A/N: Hello All! So, I had been fighting with the next chapter of Unrequited, and failing rather miserably… that's when I realized, I needed to get some fluff out of my system! So here is something so fluffy that it's downright suffocating. In fact, I keep hearing that little girl in Despicable Me screaming, "IT'S SO FLUFFY I'M GONNA DIE!"
Fluff aside, I hope you all enjoy this little thing. It makes me happy

Also, I loosely based it off of Adele's version of Make You Feel My Love… and when I say I "loosely" based it off of that, I mean I listened to it on repeat and hearing the song inspired this, but otherwise it has nothing to do with it.

More stories, coming soon!

The shimmering patronus raced in circles around the room, neighing wildly, and clearly reflecting its owner's own nervous energy as it delivered its message. It needn't have been nervous though, because as soon as it appeared, Hermione was out of her chair and scrambling around the room, gathering her various belongings into her beaded bag.

"Expecto Patronum," Hermione smiled, holding a particularly treasured embrace clearly in her mind as her frolicsome otter appeared before her. "Please tell her I'm on my way," Hermione asked kindly, causing the silly creature to nod enthusiastically before darting from the room.

"Have I got everything?" she questioned aloud, nodding to herself. She hurried from her flat, shutting the door swiftly behind her and apparating immediately.

She missed her, which should have been the first sign. Even when they were in the same room, she was already heartbroken that they would have to part. Whether that was only several minutes away, or several hours—she was constantly on the brink of complete heartbreak.

At some point, that word had been redefined for her. Heartbreak was no longer something intangible and clichéd. No, heartbreak was the even momentary lack of Ginevra Molly Weasley in any given room.

She knocked lightly on the orange tinted door, trying to school her face into one of nonchalance, rather than the panicked visage she'd been sporting since receiving the Patronus.

The door swung open to reveal an exhausted looking Ginny Weasley—though Hermione supposed she shouldn't be surprised. It was well past midnight—of course she was exhausted. "Hermione," she said quietly, wrapping her arms tightly around her best friend and sighing deeply. Relaxation had finally arrived at her door. "I'm so sorry for contacting you this late—I didn't even realize the time. I just—I didn't know who else to go to."

Hermione kissed her temple slightly, smiling to smell the familiar green apple shampoo in her hair. "I never mind. I'm your friend, this is what friends do."

Ginny nodded lightly, before finally pulling away and gesturing into her apartment. Hermione walked in, toing off her shoes at the door and dropping her bag next to them. She smiled to see her very favorite panther approaching, "Hello, beastie," she laughed, scratching the slim cat between the ears. Ginny had adopted him years ago, and Hermione was one of the few people that he liked.

With a final ruffling of his ebony fur, she moved towards the kitchen where the young girl stood scrubbing desperately at the pans in her sink.

She also probably should have realized when she began noticing and loving the oddest things.

Doesn't every girl admire the way her best friend's eyes darken when she's angry or excited? Doesn't every girl find her best friend's habit of cleaning when she is anxious endearing? Doesn't every girl have their best friend's smirk permanently engraved in their memory?

They must—because Hermione noticed and remembered all of those things and more. She noticed every small movement that the red-head made, every time the most miniscule of smiles appeared, and every chuckle that ever escaped her. She noticed, and memorized, and learned.

Because that's what friends do, isn't it?

"What happened, Gin?"

The red-head shook her head fiercely, continuing to scrub furiously at the clean pan in front of her. Hermione momentarily wondered if it had even been dirty when she started scrubbing.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked, not bothering to mask her concern.

Ginny set down the sponge, and quickly dried her hands on a spare dishrag. She turned towards Hermione, eyes light and piercing instead of their usual deep brown. "I'm having the nightmares again."

Hermione didn't need to hear anything else to have a full idea of the situation at hand, and she found herself proud that she had managed to hold in the instinctual gasp that tried to escape her. She took Ginny's hand and led her into the small living room, sitting her on the couch next to her. They sat facing each other, both of their heads leaning against the back of the couch, both of their knees pulled up against their chests. To an outside observer, they would have appeared to be reverting back to two frightened kids, a second and a third year respectively, back in their bedroom with Ginny blushing scarlet as she told her first female friend about the nightmares that continually plagued her. "You haven't had them in, what, seven years now?" Hermione asked, obvious concern in her voice.

