A/N: This is an alternate universe story that I wrote a long time ago. I've actually got pretty much the entire story written, but it's been awhile since I pulled this one out and I am editing each chapter carefully before posting. I'm warning you all now that this story will be upsetting and highly offensive to some. I had previously published it on another site, but received so much hate mail that I never finished it. Still, this story took on a life of its own, and I'm proud of it. I'd love for you to read it b/c this is my favorite fan fiction site of them all. If you hate it, please keep it to yourself 'cuz that's what I do when I read stories I don't like. If you have a positive comment, please review!

Chapter 1: Daydreaming

"Excuse me, sir, how much for the Snapping Dragon fireworks?"

As usual, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was a flurry of activity—from the delighted squeals of children who'd found the perfect gag to the parents who pulled items out of eager fists with words of warning—yet Ron Weasley had still managed to slip away into a daydream about Hermione Granger. Fifth time today.

"Sir? Sir!" The voice was now persistent, unrelenting. Ron blinked as Hermione's lovely image vanished into thin air to be replaced by an unlovely and impatient looking witch rocking a chocolate smudged toddler on her hip and waving a box of fireworks under Ron's nose.

"Sorry. They're ten Galleons," he said, backing up a little. The witch's already bulbous eyes stretched even wider.

"Ten? For this tiny box?" she exclaimed. Her son began to tug at the box of fireworks, nearly ripping the package open.

"Ten. For that 'tiny box'," Ron said. "And if you think the price is too high, you'd better watch your boy there. He's about to tear the box apart and I can't sell it to anyone but you once it's been opened."

The witch, giving him a dirty look, dropped the carton down on the counter in front of Ron, and stalked off in a huff, muttering to herself about "the rudeness of some people".

You can bugger off as well, thought Ron, rolling his eyes. He picked the fireworks up and walked with it back to the shelf where it belonged. As he placed it down, he let out a defeated sigh. He knew he could have been kinder, could have made that sale easily despite the cost of the Snapping Dragons, but the truth of the matter was that he didn't really care today. There were approximately eighteen hours left until Hermione became Mrs. Robert Culbert. Robert Culbert, a high ranking Junior Secretary working for the Ministry of Magic. A shoddy git, in Ron's opinion.

"Ron, I'm your sister. Tell me, honestly…how are you feeling about Hermione's wedding? Do you want me to tell her I can't be a bridesmaid?" Ginny had asked twice this past week. She knew him like the back of her hand, so he knew he wasn't fooling her, not one little bit, as he'd answered twice, "I really don't care about you being her bridesmaid, Gin. I'm not bothered by it at all. I've told you, I'm feeling just fine. I'm happy for her. Really, I am."

It was lies, every word.

Ron was miserable and could not, try as hard as he might, feel an inkling of gladness for her as he thought about Hermione walking down an aisle in a white dress to speak words of love and forever to Robert. He didn't really know Robert, had only been in his company a few times, but he didn't need to know him to know that Robert could not possibly feel the same way about Hermione than he himself did.

"Get over it. Get over her, for Merlin's sake. You two never even dated, so what do you still want her for anyway? There are a million other birds that would kill to have you," Charlie had told him. Fuck did Charlie know, he never settled with any witch for more than a month or two.

Ron supposed part of the reason he had women ready to "kill for him" was because he could be considered wealthy, to say the least. Fred and George had opened their third joke shop in London and they'd left managing their first shop to Ron. To everyone's surprise, Ron turned out to be an even better businessman than the twins. He found the mathematical side of it fascinating, and loved that the environment of the business allowed him to be himself—playful, witty, and sometimes sarcastic. He was so excited when he'd saved enough to get an impressive sized flat in London.

"It's lovely, Ron, really. I love it," Hermione had told him when he'd shown it to her. The way she had lingered after he'd given her a tour of every inch of his new flat almost caused him to ask her to stay for dinner (he'd learned to cook some very nice dishes, courtesy of Molly Weasley insisting he know some basic recipes before moving into his own place), but then he remembered that she was with Robert, and ended up saying nothing to prolong her visit. At that time, she had only been engaged, but Ron felt Hermione might reject him outright, and he wouldn't risk being rejected by her.

Still, in regards to the business, Ron felt as though he had found his purpose, at least for now. "I'm doing well for myself. Who'd have thought it?" he mused, and it was true; he was doing well, extremely well. Just as well, if not more so than that Culbert bloke.

There were times when Ron thought that maybe Charlie was right about everything, maybe he should move on with his life. Maybe it was foolish that he still cared for Hermione after all this time, especially when nothing had ever transpired between the two of them.

True, there had been those occasional moments that had made him feel closer to her than ever before, moments during what should have been their last year at Hogwarts, when instead he, Harry and Hermione had been hunting down Horcruxes and Voldemort.

