deluminate | 8/29

He was supposed to give a speech.

Maybe it wasn't not a speech exactly, but he knew he was supposed to say something on Saturday, when he and Hermione got up in front of friends and family— though not as much family as Ron thought there'd be when this eventually happened— and got married.

He was rubbish at this stuff.

Reports when he was an Auror and when he'd had them for homework at Hogwarts... those had been the worst parts of all. He'd managed to skirt by in school by getting answers out of Hermione when he could, and he'd had a stack of overdue reports as long as his arm on his desk before he'd ended up in Darrow, so his track record with them wasn't particularly good.

This though, Ron wanted it to be something special. It wasn't every day you got married, and he wanted to make sure what he said on Saturday was perfect.

Sat at a picnic table in the park, Ron had managed about three words before he wanted to bin the bit of paper he was writing on. It wasn't good enough. Maybe he wasn't good enough. It'd crossed his mind a few times since Hermione had accepted his proposal, but stuck there with only a few words on the piece of paper in front of him, he couldn't push away a feeling in his gut that Hermione'd think better of it and decide it wasn't worth it after all.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, and crumpled up the paper shutting his eyes as he scrubbed one hand through his hair. He needed to pull himself together.

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He would have done this at home, but he was worried Hermione'd catch him and realize he'd put off writing this until the last minute. Somehow, they'd managed to go what seemed like ages without rowing, and today didn't seem like the day to put an end to that streak. Also, he reckoned there should be some bit of secrecy to all this, and a small part of him was worried she'd try to give him pointers on how to write it.

Eyes shut for a second, he hadn't expected someone to walk up to him, but he imagined he likely looked like he was in a bit of distress. Maybe because he was.

He paused once he looked up at the woman who'd approached, trying to decide if it was worth mentioning.

It was worth a shot.

"Um," Ron started, frowning, "wedding vows. Trying to, at least."

"Wait, wedding vows?" Mindy asks, a little taken aback because no way is Ron Weasley old enough to be getting married. Looking him up and down, though, maybe he is. He's a lot older than she remembers him being in the last movie, and she starts to say something about that before she stops herself. Some people are weird about the whole being fictional scenario, and the boy seems confused enough as it is. "I mean, uh, when's the wedding?"

He almost didn't want to say. He really shouldn't have left it off as long as he had, and if it were anything else, Hermione would have been able to remind him to get it done sooner. As it was, he reckoned that if she knew, she might shout at him for not having it settled yet.

"Tomorrow," he managed, shutting his eyes for a moment as he scrubbed one hand through his hair, fisting a tuft of it for a moment, "Not until late afternoon, but... tomorrow."

He swore under his breath, the realization of it bearing down on him all over again.

"Wait? Tomorrow? Like... after this day tomorrow?" Mindy asks, a little in shock, although she's not really sure why. She's probably just projecting the fact that she's had her own wedding vows written since she saw her first Nora Ephron film considering Ron isn't exactly known as the, well, Hermione of the group. "That... is cutting it close. Do you have anything written," she gestures at the balled up piece of paper, "or is that... it?"

Ron winced. It was as bad as he'd thought. He was completely doomed. He'd get up there, and Hermione'd have something brilliant prepared that she'd probably written the night he'd proposed, and he'd have nothing but a few words he'd scribbled on a bit of parchment and then discarded because they weren't good enough.

"Tomorrow, tomorrow," he confirmed, frowning, "And I've basically got nothing."

"Whoa, okay," Mindy says, deciding to take a seat across from him on the table. Maybe if she helps she can score some info about the wedding, scope it out from afar. She's tried that with celebrity weddings in New York before, but they're much more strict about stalking back there. "Well, hey, you know what they say about panic breeding inspiration. Or, uh, something like that."

"I don't think I've ever heard that one," Ron replied, and she'd taken a seat, which meant she was preparing to try and help him out. Ron normally might have been a bit wary of someone he'd never met settling in to jump into something like this, but at this rate— which was about two rubbish words an hour— he'd be finished well into next year.

He shut his eyes for a moment, raking one hand through his hair. "And I suppose fleeing the city's not even an option."

"That is not an option," Mindy tells him, a little more invested than she really should be. "Morally or physically."

One way or another, they're stuck in this fishbowl together. It occurs to her this is a pretty good way to stop prospective suitors from avoiding her, but this is Ron's dilemma, and not hers. One she has to help him through without revealing every little detail she knows about their lives.

Truthfully, Ron knew that he couldn't ever do that to Hermione. And not just because he knew she'd track him down in about five minutes flat and be furious about it. He loved her, simple as that, really. Which meant he was ultimately going to have to find a way to say it in a way that didn't make him look like a nutter in front of all the people they'd invited.

"Right then," Ron said, hand out of his hair, and he un-crumpled the bit of paper he'd had before, lying it out flat on the table, "How good are you at essays?"

This wasn't actually an essay, but Ron reckoned the idea was about the same.

8/29

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