"Yea, I thought they were gone," Ginny said hoarsely. And Hermione closed her eyes briefly, her heart aching for the woman she cared so deeply for. The nightmares had plagued Ginny ever since she was eleven years old—ever since Tom Riddle assaulted her mind and penetrated her consciousness. They had started almost immediately, and Hermione was glad to have stayed with the Weasleys most of that summer. She grew incredibly sensitive to her friend's sleep patterns, waking up at the sign of any distress and saving Ginny from the prolonged terror.

She would softly wake the girl, and hold her trembling form as she hissed and gasped in pain, and she would promise that everything would be alright. Someday, surely, everything would be alright.

The jealousy was what clued in Harry Potter to his friend's affections.

Sure it was completely normal for someone to worry about their friend's romantic interests—sisterly even. It was normal to be concerned when the couple fights, or when their friend cries.

But the absolute rage that she seemed to emanate any time Ginny's eyes appeared red-rimmed—that wasn't regular, not for Hermione. No questions asked, she was always willing to fight for the younger witch. Willing to break the rules. Willing to go dark.

Still—it wasn't until their sixth year that he actually realized. Their sixth year when Ginny confided in him about the nightmares, and sought him out after a particularly bad batch of them. The next day the heartbreak and betrayal had been clearly illustrated in Hermione's every expression and breath. She was pained and lost and more than slightly annoyed at the man who had been her best friend for so many years.

No—that kind of jealousy wasn't rational, and that's how he knew that she was in love with her.

They talked, that's what they did. And as each hour passed Ginny seemed to forget her worries more. She allowed Hermione to distract her, making silly jokes and gossiping about things that neither woman really cared about. She sang her muggle songs that she had heard on the radio recently, and laughed over the most recent products released at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

As the sun began to slowly light up the sky, Hermione reached out a careful hand to brush along Ginny's hair, causing the tired woman to smile drowsily. "You should try and get some sleep, dear. You're going to be sick if you don't."

Ginny's peaceful expression soured slightly. "I don't want to sleep—I don't want to dream."

"What if I stay?" Hermione whispered, "I'll crash out here on the couch, and then if you need anything I'll be able to wake you up—banish all the bad."

Ginny looked towards the ceiling, her eyes slightly misty. "I don't want to ask you to do that, Mione."

Hermione smirked, "Gin, I already have a bag packed."

A genuine laugh escaped Ginny, "Always prepared—that's you Hermione. Whatever did I do to deserve a friend like you?"

"Damn it Hermione, what do you care?" Ginny snapped, throwing herself onto the couch in front of the fireplace, "How is it even your business if the guy I'm dating is a bit of a tosser?"

Hermione threw her hands up over head and began pacing furiously, "How is it my business? How is it not my business? You're my best friend, and that moronic wanker doesn't deserve you!"

Ginny snorted slightly, "Wow, you must pissed—you used profanity," she mocked.

Hermione's eyes rolled of their own volition, "I use profanity plenty, you're just not usually the one doing something stupid enough that I feel the urge."

"I just—I don't want to be alone, Mione."

"Ginny—"

Ginny held up a hand to quiet her, "No really, listen. I don't want to be alone right now, and I know that's silly and childish, but it's how I feel. I'm not going to marry him or anything—but I like having someone who looks at me like that, and I need that right now."

Hermione was silent for a moment, trying to find a proper response for the uncharacteristically serious words of her best friend. After a long pause, she settled on the simple truth. "Gin—you don't have to be dating some loser to have someone look at you. You're beautiful and brilliant and funny—everyone looks at you that way."

A blush lit up the young woman's face, "That's not true Hermione. People don't look at me that way, and that's okay, I just like the feeling from time to time."

