Missing a Weasley

It had all started out with a tiny misunderstanding, and now Hermione Granger was having the worst birthday party ever.

Well, not a tiny misunderstanding. It was really more of a badly timed suggestion.

All right, a mean-spirited nag.

Hermione huffed exasperatedly and flung her empty plate onto a table. "Oh for goodness' sake! Fine! I admit it, I was a complete arse."

"Are you alright, Hermione?"

She turned around to find Harry Potter standing next to her, eyebrows raised. He was dressed as a Renaissance lord, in a gold-embroidered burgundy shirt made of velvet, and tight-fitting trousers that ended in rather scuffed black hunting boots. His mask, a glittering smallish piece of felt adorned with a single black plume from some sort of impressive bird, dangled from his fingertips. His dark hair was a mess as usual, but an oddly attractive flustered mess. The whole effect was something which Hermione was sure Draco Malfoy was particularly happy about. She smiled guiltily at her friend, half-wondering when exactly the two of them were going to come clean about their relationship. Half-tempted to say something about it.

Not that they were hiding it, particularly. Just not telling everyone she thought ought to know.

"Hello, Harry. I'm fine, absolutely fine, don't worry."

Harry smiled at her and glanced around at the milling, chattering people. "Are you enjoying the party?"

Hermione forced a grin and nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. "It's lovely, Harry, just lovely."

Her friend turned to her expectantly and Hermione cast about for something else to say. "Who... who thought up the idea for a masquerade anyway?"

"Oh, that was Seamus." Harry gestured toward a guffawing young man in a ridiculously flamboyant Chudley Cannons fan costume, complete with painted face, Omniocculars, and a number of small magically waving flags attached here and there to his body. "You know Seamus. Always likes an excuse to go all out."

"Yes." Hermione nodded absently. She hadn't had the mental strength to muster an extravagant outfit of her own, so now she was stuck in loose-fitting white robes, a woven gold belt, and sandals laced up to her knees. She had made her mask: white felt, with two sloppy eyeholes cut into it. Her hair was piled high on her head and bound with a vine tiara she'd thrown together from the weeds under her front stoop. Some excuse for a fine Roman Lady. She cast about the crowd, trying to fixate on different people. Most of them were so thoroughly disguised she could not tell who was who. But she did catch a flash of red hair making its way through the group by the drinks table. Her heart leapt.

Make that two flashes of red hair. Two identical flashes. Hermione subsided back into disappointed stillness. The Weasley twins were causing a ruckus as usual, dressed as Dumbledore and McGonagall, a fact that Hermione would have found extremely funny and more than a little scandalous... if she were in a better mood.

"Harry," she said, still looking around the room, "have you seen Ron at all?"

Harry gave her a puzzled, slightly chagrined look. "I thought I told you. He owled me this morning to say he wouldn't be able to make it."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, you told me. I only hoped that... Well."

"Happy Birthday, Hermione!"

It took Hermione a moment to figure out that it was Ginny Weasley speaking to her from behind an exquisite fiery red phoenix mask. The costume was certainly a sight to see. Long wispy sunset-colored feathers drifted out behind the youngest Weasley, adding to the loveliness of her sparkling red leotard and matching tights. Auburn hair floated down her back, blending with the glittering sequins. The phoenix hugged Hermione tightly and then presented her with a small parcel. "Here, just thought I would give this to you now. Open it!"

Hermione undid the brightly colored paper and found herself holding a delicate silver-threaded scarf. "Oh, Ginny, it's lovely. Thank you."

Ginny grinned, the bottom half of her face visible beneath the edge of her mask. "Glad you like it! Now, I've got to go, Neville wants a dance."

"Wait, Ginny, have you heard from your brother? From Ron?"

The phoenix turned back on her way out to the dance floor and shrugged apologetically, shaking her head. "I think he said he wasn't going to be able to come. Sorry, Herm."

Hermione's heart sank into her shoes. She'd really done it this time.

