The Scorpion Always Stings

ϟ April 2003

April 2003

Hints of spring could be found in the light drizzles that breached through the grey clouds. The lilies sprouted tentatively from their buds throughout much of April, only to burst into full force the very day Hermione and Ron got engaged.

The engagement party hosted at the Burrow had been pre-planned, a surprise that Ron had spent weeks on. The booking to the Leaky Cauldron (an insurance detour in case Hermione said no) was quietly cancelled by Harry on behalf of his best friend.

Harry was both delighted and relieved. After many - too many - pep-talks to Ron about how she'd obviously say yes, and he was obviously good enough for her, and no, she wasn't going to laugh at his face, Harry threatened to personally contact Viktor Krum to do the proposing for him. That seemed to quell his nervousness immediately.

Harry felt a bittersweet twist in his chest as he watched Ron take Hermione's face and kiss her, winning roars and wolf-whistles from the rest of the Weasleys as they celebrated with Firewhisky fizzing out of wands and bottles alike. He'd known that this would happen, this inevitable passage of time where both he and his two best friends reached the impasse of adulthood.

It was silly, really. He and Ginny had been married for almost two years now. He should be happy that they were all reaching these milestones. Harry glanced at his wife who was across the room. She caught his gaze and gave him a wistful sort of smile as if she were thinking the same thing.

They could've been in love, too. It would've been so easy, so predictable, so...comfortable, to be in love with Ginny. But he wasn't. And neither was she.

The engagement party stretched well into the evening. Somehow, the party had gotten so large, with the Delacour-Weasleys joining them at lunchtime and then some of Ron's friends from the Ministry and Saturday Quidditch Club. Harry had never much liked spring in his childhood because it signalled the nearing of the school holidays. It made his stomach twist nervously at the thought of the foreboding and lonely summer that awaited him every time he caught a whiff of the dew on the grass. Now, though, was different. His chest felt light with happiness - and it could've been a little bit of the Firewhisky.

"Harry, mate, I'm getting married!"

Ron had plonked down beside him, smelling strongly of something distinctly not like Firewhisky and very much like one of Lee Jordan's illicit concoctions. He slung his arm around Harry, very nearly knocking his glasses off in the process.

"Don't poison yourself before it happens, you git," Harry chuckled. "What have you been drinking?"

"Mmmmm...." Ron sniffed the air before giving a loud hiccup. He looked at Harry, his eyes dazed with drunkenness. "I love you, Harry, you know that?"

Harry stifled his laughter. "No, seriously. I need to know how Lee makes this stuff."

Ron scowled at him for a moment, offended that his affections were not being matched with equal passion. But such was the fickleness of intoxication, and before Harry knew it, Ron had suddenly burst into loud, short sobs.

"Harry, mate, I looooooove you!" he cried, flinging his other arm around Harry and pulling him so close that his nose bashed painfully against Ron's chest. It wouldn't have hurt as much if Ron wasn't built like a Quidditch Champion Beater.

"I AM GOING TO KILL LEE JORDAN!"

Hermione's shrill voice cut through Ron's sobs with equal passion. Her hair looked bushier than ever, and the rosy tint in her cheeks told Harry that she was just one more glass of Firewhisky away from getting into Ron's exact state. She marched towards them and grabbed Ron by the shoulders.