Eighty Three Days: Cake for Breakfast
The first thing he heard was the familiar noise of his wife’s exhalations.
‘Pfhhh… pfhhh…’
Hermione’s breathing was regular, and almost hypnotically soothing. As he languidly crept towards full wakefulness, Ron kept his eyes closed and listened. He was grinning happily to himself when he finally decided that it was time to move.
When he opened his eyes, Ron was confused. Instead of the white ceiling of their Chelsea flat, he saw the once-familiar deep red awning of a four poster bed. The confusion lasted only a moment. The bedroom was very familiar to him; it had been his until his wedding.
Rolling carefully onto his side, Ron looked across at his wife. She was, of course, lying on her back; it was the only time she made that noise. He continued to watch her sleep for a few moments. The sheets rose with her chest as she inhaled through her nose. Then, as she expelled the air her closed lips were pushed open by the air.
‘Pfhhh…’
Ron’s contemplation was interrupted by a faint noise from the ceiling. Someone in the room above was awake and moving. Hoping that it was Harry, Ron slipped carefully out of bed. As he looked at the bedside table, his smile broadened as he caught sight of the autographed Cannons photograph lying on it.
His present from Harry and Ginny was their best yet. It was probably the best present he’d ever had, but he would never be able to admit that to Hermione. If only the Cannons had beaten the Harpies, yesterday would have been his best birthday ever. It would have been the best day of his life.
What about your wedding day? his treacherous conscience asked. It used Hermione’s voice, too. It always did when it was scolding him. Best birthday of my life, he decided. His conscience nodded approvingly. Despite the Cannons losing, it had been a really good day. His sister had proved what a good captain and brilliant flyer she was.
Hermione had not stirred. Her face was relaxed and peaceful in sleep, and framed by the magnificent chaos of her hair. He was, as usual, tempted to kiss her nose, but he resisted. He would leave her to sleep, he decided. Slipping quietly from the bed and smiling fondly at her sleeping form, he padded quietly across to the door. As he did so, he thought about the previous evening.
They had drunk a lot of wine and talked and joked, but Hermione was beginning to get anxious about Harry and Ginny’s wedding, and it was becoming an obsession with her. –I’m Matron of Honour, it’s my duty to make sure that everything is organised,†Hermione had said when, for about the twentieth time, she had attempted to turn the conversation to the wedding.
–Tomorrow,†Ginny had said firmly.
Tomorrow was now today. They would discuss it after breakfast. Ron was grateful that he wouldn’t have much to do but listen and nod. You’re the best man, remember. You’ll have to make a speech. You should be preparing it, his inner-Hermione reminded him. He tried to ignore her.
When they had finally decided to call it a night, at about half past one in the morning, there had been no reason for Ron and Hermione to go home. They’d all had a lot to drink, and Ron hated to use the Floo network when he was even a little tipsy. They could have walked, or taken a taxi. But why travel the four-and-a-half miles from Harry’s house back to their Chelsea flat only to return the following morning?
As Harry and Ginny had pointed out, there was plenty of room for guests. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was a huge house, and until his wedding, Harry would be living there alone. At least that was the theory. Ron was well aware that, despite what their mother thought, his sister actually spent very little time in her Holyhead flat. Ron had agreed, and so had Hermione, that the sensible thing to do was to stop over, and to have the urgent (in Hermione’s opinion) discussion about the wedding before travelling to her parents’ house for Sunday dinner.
Taking his dressing gown from the hook on his bedroom door was such an automatic action that Ron had pulled it on and fastened it before he realised that it shouldn’t be there. Their overnight stay had been unplanned, so the dressing gown should be at their flat on Cheyne Walk. Hermione’s dressing gown was, Ron noticed, hanging beneath his own. Thanks, Kreacher, he whispered quietly, once again marvelling at the efficiency of Harry’s house elf.
Ron stepped carefully out onto the landing and closed the door as quietly as he could. He had just eased it shut when he heard a floorboard creak behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his sister.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ he whispered disappointedly. ‘I thought it would be Harry.’
Ginny wrinkled her nose, pulled a face at him, and childishly stuck out her tongue. With startling clarity, Ron was reminded of the morning after his tenth birthday. He scrunched up his own face and softly blew a raspberry at her. She grinned, so he held out his hand.
‘C’mon, little Ginny, don’t wake the others,’ he said, using a soft and conspiratorial –little boy†voice. ‘There’s some of my birthday cake left, but not enough for everyone.’
Ginny grinned and, it seemed to Ron, she was remembering the last time he’d said something similar to her. When, for the first time since he had gone to school, his sister took his hand, he was certain that she was remembering. Her words confirmed it.
‘Greedy Bill would scoff the lot,’ she whispered little-girl-like, as they scampered downstairs like the children they had once been.
When they arrived in the kitchen, the kettle was boiling. ‘Thanks, Kreacher,’ said Ginny. ‘I’ll take over, if you don’t mind. I want to talk to Ron.’
