go." Ron gave her a quizzical look, but nonetheless offered his arm. She took it, feeling a blush escalate on her cheeks. She didn't look to see if Ron's coloring had changed accordingly.

"Er... you look nice, Hermione," he said as they made their way down the stairs.

"You, too."

"No, I mean it--" he paused, looking everywhere but at the girl on his arm. "Looks like you could about be the one getting married."

There was an awkward pause, mercifully broken by bustling Mrs. Weasley.

"Come, come--there's a dear--yes, right here--"

The family was already in place, clustered aesthetically around the couple. Red Weasley hair swamped the pale blonde of Fleur's parents and sister; Hermione thought it looked rather like a wheat field engulfed in flame: not a peaceful scene by anyone's measure. Mrs. Weasley prodded Ron and Hermione into position; Hermione caught Harry's eye and gave an encouraging grin. He smiled back, painfully--but that was Harry, anymore...

"All ready?" Mr. Weasley asked. He hopped into position just as the cameraman flashed the camera.

"Just a few more, now--"

Hermione almost lost her balance on the heeled shoes her mother had lent her. Ron caught her with a reflexive arm around her waist, prompting more butterflies.

"Don't let go," she whispered desperately through her smile, as she struggled to regain balance on her heels and calm in her stomach.

"Don't worry." As her wobbled dangerously once again, she grabbed a handful of Ron's robes to ensure her continued verticality.

The flashbulb finally stopped dazzling a dozen-plus pairs of eyes and the cameraman released the company from their poses. As everyone else relaxed and began to disperse, Hermione used Ron to balance herself once again on her mother's heels.

"We know you like him, Hermione, but must you advertise it so blatantly?" George came up behind Hermione to remark in her ear. Fred took Ron by the shoulder.

"No, George, I--"

Fred cut her off. "Tsk, tsk, Granger. Not like you to lie. Oughta wash her mouth out with soap, for lying--what do you say, George?"

Hermione glared at the twins. "Nothing like a good soap to teach 'em," George agreed. "Come on, Hermione, we've got some nice soap in the kitchen--"

"Leave her alone," Ron said, scowling at his brothers. "Come off it."

"Ooh, fancy that--Ronniekins telling us what to do!" crowed George.

"Shut up," Ron said.

"What--afraid Mum and Dad will find out about you and your ladylove?" Fred batted his eyelashes.

Ron took a swift look at Hermione, who had finally managed to right herself and stand unsupported, and his face turned red. "Just shut up," he said to Fred and George, and stomped away sullenly.

George grinned at Fred. "We got him."

"What?" Hermione's scowl turned to puzzlement. "What are you talking about?"

"We finally got him to admit it," Fred said.

"We've been trying to get it out of him all summer," George added.

"Admit what?" asked Hermione, confused. "Ron didn't admit anything! He just told you to shut up, which as far as I know isn't admitting to anything at all--"

Fred draped an arm around Hermione's shoulders, despite several worthy attempts to push him away. "Ah, but he didn't deny anything, did he?"

"As far as we're concerned, that's as good as admitting it," George said, grinning smugly.

"What are you talking about?" demanded Hermione.

"Why don't you go ask him yourself," Fred suggested. "We have to go help Dad outside." He gave her a little push toward Ron, who was passing from the other direction, in discussion with Ginny. Hermione windmilled her arms, but couldn't manage to find her balance, and with two wild steps, fell toward Ron. He grabbed her to stabilize himself as she threatened to send them both tumbling onto the floor. Ginny laughed at the two of them, arms wrapped around each other in a ridiculous embrace, and joined Fred and George on their trek outside to finish decorating.

"Umm..." Ron looked down at Hermione uncomfortably.

"That's it!" Hermione raged, struggling to stand again. It took the two of them some time to successfully disentangle from each other, and once Hermione was finally vertical once again, she bent down to take off her shoes. "No more of these stupid things."

"I think they're nice," Ron said automatically. Hermione glared at him. "I--I mean--"

"What exactly were Fred and George talking about, you admitting something?" she asked, jabbing him in the chest. Her pride as well as her ankles hurt.

"I'll carry those for you," Ron said, trying move around her to pick up the shoes. She put an arm out and picked them up herself.

"I'm sure I can manage them myself, Ron. They're just shoes, after all."

"Couldn't manage them very well earlier..." he muttered.

She glared again and began up the stairs, Muggle heels in hand.

"No, Hermione--wait--"

Hermione refused to look back as Ron followed her to her room, stammering out his apology.

"I mean--well, you did keep falling down--falling down on top of me, more exactly, and--"

"So is that why you like them? Because they make me fall on top of you?" She whirled to face him in the doorway, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them. She could feel tears pricking her eyes--not another fight. She always did this, started this stupid bickering--

"No--yes--I--"

"It is?" Frustration forgot, she looked at him in pure surprise.

He rubbed his neck again. "That's--well, that's what Fred and George were talking about..."

"Oh." They stood there for a moment, each looking at the other's feet, until Hermione walked to her suitcase and returned the shoes, opting instead for a plain, flat pair.

"You seem a lot taller when I'm in these shoes," she said. The silence was driving her bonkers.

"Yeah... listen, Hermione, I--" He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

She slipped her arm around his. "Me, too." They stood there for a moment, reveling in the touch and the ceasefire. "We have a wedding to get to."

He smiled, albeit nervously, and she returned one in kind. Arm-in-arm, they made their way down the stair and through the door to the waiting altar, bride, and groom.