Hermione sat down beside Ginny on the common room sofa, glad for the late hour and the lack of students. She ran a shaking hand through her hair, and looked at Ginny carefully. "So many people look at you that way, you have no idea," she stated, her voice shaking slightly. "But in the interest of preserving their privacy, I'll just name one—okay? Without intent or expectation—I look at you that way, Ginny Weasley. I see you, and I love you, and I think you're spectacular. And I know that you don't feel that way, and that you can't, but you deserve to know that there are people—people like me—who see you for everything you are, and who absolutely glow because of your presence in their lives."

"Hermione," Ginny whispered, wide eyed and unsure.

"Ginny—I promise, I'm not trying to convince you of anything, and I'm not expecting anything. Nothing has changed between us—I just wanted you to know. When I say you're beautiful, brilliant, funny, and generally perfection epitomized—I mean it."

The young witch nodded blankly before throwing her arms around Hermione, pulling her into a tight hug. "You're my best friend Hermione, my absolute best friend."

She broke up with the 'moronic wanker' the following day.

It was half-past twelve the next day when Hermione woke up with a terrible cramp in her neck, and screamed out in alarm, half-past twelve when Ginny Weasley stumbled out of her bedroom, half clothed and wand waving dangerously about the room.

"What is it? Who's attacked?!" She gasped, her eyes searching the room wildly.

"No one! No one is attacking," Hermione said quickly, "Put your wand down, you're about to blow something up, waving it about like that."

With some hesitation Ginny lowered her wand, causing Hermione to chuckle darkly. "Merlin woman, the war is over, take a breath."

Ginny smiled apologetically, "Sorry, I thought I heard a scream."

"You did," Hermione cringed. "My neck decided to spasm on me, and it woke me up from a dead sleep."

Ginny hurried over to her, wand back in hand while she gently shifted Hermione's hair over her shoulder and cast a diagnostic spell. "Gin—it's fine, really. It's just a cramp."

"And I'm just your friendly neighborhood healer—what's the point of existing if I can't even alleviate a basic neck cramp? I've slept on this couch, and I know perfectly well that it's going to keep hurting you all day. So shush."

Hermione raised her hands in defeat, and tried not to focus on the cool fingers that brushed up the side of her neck, searching for the exact muscles that were paining her. Hermione sighed lightly as Ginny's fingers found the patch of muscles, and she could almost feel the smile that Ginny gave as she flicked her wand. "All better," she whispered, and in a surprising move, kissed the back of Hermione's neck.

"Thanks," Hermione breathed, turning back towards Ginny. Resting her head against the back of the couch again, she looked at her friend carefully, "How did you sleep? I didn't hear you fussing at all."

Ginny smiled softly, "You chased away the bad, as promised. No more nightmares. I'm sorry I called you—I must seem horribly childish. Twenty-six years old and I have to call someone to chase the monsters out from under my bead."

Hermione shook her head, "I'm glad you call me, it makes me worry less." Ginny's eyebrows drew together in confusion, so Hermione elaborated. "If you never contacted me, then I would worry that should you need me you wouldn't get in touch. As it is, I know that if you need me, you will get in touch. It saves me a lot of worry, trusting you that way."

Ginny looked sad for a moment and glanced towards her hands, nervously twisting them together, "You know you don't have to come, right? I keep calling you, whenever something upsets me, and you're always here in moments—and I appreciate that—but you don't have to. I'm not going to hurt myself or anything. And I wouldn't hold it against you. You're under no obligation to me."

"Ginny—don't worry about that. I'll always come. I want to come. I want to be that person for you—that's what friends do."

"Thank you, Hermione," Ginny whispered, standing up carefully. She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Hermione's cheek before disappearing into her kitchen, the sounds of brewing tea drifting out into the living room.

Confusion began to flutter through her heart, curling her hair and widening her eyes. New mannerisms began to be noticed—tactile mannerisms. Mannerisms that used to be saved for Harry, and Dean, and Michael, and any number of others. After fifteen years of friendship, fifteen years of unrequited love, was her supposedly straight friend—interested in her? Was that even possible?

No.

No, she wouldn't even entertain that thought. Because pretty straight girls didn't look at bookish lesbians that way. They just didn't.