‘Mistress.’ The house elf acknowledged her words with a deep bow, and vanished.
‘I’ll make the tea, Ron,’ said Ginny. ‘You can cut the cake.’ She stared seriously up into her brother’s face, folded her arms, and did her best impersonation of their mother. ‘You know the rules, Ronald. You cut, and Ginny gets first choice.’
‘Bloody hell, Ginny,’ Ron complained. ‘You’re as bad as Mum.’
‘It’s the fairest way,’ Ginny told him.
She left him trying to cut the cake as evenly as he could, and walked over to the stove to make the tea. When she rejoined him, a steaming mug in each hand, he pushed the two plates towards her.
‘Your choice,’ said Ron grumpily, he knew that there was no point in simply taking a piece.
As Ginny carefully set the mugs down on the table, her hair cascaded over her face. Ron watched as she lifted her hand and ran her fingers through her hair, pushing the wayward locks back over her shoulder. She carefully examined the two slices, sighed, and took the piece which Ron’s expert eye for food told him was definitely the smaller. He stared at her in disbelief, but hastily grabbed the other piece of cake, just in case she changed her mind. She didn’t react.
‘Are you okay, Ginny?’ Ron asked, worried by the way she was acting.
She stared thoughtfully up into his eyes, pondering his question with, he thought, a lot more care than it required.
‘Yes. No. I don’t know,’ she said unhelpfully. She began picking at the chocolate cake with her fingers. Ron took a large bite from his own slice in order to guarantee ownership rights.
‘What’s it like, Ron?’ she asked quietly.
‘Wha’s wha’ ’ike…’ Ron mumbled, spraying crumbs. He paused, hastily swallowed the cake, and washed it down with a slurp of tea. Ginny stared at him in contemplative silence while staring at the gold ring he wore on the third finger of his left hand.
Being married! Ron realised. As he looked into her face, his imagination went into overdrive. Is she getting cold feet? Why? What’s happened? Merlin! What will happen if she calls it off? How will poor Harry react? Mum will explode! He thought back to the previous evening, and calmed himself down. They’re good together. Relaxed. Happy, he reassured himself. If there was a problem, he’d have seen it. After all she was his sister, and Harry was his best friend. And anyway, he assured himself, Harry was pants at hiding his feelings.
But Ginny’s good at it, his paranoia whispered treacherously.
‘Are you worried about getting married?’ he asked. ‘Or about being married?’ he added with a sudden dazzling insight.
Ginny remained silent, looked down, and again began to pick at the cake. As Ron’s paranoia went into overdrive and attempted to overwhelm him by crowding his brain with weeping mothers, confused Harry’s, and ravening reporters, his sister gave the tiniest of nods.
‘Being,’ she said quietly.
‘Did you and Harry argue?’ he asked. ‘Did you fall out over something after you went to bed last night? I know what you’re like, Ginny. Sometimes you…’
‘No, Ron, we have not fallen out. Yes, we argue, sometimes. But we’re not at each other’s throats all the time. We’re not like you and Hermione,’ she said, bristling. ‘I’m happy with things just the way they are. We haven’t argued for ages, and we haven’t fallen out, either!’
‘Hermione and me don’t argue! Well, not often,’ protested Ron, puzzled. ‘We don’t always agree about everything, but that’s not the same thing.’
‘Yes it is!’ snapped Ginny in frustration. ‘You two –don’t always agree†by shouting at each other! It may surprise you, but that’s what normal people call arguing, Ron,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know why I thought that talking to you would be a good idea. You’re an idiot.’
Ron bristled, but fought back his anger and stared at her in silence. I’m happy with things just the way they are, Ginny’s words resonated with Ron, and he finally understood.
‘You’re happy with Harry. You’re happy together, and you’re comfortable with things as they are,’ he said. ‘Hermione’s dad has a phrase he uses: –if it ain’t broke, don’t fix itâ€. And you and Harry –ain’t brokeâ€.’
‘Exactly,’ said Ginny, her eyes gleaming as he finally understood. ‘So why change anything? Sod the wedding and the dress and the ridiculous expense and all the other stuff that goes with it. Flowers and catering and table arrangements and entertainment and… It’s ridiculous! I could just move in with him. I almost have, anyway.’
‘Moving in is a change,’ Ron reminded her. ‘And, apart from moving in, what, exactly, will getting married change?’ Ron asked. ‘You’re together now! You’ll be together afterwards, too.’ As he spoke he stared into his sister’s face and knew that there was more. ‘Somebody’s said something, haven’t they? Was it one of the Cannon’s players?’
‘No,’ said Ginny. ‘Well, Gil-Gil has been making a few jokes about babies and stuff, and threatening to get me seriously drunk on my hen night. But otherwise…’ She shrugged.
‘You could always elope,’ suggested Ron. ‘That would be cheap. And best of all, I wouldn’t have to give a speech.’
Ginny snorted, and Ron saw the corners of her mouth beginning to twitch.