To be perfectly honest, it wasn't as if the subject had never come up before. It was something she fussed about every time she went over to her boyfriend's flat. Ron Weasley was not known for his neatness... or his ability to follow through on certain things... or his interest in keeping up appearances. But honestly! Was it too much to ask that he actually unpack his moving boxes? Especially since he'd lived in that bloody flat for over a year now. Hermione just couldn't understand it. How could someone live like that, in his own home, which he was barely paying for out of his own pocket, constantly rummaging through boxes and crates he hadn't even bothered to unpack yet? It irked her more and more every time she came through his front door and tripped over the vaguely stacked mess in his hallway. And when Hermione was irked, she unfailingly found a way to broach the subject.

But did she really have to let it blow up so?

A light tap on her shoulder made her look up. There was a pirate standing in front of her. And not just any pirate. This one had on a silk button-down shirt the color of jade, tucked loosely into fitted black suede slacks. A dark silver-embossed vest hung open over the shirt, revealing a forest green sash looped around the pirate's waist. Knee-high black boots, silver cuff links, and a graceful, expensive-looking sword complimented the ensemble. An eye patch. A long matching emerald scarf tied over pale blonde hair.

"Hello, Draco," Hermione said in the warmest voice she could muster. She had thought that perhaps it was... but no. Ron didn't have blonde hair.

Draco Malfoy nodded to her. "Happy Birthday."

Harry appeared behind his boyfriend with two glasses of wine. He glanced meaningfully at Draco, and the former Slytherin grimaced. Hermione wondered about that for half a second before slipping back into her morose state.

Draco cleared his throat. "Enjoying the party?"

Hermione sighed, not even bothering to answer. Harry handed off both glasses to his boyfriend. "Hermione, I think you should get out there and have some fun. It's your twentieth birthday for goodness' sake. Would you like to dance?"

She shook her head, turning a wan smile on them both. "No, thank you, Harry. I think I'll just sit."

She eyed the glasses in Draco's hands. "And perhaps get some wine."

Draco frowned, shifting on his feet. "Oh, it's not very... It's not a good year, Hermione, really."

"You haven't even tasted it yet!"

She noticed the grimace again, as if Draco had just smelled something unpleasant. "Trust me, Hermione. Don't start drinking the wine. Go have a dance instead."

"No, thank you. I am just fine over here."

Draco opened his mouth to say something, looking even more uncomfortable than before, but thought better of it. Giving his boyfriend an inexplicably hard look, he took both glasses and moved away, forcing Harry to go after him. Hermione sat down in a chair, chin in her hand.

It started out as a little tiff the morning before, nothing more. Something they always did when she saw the state of distress Ron's flat was constantly in. But she bloody well hadn't been able to let it go. Ron had gone from patient smiling at her ranting about the boxes, to veiled frustration when she mentioned his inability to finish anything, to out-and-out anger at her comment concerning the rest of his family. They at least could keep a tidy house, even his mischievous twin brothers, but why Hermione had thought to compare Ron to the rest of his siblings was beyond her at the moment. An utterly stupid move on her part. She of all people knew how Ron felt about being the second youngest in the family. About living off of hand-me-downs. About others constantly comparing, or rather, contrasting him with his older brothers.

The whole thing ended in a furious row, with Hermione storming huffily out of the flat, and Ron slamming the door behind her. She had stalked back to her own apartment that day on foot, completely lost in the self-righteous anger she felt at her boyfriend's laziness. She'd gone to bed fuming. But the next day, when her anger had cooled, she felt absolutely horrible. And selfish. And mean-spirited. And unworthy. And--

Hermione stood up abruptly, shoved the scarf Ginny had given her into her belt, and marched over to the drinks table. Procuring a tall glass of wine from the feathered peacock standing behind it - in reality, a gorgeously decked out Parvati Patil - Hermione headed back to her table feeling disgusted with herself.

Ron had every right not to want to show up.

"Oy, Granger! Want to dance?"

Hermione turned a glare on the young man in a sailor costume, discovered him to be a confidently leering Blaise Zabini, and scowled deeply. "No! I do not want to dance. I want to sit and drink my glass of wine and not dance!"

