I Don't

I Don't

In the end, Harry really was a stupid idiot.

He created his own problems. If things were going well, he found a way to suitably bugger them up. It was a wonder he'd managed to defeat Voldemort at all, when one thought about it.

It had started at Christmastime. Harry and Ron were at the Burrow for the holidays. Hermione was there, too, her parents being off on vacation in Greece, and that suited the boys just fine. Truth be told, holidays were the most stressful time for the three of them. Ron would always go to the Burrow, but Hermione was expected to be with her parents, and Harry spent quite a number of holidays with Remus. They would do their best to be cheerful and lively, but it was always disconcerting waking up alone when you were used to having two other bodies with you.

This particular holiday, though, they were all together, and couldn't be more pleased about it. Presents, egg nog, mistletoe, lengthy and uproarious stories, and slyly playing footises under an extremely heavily laden table... It was perfection, topped off with exactly five inches of powder white snow.

Until Molly Weasley started asking about relationships.

"Ron, do you have a special someone?" she asked.

Ron nearly choked on his egg nog. "Uh, no," he managed, clearing his throat. "Not yet." Which was technically true, he theorized reflectively. He had two special someones.

"Well, why not?"

"I dunno, Mum," he shrugged, uncomfortable under his mother's scrutiny. "Just been really busy, I guess. With work and stuff." He stole a glance at Harry and Hermione, who were both looking amused. Traitors. "Relationships are too much hassle, anyway," he added, fighting a twitch at the corner of his mouth. "People get needy and take up all your time and before you know it, it's nothing but work, work, work all the time." Another stolen glance told him that Harry was adorable with narrowed eyes and Hermione equally so with that look of barely concealed indignance on her face.

Molly didn't seem to notice. "That's a terrible attitude to have! How can you ever expect to get married with that kind of cynicism?"

"There's more to life than getting paired off, Mum," he replied, and feeling rather brave from the alcohol in his nog, added, "Besides, you already have Bill, Charlie, and Ginny to pop out the grandkids. Ow!"

"Oops," quipped Ginny none too apologetically, while Ron rubbed the back of his head where a decent sized roll had collided with it.

"Oh, Ron," Molly said in mild exasperation. "What about you, Harry, dear? Surely the girls must be all over you."

"If they are, they must be Stunning me beforehand," he smiled, and beside him, Hermione snorted a laugh.

"The boys too?"

"They don't even bother liquoring me up first." Snort from Ron, this time, too.

"Hermione?" Molly tried.

"Afraid I'm a dead end, as well, Mrs. Weasley. Apparently, I'm high-maintenance." She looked pointedly at Ron, who sniggered into his drink.

"You three..." Molly sighed, and Hermione, Harry, and Ron all exchanged quick grins, which Molly caught and misinterpreted. "I'm serious. I don't want the three of you unmarried and alone the rest of your lives simply because you didn't seize the opportunity when it presented itself." They grinned again, and she gave up. "Oh, forget it," she muttered, but with a smile in her voice.

That night, Harry drove Ron to the brink and back no less than four times before Ron's patience ran out and he'd growled, "Goddammit, Harry, I swear to Merlin, if you don't fuck me properlyB"

"Now who's needy?" Harry'd smirked and then promptly lost his cocky expression when Ron raked his nails over Harry's sweaty chest and bit his earlobe at the same time.

Afterwards, with arms and legs tightly entwined together, they'd lain and lamented the fact that Hermione was stuck in Ginny's room, just two doors down the hall, and not here with them where she belonged. It wasn't forever, though, and they knew it. Soon enough, they'd be back at their flat and three halves of a whole again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

That was when it had started, but certainly not when it had ended. In fact, Molly's obsession with getting them married off seemed to be contagious, and it wasn't long before Hermione began arriving home after lunches with her mother, tetchy and snappish, or Harry wound up spending long hours talking to Remus in the fire, fending off blind date set-ups left, right, and center.

It was almost funny. Almost. Everyone really was just looking out for their best interests. They simply didn't want them to be alone. How could they tell them that they weren't alone, that they'd never be alone, that they each had more than their fair share of love and happiness and security that came from being with someone, because they each had two someones? How could Harry tell Remus that he shared his bed and his heart not with Ron, not with Hermione, but with RonandHermione? How could Ron tell his mother that he loved and was in love with two different people, and that it worked just fine, thank you? How could Hermione even approach the subject with her parents who, for all their good qualities, still lived in the Muggle world, which still had strict laws on who you could and could not love, much less how many you were allowed?