There were those moments, those times where he'd held her close during nights when Hermione had been bruised and exhausted, wondering how much more she could take….the times when he'd whispered her to sleep, telling her how they would make it, that everything would be okay one day; there were the times when Hermione could not sleep unless part of her was touching him, his arm or his hand, sometimes her head on his chest. He'd watched over her every night. He had to know that she was sound asleep before he could even think about getting rest himself. He didn't mind, no matter how long it took her to doze off, no matter how exhausted he was, because he loved watching her sleep. Ron grew to memorize the way Hermione's face set in a gentle slumber, her mouth slightly parted. She was breathtaking, even when she hadn't had a proper bath or combed her hair in days.

If only he had been able to let her know when she was awake.

Somehow, he always managed to lose his wits. Rather, never had them in the first place when it came to her. It didn't make sense, really, for Ron had displayed his courage many times during that year, but found he never had the courage to tell Hermione how he really felt about her, that he had promised himself before they'd even set out that he would face death to protect her, if it came to that. Nothing, no one, would harm her and live as long as he was breathing.

Ron often wondered, especially on nights when they would catch eyes across the campfire or she would reach for him before she slept, how she felt about him. He thought that maybe she felt something other than friendship for him, when she pressed her mouth against his cheek before going to sleep, whispering, "Goodnight, Ron."

But she often kissed Harry goodnight too, though never in the dark and never did she let her lips linger against Harry's face the way she did his.

Then there was the time he'd accidentally stumbled upon her early one morning as she was bathing in a clear pond they'd come across.

"Ron! I don't have any clothes on!" she'd shrieked, covering her breasts with her hands, crouching down low in the water.

"Oh, God! I'm…I'm sorry!" he'd sputtered, closing his eyes and stumbling away as though blind. Feeling thoroughly mortified, he could barely look at her when he'd apologized for the second time later on that day.

"That's alright. We're like brother and sister anyway," she'd said. Brother and sister. She sees me as a brother, Ron had thought. Still, it didn't stop Ron from pleasuring himself later that night, after she and Harry had fallen asleep. God, even that brief glimpse of her in the pond, her wet body, her long hair, damp and curly, trailing down her back…

And so it was; Ron and Hermione had both helped Harry face and defeat Voldemort and they'd all been able to celebrate with their family and friends in a joyous homecoming, everyone glad to be alive.

That had been almost five years ago. Since then, Harry and Ginny had married, Bill and Fleur were on their third child, and somewhere along the way, Hermione had gotten engaged, which was devastating enough—"Really? Congratulations, Hermione. That's great"-- and now was getting married in a matter of hours. Fucking married, while Ron was alone, as usual, save for the meaningless nights with a giggling twit here and there. His heart was closed to all those women, though. His heart belonged to a girl who was going to walk down the aisle towards a man that was not him.

Damn, I'm doing it again thought Ron with a sigh. He forced himself to smile as he rang up a long line of customers.

The rest of the day went by without too much excitement, and just as Ron was about to cast a 'Closed' charm in the front window, a small gray messenger owl flew in.

Ron pulled the little rolled up piece of parchment from the owl's leg.

Ron,

I found some photos of us from our first year at Hogwarts-- they are priceless! I'd love for you to see them later on if you won't be busy. Ginny, Demelza and Katie are taking me out for drinks at The Growler around nine thirty, but I won't stay out with them too long. You know me, I've never been much of a drinker. Let me know if you want to see them. I've borrowed the owl from the office--we're not supposed to send them out this late, but my boss left hours ago. I've been catching up on paperwork, so I can wait for your response before I leave.

Hermione

Ron swallowed hard, and glanced at the large clock on the wall. It was a little past nine now. He had to get home and clean if she was going to stop by—his flat was filthy. He smiled as he thought of Hermione working late at the office, still an overachiever after all this time. Grabbing the nearest quill, he scribbled a reply:

Hermione,

I'd like to see how much of an arse I looked during our first year at Hogwarts—it'll make me feel good about how far I've come. Just promise me you get your laughs out before you get here. See you later, then.

Ron

He refastened the note to the owl's leg and released it into the London night. For reasons he could not explain, he felt light headed. Hermione was actually coming to visit with him before her wedding. It shouldn't be a big deal, as they'd stayed close friends over the years, but Ron could not remember the last time he'd spent time with Hermione alone. Well, he'd have to be strong tonight. It didn't make sense to tell her how he felt about her now, when her wedding day was tomorrow. She would just never know, it would be a secret that he kept in his heart for all eternity. That's what he told himself as he pulled the door to his shop closed, locked and charmed it.

He ignored the way his hands trembled, which only meant one thing-- he was, in fact, scared shitless.