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Chapter Text

July 1995

"You know, when you said you wanted to do something fun for my birthday, I'd assumed you meant actual fun—not going to a museum," Harry sighed as he trudged along the busy London street beside the girl who'd quickly become his best friend over the last four years.

"A little academia never hurt anyone, Harry," Hermione said as she scanned the paper map in front of her. "Besides, we've only just begun. Next is the Natural History Museum, and Robbie Wilkerson said they had new dinosaur bones on display."

Harry's eyes rolled behind his thin wire glasses frames as he stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his denim trousers. Robbie Wilkerson. She wouldn't stop talking about her bloody neighbour. 'He's so tall!' 'He's got a bicycle.' 'He's so funny.' Harry had never met the guy, but he highly doubted he was anywhere near as cool as Hermione made him seem.

Besides, who gave a shite about a bicycle when you could fly a broomstick? His mum and dad had just gotten him a new Firebolt for the upcoming Quidditch season and he didn't hear her fawning over it like she did about Robbie Wilkerson.

"Oh! Will you hold this?" Hermione thrust the map at his chest, and begun to unzip the small purple purse at her hip, tongue held between her teeth as she began to fumble with the contents inside.

Harry scrambled to catch the map before it flew away into the busy street. He felt it crumble in his fist and he narrowly avoided a head on collision with a business man in a three piece suit who was talking rather loudly on his mobile. "Merlin's pants, 'Mione, What are you—"

"I want an ice-lolly." Hermione said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, glancing up from where she'd begun digging in her small cross-body before she gestured towards the street vendor several yards across the courtyard to their left.

"Are you kidding me?" Harry groaned. "You almost lost our map—our only way around London—for an ice-lolly?"

"Stop being so dramatic, Harry." Hermione fished out a couple paper notes from her purse, quickly counting them before she looked up. "You're a wizard, we'd have figured out how to get back to Diagon Alley eventually."

"Whatever, just hurry," he said, beginning to fold the map. He watched her from the corner of her eye as she crossed the busy courtyard, making sure she made the short journey safely. He hadn't spent much time in Muggle London growing up, but his dad told him to make sure he kept an eye on Hermione during their excursion.

"Hey! Buy me one too!" He called out just as she reached the vendor. "Chocolate!"

Hermione waved him off and rolled her eyes before turning her back and quickly speaking with the vendor.

Harry tucked the map in his back pocket before withdrawing his wallet. His mum gave him some Muggle money the night before to cover lunch and anything else the two might need on their day on the town. He wasn't even sure how much an ice-lolly cost—Florence's was only a couple knuts, so surely a five pound note would be able to cover it?

Lifting his shoulders in a small shrug, he withdrew the crisp bill from his wallet before stuffing it into his back pocket as he waited for Hermione to come back with the treat.

"Here you one. One Chocolate Fudge." She said with a toothy grin. In her hand a double scoop ice cream cone awaited him.

Harry licked his lips hungrily before taking the treat from her. "Wow, this looks...really good." He said with a small hint of surprise lining his tone. He took a quick lick from the side of the lolly before it could melt down his hand and he held out the note for her to take with his other hand. "Thanks."

Hermione looked at the bill in his hand, her brows furrowed and she shook her head before taking a small lick of her own pink confection. "Keep it. Consider it my treat."

"What? No way," Harry insisted, thrusting his hand towards her. "A wizard's supposed to pay for these kind of things."

"And a friend buys their mate a treat for their birthday," Hermione said pointedly as she began down the sidewalk, wild curls bouncing with each step. "Besides, you're not my wizard—you're just…Harry."

A small something akin to disappointment bloomed in his chest, but Harry didn't linger on the confusing feeling too long. Double stepping to keep up with Hermione's quick pace, Harry balanced his melting ice lolly while scurrying after her. "I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but seriously, take the money Hermione. I'm not making you pay for my treat."

"Too late, already did," she said, punctuating her words with a small harrumph.

She was frustrating, sometimes irritatingly so, but it was moments like these that reminded Harry of why they'd become friends in the first place. She wasn't interested in friendship because of his famous parents, or his family money. In fact, when they first met, she didn't even know the story that had been told all around Wizarding Britain since he was just a baby. How Lily and James Potter defeated the Dark Lord who had tried to claim his life.

Hermione was a bright spot in his life, and wanted to be his friend because she actually enjoyed his company, not because she had something to gain from it.