Hermione had taken to disconnecting the telephone when she came home. Ron started to "forget" to buy Floo Powder on a regular basis. Harry found himself one night in February looking up at the full moon and feeling an involuntary wave of relief that Remus wouldn't be able to badger him tonight.

And so Harry had come up with a plan.

"I think you two should get married," he announced one Saturday afternoon.

The three of them were on the floor, watching TV, although it was mostly Ron who was interested in it because the telly still fascinated him to no end. Harry was lying with his head in Hermione's lap, who was resting against Ron's chest, whose back was propped up against their blue and yellow chesterfield, the one with the footrests that came up that Ron had found and insisted they had to have. The TV version of Cats had grown exceedingly tedious for Harry, who had never much cared for musicals, and he'd sprung his plan on his two best friends.

Hermione's hand froze in his hair mid-stroke, and when Harry turned his head, he saw that Ron had actually managed to tear himself away from the prancing felines on the screen and was now looking at him in dismay.

"Bollocks, Harry, not you too," Ron groaned, burying his face in Hermione's shoulder.

"No, no, wait. Just listen. If you guys got married, it would solve everything. There would be a great party, everyone would get all this marriage rubbish out of their systems, and they'd forget about it, job well done. No more bothersome family. Which means no more annoying phone calls, no more scrounging for Floo Powder, no more dreading get-togethers, or for that matter, dreading leaving the flat..." Harry grinned. "Plus, we'll get a tax break."

"Wizards don't have taxes, you prat," Hermione smiled down at him, and he picked her hand out of his hair and kissed her fingers. She sighed. "Are you serious?" she asked, incredulous, although less so than Harry imagined she would be.

"As a Basilisk bite."

"You're nutters," Ron stated. "Honestly," he stressed when Harry gave him a Look. "How are we going to explain the living arrangements to people?

"It wouldn't, not really," Harry agreed. "But so long as two of us are "together", everyone will just look the other way, not even notice."

"Why us?" Hermione asked, searching for the holes in his plan. "Why me and Ron? Why not you and Ron? Or you and me?"

Harry's brow furrowed slightly. "Well, just because," he tried.

Hermione poked him, hard, in the ribs. "Try again, Potter."

Harry sighed. "I just think it'd be more productive that way, that's all." A raised brow from Hermione and he elaborated. "If you don't get married, Hermione, your parents won't stop pushing for it until it happens. Same thing with you, Ron. May I remind you whose mum it was that started all this?" He accompanied the comment with a smile so Ron would know he wasn't blaming him and Ron flicked Harry's temple affectionately. "I'm different, though. I don't have a family."

"On behalf of me and my bushy-haired counterpart, oi", Ron remarked.

"You know what I mean," Harry pressed. "I don't have people who are expecting me to carry on a line. Or people who've invested in me their whole lives."

"It's not like we wouldn't have, you know," Ron said after a pause, sounding somewhat hurt.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, frustrated with himself. He was screwing it up completely. He sat up to look at them. "I know," he said softly. "It's just... You guys have people you're obligated to. I don't."

"What about Remus?" Ron persisted.

"Remus is like a pushy uncle. And I love him dearly. But he's not my Dad. I'm not responsible to him the same way you two are to your parents."

The three of them were quiet a long time and eventually, Hermione tugged Harry in front of her so he leaned against her the same way she did against Ron. She hugged her arms around Harry's middle and Ron hugged his arms around the both of them. They sat so long that Harry was beginning to think he'd been quietly dismissed, when Hermione broke the silence.

"Nothing changes?" she asked, and when Harry craned his head back, he could see anxiety in her eyes. He turned around in her arms and fixed both of them with a fierce gaze.

"Nothing changes," he promised.

And things like that were why Harry Potter was a stupid idiot.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Not a full week later, news of Ron and Hermione's engagement (and Harry's subsequent Best Man-ery) had spread like wildfire through their friends and family. Hermione's parents drove over as soon as she talked to them on the phone, and they had shaken Ron's hand so many times he'd secretly wondered if it was some kind of Muggle test designed to determine a bloke's worth as a potential husband. Hagrid had Flooed over, sniffling like a Puffskein with a cold. Molly was no better, although it was Arthur's head that had appeared in the fire that morning with tears running down his cheeks. Remus had whooped and hollered and carried on like he hadn't since well before Sirius died.

