This fic is for the amazingly wonderful urbanmama1, written for her charity fic event.

I hope you enjoy it, lovely!

I'm not J.K. Rowling and I own nothing Harry Potter.

Special huggly thanks to my sweet Beta, tristelamar_23, who was a massive help through the entire process of writing this fic, as well as providing the title!

Perfection.

It was a concept almost entirely foreign to him, always managing to escape his grasp just as he really reached for it. But this time…this time he would manage. For her.

Perfection was a concept near and dear to Hermione's heart, after all. It was practically status fucking quo for her, wasn't it? So it was only reasonable for him to hope that he could pull it off for just one day out of the entire year, right?

Right.

He nodded sharply to himself as he crossed the alley behind the shop, stomping up the back stairs with his hands in his pockets.

"Oi, where've you been, then? The inventory-"

"Finished the inventory, George. I'm takin' myself off now, actually."

He grabbed his jacket from the hook, throwing it around his shoulders as he retrieved his rucksack from beneath the counter, making a beeline for the door with George following close behind.

"And just who gave you permission to skive off early?"

Ron flashed a smile at his brother as he yanked the door open.

"I'm just taking the initiative, like you told me to, remember?"

The door slammed on George's reply as Ron ran down the front steps and hurried along Diagon Alley, his footsteps leading him to a small, unobtrusive store down a narrow alleyway. The modest sign above the door read "Plimsky's" in elegant gold script. It was a store he had passed by many times without ever noticing, until just over a month ago when he had wandered in out of desperation.

Jewelry was easily found in Diagon Alley. Magical amulets, ancient torques, rings heavily carved with runes and symbols. One had to be mindful of curses and enchantments when buying such items, though.

Something Ron was not prepared to tackle on top of everything else.

So when he had found the simple, ornamental offerings of Plimsky's, he had been relieved and overjoyed. Finally, a store filled with nothing more than precious metals and stones, nothing goblin-made or likely to turn one's beloved into a slimy eel.

The elderly man behind the counter didn't glance up at the chime of the bell over the door. His fuzzy white head was bent over a large red stone, some sort of cylindrical device held to his right eye while the other was kept screwed tightly shut. Ron waited patiently for a moment, rocking back on his heels as he looked around at the glass cases filled sparingly with assorted rings, necklaces, and other bits of jewelry. He had learned from experience that Mr. Plimsky worked on his own schedule, and any interruptions were not taken in the best of humor.

It did not even take a full minute for the man to lower his device, dropping the stone into a blue velvet pouch and stashing it somewhere behind the counter. He still did not look at Ron, instead turning to rummage in the wall of tiny drawers behind him.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. Your commission has been completed, would you care to inspect it now?"

Ron rushed forward eagerly, fidgeting nervously before the counter as Mr. Plimsky shut the final drawer, emerging with a slender box of polished rosewood, painstakingly carved in a pattern of scrolling leaves and vines.

He set the box on the counter before looking up at Ron expectantly, bushy white eyebrows twitching impatiently over small rectangular spectacles.

Ron felt unaccountably nervous reaching for the box. He knew what was inside, after all, he had commissioned the damn thing weeks ago. He just felt so… it just had to be perfect.

He had considered several options before deciding on this design. A beautiful gold comb had caught his eye, decorated with a semi-circle of glittering gemstones. It would have been lovely nestled in Hermione's hair, winking out at him like the sun from behind fluffy clouds. Unfortunately, his witch was still a bit too sensitive about her wild curls, so he had handed it back to Mr. Plimsky with a sigh. There were a few rings he had mulled over, but the implications of such a gift were simply too heavy. He knew that he would be choosing a ring for her sometime soon, once all of this madness with Auror training was behind him, and he didn't want to dampen the impact of that momentous occasion with a more casual gift. So, rings had been right out. Mr. Plimsky had patiently offered a variety of necklaces, each one prettier than the last, but the wound of Tom Riddle's locket was still too fresh in Ron's heart. He had refused every pendant, even the filigree unicorn with sapphire eyes and a spiral carved opal horn.

After nearly two hours spent going over every item in the store he could possibly afford, Mr. Plimsky had folded his hands together atop the glass counter, eyeing Ron appraisingly with odd golden eyes, startlingly sharp and young in his weathered face.

"I have an idea, young man. Why don't you just tell me precisely what you are looking for?"

Ron had scratched his head, slightly embarrassed.

"I-well, sir, the thing is that I'm not sure, exactly."

Mr. Plimsky had nodded in understanding.

