Appointments and Engagements
“Hello, I’m here to see Mr. Martin.”
The next morning Hermione got up early for her doctor’s appointment. When she got to his Kensington office there were only a couple of women waiting with their sleek husbands in the small, yet elegant, waiting room.
“Alright,” said Mr. Martin’s secretary, an elderly woman. “What is your name, dear?”
“Hermione Granger.”
The secretary, who had been reading some papers, snapped her head up. “Oh… Are you here alone?”
“I’m waiting for my fiancé,” replied Hermione. Michael had to go to the office quite early but promised to meet her at Mr. Martin’s office.
“Very well,” said the secretary. “I need you to fill out these forms, please.”
“Okay,” said Hermione, grabbing the forms and taking a seat. She smiled briefly to the couple next to her, and the couple timidly smiled back.
An hour later, the two couples that were waiting with Hermione had gone in and out of the office and there was still no sign of Michael.
“My dear,” said the secretary, looking rather uncomfortable, “are you sure you don’t want to go in? Or do you still want to wait for… erm… whoever it is you are waiting for?”
“I… I think… Well… Yes, maybe I should go in,” said Hermione finally. “You know, there is no actual reason for me to wait any longer. He has made it perfectly clear he is not coming, hasn’t he?” She noticed her voice was trembling a bit.
The secretary remained silent, giving Hermione a blank look.
“Right,” said Hermione. She stood up and went into Mr. Martin’s office.
The office was big and welcoming. It was bright and had light wood panelling, and on the furthest wall, behind the huge oak desk, it had a magnificent bookshelf filled with books that immediately caught Hermione’s attention. Mr. Martin sat behind the desk, writing.
“Hello, Ms. Granger,” he said, standing up and walking towards Hermione. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Mr. Martin was a very good looking young man who could not be over thirty-five years old. He had short auburn hair, crystal-clear blue eyes, and a stunning smile.
“Hi,” replied Hermione, shaking the doctor’s hand nervously. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Take a seat. This is your first visit, isn’t it?” asked Mr. Martin kindly.
Hermione nodded.
“Well, there’s no need for you to be nervous. Is… well, your… is Mr. Sandford joining us?” asked Mr. Martin awkwardly.
Hermione laughed.
“You’ve been reading tabloids, haven’t you?”
Mr. Martin laughed. “You caught me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to“”
“Oh, please, don’t apologize! I would have asked the same thing. Besides, I don’t mind,” said Hermione, smiling. “Michael… he couldn’t come.”
“Fair enough. Before we begin,” said Mr. Martin, “do you have any questions?”
“Erm, not really. Well, of course I had some… but I… forgot them.”
“Don’t worry,” said Mr. Martin, laughing. “Feel free to ask any questions anytime.”
“Thanks,” said Hermione, slightly embarrassed.
“Have you been feeling alright?” asked Mr. Martin. “Any symptoms?”
“Well a lot of morning sickness… dizziness…” said Hermione.
“Alright,” replied Mr. Martin, writing something in Hermione’s file.
After asking Hermione about her family’s medical history and giving Hermione a physical exam, Mr. Martin proceeded to determine Hermione’s due date.
“Well, Hermione, you are about eight weeks along…"
“Eight weeks? Really?”
“Well, if the information you gave me is accurate, this should be correct.”
“But why hadn’t I noticed this before? I should have known sooner…”
“I think it’s the fact that you were probably not expecting this kind of news,” said Mr. Martin. “This wasn’t a planned pregnancy, right? Besides, eight weeks is really not that much; it’s only about two months. It seems your baby is due this summer; August 23rd. I don’t see any problems ahead of us… Your health history is perfect…”
Hermione smiled wanly.
“Is everything alright?” asked Mr. Martin.
“Oh, yes… I just… I’m fine,” Hermione replied absentmindedly.
“Of course,” said Mr. Martin awkwardly. “Well, Hermione, I’m going to give you some prenatal vitamins, which are very important you take every day, and that’s it, we’re done! Do you have any questions?” he asked, handing her the vitamins.
“No, I’m pretty clear,” replied Hermione.
“Well then, I’ll see you in four weeks for your first ultrasound.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Martin.”