Their friendship had just reached another level of closeness—and that was wonderful. She wouldn't muck it all up by laying out her heart to be awkwardly observed.

Two weeks later, Ginny's patronus came galloping through Hermione's life once again—this time furious rather than fearful, and once again Hermione hurried to her side, not pausing at the door this time.

"Ginny?" Hermione called out, walking into the small apartment again and glancing around for the obviously incensed witch.

"That woman has some nerve!" Ginny ranted, storming into the front room in a blaze of gesticulating limbs and tangling hair.

"Hello to you too, dear."

"Do you know what my mother just asked me to do?" Ginny growled.

"No?"

"She wanted me to convince you to date Ron."

It was Hermione's turn to raise her voice, "What!? Ew!"

"Oh, and that's not all," she raged, "Ron is the preferable son, but if you aren't interested in him, she has given me the option of selling any of my unmarried brothers to you. She thinks you and Charlie could be an interesting match, and Fred has always been so good at making you laugh."

Hermione let out a bark of laughter as Ginny mimicked the matriarch. "Was she even listening during my whole, 'I'm a lesbian' declaration?"

Ginny rolled her eyes, "She's convinced that it's a phase, and that you just need to find someone to love you."

Hermione growled this time, "Just a phase! I told her eight years ago!"

Ginny shrugged, "She's a really great listener, really."

"Why is she so bent on having me marry one of her sons? She's been telling me that I'm her daughter since I was thirteen years old—why does she need the damn paperwork?"

Ginny shrugged, "Who knows. It's mum, she's insane. I just wish she would leave me out of it. As if any of those idiots are good enough for you anyways."

Hermione smiled lightly at the comment, "You don't happen to have any gorgeous and brilliant sisters who happen to fancy ladies, do you?"

Ginny smirked, "No, no I can't say I do. I could always scare her away by telling her you've agreed to marry me, just to make her happy of course."

"Of course," Hermione grinned, trying to ignore the sudden image of a dazzling Ginny walking down the aisle. "But your complete aversion to my Sapphic ways would probably cause some problems in the marriage. Unless you're looking for a sexless marriage, I know how you love those sorts of relationships!"

Ginny coughed slightly before hurrying to the kitchen to make tea and making Hermione wonder if she had crossed some sort of line.

A glass shattered against the wall, and Hermione's eyebrows rose comically. "I wasn't aware that you my glassware had wronged you—but if it's what's offending you, by all means shatter away. I know several fun curses, if you want any."

Ginny growled, her hair glowing around her pale face, "I'm sorry for breaking your things. Nice thing about being a witch, really—I can destroy things, and then fix them. No real accountability."

Hermione smirked, "Very true. So to what do I owe this spontaneous appearance in my kitchen?"

Ginny had moved from London to Calais six months earlier after a spontaneous romance with a traveling professor. He had been in town for a lecture at the Oxford Charms Institute when she met him, and they had an immediate connection—or so Ginny told her. After exchanging daily letters for a month, Ginny decided to move.

Molly had pitched a fit, nearly blowing up the Burrow in her fury, but in the end Ginny had still gone. She thought this could be the real thing, and she wasn't going to risk missing out because of something as silly as distance. While she was terrified for her friend, and heartbroken to see her go, Hermione was supportive. She wanted Ginny to find that happiness—even if that meant that she wouldn't be a quick floo-call away.

And yet—here she was. Shattering dishes against Hermione's kitchen wall. At Hermione's question, she tossed another plate and two glasses. "That rat-bastard said, and I quote, 'I really care about you Ginny, but I think I was more in love with the idea of you than the real you.' And—and—he didn't want to sleep with me. " As she shattered another glass against the wall, Hermione flicked a quick Reparo at the pile of glass, repairing them and piling them next to Ginny once more.

The redhead smiled gratefully at her. "What do you mean he didn't want to sleep with you?" Hermione asked, slightly confused.

