Harry Potter and the Year After

Chapter Seventy-seven: The End of an Era

Chapter 77: The End of an Era

Ron stood in the master bedroom of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. The room no longer appeared dirty or dark or dingy. Rather, the majority of the house was sparkling clean and devoid of just about all the dark magical objects that had haunted the Black house for years. The curtains were pretty and let in lots of light. In the few weeks following their departure from Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione had created a lovely home out of what was once a terrible place to be. They even managed to unstick the permanent sticking charm on Mrs. Black's portrait.

They'd asked Harry if they could buy the house from him, but he wouldn't let them. Instead, he gifted them the house as a wedding present and all its dingy contents. As their only payment, he made them promise that they'd give him any pictures of Sirius or the Marauders or any letters they found, especially written by James, Lily, Remus or Sirius. They gladly accepted, though unfortunately there weren't any to be found.

Harry stood to by Ron, happily sober. He was the only one who hadn't had a drop of alcohol. Neville was mildly buzzed. George, Bill, Charlie, Mr. Weasley and even Percy, however, were all varying degrees of drunk. They were passing around the same bottle of firewhiskey which they kept refilling with a refilling charm over and over again.

"First Bill, and then George... now Ron... wow, I feel old!" said Mr. Weasley. "I'm so happy for you, Ron. You found love at a young age, just like I did."

"Thanks, Dad," Ron said. He was sloshed. Harry was smiling widely, content to be the only sober one. He was confident he could sidelong Apparate Ron when it was time to leave, at least. So at least Ron wouldn't splinch himself to death on his wedding day... Hermione would kill him if he did...

***

At the Burrow, while Mrs. Weasley ran around making sure everyone was cooking things correctly and everything was decorated and beautiful, and Hermione's parents stood awkwardly in the corner of the kitchen sipping cups of tea, Hermione stood in Ginny's room before a full-length mirror.

Ginny fixed Hermione's veil so it hung over her calmed-down curls just right. Hermione's white dress fit her perfectly. Running her hands over the satin skirt, Hermione felt tears prick her eyes.

"I can't believe I'm getting married at eighteen," she said quietly to Ginny, looking away from the mirror. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny said quietly, wiping Hermione's tears from her eyes. Together, they sat down on the edge of Ginny's bed. "Do you think this might just be cold feet?"

"But we're eighteen! We're so young..." she said. "I don't know if I'm ready for this..." Hermione started crying. Ginny handed her a handkerchief and magically cleaned away the teardrops that fell on Hermione's dress.

"Don't think of it that way," Ginny said quietly. "You're in love, right?"

"Yes," she said, sniffling.

"You're not a normal eighteen year old," Ginny said, smiling at her. "You've been through more than many adults have. You've had your relationship with Ron tested to its breaking point already. A couple of times. It's not like you're rushing into this."

"Yes, but we have so much ahead of us. I'm just afraid that... what if we get to be thirty and we realize that we were still children when we got married?"

Ginny took a deep breath, watching Hermione. "The fact that you're even asking such a question sort of proves that you're mature enough to be making this decision."