“Oh, please, call me Ryan. Mr. Martin makes me feel… old.”
Hermione laughed.
“Thanks for everything,” she said, shaking his hand.
After going out into the chilly streets of London, Hermione thought about going to Harvey Nichols, to get her dress fitted. But she didn’t; she headed home… alone.
The minute she came through the front door, she picked up the phone and dialled the number of Michael’s office. The phone rang and rang for about three minutes until someone Hermione had never talked to picked it up.
“Michael Sandford’s office. How can I help?”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Rebecca. Can I help you?”
“Hello, Rebecca. I’m Hermione Granger“”
“Ms. Granger, pleasure to talk to you.”
“Yes, the pleasure is all mine. Um, Rebecca, shouldn’t Susan be answering the phones in Michael’s office?” asked Hermione, trying to keep the edge and anxiousness off her voice.
“Well, Susan called-in sick this morning,” said Rebecca. “I’m Mr. Parke’s secretary and I have been dealing with both phones all day."
“I see. Well, may I talk to Michael? It’s urgent.”
“Actually, Ms. Granger, I don’t recall seeing Mr. Sandford today,” said Rebecca.
“What?”
“Would you like to talk to Mr. Parke?”
“I“ Yes, I would,” said Hermione.
“One moment please.”
“Liam Parke,” said Liam’s pleasant voice into the phone.
“Liam, it’s me,” said Hermione.
“Hermione!” exclaimed Liam. “Wha“ Why are you… er… calling me?”
“Why did your secretary say Michael hasn’t been to the office all day?”
“She said that?” asked Liam tensely.
“Yes, she did,” said Hermione. “Where is he, Liam?”
“Er… He came into the office really early to pick up some papers and then he left for Glasgow; something came up with an investor,” explained Liam. “I was going to go with him but… I ended up staying here.”
Hermione remained silent.
“Hermione, are you there?”
“Um, yes… Thanks, Liam,” she said.
“Anytime.”
Hermione hung up the phone and headed upstairs. She sat down in her bed and spent the next few minutes staring into the empty space in front of her, her mind racing with questions.
Why? Why did he have to stand her up? Where in the bloody hell was he? Why couldn’t he simply tell her he wouldn’t be able to make it?
She took a deep breath and a single tear slid down her cheek. That was the only thing she needed to unleash the storm that was brewing inside of her. She lay down on the bed, her sobs echoing through the room. She felt devastated. He let her down. Michael had failed her yet again. He always put his work before anything, even her, and Hermione feared this would keep happening once the baby was born.
Hermione spent the whole afternoon crying and sleeping. When she heard the front door open some hours later, she got up and went downstairs.
She sat puffy-eyed, with her arms crossed at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her nose had a light pink tone to it.
“Hi,” said a grinning Michael as he came through the door. When he saw Hermione, he stopped abruptly and his smile faded.
“What happened? What’s going on?” he asked, the blood draining from his face.
“You tell me,” said Hermione in a deadpan voice.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You missed the appointment, Michael,” said Hermione, looking at the floor, her voice trembling.
“Oh, God…” exhaled Michael.
“You have no idea how it felt to sit there alone. I waited for an hour, Michael. An hour!” Hermione’s voice boomed. “I was humiliated! But you don’t care! You simply try to forget about the fact that I’m pregnant!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, tears streaming down her face.
“Calm down, okay! I do care! Something came up at the office and I couldn’t leave! I’m trying to make more money for us, not just me!” Michael snapped back, his voice as high as Hermione’s.
“Why do you keep doing this? There’s just no point in trying to make you understand, is there?” sobbed Hermione. “You’ll never get it!"
With that she headed upstairs.
As Hermione lay on the bed crying silently, she felt the door of the room open with a soft creak. Michael came in slowly.
“Hermione?” he said softly.
Hermione didn’t answer.
“Are you going to have dinner?”
No answer.
“Hermione, I’m sorry. You know I am,” he said.
“Stop being sorry,” said Hermione quietly. “Stop apologizing. Start making things right.”
“I know,” said Michael, sitting down on the bed, next to Hermione. “I promise from now on things will be different.”
Hermione turned to face him. Her face was pale, her eyes were swollen… It was obvious she had been crying for a long time.