Blaise grinned at her and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Oh, come on, Granger, one dance. For your birthday. Weasley will never know," he added teasingly, sidling up to her.

He was only joking, she could tell, but Hermione was in no mood. She shoved him away, hearing his surprised yelp as he stumbled back. Dean Thomas, dressed in a knight's costume, steadied Blaise. "Hermione, are you alright?"

"Fine, thank you."

Dean looked at the stunned Blaise, then at Hermione. He smiled hesitantly. "Okay... well... you should come dance!"

Hermione stalked away, grumbling to herself. Couldn't they see she was wallowing in her own uselessness? She didn't deserve to be dancing and having a good time. Not after what she had said to Ron. Some girlfriend she'd turned out to be.

She came up on Harry and Draco, who were standing close to each other talking about something rather vociferously, and began to detour in order to avoid them. Hermione did not want to deal with her friends at the moment. But then snatches of what Draco was saying cut through the gloom in her mind and she halted, listening.

"...telling you, Harry, this has gone too far.... think we should..."

"No, Draco... already know how I feel about it... don't like it any more... you do, but it has to... secret!"

"Oh, come on, Harry... your friend, for crying out loud... really ought to know..."

"Draco..."

"...just don't want to keep this secret anymore! ... not willing to tell... I will!"

As Hermione listened, her heart grew heavier and heavier. Draco's face was drawn in anger, an emotion mirroring the one she had so flippantly thrown into Ron's face. Harry looked frustrated, and highly incensed.

Well. Big mouth or no big mouth, Hermione could not just sit by and watch them fall apart along with her. If she did one thing right this weekend, and if it couldn't be for Ron, it would be something to help her friends. She walked up to the two men and put her hand on Harry's arm.

"Excuse me, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation."

Both of them jumped and turned to her with shocked expressions. Draco's face clouded immediately, and Harry's skin began to flush. They both opened their mouths, but Hermione interrupted them.

"Look, just let me say something. I know it's none of my business. And I know I often have the habit of sticking my foot in where it doesn't belong. But you two have a wonderful relationship going here, I can tell. Please, please don't let it disappear because of some absurd desire for secrecy, or some foolish argument about that secrecy. Believe me, people won't care about you two as much as you think they will. I certainly don't. I think it's lovely, and I think you two are meant for each other. I also think you shouldn't hide it, and you should not destroy what you have because you're worried about how others see you."

Harry and Draco blinked at her, slack-jawed. They glanced at each other. Draco licked his lips. "Hermione, look, I think there is something you should know about all of this--"

Hermione held up her hand. "I already know, Draco. And as I said, I think it's lovely. Take care of it."

With a sigh, she turned around, fully prepared to retire to her forlorn table for the rest of the evening and contemplate how on earth she was going to make it up to Ron, when she bumped into someone who had been standing right behind her, almost spilling her glass of wine. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I--"

Hermione stopped, peering up at the tall man. He was dressed as a highwayman. Long flowing crimson cape, loose breeches, a white shirt with ties at the throat and sleeves. He wore tan boots, thick leather gloves, and a low-brimmed three-cornered hat. A stiff black mask obscured almost all of his face, leaving only the chin visible.

Hermione had no idea who he was.

"I apologize," she muttered, and tried to move around him, but stumbled a bit in her haste. The tall man reached out and steadied her.

"Are you alright?" His voice was muffled by the odd mask.

Hermione squinted. "Who are you, anyway?"

The man stepped back a little. "Sorry. I'm a friend of Draco's. He said it would be alright to come to the party. I brought you a present. You are Hermione Granger, aren't you?"

Hermione nodded stiffly. The man sighed. "I probably shouldn't have come, but... well... I can leave if you like."

Suddenly Blaise Zabini waltzed past them, towing Lavender Brown in a svelte cat costume. He eyed the newcomer. "Granger, you sure you don't want to dance with me? I guarantee I'm better than him."

Hermione glared at him, her ire rising once more, and addressed the man beside her. "You know what? Don't bother leaving. You can keep the ruder and more imbecilic people away from me."