Harry knew weddings were a big deal, but he hadn't counted on just how much stuff Ron and Hermione were expected to do without him. The two of them were constantly getting invited to dinner parties and functions and apparel showings. The two of them. But it had been Harry's idea in the first place. It would be silly and childish of him to sulk about it now.

Besides, he reasoned, it wasn't as if Ron and Hermione were enjoying all of the hubbub. Hermione despised the functions even more than Ron did, and as soon as they returned from one, they would tear Harry away from whatever it was he was doing and reduce him to a blithering mess showing him how much they missed him.

In spite of all of this, Harry couldn't let go of the "three's a crowd" feeling he'd recently acquired. He would be moody and withdrawn at times, spending a great many more hours at work than was necessary so he could slink into his spot in bed without having to carry on an actual conversation. Other times he would cuddle up to one or both of them and just sit in silence, listening to their breathing or concentrating on the heat emanating from their skin, wondering what he would ever do if he suddenly found himself alone. It was one of these latter incidents that finally snared Hermione's attention.

She was making biscuits for Dumbledore as a thank you for offering to let them use the Great Hall for the ceremony. She had just taken the witches' heads out of the oven, the cauldrons had just gone in, and ghost shapes were being lifted from the wad of dough on the countertop when she felt a pair of arms snake around her waist and a chin rest on her left shoulder. From the height, she could tell it was Harry, and she smiled as he pressed a kiss to her neck.

"Whatcha doin?" he murmured next to her ear.

"Trying to get these done before Ron comes home and they magically disappear," she answered and threw him a wink.

"Smell good," Harry said, breathing deep, and Hermione wasn't sure if he was talking about the biscuits or her.

"Sweet talk all you want, Harry Potter, these cookies aren't for you," she teased gently, opting for sugar-love. She felt Harry grin against her neck.

"You have flour on your nose," he informed her. "Did you know?" She dipped two fingers into the flour bag, turned around, and dusted it on the bridge of Harry's nose.

"Now we match," she smiled cheekily, and he took her floury face in his hand and kissed her like he was drinking her in, absorbing every detail he could. When he finally pulled away, Hermione found it was a very good thing he was holding onto her, because she wasn't altogether sure she'd still be standing if he wasn't.

"Mmm... Maybe you can have one," she murmured, feeling the color rise in her cheeks and loving every tingling second of it. He didn't answer for a few seconds, and when she felt fingers brushing through her hair, she opened her eyes and looked up at him quizzically. "Harry?" "I love you, Hermione," he said suddenly, snapping out of his trance. "You know that, right?"

"Of course I do, Harry. I love you, too," she replied, briefly taken aback by his abrupt mood change. She searched his eyes. "Are you alright?"

Just then Ron bounded into the kitchen. "All right! Snogging and baked goods! You guys sure know how to make a bloke feel special." And Harry's odd disposition was gone as quickly as it had come.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It wasn't until a number of days later that Hermione was finally able to convince Ron that there really was something bothering Harry. Ron's powers of observation may have been spectacularly awful, but he was by no means stupid and after being on the receiving end of Harry's peculiar behaviour a few times, he more than agreed with Hermione that "something bloody strange is going on". They were sitting at the kitchen table when Harry got home. He was later than usual, albeit not nearly as late as some times.

"What are you two still doing here? Don't you have some social to attend?" Harry fought back a yawn, but he was bone weary and wished for nothing more than for all of them to just go to bed.

"Skivved off," Ron shrugged and Harry found it enormously endearing.

"Some things never change, eh?" he smiled softly and accepted a cup of tea from Hermione, hoping it would help him keep his eyes open. "Although I must say, Hermione Granger, I am shocked and dismayed. Allowing this hooligan to deter you from your social duty. And the former Head Girl, to boot." Ron and Hermione both kicked him lightly under the table and he smiled. He would miss all this if (when?) it ended.

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while, the three of them sipping at their tea. The caffeine, however, was turning out to be no match for the warmth of its medium and the effect said warmth had on Harry's weariness, and he felt himself drifting off.

"Harry, is there anything you want to tell us?" Hermione's voice rang through his foggy brain and pulled him back.

"Hmm? Like what?" He struggled to pay attention.

"Like anything. Work stuff, life stuff... wedding stuff..."

And Harry had to struggle no more. His eyes snapped open and they focused on the two people across from him suspiciously. "What kind of wedding stuff?"