“You promised you would be there,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “It was so important, Michael. So important…”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I really am,” said Michael, caressing Hermione’s hair. “Why don’t you sleep a bit? You look exhausted.”
Hermione turned away from Michael and quickly fell asleep.
Monday came by slowly, and with it, came the engagement party. Hermione had been kept very busy by Mrs. Sandford, who had been working on numerous things: from the flowers, to the orchestra. The woman had been practically living in Hermione and Michael’s Hogsmeade house for the last few days. She was driving Hermione absolutely insane.
“Hermione, dear!” yelled Mrs. Sandford from downstairs. “I’m here!”
“Oh! For Merlin’s sake! Michael, it’s seven o’ clock in the morning!” said Hermione, getting up from the bed.
“She told me she wanted to be here early,” said Michael, who was already dressed and ready to go to the office. “I thought I told you.”
“No. You didn’t,” said Hermione. “Michael, I really don’t need more stress in my life."
“More stress? More? More than what?” asked Michael. “Hermione, you don’t work, you stay at home all day… you don’t have any stress.”
“Of course I do, Michael,” said Hermione. “I’m planning a wedding that is happening in four weeks! Plus: I’m pregnant; I have to take care of the house by myself; I have your mother on my back all day“”
“Hermione! Wakey, Wakey!” Mrs. Sandford yelled from downstairs.
“I’ll be right there, Elizabeth!” Hermione yelled back.
“She’s only trying to help!” said Michael.
“Help? Michael, she’s controlling everything!” exclaimed Hermione.
“Don’t worry,” said Michael. “She’ll get tired of it soon.”
“You said that last week,” mumbled Hermione.
“About the house,” said Michael, clearly choosing to ignore Hermione’s comment, “the housekeeper I picked is coming around at about ten o’ clock. She already knows all the things she’s supposed to do. I gave her a list and that should be enough.”
“Fine,” said Hermione, putting her robe on and heading downstairs.
“Good morning, Elizabeth,” said Hermione as she entered the kitchen.
“Aaaaah!” shrieked Mrs. Sandford when she turned around to face Hermione.
Hermione jumped, her eyes opened wide in shock.
“My goodness!” exclaimed Mrs. Sandford. “What happened to you?”
“What are you talking about?” asked Hermione, bewildered.
“Pardon me, my dear, but you look dreadful,” said Mrs. Sandford.
“Oh, well, I didn’t have time to get ready, since I certainly did not want to keep you waiting,” said Hermione, dryly.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Sandford, “I have limited time today. I have to pick up my dress, get my hair done, and I have to be in the hotel before the guests arrive, to make sure everything is perfect. Throwing an engagement party can be such a hassle…”
“Yes, I can imagine,” said Hermione. No one asked you to do it, she almost added.
“Well, Hermione, I have some news for you. I found the perfect people to play at the ceremony.”
“Great. Who is it?” asked Hermione, unenthusiastically, serving herself a cup of tea.
“The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra,” said Mrs. Sandford, plainly.
Hermione, who had been taking a sip of her tea, almost choked.
“What?”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Sandford, looking very pleased, “I just happen to have a very well placed friend within the company and he told me there would be no problem with them playing at the wedding.”
Hermione looked absolutely gobsmacked.
“I’m off to work,” said Michael,” coming into the kitchen. When he saw Hermione’s shocked face, he turned to his mother.
“You told her, didn’t you?” he asked.
“I might have,” replied Mrs. Sandford.
“Mum, I wanted to tell her!”
“Sweetheart, I simply couldn’t resist,” said Mrs. Sandford.
“You knew?” asked Hermione.
“Of course I knew,” said Michael, smirking. “I suggested it.”
Hermione smiled.
“I’m glad to see you liked it,” said Michael.
“I loved it,” replied Hermione.
Michael gave Hermione a nice peck on the lips and apparated to work.
“Now,” said Mrs. Sandford, “back to business. I already sent the invitations…”
“Ginny, time to wake up,” said Harry, nudging Ginny gently.
“Hmmm… What time is it?” asked Ginny sleepily.
“Around eight o’ clock,” said Harry. “They’re coming to examine you soon, remember?”
“Examine? Harry, that sounds creepy,” said Ginny, yawning.