The man snickered quietly, and for a split second, Hermione almost knew who he was. But the recognition faded. She hefted her wine glass, feeling quite annoyed at everything tonight. Stuck at a joyless birthday party with random friends-of-friends walking in from off the street, where everyone seemed to want her to have a bloody good time... and no sign of the person she wanted to see most in the world.

Well. Bugger that.

"Come on, then. Before you go, you are going to listen to why this is the most distasteful birthday party ever. And it's all my fault."

The man followed her through the crowd, and out the double glass doors onto an empty balcony. The air was cooler outside, wafting lightly against them. Hermione took a swig of wine and walked over to the banister, leaning on her elbows. She dropped her shoddy white mask to the stone floor and ground it under her heel.

The man watched her. "Not having a good time, then?"

Hermione smiled weakly at him and sipped her wine. "What gave it away?"

"But it's your birthday party, right?"

She grimaced. "Yes. Except that I've completely botched up the entire day. Possibly my entire life."

"How so?"

Hermione considered telling the man to mind his own business, even though she had personally asked him to listen to her woes. But oddly enough, it felt rather good to tell someone about this. A complete stranger as well. Almost like a confession.

"It's because I'm an absolute prat, something a courteous person like you would probably know nothing about," she stated matter-of-factly.

The stranger chuckled again and Hermione felt that twinge of remembrance. She brushed it aside because it was much much easier to pretend she had never met this person before. If she knew who it was, she would most likely not want to unburden herself to him. So. Masquerade. Secret identities were the order of the night.

"It's not as though I try to be insufferable," Hermione said, swirling her glass of wine, not really caring how confusing her words sounded. "I got angry at my boyfriend for having a messy house, and it exploded into a ridiculous argument, and now he's not here to celebrate my birthday, and I want to disappear."

"Over a messy house?" the man asked quietly.

"Yes, stupid isn't it? But of course, I simply had to go off about his unpacked boxes, which have been in that state for over a year. He just doesn't finish much of anything, not if it's not really important."

"Perhaps that's just how he is."

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a small sip from her glass. "Exactly. And that's just the problem! This is how I am as well! I have to be the prissy know-it-all. I have to be right. I simply have to have the last word concerning everything, regardless of whether it's worth it or not. I just can't seem to step back and let things go."

"I assume he understands that," the man said, coming over to stand beside her. When she frowned at him, puzzled, he shrugged. "Being your boyfriend and all. Draco tells me you two have been together a long time."

"Ages. And ages more if I have anything to do with it. Except I've messed that up, now, haven't I?"

"What exactly did you say to him?"

Hermione dropped her head into her hands. This was the part she had been avoiding, the part she really really did not want to get into again. "You see... he comes from a big family. A wonderful family. Loads of older brothers, and one younger sister. What I said was... oh, sod it. Never-mind."

"Perhaps it will help if you get it out."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She took a deep breath. "I basically compared him to the rest of his brothers. You've no idea what a horrendous thing that was to do to him. He's been getting that his whole life!"

"From his family?"

"No, no, they would never use that against him, not when it counted. Certainly, some of his brothers tease him, but... well, supervisors, acquaintances, people his father works with... He's never really had an identity to call his own with them. They lump him in with the rest of his family, and not always in a good way. He's always being compared to his brother Percy, who works for the Ministry, or his eldest brothers, who've been very successful with their careers. He gets hand-me-downs constantly because his family is not all that wealthy, and he's had to work hard just to get where he is. I think... I think he often feels as if he is one big hand-me-down."

The man was silent, so Hermione continued.

"But he isn't. He's such a unique man, with ideas and behaviors all his own. He has all these little quirks that I love so much, and that I could never imagine his brothers doing. Like how he turns the carton of milk just so in his refrigerator so that it always faces the inside of the door. Or how his skin flushes up from his throat when he's angry about something, and down from his ears when he's nervous. The way his fingers tap his thumb when he's concentrating hard on something. Ron's not a bossy know-it-all like Percy, or a shameless prankster like his twin brothers, or entirely too laid back like his eldest brother Bill. He's loud and opinionated, and never afraid to say what's on his mind, even if he knows it might not be taken well. And he's always treated me like... well, there was this one time last year when he saved up all of his earnings for two months in order to send me to my grandparents' home in Scotland for their fiftieth anniversary. I didn't have the money to go, because of tuition, and he certainly couldn't afford it, but he... well."