"I don't know. You just seem kind of sad lately and we were wondering if it had anything to do with the wedding."

It doesn't was the reply on Harry's tongue and in his head, but when he tried to say it, it wouldn't come.

"Harry?" Ron put his teacup down. "It's okay, mate. You can tell us."

But Harry hadn't heard a thing after he'd seen Ron put his cup down. He stared at his own cup, more than half of it drunk. Of course. A sickening feeling grew in the pit of his stomach and he swallowed hard, but brought his gaze back up to Hermione's. "Veritaserum?" he asked weakly.

Ron looked terribly confused. "What?"

Hermione's expression mirrored Ron's for precisely one instant, and then it changed to one of blazing rage. "Harry James Potter, I should slap the white right off your face," she snapped. "How could you even suggest that?" She pushed her chair away from the table and stalked off to their room.

Harry groaned and let his head fall forward onto the table with a thud. Bugger it all. He heard Ron's chair scraping against the floor and assumed he was going to support Hermione in stewing in anger. After all, Harry had essentially accused Ron, as well. So when he felt fingers in his hair, he jumped a little at the surprise contact.

Ron chuckled. "Don't worry, mate. You're safe. I haven't even got my wand with me."

Harry rolled his head on the table so he was looking at Ron. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay. But it must be a pretty big secret to think we'd Veritaserum you to find out what it is." Calloused fingers continued to run gently through messy black hair.

Harry sighed, half in frustration at his situation, half in pleasure at the feeling of Ron's hand in his hair. "It's not, really. IB It's just..."

"Words come from your mouth unchecked by your brain?" Ron supplied helpfully.

"Yeah," he said, puzzled. "How did you know that?"

Ron smiled and pecked Harry on the mouth. "It's a Weasley trademark. I must be rubbing off on you." A lecherous grin accompanied his pun, which Harry tastefully chose to ignore. "You know now, though, that you're going to have to spill the beans about whatever it is."

"It's stupid."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. The stupider it is, the easier it is to deal with. Come on, look at Crabbe and Goyle," he grinned. "Come on," Ron cajoled, and when Harry finally cracked a smile, Ron pulled him up to go face Hermione.

"Oi, wait a second. How did you get so good at these little pep talks?" Harry asked, realizing he'd played right into Ron's hand.

"Didn't you know? They're a Potter trademark. You rub off on me, too." Ron smiled rather fetchingly and waited at the door for Harry to go first.

Harry took a deep breath and stepped into the dark room. He could see Hermione's outline sitting rigidly on the bed. "Hermione?" No answer. "I'm sorry about what I said. Feel free to call me any name you can think of. Ron can help." He heard Hermione sigh and yank the chain on a bedside lamp.

"I didn't put Veritaserum in your tea," she said quietly and looked at him with worried eyes. "But I really would like to know what's bothering you."

"It's stupid," he said, not so much trying to get out of it this time as warning her.

"That's okay. Sit."

Harry sat, and felt Ron sit down on the other side of the bed.

"Er, alright then." Harry fiddled idly with a loose thread on the comforter to avoid having to look at either Ron or Hermione directly. "I... Idon'tknowifIcanbeRon'sbestman," he said in a rush.

"Why not?" Hermione queried patiently, her voice professional and removed.

There was a long pause while Harry gathered his nerve. "What if," he said, in a voice so low that both Hermione and Ron had to strain to hear him. "What if I can't watch you guys promise to love only each other?"

"Harry." Hermione's hand was on his knee. "You know it won't be true."

"I know," he said loudly, letting some of his irritation with himself show through, as he flopped onto his back and scowled at the ceiling. "That's why it's stupid."

"If you're not on board with this, Harry, just say the word," Ron told him. "We don't need to get married. Heckling family members can be dealt with. We've survived a lot worse."

"Than your mum?" Harry scoffed. "Not bloody likely."

Hermione quickly hid a smile and Ron caught it and shoved her playfully.

"Hey! I didn't even say it!" she exclaimed.

"You were thinking it."

Hermione rolled her eyes and lay down on her side alongside Harry, serious again. She laid a hand on his chest and rubbed soothingly. "It's your decision, Harry. Two weeks is enough time to call it off. It would be like it never happened."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, it's still a good idea. And it'll have to happen sooner or later." He was quiet for a long moment. "You guys should do it."