"I see. Well, then, let us suppose that you could tell me a few things you are sure of, and we can start from there."

Ron had racked his brain, trying to put into words his yearning for something beautiful and worthy and, and perfect, for his love who deserved all of these things and more.

The moment he opened his mouth, however, Mr. Plimsky had started in.

"Why don't you just tell me more about this young lady of yours?"

That had been easy enough. Ron always found it difficult to talk about himself, but when it came to Hermione, there was just so much to say, wasn't there? She was brilliant and gorgeous and fiery and just basically wonderful. He must have gone on about her for several minutes while the jeweler nodded patiently before he finally wound down, a bit sheepish over his exuberance.

Mr. Plimsky had delved beneath the counter for some ink and parchment the moment Ron finished talking, immediately scribbling out a series of designs. The sketches were absolute works of art in and of themselves, seeming to glimmer on the page as though they were already imbued with shining stones and metal. There was definitely some kind of magic to it, something within Mr. Plimsky himself which shone through his work.

Ron had fixated on the sketch of a bracelet, slim and delicately worked, though covered in tiny detail. He and Mr. Plimsky had then spent another hour working and reworking the design until Ron felt that it was as close to perfect as he could manage.

Now, it was time to see the design in the flesh, as it were, and he was a little apprehensive. What if it was different than how he had imagined it? What of it was too much or too little? What if…

Mr. Plimsky cleared his throat, his sharp eyes prodding Ron into opening the box after several moments of running his fingertips over the smoothly carved surface.

It was…

The silver colored metal shone brighter than goblin-made gold, a derivative of platinum that Mr. Plimsky had invented himself in the lab beneath his store. Each tiny link was worked in exquisite detail into a graceful rope of leaves. Spaced evenly among these leaves were twenty glittering blue stones, formed into dainty flowers.

It was exactly as he had imagined, and his hands were nearly shaking as he lifted it from the velvet-lined box. It seemed to tingle pleasantly against his skin, some kind of magic humming softly from within the metal itself. His large calloused hands looked ridiculous beneath the beautiful bracelet, but it would be stunning around Hermione's little feminine wrist.

He looked up at the jeweler, finding a smile just beginning to spread across the old man's face.

"Do you find it adequate, then, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron nodded almost violently.

"It's bloody brilliant, man!"

Mr. Plimsky's voice rasped with laughter.

"Well, that is indeed a ringing endorsement."

Ron had to suppress the urge to leap over the counter and hug the jeweler until he suffocated to death. He set the bracelet carefully back within the case before removing his rucksack, extracting the bag of gold he had just recently cleared out of his vault at Gringotts.

He set the bag on the counter, looking expectantly at Mr. Plimsky as he took the bag and opened it to inspect the contents.

The frown on his face made Ron's stomach plunge all the way to his toes.

"What's wrong? Is it…it isn't enough?"

The horrible possibility made his blood run cold as he waited, his entire body tense as Mr. Plimsky closed the bag, dropping it onto the counter with a metallic clink.

"I'm afraid not."

Ron wanted to cry. He had thought that the price had been solidly worked out the day he had commissioned the bracelet. He had been saving for months for Hermione's birthday, and the only gold he had left over was set aside to take her out to dinner at a fancy Muggle restaurant she had told him about.

"How much?"

His words were clipped, but it was all he could do not to throw himself in the nearest river. He had been planning this day for weeks, months even, and now it looked like everything would be ruined because once again, Ron Weasley had come up short.

Mr. Plimsky looked apologetic as he rubbed his chin with bony fingers.

"I have a proposition for you, Mr. Weasley."

Ron tried to squash the cruel leap of hope in his chest at the words, sure that one more disappointment would crush him entirely.

"This was a very…special commission. I can't divulge trade secrets, but you were key in the formation of these materials and design."

Ron nodded briskly, wondering where the batty old man was going with this and realizing that his urge to hug the man to death had morphed into a wild desire to strangle him.

"The magic involved is quite…complex, and some extremely valuable stores in my workroom have been significantly depleted in the creation of this object."

Ron wished that he had insisted on a normal metal instead of the spectacular magical concoction Mr. Plimsky had invented.

"What I'm trying to say is that I need you to pay for the bulk of your purchase not in gold, but in magic."

Ron was flabbergasted.

"I-Magic! How? Do you mean you need me to do some security work or something, because my Auror training is still in the early stages and-"

"No, no, nothing like that. You see, the key ingredient in this material is, to put it in the simplest terms, pure love. The only way to get metal to shine in just this manner requires an exact composition of devotion, adoration, and desire. As you can imagine, such valuable and rare resources are quite difficult to come by. What I need from you, in exchange for this object, is a memory."