Hermione turned her eyes on her companion. "I think I was always one of his safe havens. Someone he could trust to differentiate him from the rest of his family. And now I've done exactly what everyone else does to him all the time. Except I matter to him. My opinion matters to him. And I've gone and betrayed that trust."

Hermione sighed and clutched her head, feeling tears sting her eyelids. She pursed her lips in self-chastisement and drank some more wine. It felt so strange talking to a person she didn't even know about her personal life, but also freeing in a way, as if she could tell him anything and not worry about what he might think of her. It made her feel lighter already, having said all that. "I feel so miserable. And I've made him miserable as well. If I could have one birthday wish... Oh, but that's foolish. He was right not to come."

The man studied her silently for a long moment. "What would your one birthday wish be, then, Ms. Granger?"

She peered at him, feeling more than a little bit tipsy already. Whether it was from the wine or from the insatiably flippant mood she was in, she couldn't tell.

"What I wish is for Ron Weasley - not Draco Malfoy, not Harry Potter, and certainly not Blaise Zabini - Ron Weasley, the man I love... to arrive out of the blue, forgive me for being a complete twat, sweep me off my feet, and give me the best birthday dance I could possibly - hey!"

She felt herself being picked up and pulled into the strong arms of the strange man who she was inexplicably pouring her heart out to. It would have been quite graceful if she weren't so flabbergasted.

"I beg your pardon, what do you think you're doing??"

The man turned his masked face to her. "Fulfilling your birthday wish, of course."

"My birthday wish? Put me down this instant! Perhaps you weren't listeni--" Hermione stopped, finally recognizing the gentle chuckle bubbling out from behind the man's mask. "Ronald??"

The man set her down just as gracefully as he had lifted her, careful to keep one arm ensconced around her waist, and swept off his hat and mask, revealing bright red hair, a smattering of freckles, and a very amused grin. "I stand unmasked."

Hermione could not help herself. She gave a very-un-Hermione-like squeal and leapt forward, throwing her arms around her boyfriend's neck. "Oh, Ron, you're here!"

She peppered his face with kisses until he laughingly pushed her away. "Alright, calm down a bit, Mione, I'm here. Not good for you to get so worked up about something so little again."

"Little?" Hermione shook her head, arms still wrapped around Ron's neck. "I hardly call the granting of my birthday wish little. That is" - and her smile faltered - "if it is in fact granted?"

Ron looked down at her, his eyebrow raised, and waited. Hermione bit her lip. "Ron, I meant what I said just now. I am so sorry for behaving like an idiot. For saying those... things... to you. Can you... well..."

Ron touched her nose, smiling gently. "How could I not after hearing you bare your slightly inebriated soul to a complete stranger?"

"Ronald Weasley, I only had half a glass of wine. I am not inebriated!"

"I rather think you are, my dear."

Hermione pursed her lips and pulled him closer. "Well, if I am, then the only thing I'm inebriated with is you."

"Oh, so it's my fault again?"

Hermione slapped his arm lightly and laughed. Then she remembered something and blushed. "Draco and Harry... when they were discussing telling people and not wanting others to know... They weren't talking about themselves, were they?"

Ron shook his head. "Not a chance. I have never seen a couple more willing to jump through fire for each other... unless it's us."

"You all planned this, then? Everyone knew?"

"Even Zabini."

Hermione puzzled over that. She couldn't decide whether to be perplexed, amazed, or somewhat put out. But Ron lifted her chin, looking into her eyes. "And now it's time for me to apologize to you for being such an absolute arse about it. I realized what a beastly trick this was when I watched you out here speaking in favor of a silly git who couldn't even be bothered to put aside his anger for his girlfriend's birthday. I am sorry, love."