‘I’ll tell you what the –changes†are,’ said Ron. ‘It’s little stuff. Why is it a big deal if I leave hairs in the soap? What on earth is the problem with me using the last of the toilet paper and not replacing it? I mean, it’s in the cupboard under the sink. It’s only on the other side of the bathroom. But no, I should put it on the holder! Even then, when I remember to do it, it’s hanging the wrong way. What the hell does that mean? Who really cares which way the toilet paper is hanging? It’s crazy!’
Ginny began to smile, so he continued.
‘And the kitchen! Don’t tell Hermione I said this, but she’s worse than Mum! I mean, I can understand Mum getting cross when Dad used the kitchen when he was rebuilding Sirius’s bike. That chain oil was horrible stuff, and it went everywhere. But all I did was…’ he put on his most confused expression. ‘I was hungry, and all the pans were dirty except the frying pan. And it is a pan; it’s even got the word pan in its name - you can’t argue with that. And I managed to scrape the burned baked beans off, eventually. And why do Muggles call it non-stick? It isn’t! And I bought a new frying pan, too, so what’s the problem?’
Ginny spluttered with laughter, and dribbled chocolate cake.
‘Why are you laughing? These are the sort of problems you’re going to have to face! I’m serious.’
Ginny slurped her tea and wiped her mouth, spreading the chocolate cake up her cheek. ‘I know you are Ron,’ she admitted. ‘But, bloody hell! Marriage is a lifelong commitment. It’s two people sharing lives and problems and everything. It’s huge, it’s life-changing! And you’re talking about toilet paper and burnt pans, it’s…’
‘It’s not much different, to how we were before, to be honest,’ said Ron. ‘We talk about money more than we did before. How much we want to save, what we want to do with it. But, honestly, Ginny, the big things: like me moving into her flat so we can save up to get a house in the country, rather than her selling up and us buying somewhere together; like Hermione transferring out of –Magical Creatures†and into DMLE once all the creature rights legislation is through; like whether we want kids; like when we want to have them. They’re the easy questions! Honestly, Ginny, me buying the wrong brand of breakfast cereal is a much bigger deal than any of that big stuff! And I can deal with that. If Hermione doesn’t like the cereal, I can eat it.’
Ginny laughed again, and Ron saw his sister’s eyes regain their glow.
‘I get to share a bed with Hermione every night, that’s probably the biggest change,’ he told her. ‘And that’s all I’m saying about that.’
‘But the wedding…’
‘Oh come off it, Ginny,’ Ron said. ‘You had a great time at our wedding, and so did Harry even though he had to give a speech. Don’t tell anyone, but I had a great time too. It’s friends and family and fun; if it’s done right. Okay the run up, and the organisation, is a complete pain in the arse. All the hassle and panics and the hotel cocking up the number of rooms we’d booked and all the other stuff going wrong.
‘But it was a good day, despite the problems. And besides, that won’t be a problem for you. I reckon you did the right thing with the printers. They leaked the date, and other details and you sacked them instantly. You went for a different company, and it made all of the papers. I know what Harry’s like about the press, you, too. But they can be useful sometimes.
‘Because of the publicity, everybody else you will hire knows exactly what happened to Bind Brothers. The florist and the caterers and everyone else you need will do a good job, I know that they will.
‘George met a bloke in the Cauldron the other day who works for Bind Brothers. He said that orders had slumped and I’ve even heard a rumour that Barclay and Bartholomew Bind are trying to sack their brother. You won’t have any problems with anyone else.
‘And anyway,’ Ron concluded. ‘You should know that the next few weeks will be fraught, because you play Quidditch.’
‘What?’ Ginny stared at him. ‘What the hell has Quidditch got to do with anything?’
‘It’s obvious,’ Ron told her. ‘You have days of graft and hard work to make sure that everything’s perfect for the big game on the Saturday. And when you win, it was all worth it.’
Ginny laughed. ‘You know, Ron,’ she told him, ‘Sometimes I think that there’s a working brain inside that thick skull of yours after all.’
‘Don’t tell anyone,’ he said. ‘They might expect me to use it all the time.’
Ginny stood, stepped forwards, and kissed her brother on the forehead. ‘Thanks Ron. I’ll get some parchment; we need to make a list. We’ve got a wedding to organise.’
‘We certainly have,’ said Harry as he walked down the stairs into the kitchen. ‘Chocolate cake for breakfast? I thought I knew all of the Weasley peculiarities. I don’t suppose that there’s any left. What have you been doing? It’s all over your face, Ginny. And you’ve managed to get some on your forehead, Ron.’ He shook his head in disbelief.
‘Sometimes, all a girl needs is a slice of chocolate cake and a wise brother,’ said Ginny.
‘Wise?’ chorused Ron and Harry in unison.
‘Ron?’ Hermione added from the doorway.
Epithalamium by Northumbrian
Chapter Endnotes: Thanks to Amelie and Maple for beta reading this chapter.