AN: Nothing but pure, sappy fluff. If you're looking for heavier stuff, I'll be updating "Between the Lines," soon. Meanwhile, though, something happy…

Thanks for all the kind words!

And, as usual, reviews are better than Krispy Kreme donuts.

He saw her from the bottom of the stairs before she saw him. If she had, he knew that she would have had his head. Hermione was adamant that Ron was not to see her before their wedding. At the moment, though, he didn't give a rat's fart. All he could see was the beautiful witch before him, exquisite in a gown made entirely of ivory lace. Her hair was swept back into a loose up-do, glossy curls falling from it here and there. Aunt Muriel's tiara went beautifully well – and it was fitting. She looked like a queen.

"I'm the luckiest bloke alive," Ron murmured, just as she turned his way. He ducked around the corner, not fancying the idea of Hermione killing him on their wedding day. Once he'd waited a safe length of time, he peeked his head back out. She was nowhere to be seen so, sighing, he made his way out to the marquee.

His mum was there waiting for him looking, unsurprisingly, like she was managing the affairs of three countries. She had her artificial smile plastered to her face, badly concealing the stress beneath it. Ron smirked a little and made his way over to her.

"Lighten up, mum. Everything looks beautiful."

And it did. A decorative arch stood above the spot that he and Hermione would exchange their vows. As followed tradition, they would be married in the backyard of the Burrow, and, as it was springtime, the grounds were bursting with color. All of the flowers had been charmed light yellow, minus the daisies which Hermione had declared to be perfect.

"Oh, Ron," Molly whispered, catching a glimpse of him. To his horror, she began tearing up, fretting with his lapels, brushing off his shoulders.

"Mum, don't cry," he chided, his ears burning.

"You look so handsome," she said, and pulled him into a hug.

Once Ron felt himself getting choked up, he knew that it was time to let go. But she wasn't having it. She just held on tighter, and Ron let her. This, he knew, was the first cause for their family to celebrate in a long time and it meant the world to her. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of awe and gratitude for his mother that he knew he did a poor job in ever expressing.

She pulled back, holding him at arm's length, and when she saw his tears she completely lost it, sobbing and blubbering. She clumsily pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed at his face.

"Oh Ron. If you're already crying now you're going to be a mess when you see Hermione!"

Ron blushed and, not wanting to expose the truth of his accidental previous sighting, patted her shoulder and made an excuse to get away. He headed to the archway, under which Harry was grinning in his dress robes, standing dangerously close to Ginny, the beautiful maid of honor in a pretty yellow dress.

"Hey mate," Ron muttered, ungraciously stepping between them. Ginny rolled her eyes and moved closer to Harry again, lacing her fingers through his.

"Hello brother."

"Hey Gin. Can you believe I'm getting married today?"

"You mean can I believe you managed to score girl like Hermione?" Ginny said, quirking an eyebrow, "Absolutely not."

"Aw come off it," he beamed, unable to erase the smile from his face. Ginny lost her scowl and grinned broadly, throwing her arms around him.

"Congratulations. I'm glad you two finally worked it out."

"Already congratulating ickle Ronniekins? Before he's even really sealed the deal?" George was at their elbow, leading a smirking Angelina Johnson by the arm. "Don't jump the gun now, there's still time for her to scarper off. And she will if she's as smart as I remember her."

"Appreciate that," Ron grunted sarcastically, but secretly, it made the perfect change to have this George back – a George they had missed – a George that had only recently made a reappearance suspiciously near the time that the pretty Angelina had shown up again in his life.

Minutes later, as that awful wedding music he hated began to play and Hermione moved into view, Ron felt the telltale lump in his throat. She was glowing and so bloody beautiful – so much more than he deserved. She was leagues above him, and yet here she was, looking as though she were the lucky one.

As she moved to grab onto his hands, he pulled her a bit closer than necessary and whispered, "I love you, Hermione."

She flushed prettily and mouthed, "You too."

As they exchanged their traditional vows ("Self written vows are tacky and awkward," she had said about the alternative) Ron felt the words in the deepest part of him. Suddenly the same sentiments that had forever seemed stuffy and redundant to him were exactly how he felt.

You're a gonner.

"I do."

"I do."

They slid the rings on and, finally, Kingsley said, "You may now kiss your bride."

Don't mind if I do.

He leaned down and obeyed the man, kissing his best friend, the smartest, most beautiful girl in the world, the one with more brains than a Ravenclaw, more goodness than a Hufflepuff, more determination than any Slytherin he'd ever known and more courage than every Gryffindor in the world and now, after too many years of him acting like a ruddy prick, his wife.