Ginny gave a barking laugh, "He was uncomfortable with the possibility of my getting pregnant—despite the contraceptive potions I take monthly—and he didn't think that sex was that big of a deal. And on top of all of that, he was just plain uninterested. Though perhaps he was interested before the real me showed up and ruined everything."

"What a jerk," Hermione frowned. "I mean—the sex thing is weird, and somewhat insulting, and probably something he should have revealed before having you move to Calais. But the idea versus reality thing? That's just cruel."

Ginny slumped, "Yea," she sighed. "Though it's not like I haven't heard it before. Ex-Quidditch player, ex-girlfriend of Harry Potter—I must be glamorous right? I don't know why I can't ever get the attention of nice people—people who will like me for me. Warts and all."

"You don't have any warts, Ginny," Hermione said firmly, "These guys are just unworthy of you. You'll find someone."

She shook her head, sighing to herself. "Things would be a lot easier if I could just find someone like you, Hermione."

Hermione sat heavily at the small café table, draping her bag over the back of the chair, and running a hand through her hair. She closed her eyes momentarily, trying to banish the last few weeks from her mind.

From across the room a ringing bell sounded, signifying the arrival of another customer. The light patter for sensible flats greeted her ears and approached her happily. She didn't have to open her eyes—from the sound of the steps and the smell of perfume she could easily picture the musical steps of her best friend approaching.

"Good Morning, beautiful."

Hermione smiled weakly and gave a small hum in greeting. Cracking open one of her eyes, she couldn't stop a small smile from actually appearing. Ginny had charmed her hair into soft curls for the day, and was sporting a startling shade of red on her lips. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the fire of her hair and lips. "You're gorgeous you know—infuriatingly so."

Ginny smiled brightly, and sat down in the chair to Hermione's right. "Naturally!" she joked, "Though I'm somehow guessing you didn't send that adorable otter to wake me up just so you could compliment me."

Hermione grumbled slightly, closing her eyes again and leaning back against her chair. "Casey and I broke up."

Ginny sighed quietly, and Hermione could easily see the small scarlet frown without opening her eyes—she knew that woman's face so well. "What happened," Ginny asked quietly.

"What always happens—I can't be satisfied with a perfectly nice woman who cares about me. I can't be happy with that."

"But she seemed so perfect," Ginny mused, "She was absolutely gorgeous, and she was an obsessive bookworm like you. She seemed right."

"No one is ever right," Hermione hissed as she opened her eyes, her frustration getting the best of her.

"What was wrong with her?"

"Nothing—it just didn't feel right."

"But there had to be something," Ginny pressed, "Some sort of reason why you were satisfied yesterday, and breaking up today."

"There isn't," Hermione insisted, "I just couldn't see her the way I needed to."

"But why?"

"Dammit Ginny!" Hermione snapped, "I don't know! I don't know why none of them can ever make me happy. I don't know why I'm so damned heartless, and I don't know why I can't let go of this perfect ideal I have in my head—I just can't."

Ginny slouched slightly, "I'm sorry, Hermione—I'm just worried about you. Honestly—I feel like there has to be something you're missing—or something you're not telling me. Some reason why you can't ever date someone for more than a few days.

"They're not you." Hermione sighed, her eyes quickly widening when she realized what she had said. "Ignore that. Please ignore that," Hermione begged, not actually looking at Ginny as she said the words.

"I never ignore anything," Ginny said quietly, "You know that. I'm constantly forcing uncomfortable conversations."

"I didn't mean to say that out loud, Gin. I didn't even mean to think it—please, just drop it."

Ginny chewed her lip slightly, eyes studying the slightly chipped polish on her fingernails. "You never said anything again—not after that night when I was sixteen."

"Gin—"

"There was never any indication that the feelings were anything more than a passing crush. You never acted any differently towards me."

Hermione snorted slightly, "Ginny—there was never any change in my behavior, or the way I looked at you, because you've never seen me not look at you that way. There hasn't been a single moment in our friendship where I wasn't dreadfully in love with you."

Ginny's eyes widened, and she searched Hermione's desperately—trying to make sense of what was being said. "But—but it's been 10 years, Hermione. 10 years since you told me that."