“Yes, I know,” said Harry, smiling.
Just then, an owl pecked the window.
“What is it?” asked Ginny, her eyes still closed.
“It’s an… owl,” said Harry, bemused.
“At this hour?” asked Ginny, sitting up.
Harry walked over to the window, opened it and took the letter from the owl, which quickly flew away.
When Harry took a look at the envelope, realization dawned on him.
“I think I know what this is,” he said.
“Give me,” said Ginny, extending her arm. When she saw it, her heart sank. “Oh no… This is not a good way to start my day,” she said, looking at the address, written neatly on the ivory-coloured envelope.
100 Penny Lane
London
“We’re going to have to open it sooner or later,” said Harry.
Ginny sighed heavily. Her fingers slowly opened the envelope.
“Oh, Harry…” said Ginny, raising a hand to cover her mouth as her eyes watered up.
“Take a deep breath,” said Harry.
request the honour of your presence
at the marriage of
Miss Hermione Jane Granger
to their son
Michael Spencer Sandford
on Sunday, the twelfth of February
two thousand and one
at four o'clock
The Ritz Hotel
London, England
“This is really happening,” said Ginny, her voice breaking.
“I know,” said Harry, rubbing Ginny’s back, “but you have to calm down. You can’t get stressed. It affects you and the babies. I don’t want you to go into labour because of stress.”
Ginny took a deep breath.
“Take it out of my sight, Harry. Please,” she said.
Harry took the envelope and went out of the room.
Hermione’s morning was ruined by Elizabeth Sandford’s presence in her dining room. The minutes went by criminally slow, and Hermione was about to snap. Luckily, at about eleven o’ clock, Michael’s mother took a look at her Rolex watch and said: “Oh dear, I’m late for my hair appointment.”
“Are you going to London now?” asked Hermione.
“Of course,” said Mrs. Sandford wryly. “I expect to see you at the Four Seasons at eight o’ clock.” Just like that, she gathered her things and disapparated.
Hermione took a deep breath and headed to the kitchen, where Anne, the new housekeeper, was busy preparing lunch.
“Hello,” said Hermione.
“Good morning, ma’am,” replied Anne politely.
“Anne, you don’t have to call me ‘ma’am...’ call me Hermione."
“I’m sorry,” said Anne, taken aback, “It’s just that Mr. Sandford said “”
“Forget about Michael. I’m telling you I would feel much more comfortable if you called me by my name,” said Hermione. “I mean, you can’t be much older than me. How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-one-years-old,” said Anne.
“You’re my age?” asked Hermione.
“Are you twenty-one too?” asked Anne, amazed.
“Yes!” replied Hermione, laughing.
Anne smiled.
“I was not expecting that,” she said.
“Well, maybe we have more in common than we think,” said Hermione.
It turned out that Anne was a struggling writer that was trying to make ends meet. She was born in France, but moved to Scotland when her father “ who was Scottish “ convinced her mother to move when she was one year old. Her mother, a middle-aged French woman, lived in Lyon now, and was also a housekeeper; that is why she made the decision of becoming one to be able to continue writing; she learned from her mother and claimed that it was “one of the only things she actually could do,” a fact that Hermione seriously doubted, since Anne had attended Beauxbatons, just like her mother, and from what Hermione could tell, was very smart. Her dad had died a couple of years ago; that’s when her mother decided to go back to France.
“That’s quite a story,” said Hermione.
“It has been my life,” replied Anne.
“I still don’t get why you’re cleaning my house,” said Hermione. “You should be writing your book, not cleaning people’s houses!”
Anne shrugged.
“It’s an honest living,” she said. “I don’t mind doing it. I really love writing, but I have to help my mother. I started writing the book, then Dad died, and… everything went downhill from there.”
“My parents died a couple of years ago,” she said quietly. “It has been downhill for me since then, too.”
That was a lie. Her life had been going downhill since before the accident. It had been going downhill since the break-up.
“It doesn’t seem that way,” said Anne. “Look at this place. It’s like being in heaven! You have a wonderful fiancé, I’m sure you have loving friends, you’re the envy of almost every girl in England… I follow your personal life from magazines, for goodness’ sakes!”