He didn't realize he was biting his lip so hard until Ron brushed his fingertips over it and the pressure eased. Ron replaced his fingers with his mouth and when he pulled away, Harry didn't know whether it was melancholy or solace that made his chest ache like that.

"We are always going to love you, Harry," Ron said softly, brushing back black hair and pressing his lips to Harry's scar. "Nothing will ever change that."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Harry was certain it was to be the longest fortnight of his life, and he wasn't disappointed in the least. Afternoons dragged on, and very often Harry would go out for long strolls around Diagon Alley, if for nothing else than to get away from the not-quite-pitying-but-close-enough looks Hermione was prone to giving him when she thought he wasn't looking. He didn't get them from Ron, but that was because Ron was home so rarely since Harry's big confession that Harry barely ever saw him anymore. All things considered, Harry wished he had maintained his stoicism and kept his thoughts to himself, since the only accomplishment seemed to be causing discomfort all around.

However, by a rather curious trick of time, the days also flew by. Before he knew it, it was a Wednesday evening, and there were only three days left until Ron and Hermione became RonandHermione and Harry was left as just Harry.

It was on this particular night that Ron had flown in the door to find Hermione and Harry on the chesterfield watching a Muggle cartoon. He was excited about something and rushed into the room, kneeling down to face them and paying no heed whatsoever to the colorful flickering behind him, a sure sign that something was up.

"Hello," he beamed, either not noticing or ignoring Hermione's crossed arms and stiff posture, Harry's listless demeanor. His brown eyes shone gleefully.

"Occludo," Hermione spelled the television off. "This is the third night this week you've missed dinner," she said tersely, not bothering with a greeting.

Ron's smile, if possible, grew wider. "Sod dinner."

Which led to Hermione returning with an irritable, "It wouldn't kill you to send an owl, Ronald, or Merlin forbid, show up once in aB"

Ron leaned forward and cut her off mid-sentence by kissing her soundly. "I'm sorry about dinner," he said, and Hermione glowered a little less. "I have something that will make it better, though."

"What is it?" she asked grudgingly, and Ron and Harry both knew it was curiosity about Ron's exuberance that made her ask.

"A present." The smile on his face could have lit up South Farthing. "For both of you," he added pointedly, when Harry remained an inactive ball, albeit now with the hint of a smile on his lips. Harry smiled for real in spite of himself and he sat up and scooted closer to Hermione.

Ron reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a small grey box. "Ta da," he sang quietly as he opened it, and bit his bottom lip in his eagerness.

Hermione gasped softly. Inside were three mottled silver rings. While the speckling was unusual, and Harry had admittedly never seen mottled metal, it was the faint glow they gave off that captured his attention. The pinpoints of light shone delicately through the flecks like stars dotting the night sky, and when he looked at them, he felt something like reassurance without knowing why.

"Ron," breathed Hermione, still in amazement. "Are thoseB"

"Yep," he nodded, still grinning like a madman.

Awed silence from Hermione until Harry broke it, feeling more than a little foolish. "Er, what are they, exactly?"

"Trisomy rings," Hermione said softly. "They're Alchemical magic. They work on linkages... Like a blood binding, but with hybrid emotions."

"That's my girl." Ron's voice was quiet and full of pride. "You were right, Harry," he said, "about watching me and Hermione promise to be faithful forever. It's not right. Two of us by ourselves isn't right. When have we ever been two of us by ourselves?" He paused and collected his thoughts.

"My life started my first day at Hogwarts. I was so worried I'd be just another Weasley, teased because I had second-hand and second-rate everything. But then there was you two, and right away, I knew you'd be the best friends I'd ever have. I know I'm kind of a jerk sometimesB" He hesitated and then amended. "Okay, a lot of a jerk sometimes." He looked at both Harry and Hermione, all traces of the grin gone, serious as anything. "There's no way second-rate friends or lovers would have stayed through all the shit I put you guys through. So I started thinking about how I could hold onto you better. Because you guys really are the best things that ever happened to me."

"So," he continued. He exhaled shakily and smiled again, but Harry could have sworn that this time it wasB MerlinB nervous? "What I'm saying is... I want you to marry me. Both of you."

Harry had always thought, if something like this ever were to happen to him, that he would respond with an excited "YES!" and that following that, countless knickknacks would be damaged in the resulting shag. He expected giddiness and laughing and long, wet kisses that made him crazy. What he didn't expect was for his chest to suddenly feel so light, like his lungs were full of helium instead of oxygen. He didn't expect to be so much in shock that all he could do was stare dumbly at Ron, who was still waiting for answers from both of them and looking more and more nervous by the second.