Hermione just shrugged, "I told you then, Ginny, I didn't have any sort of expectations wrapped up in that conversation—I knew what it was. I know that you don't look at me that way, and I accepted that. Why would I have ever brought it up again?"

Without a moment of hesitation, Ginny leaned forward and pressed her lips against Hermione's. It was only momentary, and the red-head pulled back as quickly as she had appeared; but it had happened nonetheless.

Hermione's voice grew choked, "Don't—don't play with me Ginny. You're my best friend, and I love you with everything I am—but I'm not someone to be played around with. I'm not an experiment or a rebound or someone you snog out of sympathy—I can't handle that."

"I would never," Ginny whispered, her eyes downcast and her hair falling around her face.

"You—you're straight Ginny. You've always been straight. You don't have any interest in women, let alone me!"

Ginny took a deep breath and looked up at Hermione, "I'm not," she said clearly, obvious fear in her voice—but also strength. "I've been stupid, and afraid, and I didn't see the point in saying anything because I thought that I was just a passing fancy for you—but I'm not straight. I—I don't much care about gender specifications, truth be told. I love whoever I love, and I've known that I'm in love with you since I was seventeen years old. It took me an entire year to figure it out after you told me—but by that point you were casually seeing Luna, and I assumed you were over it. So I ignored it. I'm tired of ignoring it."

"Ginny—" Hermione whispered, obvious terror in her voice.

"So Hermione—with definite intent and expectations—I love you. And if you were serious about still loving me, despite my being so incredibly blind for the last ten years, I don't want to date people like you—I want to date you."

"Why are you breaking up with me?" He asked, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought you loved me—I thought we were meant to be together."

Ginny sighed heavily, her heart aching for the hurt she was causing him. He, of all people, didn't deserve to hurt anymore. "Harry—I love you, but I will never be able to love you fully, not the way you deserve. I've loved someone else for quite some time, and it's not okay for me to lead you on when it's that person who really holds my heart. I—I'm going to try and get over them, but I know that I'll never be able to be with you fully. I'm so sorry, Harry."

His eyes were closed at this point, and he was obviously trying to gain some control over his emotions. She knew that he had thought they would be together forever—she suspected he even had the ring picked out. He whispered something softly, and Ginny didn't understand. "What?" she asked, and he took a gulp of air before repeating himself clearly.

"It's Hermione—isn't it?"

She blanched. He wasn't supposed to know that. No one was supposed to know that.

"I'm not going to tell her—or anyone—I promise. I get it. I just wanted to know," he rushed out, and she felt her heart return to its normal speed. If he said that he would keep it quiet, he would. She could trust him.

She stared down at her fingers as she answered him softly, "Yes."

He nodded. "It's always been her—I think I knew that. For both of you."

Ginny shook her head, "She doesn't feel that way about me. She did once—but she doesn't anymore."

Harry looked at her carefully, considering, but then shook his head. "I understand, Gin. And don't worry, I won't say anything."

"Thank you," she whispered, trying to get her own emotions under control now. She hadn't expected to be discussing this with anyone—not ever.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly for a final moment before pulling away. "I'm gonna go—but please don't disappear, okay? I'm heartbroken—utterly shattered. I don't need to lie about that. But I don't want to lose you as my friend, as my family."

She nodded silently. "You're not going to lose me, Harry. I promise."

3 Years Later

"Did you know that you always knock on a door exactly two times?" Hermione asked with a smile, causing Ginny's eyebrows to furrow in confusion as she shook her head. "You do. Most people will knock three time, or even more. Your youngest brother knocks persistently until the door is answered; your mother knocks firmly three times. But you—you always knock exactly two times.

"And even though you've always been considered a bit of a jock, your whole face lights up when two characters in a book finally discover love. You end up sighing heavily and grinning like a first year," Ginny blushed deeply at the admission, but still looked incredibly confused. "When you roll your socks, you never pay attention to whether or not they're right side out, and half the time you just wear them inside out. You're superstitious about the brand of toothpaste you use, because the two times you used a different kind, were the day I was petrified and the day that Dumbledore's Army was caught by Umbridge. You crave broccoli more than most women crave chocolate."