“It’s not nearly as good as they put it, Anne,” said Hermione softly, as if she had regrets. “Anyway… I’m sorry; it seems I’ve kept you from doing your job."
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll finish up quickly,” said Anne. “It was very nice to talk to you.”
“You too,” replied Hermione, sincerely. After that she headed upstairs. She needed a very long and relaxing bath.
Michael got home at around six o’clock. Hermione, who was waking up from a nap, heard him head into his study, shutting the door behind him, as usual. She got up from bed and headed to her closet.
It was every girl’s dream, that closet. Michael had had it done specifically for her. Rows and rows of shoes, stunning gowns, and designer clothes were part of Hermione’s exquisite wardrobe. The vast majority had been presents from Michael.
Hermione looked for her dress and admired it for a couple of minutes, after which she headed to the bathroom and took a shower. Then she went to get her hair ready. She sat down in front of her vanity and decided to wear her long hair in soft, light waves. After styling it just the way she wanted, she picked up a beautiful vintage barrette from her vanity table and pinned it gently to her hair.
The barrette had been a gift from her mother. Originally, it had belonged to her grandmother, and Hermione assumed maybe even her great-grandmother too. It was one of the few things she still had from her mother. She treasured that barrette like it was the most valuable thing in the world.
A tear slid down Hermione’s cheek.
Her mother; the one person that had been dreaming about this day for as long as Hermione had. And she wouldn’t be here to see her walk down the aisle, and nor would her father.
She missed her parents more than ever. The thought that had stayed in her mind for the last two years had been lingering in her head more than usual over the last few days: If only I hadn’t taken that job at Hogwarts… If only I hadn’t moved to Hogsmeade… They would still be here. Everything is my fault.
“Hermione, what’s wrong?” asked Michael, peering at Hermione with a concerned look on his face.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” replied Hermione, drying her face with a tissue and attempting to smile. “You know me. I can get emotional.”
Michael smiled.
“I’m going to get ready,” he said.
Hermione washed her face and proceeded to put makeup on. By the time Michael came out of the shower and got dressed, Hermione was ready to go, sitting silently on the bed, thinking.
“Are you ready?” asked Michael, as he came out of the bathroom, looking very handsome in one of his smartest and most expensive suits.
“Yes,” said Hermione, standing up.
“You look beautiful,” Michael told her.
Hermione gave him a warm smile.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she replied.
“Let’s go,” he said, grinning.
“We’re taking the Jag, aren’t we?” asked Hermione suspiciously.
“How did you…”
“Oh, please, Michael. You’re grinning.”
Michael chuckled.
As they neared the Four Seasons Hotel, Hermione noticed something… odd. There were police cars in front of the hotel, and a significant crowd had gathered on both sides of the street. Most of the people were women and teenage girls.
“Michael, what’s going on?” asked Hermione slowly.
“I’ve no idea,” replied Michael, looking around, trying to figure out the situation himself. He pulled up in front of the hotel and a valet quickly came and opened his door. Another valet did the same thing for Hermione.
“Welcome to the“”
Hermione didn’t get to hear the rest of the valet’s words. When she stepped out of the Jag, the crowd roared, and she had to shield her eyes with her hand from the hundreds of cameras that were flashing at her. She turned to face Michael, and she saw a man in a suit saying something to his ear. Michael nodded as the car was taken away. He looked at Hermione and raised his eyebrows comically as he smiled. His expression made her laugh. He headed toward her, waving politely at the crowd.
Photographers everywhere were screaming at Hermione.
“Give us a big smile!” she heard someone yell.
“Give him a kiss!”
“You look beautiful!”
Hermione’s smile was starting to hurt.
Michael took her hand and they walked together inside the hotel.
When they entered the hotel’s atrium, the hotel’s manager, a tired-looking man, was waiting for them.
“Mr. Sandford, Miss Granger, my name is Robert Stewart,” he said shaking Michael and Hermione’s hands. “I want to welcome you to the Four Seasons.”
“Thank you very much,” replied Michael. “You have a wonderful hotel.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Stewart. “If you could just follow me, please, I would be happy to escort you to the ballroom.”
“Perfect,” said Michael.
Hermione followed silently. Michael gave her hand a tight squeeze.