Ron didn't know what to say.

He was simultaneously relieved and horrified. A…memory?

"What kind of memory?"

Mr. Plimsky's eyes glittered behind his spectacles as he framed the wooden box containing Hermione's bracelet with his withered hands.

"Something potent, something more than sufficient to fuel a Patronus, for example. Something to do with your young lady and your rather magnificent feelings for her."

Ron swallowed, suddenly uneasy.

"Will I-will I get it back?"

Mr. Plimsky shook his head slowly, true regret suffusing his wrinkled face.

"Unfortunately, no. I have not yet devised a way to extract the emotion from a memory without depleting the memory itself. Whatever you choose to give me will be forever lost to you."

Anger burned through Ron's body.

"And just why the fuck didn't you tell me this when I commissioned the bloody thing?"

The jeweler shrugged apologetically.

"I am truly sorry. When you came into my shop with your eyes filled with such brightly gleaming stars, my magic was called more strongly than it has been in decades. This object, this bracelet of your heart's design, is forged quite literally with the strength of your love. I think that you will find, in your case, that this renders the object unbreakable."

He sighed, seeming to grow older before Ron's eyes.

"However, in making this object, my own magic has been nearly exhausted and I am afraid that I cannot continue without resupplying my stores. I will require that memory from you before you can retrieve your bracelet."

Ron paced angrily across the tiny shop, barely resisting the urge to break the glass cases lining the walls. He felt betrayed somehow. He had grown to like and respect Mr. Plimsky, feeling such a lucky bloke that the kind old man had taken pity on him and offered such ready assistance. Now he knew himself to be a fool. Nothing as fantastic as that bracelet ever came cheap or easy.

A memory. A memory of Hermione. How could he ever…how could he part with even one of those? His memories of the most brilliant and beautiful witch in all bloody creation were the most precious and treasured moments in all of his not-exactly-brilliant life.

The first kiss, on his cheek only recently grown slightly fuzzy with the light stubble he was so proud to hold over the still-smooth-cheeked Harry Potter. A kiss for luck, burning through his being with new and terrifying meaning as he watched her walk away…

Their first dance, awkward and nervous and utter bliss, her sweet-smelling hair beneath his chin, her tiny waist burning beneath his sweating palm, her eyes shining with so many things he couldn't even…

The feeling of her soft hand tucked inside of his as they shared their fear and faith and unspoken love, pushing back their feelings for the good of the entire world…

Her beautiful eyes opening to look at him, as sharp and brilliant as ever even after unspeakable torture…

That first real kiss, basilisk fangs clattering to the floor as she leaped at him, her small body pressed to his for the very first time as his heart exploded with the rapture of her touch and scent and taste and finally, FINALLY!

…No. None of these early memories would do. He would rather die than part with them, he felt hollow in his chest as he considered still more cherished moments in his life that could be sacrificed in order to give her this one perfect day, this perfect gift.

It would have to be something more recent, then. Something taken from those few stolen moments spent alone together during the summer after the war, the journey to Australia, that last bloody unbearable year apart while she finished up at Hogwarts.

He continued pacing, drawing to an angry stop before the floor-length glass case pressed up against the furthest wall. A finely wrought gold necklace caught his attention, the central image of a branching tree flowering with tiny green jewels gleaming out at him. He paused for a moment, staring into the case as a steely sense of resolve washed over him.

Whirling quickly, he stalked over to the counter where Mr. Plimsky stood watching him warily with his strange metallic eyes. He leaned forward, flattening his palms on the polished glass surface as he spoke, both eyes and voice as hard as dragon scales, unknowingly reflecting the effectiveness of his Auror training.

"Right, then. Get on with it."

He held perfectly still, watching with silent apprehension as the old man extended his wand to rest lightly against Ron's left temple. He closed his eyes as he felt the cold burn of magic emanating from the tip, pulling out one of the shining threads that had woven the tapestry of his soul.

…

It turned out that roses were as much a pain in the arse variety of plant life as the bloody whomping willow. Ron didn't have a clue why birds went mental over the damn things, they were stupid and pointy and, as he had discovered just moments ago, far too delicate for the touch of a grown man.

He sat on his freshly made bed, leaning over a wooden salad bowl he had pinched from George's kitchen earlier in the week. Thus far, the bowl contained little more than a handful of bruised and mangled petals and more than a few drops of his blood.