"I think that's the best idea I've ever heard," Hermione said finally, her happiness evident in her trembling voice, and Ron broke out into an impossibly wide grin as he looked at her, and then at Harry.

"What do you say, Harry? Come on, don't leave me hanging, here." His tone was light, but Harry could see the tiny flickers of nervousness begin to creep back into his eyes, and that was all it took for Harry's speech impediment to dissolve.

"Yes," he said, and his voice came out gravelly and rougher than normal because he was trying not to cry. He was sure the Boy-Who-Lived had no business crying at proposals, although it was more habit than anything else, because he wasn't sure he cared about any of that right now.

Ron looked stunned for a brief moment, and then shot forward and grabbed them both in a crushing bear hug.

"I love you guys. I do. I love you, I love you, I love you," he chanted gleefully, and when he altered his grip to plant his lips on Hermione's, Harry couldn't keep it in anymore and he laughed. He felt like he was eleven years old again, on the brink of something bright and new and so full of exciting possibilities that he didn't know what to do with himself. Ron kissed Hermione and dipped her backward until she squealed in the back of her throat and he let her up with a satisfied smile. Harry took the opportunity to wrap his arms around Hermione from behind and pulled Ron closer by the front of his shirt and their lips met over Hermione's shoulder.

There was much successive damaging of knickknacks.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The day of the wedding was cold, unforgiving, and blustery. The snow piled up in large drifts, and Hermione fretted until each and every one of the guests who was driving had arrived safely. Ron had tried to calm her down by explaining that anyone who got thrown into a skid could simply "lift off", and they had had a row when she replied testily that not all cars were like the old Anglia.

Harry was perversely pleased. It wouldn't have been right without a spat.

Half an hour later, Harry and Ron stood at the front of the Hall waiting. Harry's throat itched where the starchy material met his skin, and he rubbed his neck. He glanced at Ron, who was alternately fiddling with his tie and the cuffs on his sleeves, and a warm, fuzzy feeling settled in his chest.

"How are you doing?" Harry asked quietly.

"A little twitchy, actually," Ron said with an apprehensive smile, and Harry knew that Ron's palms would be sweaty if he were to reach out and grab them.

"Don't be. You know she's crazy about you."

"Yeah, well, I'm suspecting she's just crazy."

Harry smiled and tried to look indignant. "And what does that make me?"

"Equally insane. But it's nothing we didn't already know."

"Prat."

"I like to think I make an effort."

Harry and Ron smiled at each other, forgetting momentarily where they were, and were thankfully saved by Hermione's grand entrance and the resulting collective inhalation that resounded through the Hall.

Hermione made her way down the length of the Hall, in robes of deep, sapphire blue, glancing this way and that, and looking rather embarrassed by all the attention. When her eyes lit upon Ron and Harry, however, she smiled and a slight blush crept up her cheekbones. Harry almost couldn't believe it was her. Her hair fell down her back in loose, flowing ringlets, and her eyes sparkled in a way that made Harry's mouth go dry. Beside him, he was faintly aware of Ron's breath hitching in his throat.

Dumbledore cleared his throat as Ron took Hermione's hand, their fight unsurprisingly forgotten, and the ceremony began. Harry thought he behaved himself splendidly. He preformed all his Best Man duties without a hitch, and even had the presence of mind to offer Remus a tissue when he couldn't hold in the tears anymore, the old sap.

The one and only touchy moment came near the end, when Dumbledore asked the fateful question, and Ron responded with a convincing and deep baritone, "I do." Harry fingered the ring on his left middle finger and his irrational insecurities ebbed away. The question was asked of Hermione and she risked a glance over Ron's shoulder at Harry, who smiled encouragingly, and she looked back to Ron with an "I do" of her own.

The ensuing applause and cheering afterward was loud and boisterous, and Harry was almost surprised to find that he had no qualms whatsoever in joining in. After all, "I do"s, meant fidelity. It meant staring into eyes and falling into them forever. It didn't mean quick looks over a groom's shoulder. It didn't mean mouths pinched just enough for one who was close to know when the inside of a cheek was being bitten. And it certainly didn't mean the fingering of two Trisomy rings in addition to Harry's own. No, those sorts of things were reserved for "I don't"s.

The trick, Harry had learned, was knowing when "I do" meant "I don't."