When they finally entered the ballroom, Hermione could not believe the sight before her eyes. The room was decorated with the most beautiful, detailed, lavish decorations she had ever seen. Golden centrepieces with white and blue lilies adorned the numerous tables around the dance floor, which was set in the centre of the ballroom and had a huge canopy over it; the stage was covered with flowers and there was a band already playing… Everything was perfect. Even the colours were the ones Hermione had picked: forget-me-not blue and light green. She couldn’t believe it.
But there was one peculiar thing about the scene unravelling before Hermione’s eyes.
There must have been a place for more than four hundred guests in that place.
“Hello,” said Mrs. Sandford, suddenly appearing next to Hermione and Michael.
“Hello, Mum,” said Michael, giving his mother a kiss.
“Do you like the decorations, Hermione?” asked Mrs. Sandford, a sarcastic tone to her voice.
“I love them. The room looks beautiful,” said Hermione. “Thank you very much for everything.”
“Oh, there’s no need to thank me,” said Mrs. Sandford. “Beth took care of the… ambience.”
That explains it, thought Hermione bitterly.
“I hope you don’t mind,” continued Mrs. Sandford, “but I took the liberty of adding more guests to your list. Having only 150 guests was certainly not an option. You look nice, by the way,” she added, smiling innocently.
Hermione gaped at her future mother-in-law for a moment before saying slowly, “So do you.”
Mrs. Sandford was looking glamorous as usual. She was wearing a very tight golden and white brocade cocktail dress, and she was wearing her blonde hair in a tight bun.
“Thank you,” replied Mrs. Sandford dryly. “Now you,” she said, turning towards her son, “you look gorgeous, Michael.”
“Hello,” said Mr. Sandford, standing behind Hermione.
“Hello,” replied Hermione politely.
“You look very pretty,” Mr. Sandford told her.
“She does, doesn’t she?” said Michael.
Hermione blushed.
“Anyway,” said Mrs. Sandford, “there is someone I’d like you to see, Michael.” She waved to someone Hermione could not see and turned back to them beaming. “You will not believe it,” she added.
Michael looked confused. He glimpsed at Hermione and shrugged.
“Wait until you see,” said his mother excitedly.
“Who is it, Mum?” asked Michael, failing to hide his annoyance.
“Hello, darling,” said the woman behind Michael to his ear.
Hermione saw Michael’s demeanour change completely.
“Patricia?” he said, turning around in utter disbelief.
When she turned around, Hermione found herself facing an unofficial supermodel. The woman in front of her was wearing a sleek, above-the-knee, silver silk cocktail dress that showcased every part of her unnaturally thin body. The dress was tied up at her neck and was simple yet tremendously extravagant at the same time. She was wrapped in a black fur stole, and had sleek, long, blond hair. The woman was flawless.
“Oh my,” said Patricia, giving Michael a thorough once-over. “You have not changed one bit.” She gave Michael a peck on each cheek and beamed at him.
Hermione gazed curiously at the two of them. Something here was definitely not right.
“What are you doing here?” asked Michael, a delighted smile spread across his face.
“I invited her, of course,” said Mrs. Sandford, looking as delighted as her son.
“You look amazing,” said Michael, without missing a beat.
“Why, thank you, darling. You know how I like it when you say that. To tell you the truth, I’ve missed it,” Patricia said seductively. “Anyway,” she continued, turning to Hermione and giving her a subtle once-over, “you must be the bride.”
“Hermione Granger,” said Hermione briskly, extending her hand.
“Oh, there’s no need to be formal here, Hermione,” said Patricia, smiling and ignoring Hermione’s extended hand. “I’ve heard all about you."
“That’s funny actually,” said Hermione icily, “because I’ve never heard about you.”
No one could believe those words actually came out of Hermione’s mouth.
“Er, Hermione,” chimed in Mr. Sandford awkwardly, “this is Patricia Walters. She is the daughter of our dearest and closest friends, Patrick and Emile Walters.”
“Pleasure,” said Hermione dryly, as Michael and Mr. Sandford were being dragged away from the conversation by a man trying to talk about business.
“I know,” said Patricia defiantly. “And I do have to say,” she added, giving Hermione a patronizing smile and glancing at Michael quickly, “congratulations. It’s not easy to tie someone like Michael down. He’s a free spirit, that one.”