The plan had been simple enough. Two dozen roses, one to present to Hermione when she answered her door, and another to decorate his bedroom with rose petals. He had gotten the idea from one of Ginny's magazines. He hadn't been reading it or anything, just sort of…skimming to relieve the agony of waiting for his best mate to finish snogging his sister so they could finally grab a pint.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, brilliant even. Now, looking down at his sad pile of crushed rose petals, it was obviously complete rubbish.

He sighed deeply, redoubling his efforts as he carefully removed the petals one at a time until his sad little pile grew slowly more respectable. Eventually he had a bowl of only slightly damaged rose petals ready for strewing across his bed. He shot up with relief, stretching his tired arms before flattening out his bedspread and flinging the petals in what he hoped was a romantic pattern. The end result looked more like a rosebush had lost an epic battle with a garden gnome than anything else. It certainly bore little resemblance to the picture he had seen in the magazine.

The more time ran away from him, the looser he got with his definition of perfection. His vow to make this birthday an absolutely perfect one for Hermione had grown a few addendums as the hours passed.

Perfect within the considerable limitations of his means and abilities was the current definition, which gave him quite a lot of wiggle room, really.

He glanced at the clock, leaping into action as he realized just how late it was getting.

The warm water of the shower stung a bit in the army of pricks and cuts sprinkled across his palms, and he made a mental note to cast a healing spell before getting dressed. He leaned his head back against the cool tile, letting the water stream down his chest as he gathered his thoughts.

Twenty. It was a rather nice number, actually. Rounded out at the end, as perfectly joined together as it was divisible. Like Hermione herself, it was a beautiful whole constructed out of many complex parts.

He finished washing up, actually running a comb through his damp hair after rubbing it with a towel, a concession to vanity only made on very special occasions. Like Hermione's twentieth birthday, the first birthday he had her all to himself, for the entire night.

He tried to control his growing excitement as he buttoned down his crisp white shirt, throwing the necktie he had filched from George's closet around his neck. George's flat above the shop had proven the perfect borrowing library for all sorts of items Ron would never have thought of buying for himself. As long as he returned things in approximately the same area as he had taken them from, George never turned a hair.

The necktie proved a bit more difficult than he had imagined. The knot he had made resembled nothing so much as a lumpy croissant, with two wrinkled tails dangling in abject defeat. Giving it up for a bad job, he ripped the damn thing off, flinging it in a corner of his closet as he threw on a muggle jacket Harry had helped him pick out for special occasions. The thin navy wool looked smart enough without a tie, he supposed.

He wondered what Hermione would be wearing. Visions of slinky little nothings danced in his head before immediately being pushed aside by more realistic expectations of a modest skirt and blouse. If he was lucky, she would leave the top few buttons open so he could stare at the little vee of creamy flesh during dinner.

Giving his mangled rose patterned bed another once-over, he hurried out of the flat, Apparating to the front stoop of Hermione's building.

She had chosen the tiny flat for its proximity to the Ministry and her shiny new job within those hallowed hallways. Ron held secret hopes of convincing her to move in with him to his flat near Diagon Alley. It was larger than hers, though older and perhaps a bit dingier. Frankly, he didn't give too much of a damn where they lived as long as he could wake up next to her every morning, choking on her wild hair and tangled in her arms.

She buzzed him up, and he took the stairs three at a time, his long legs eating up the distance to her door in as little time as possible.

He raised his hand to knock, only to discover that she had left it open, the light from her minuscule kitchen shining through the crack.

Panic seized his chest as he shoved the door open the rest of the way, throwing down the roses and drawing his wand as he assessed the situation. The soft off key whistling from her bedroom turned his panic into anger as he realized that she had left the door ajar on purpose.

He shoved his wand back into his trousers, stalking to her bedroom door and flinging it open, Hermione turning to look at him over her shoulder in surprise. Her hair had been twisted into heavy braids and she was busy pinning them into a complicated knot at the back of her head.

His tirade on safety precautions died in his throat as he looked at her. She was…just…so fucking beautiful.

Shoving what appeared to be the last of a thousand pins into her hair, she stood to face him, his mouth hanging open as he ran his gaze slowly over her body, the light in his eyes shining on her exposed skin like the sun rising through a window, gradually illuminating every stunning detail.

She smoothed her palms over the skirt of her little red dress, pushing the fabric down a few inches before it sprang back up to – he swallowed thickly- the middle of her thighs.

Her eyes were shy on his as she watched for his reaction, nibbling on her full lower lip.

She moved her hands in a jerky pattern, a telltale sign that she was forming a nervous explanation.