Hermione smiled up at him. "If you can forgive me for my horrid thoughtlessness, I can certainly forgive you for that."

"Good." Ron sighed and hugged her to him. Hermione fell into his arms gladly, resting her head against his chest. They stood there, wrapped in the breezy night air. Hermione basked in the comfort of at last being... well, comfortable. And insanely giddy. Perhaps Ron was right about this inebriated business. Hermione did feel slightly intoxicated. But she suspected it had nothing to do with the wine.

Ron's voice sounded low in her ear. "Is there still time to salvage this mess of a party?"

Hermione nodded against his shoulder and hugged him tightly. "I suppose there is."

Ron pulled a little away. She looked up at him and was startled to see that he was a little flushed. From the ears. He licked his lips uneasily.

"Ron? What's wrong?"

"Oh... nothing, really." His smile quavered. "I just... wanted to give you your birthday present."

Hermione grinned and snuggled against him. "Thought you already had."

"No... This is actually something I was going to give you before we... well, before the argument. When things got all wonky."

"Oh?" Hermione looked at him expectantly. "Do tell."

Ron looked incredibly nervous now, and Hermione began to worry. Whatever it was, it was obviously something big.

"Mione... we have talked about this before, briefly, and... well, I know that neither of us is ready for... well..."

Hermione's heart sped up, a mixed thrill of fear and joy running up her spine. She swallowed. Somehow she knew exactly where this was going.

"Ronald," she whispered, clutching his shoulders.

He silenced her with a hand on her cheek. "I'm... not going to ask you that, Mione. Don't worry. I know I don't have the money for it... and that you want to finish school... but... I just want you to know that it's what I want. Eventually. If that's alright with you."

Hermione bit her lip and nodded breathlessly for him to continue. "Go on."

Ron pursed his lips, staring fixedly at her face, as if searching for a reason to carry on with his line of thought. Hermione gazed back, knowing how fragile everything was at that moment, and suddenly wanting more than anything to strengthen it, to keep it from breaking.

"What I wanted to ask you... Oh sod it, I can believe I'm... Hermione, I wondered if perhaps... well, it's like this. My brother is moving. Charlie. He's going to Romania for a year and he's leaving his flat in London, and I thought that if you felt it was... appropriate... It's bigger than either of ours... and I've saved enough money to handle rent..."

Hermione could not speak. She blinked at her boyfriend mutely. Ron's face turned even more red.

"Of course, if you don't think you're ready for that - I understand, certainly... I just thought, for your birthday - I mean, if you wanted to take this step--"

She very effectively stopped his stumbling speech by tugging him down into a long searching kiss. Ron made a small surprised sound in his throat, and then his arms came up around her, drawing her body to his. She deepened the kiss, gliding her fingers up to play with the soft hair on the back of his neck, running her hands through his tousled red locks. He murmured something against her lips and she sighed dreamily.

Pulling back somewhat regretfully, she touched his cheek. "That's a yes, by the way."

Ron smiled then, slow and wondrous. Hermione found her own heart swelling with the complete happiness she saw in his eyes, and was insanely glad that she had had something to do with it. All of their moments together... their long friendship, even their intimacy... it all paled next to the times when she could make him smile like that.

"That's brilliant," Ron whispered in an awed voice. He let out a shaky breath and rubbed her shoulders with both hands. "I was a worried that you wouldn't..."

Hermione cocked a lopsided grin at him. "What, and miss a chance to delegate the look of your household myself?"

Ron laughed. "True... That particular argument will be completely unnecessary."

They shared a silent moment just looking at each other. Hermione watched the play of the shadows and moonlight over Ron's face, and suddenly realized that now, with the new situation, she could do this every night.

Amongst other things.

Being inebriated by Ron was a wonderful experience. Hermione guided him into another lingering kiss. Just to be sure she got her full dose for the night. But by his sultry chuckle and the way he pulled her against him, she was deliciously certain she would be getting an extra shot of something special later.

"Mmmm, love you, Ron."

"Happy Birthday, Mione."