Hermione remained silent, glaring at Patricia.
“Well, Hermione,” said Mrs. Sandford, smiling, “I want to introduce Patricia to some people, so if you will excuse us…”
And just like that, Hermione was left all alone.
Or so she thought.
As soon as Mrs. Sandford and Patricia walked away, Hermione felt someone tap per shoulder.
“What?” she snapped. When she turned around, Hermione found herself facing Charlie Weasley.
“Are you alright?” he asked, looking at Hermione’s stressed face.
“Charlie!” exclaimed Hermione, her features breaking into a smile. “You’re here!” She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a tight hug.
“Congratulations!” said Charlie.
“Thank you!” said Hermione. “Where is the rest of your family?” she asked.
“They should be here any minute.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to see them,” said Hermione.
“Er, Hermione,” said Charlie, blushing a bit, “I want you to meet someone.”
“You brought her, didn’t you?”
Charlie turned several shades redder.
“Yes, I did,” he said.
“Does that mean what I think it means?” asked Hermione, grinning.
“Maybe,” replied Charlie. Just then, a girl stood besides him and took his hand, making him turn scarlet.
“Hermione,” he said, “I would like you to meet Julie. Julie, this is Hermione.”
“Hello,” said Julie, extending her hand. “It’s very nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Thank you,” said Hermione. “It’s very nice to meet you, too. I hope you only heard the nice things about me.”
“Only the good things,” said Julie, laughing.
Julie turned out to be quite an interesting girl, Hermione thought. She was talkative, well mannered, funny… perfect for Charlie.
Hermione found that the most peculiar thing about Julie was the way she looked at Charlie when he talked. It was a dreamy look; a “proud-of-him” look. It was the sort of look that could only come from a woman in love.
That made Hermione think of herself. She knew that feeling. But when she thought of herself, she didn’t think of her current self. She thought about her old self.
Snap out of it, she firmly told herself.
The next Weasleys to arrive were Fred with Angelina and George with Paola.
“Hello!” exclaimed Hermione, running to greet them.
“Hermione! You look beautiful!” said Angelina.
“So do you!” said Hermione, hugging her.
“Hey, what about us?” asked Fred, an indignant look on his face.
“You look good too,” said Hermione, laughing.
“Hermione!” she heard a voice call from behind. She turned around and saw Bill, Fleur, Arthur, and Molly.
Molly walked quickly towards her and enveloped her in a hug.
“It’s so good to see you,” said Hermione, her eyes suddenly watering up. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Molly smiled.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m alright,” said Hermione.
“You look lovely,” said Arthur.
“Thank you,” replied Hermione with a smile.
“Hermione,” interrupted Mrs. Sandford, ignoring the Weasleys, “we need you over here.”
“I’ll be there in a minute, Elizabeth,” said Hermione patiently.
“Please do hurry,” insisted Mrs. Sandford.
“I will,” said Hermione through gritted teeth. “I’ll be right back. If you need anything, let me or Michael know, okay?”
“Of course,” said Bill.
As Hermione walked away, the Weasleys decided to find their table. When they found it, they were surprised to see that it was one of the best tables in the room.
“I’m sure she fought hard for this one,” said Molly.
“What do you mean?” asked Arthur.
“If it were for Michael’s mother we would be sitting by the door,” said Angelina.
“Angelina,” said Molly, “if it were for Michael’s mother we would not be here at all.”
“Why is she doing this?” asked Charlie.
“Who? Elizabeth Sandford?” asked Arthur.
“No, I mean Hermione,” said Charlie. “Why is she marrying Michael? Can’t she see what she is getting herself into?”
“I think that is none of our business,” said Bill.
“I beg to differ,” said Charlie.
“Charlie,” said Bill patiently, “I think that you’re not really asking yourself why Hermione is marrying Michael. You’re asking yourself: ‘Why is Hermione not getting married to Ron?’”
“I think that’s enough, boys,” said Molly. “This is not the time or the place.”
“Fine,” said Bill. “But you know I’m right. Just ask Ginny.”
“How is Ginny, Molly?” asked Paola, trying to change the subject.