"Do you like it? I-Ginny helped me. Buy it. At a store. Well, a dressmaker's boutique, to be specific, which is really not a store at all but rather more of a showcase and workshop combined into-"

"Hermione."

He stopped her rambling with both hands on her – thank sweet fucking Merlin – bare shoulders. He rubbed his thumbs in tiny circles, reveling in the softness of her skin as he stared down into her face.

"It's brilliant. You're brilliant. You look great."

She smiled brightly, the sparkle in her brown eyes far outshining the shimmer of makeup she had lightly applied to her eyelids. He shook his head, offering a self-deprecating smile in return.

"Wait, shit, let me try again. I-what I mean is, you look beautiful. Better than great."

This time her smile spread from ear to ear, the nervousness in her face instantly replaced by that impossibly wonderful expression she reserved only for him. Pressing forward, she just barely brushed her breasts against his chest, her smile turning wicked as he gulped down air like a fish out of water.

She turned and-and-and actually fucking wiggled over to her dressing table to grab her handbag, the wonderfully wicked smile growing on her face as he followed her with hungry eyes.

"Shall we? I believe our reservation is in a quarter hour."

He picked his jaw up off of the floor and followed her, blushing and stammering as he scooped the bouquet of roses from her hallway rug, offering the poor abused things with sheepish hands. She accepted them as gracefully as if they had been sitting in a crystal vase, kissing him sweetly on his cheek before disappearing into her kitchen to deposit them somewhere safe.

…

Ron was sure that this beef dish with the poncy French name was unbelievably delicious, but he really couldn't be bothered to concentrate on that when the sight before him was more delicious than anything the greatest French chef had ever put on a plate.

Hermione slid a heaping spoonful of frothy white foam into her mouth, closing her eyes as she moaned in ecstasy.

Ron had been skeptical when the waiter had placed a dish that looked like fish topped with whipping cream in front of her, but Hermione had assured him that it wasn't sweet at all, but rather a tangy lemon mousse.

Whatever it was, it was damn distracting to watch her eat it.

He shifted in his chair, rearranging his napkin once again to try and cover up the reason for his discomfort.

He found himself staring at the glorious expanse of skin made visible by the minuscule straps of her dress. There was just…there was no bloody way she was wearing a bra under that thing. The very idea that she might be sitting here across from him with nothing on underneath her dress other than a pair of knickers made his trousers grow far too small for comfort.

He could barely make himself eat his dinner, he was so obsessed with the thought of taking her back to his place to further destroy all of those rose petals.

"…don't you think, Ron?"

His head snapped up, his eyes widening as he realized that she had been speaking to him. He nodded, hoping to cover up the fact that he hadn't been listening because he was too busy thinking about her naked body writhing beneath him on his bed.

"I knew you would agree with me. Harry has done quite a lot of work on Ministry reforms, and Minister Kingsley has been immeasurably helpful, but I just think that it is far past time for action to be taken on every level. It shouldn't take more than a week at most, and I'm sure that I'll be back before you know it."

Shite.

What had he nodded himself into? The familiar stabbing sensation of panic hit his chest at the thought of her leaving for an entire week. It seemed that she had just gotten out of school, and now she was skipping off somewhere!

"A-a week!"

She nodded, dabbing her lips softly with her napkin before leaning in and speaking quietly.

"Yes, well, I am sure you realize just how pressing these things can be and the Minister is afraid that anything less than immediate intervention would result in disaster. He has assured me that once we have presented my proposition before the Council, I will be free to leave."

She looked down at the tablecloth for a moment before sliding her hand toward him, raising her eyes in invitation. He covered her hand with his own, perhaps holding on just a bit too tightly as she continued.

"I just felt that…well, I didn't want to be gone for long after all of the time we've spent apart this past year. I know that it's awfully selfish of me, but I want to spend every moment I can with you."

His heart was beating so loudly that he was sure it echoed throughout the tiny restaurant, deafening as it bounced off of the tastefully decorated walls.

He lifted their joined hands, pressing a kiss into her knuckles as he watched her face.

"Every moment."

He wasn't sure why he was whispering, but the quality of light in her eyes changed immediately, beginning to smolder beneath the shine.

She licked her lips, squeezing his hand and leaning in even closer.

"Would you like to get out of here?"

He froze for a few seconds, not trusting his good fortune. Could she mean…

She blushed, sitting back in her chair as she released his hand and dropped hers into her lap, fidgeting with her napkin without quite meeting his eye.

"Of course you wouldn't, how silly of me. You haven't finished eating, and-"

She broke off as he turned in his seat, gesturing wildly for the check.

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