Wrong Direction

Wrong Direction

Ron Weasley tapped his foot impatiently and glanced at his wristwatch for what felt like the thousandth time that night. His lovely wife Hermione still wasn't finished in the bathroom. They'd been the first to find out that Harry was getting married and yet, they were going to be the last ones at the actual ceremony. They had rather important roles in the wedding, after all. Ron was to be the best man and Hermione was the Maid of Honor.

"Hermione, come on! We're going to be late!" Ron yelled up the stairs.

"Ronald," Hermione's voice floated down the stairs, "we've got three hours until the ceremony starts! Just because you don't see the need to look your best doesn't mean I don't!"

Ron rolled his eyes as Hermione continued, "Don't get your wand in a knot, I'm almost finished anyway."

"Fine," he said, making his way to the living room and sitting down on the couch. He flipped through The Quibbler and snorted in laughter when he found an article about Sirius, proclaiming that there was indisputable evidence that he was a world-class chef. Where did they get these ideas? When he heard Hermione's footsteps on the stairs, he quickly stood up and straightened his tie.

"So, how do I look?" Hermione asked, stepping in front of her husband and twirling around.

"Wow," he breathed, looking her up and down. Hermione had on a blue, strapless, floor-length dress and her hair was up in an elegant, classy bun at the back of her head. She looked, if possible, more radiant than ever.

Hermione blushed and playfully said, "Honey, you might want to put your tongue back in your mouth."

Ron smiled and replied, "You look beautiful, Hermione."

"Thank you." She beamed, leaning towards him and planting a kiss on his lips. "Now, do you have the gift wrapped?"

"Yeah," he said, picking up the package that was on the table: a pair of ornamental silver goblets that Hermione had found in an antique Wizarding shop while on vacation in Rome. "Do you want to get going now?"

"Ok, let's go."

*****

"Ron, you missed the turn!" Hermione said, turning around in her seat and looking back down the road. "You were supposed to turn left back there!"

Ron just gave an amused chuckle and replied, "No, I didn't, honey. Trust me, it's a guy thing. We always have a great sense of direction."

Hermione raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. For his sake, she hoped he was right.

Half an hour later, they still hadn't gotten to the wedding. Hermione had kept her mouth shut, but when Ron squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, she said, "You missed the turn, didn't you?"

Ron cringed and braced himself for her lecture.

"I hate to say it," Hermione said, actually loving the fact that she'd get to say it. "But I told you so. You should stop being one of those macho prats and just pull over somewhere to ask for directions."

Ron was scandalized. Ask for directions? It was unheard of! It would totally shite his reputation and take away a chunk of his dignity. He took a deep breath and tried to reason with his wife.

"Hermione, a man can't pull over and ask for directions. Then he wouldn't be a man anymore, in a manner of speaking! It's shameful, and other guys would look at me like I was whipped."

"Whipped?" Hermione rolled her eyes and thought to herself: MEN.

"Yes, whipped. And I can't handle that."

"What's Harry gonna think? I can just imagine it, us barging in while they're saying their vows..." Hermione sighed and pulled out the county map, trying to spot where exactly they were.

After a second, she said, "Ron, I don't think we're even in the same town as the wedding."

"Then you're probably looking at the wrong map, honey."

"Don't call me that right now, Ronald," she snapped as she looked at her wristwatch and saw that the wedding was due to start in forty-five minutes. They were surely going in the opposite direction; she just knew it.

They didn't talk to each other for the next fifteen minutes.

"Ron?" Hermione said as she leant over and put her head on his shoulder. "Can you please pull in at a gas station now? Harry will hate us if we're not there."

Ron sighed and once again remembered that Hermione was always right.

"Ok, I'll pull over," he sighed, spotting a gas station coming up and steering the car over to it.

They got out of the car, Hermione holding the present because she needed to attach some ribbon to it. Ron pushed open the door of the small store and let her in ahead of him, following her to the counter where a burly gentleman was reading a newspaper.

"Excuse me," Hermione said politely. "Could you tell us how to get to Ashford? And how long would it take to get there?"

The man glanced at Ron with a look that clearly said, 'You got lost, didn't you?' before replying. "Well, miss, it's that way," he said as he pointed up the road, in the opposite direction of where they were going. "And, from here, it'll take about twenty minutes to get there."

"Thank you," Hermione said, smiling as she turned away from the man and looked at Ron as if to say, 'See? That wasn't so hard.'

They went back to their car just as a rain cloud started forming in the sky. Ron reached into his pocket for the keys and frowned, then checked his other coat pockets and the pockets of his pants. He turned pale and looked into the front seat of the car.

"Oh, no..." he moaned, banging his head against the glass as Hermione stepped up behind him and said, "What's the matter?"

He took a deep breath and turned to face the love of his life.

"Honey... darling..." he stammered, trying to lay on the sugar before his death came, "sweetie..."

"What is it, Ronald?" Hermione asked. She had now acquired a rather menacing gleam in her eyes that forcibly reminded Ron of his mother, who looked like a dragon when she was mad. Indeed, Hermione seemed to be radiating heat as she glanced into the front seat.

"You didn't," she whispered.

Ron could have fainted in fright. Hermione narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off by a clap of thunder and a sudden downpour of rain.

Ron was too terrified to move. He was mentally making out his will: Fred and George, you can have Pigwidgeon...

"Of all the moronic, stupid things..."

Harry, you can have all my Quiddich stuff...

"How can someone make a mistake like that? I ask you!"

I'll let Percy take care of my stuff at the Ministry... Yes, that'd be good...

"...standing in pouring rain, which will ruin my hair and my dress!"

Mum and dad can have half my savings; the rest is for Hermione...

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?"

Ron snapped out of it just as he was deciding who was going to read his eulogy.

"Yes, I'm sorry," he apologized, truly meaning it. He, too, had been looking forward to the wedding, but now...

Hermione sighed and said, "What's done is done. You'll get a lecture when we get home. Now, the wedding can go on without us, and we're already going to be late as it is, so I suggest you start trying to flag down a car going to Ashford."

As Ron was absorbing the feeling of actually being spared, Hermione ran into the station and wrung the water from her hair. Ron walked to the edge of the street, and within ten minutes, a truck of Muggles had stopped to let them on.

"Where y'all goin' to?" the driver asked. His Southern accent was made even less comprehensible due to the wad of tobacco in his mouth. What the bloody hell was a Southerner doing in England, anyway?

"Ashford," Hermione said. "Could you please hurry? We're very late already."

"No problem, darlin', we'll get ye there," the man replied. With that, he stomped on the gas pedal with such force that Hermione and Ron were thrown back into their seats. The other Muggles seemed to be enjoying themselves, for they started up a hillbilly tune accompanied by banjos and harmonicas.

"Yee-haw!" they yelled every time the truck hit a bump in the road and jumped into the air. Ron rubbed his arse; sure the soreness would prevent him from sitting properly on a chair for a while. Hermione looked like she was about to throw up. He wasn't sure if it was the noise or the motion, but he couldn't blame her.

This continued for another ten minutes.

*****

Hermione rang the doorbell after trying, unsuccessfully, to pin her hair back into place, and just stood there with her dress drenched through. After a moment, the door opened and none other then Harry Potter stood in the frame.

"Hey, you guys finally made it!" he said, beaming. "I was wondering where you were!"

"Yeah, but we're here, mate," Ron said.

Harry smiled again. "You're over a half-hour late, you know..."

Hermione grunted in a very un-ladylike manner. "Yeah. Here. Congratulations."

She thrust the package into Harry's arms, turned away from the house, and left.