Hermione paused at this point to take a breath, and Ginny shook her head confusedly, "Hermione—what?"

Holding up a hand to silence the young woman, she smiled broadly. "You see—I know all of those things, because I've been your best friend since you were eleven years old—because I've been loving you observing you and noticing you since you were eleven years old," she said, a loving smile lighting up her face. "And I never thought I would get here—I thought that I was bound to an unhappy unrequited love for the rest of my life—but just like in everything else, you never do what's expected of you. It took us a long time to get here—but I've never been happier, and I love you.

"There aren't a lot of promises that I can make to you—but I can promise this: I am always going to love you. I am always going to notice you, and know you, and appreciate every beauty and every blemish. I am always going to be your best friend."

At this point, Ginny was crying continually, and glared lightly at the brunette. "Miss. Weasley?" Kingsley asked gently, a broad smile lighting up his face.

She sniffled slightly, and wiped a hand over her tears, silently thanking whoever had invented make-up charms. "Damn you—I should have known you would make me cry," she sniffled, drawing laughs from around them. "Several years ago—before we were together, you came over to my apartment and found me in a complete rage. I didn't even actually greet you at the door, I just shouted on a rampage about my ridiculous mother," she directed an apologetic grin towards Molly, making the Weasley matriarch cry all the harder. "She had told me that I needed to convince you to marry one of my brothers. Mother knows best," she smirked. "I was so angry because, as much as I love my brothers, none of them were worthy of you. No one could ever be worthy of you, and I wouldn't let them have you. I wouldn't let anyone have you. During the conversation, I offered to marry you—just to quiet my mother, of course. Well—I think this should satisfy her desperate need to have you as an official Weasley—though I'm still not sure any of us are good enough for you."

"Hermione, I promise you—I'm always going to love you, and I'm always going to be trying to be worthy of you. I'm going to break your glassware when I'm angry, and I'm going to leave my socks all over the house, and I'm going to make fun of so much of the muggle music you enjoy. I'm going to get jealous because my cat loves you more than me, and I'm going to make really terrible puns. But I'm also going to make you French toast when you're craving it at two in the morning, and I'm going to understand when you spend a day in bed mourning over the death of one of your favorite fictional characters. I'm going to help you charm your hair, because you're rubbish at those charms, and I'm going to take you to the ballet even though I don't really like it. I'm going to be yours, forever."

At this point, Hermione had tears streaming down her face as well, and was forced to take several deep breaths, trying to calm herself before Kingsley continued.

"It doesn't really seem necessary to ask—but I will nonetheless. Do you, Hermione Jane Granger take Ginny Molly Weasley to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, through sickness and health, as long as you both shall live?"

Hermione smiled widely at the muggle tradition, so glad that Ginny hadn't minded the addition in the ceremony. She nodded enthusiastically, drawing several laughs and cheers from their audience, "I do!"

"And do you, Ginny Molly Weasley take Hermione Jane Granger to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, through sickness and health, as long as you both shall live?"

Ginny gave a remarkably small, and mildly surprised looking smile as she whispered, "And then some."

Neither woman remembered their next cue, forgetting to let Kingsley finish his work at their appointed Ministry official. Instead, they leaned across the small space and allowing their lips to passionately embrace. Hermione wrapped her arms snuggly around Ginny's waist as Ginny's went around her neck, and Hermione couldn't resist spinning the girl slightly as they kissed.

Catcalls from their guests finally broke the girls apart, both smiling widely, and both still crying. "As I was trying to say," Kingsley joked, "I am pleased to present Mrs. And Mrs. Weasley, and you may now kiss the brides!"

Both women took that opportunity to steal one more chaste kiss, before latching on to each other and giggling down the aisle.

Thank you for reading my fluffy mushfest, and I hope you enjoyed it thoroughly! Please consider reviewing and letting me know what you thought! Also, if you're interested in seeing what I'm working on and in hearing about updates to my various stories, consider flowing my writing on Twitter, LadyChristineM !

Have a lovely weekend!