“Oh, you know her. Not very patient, my little girl. And now that she got the invitation and all…”
“What invitation?” asked Bill.
“Bill, what invitation do you think it is?” asked Fleur.
“Already?” asked George.
“Well, the wedding is practically in four weeks, George,” said Paola.
“It’s basically here,” said Fred.
As the conversation continued like that in the Weasleys’ table, Hermione was trying to remain awake. For the last twenty minutes she had been listening to a man go on about the exchange rate and the stock market, whatever that meant.
“Michael,” she said when the man stopped to take a deep breath, “I think I’m going to sit down for a bit.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Hermione walked over to her table and sat down. She noticed there were some things in John and Beth’s seats, which meant they must have arrived already.
“Having fun?” asked Michael, sitting down next to Hermione.
“Oh, definitely,” she replied. “The stock market is so fascinating.”
“Sorry about that,” said Michael.
“It’s not your fault,” said Hermione.
“Excuse me,” interrupted a voice.
Hermione turned her head slowly, fearing the worst. Sure enough, there she was. Patricia Walters was standing right next to her.
“Hermione,” asked Patricia, “is your fiancé rentable?”
Rentable? thought Hermione. You must be joking.
“I’m sorry?” she asked in utter disbelief.
“Can I borrow him for a quick dance?” asked Patricia.
“Why don’t you ask him?” replied Hermione. “He’s an adult. I’m sure he can think for himself.”
“I would love to, Patricia,” said Michael. He quickly got up and led Patricia to the dance floor, leaving Hermione sitting alone at the table.
“Enjoying yourself?” asked Beth, standing next to Hermione a few minutes after Michael left.
“Beth!” exclaimed Hermione, getting up and giving her future sister-in-law a hug.
“Did you like the decorations?” asked Beth.
“I loved them!” said Hermione enthusiastically.
“What about Michael?” asked Beth. “Where is he?”
“Oh, he’s over there,” said Hermione, “really enjoying himself.”
“What is she doing here?” asked Beth, her face turning pink.
“Do you know her?” asked Hermione.
“Of course I do. She used to rip my dolls heads’ off to flush them down the toilet.”
“Right,” said Hermione. “Family friends.”
“Such a bloody cow…” continued Beth, her face now turning red. “She has the nerve to come in here!”
“Is there something I don’t know?” asked Hermione.
“All her life she has been after Michael. She’s only a year younger than him,” explained Beth. “I can’t stand her! She thinks she is the only woman on the planet!”
“I don’t know why that doesn’t surprise me,” said Hermione gloomily.
“And what on Earth is Michael doing dancing with her?” asked Beth.
“I believe your mother is trying to fix them up,” explained Hermione.
“What? Oh no, she won’t,” said Beth, walking towards the stage.
“Beth! What are you doing?” asked Hermione, going after her.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” said Beth into the microphone, “may I have your attention, please?”
The room quieted down.
“I would like the bride and the groom to come up here,” said Beth. “And my parents, of course.”
Michael took Hermione’s hand and walked up to the stage. Mr. and Mrs. Sandford followed them.
“As you all must know,” said Beth, “I’m Michael’s sister. I have held that position for the last twenty-four years, and I feel no one knows my brother as well as I do. I thought no one would ever be able to. That is, until I met Hermione Granger. Sweet Hermione, who came into our lives without warning. I’m glad she did. I’m happy to say that I think no one is better for Michael than she is, and I’m happy to call her my future sister-in-law. So today, I’m honoured to announce my brother’s engagement to such a spectacular woman. I want all of you to raise your glasses, and toast to the happy couple. For a happy and long marriage.”
By the end of Beth’s little speech there were tears in her eyes. Hermione came forward and gave her a hug.
It was official now. She was one step closer to marrying Michael. One step further away from Ron.
A/N: Oh my God! Your reviews never fail to amaze me! And I thought I had heard it all! From two-dimensional characters to torrid love affairs with the secretary… The pressure is on! You sure got me sweating… But you should know: those reviews keep me going; you guys keep me on my toes. Anyway, I’m sure you people are going to be nice to me today and write loads and loads of reviews! ;)
P.S.: Many people were angry “no, wait; enraged“ after reading this chapter. I really hope you guys are not.