As they slowed to a stop at the next street light, Harry curled the paper note into a small ball in his fist. "Alright…fine," he said before sweeping his tongue across the base of his lolly to collect the melting chocolate. "But you'll let me buy lunch later?"

"As if, Harry Potter. It's your birthday gift, remember?" Hermione sighed, shaking her head at him. "Just be grateful I like you enough to drag you around London with me on a Saturday."

"Oh man…I'm so lucky," he teased before leaning in to nudge her shoulder with his. The hand holding the note moved quickly, slipping the balled up bill into the front pocket of her sweater, and he held his breath, praying she wouldn't notice the subtle slip of the currency. He knew she'd never willingly take the money, and would likely be furious when she found it, but he couldn't not pay her…after all, isn't that what wizards were supposed to do?

October 1996

"Can you believe the audacity of Snape? Assigning us a five foot essay on a Hogsmeade weekend." Ron complained through a mouthful of Honeydukes fudge, his lips smacking loudly as they moved down the leaf covered street.

Fall had taken over the Scottish countryside, filling the air with a brisk chill that turned the tip of Hermione's nose pink. She loved fall—the clean scent of the incoming winter, the warmth from a cozy fire and jumpers! So many jumpers she could finally wear. Fall was definitely her most favorite time of year.

Pulling the sugar quill she'd just purchased from her lips, she shot a conspiratorial glance towards Harry who walked just to her left before she turned her head to the right towards Ron. "Do you even know what that word means, Ronald?"

"Of course I do," Ron scoffed before popping the last bit of fudge into his mouth, chewing on the sweet noisily before licking the last lingering bits of chocolatey goodness from his fingers.

"Yeah?" Harry piped up, adjusting the crimson and gold knit cap that sat on his head so the front strands of his untidy black hair poked out across his forehead. "Define it, mate."

"Define it?" Ron repeated, cornflower blue eyes narrowing on Harry. "It means….you know...like how dare he do that—you know what I mean?" His voice trailed off, eyes widening a bit as he lifted his hand to gesticulate in a small waving motion in front of him, as if to imply they could fill in the rest.

"No, I don't, mate. That's why I asked you to define it," Harry said blankly, doing his best to keep his poker face strong as he cocked a brow at the redhead.

"Oh, come on," Ron groaned, his hand lifting to drag down the side of his face with an exasperated sigh.

It was only when Ron set his shoulders, preparing to use every tool in his arsenal to try and explain himself to Harry that Hermione broke the ruse and was the first to fall into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, fuck you both," Ron said, reaching over the top of Hermione to give Harry a firm shove. "You two are the bloody worst, you know that?"

"I've told you not to use words you can't define or spell before, Ronald. It's just common sense," Hermione teased as she lifted her hand to dab the corners of her eyes that had begun to collect tears.

Prior to Hogwarts, friendship had been difficult for her—she was often the butt of jokes, and had been alienated from her peers, but all that changed five years ago on the train ride to Hogwarts. The friendship she built that first year at the castle had continued on for five years now and thankfully showed zero signs of waning. Ron and Harry were the high point of her days—and although she often complained about them keeping her from her rivisions, she enjoyed every moment she got to spend running about the castle with them, and yes, even attending those dreadful Quidditch games.

Harry stumbled away from Ron's shove, drifting into the middle of the road, almost colliding with a gaggle of sixth-year Hufflepuff girls who scattered to avoid him.

"Sorry, ladies," Harry said, flashing that award winning Potter smile Hermione knew all too well by now, and when he spun around, walking backwards as he eyed and waved at the group, she simply rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the flutter of jealousy that bloomed to life in the pit of her stomach.

"Alright, Casanova. Come along." Hermione called over her shoulder, lips pursing to the corner of her mouth as they moved further into the sleepy little village. "You two still owe me a stop at Tomes and Scrolls."

"Ugh! Seriously? Hermione we just went there last month." Ron groaned, stuffing his hands the front pockets of his trousers as his lips pursed to the corner of his mouth in annoyance. "What on earth could you possible need from there again?"

"Well, I'd like to look for a couple books on Charms, what with Flitwork's end of term assignment—"

"It's not due for two bloody months!" Ron sighed dramatically, his head tipping back.

"Which really doesn't leave much time if I'm hoping to have at least three revisions before I turn it in," Hermione clucked, ignoring the way Ron's feet seemed to drag across the leaf covered ground. "Besides, I went with you both to that dreadful Quidditch shop—you owe me."

"It'll be alright, Ron." Harry double stepped to catch up to them, slinging his arm about his taller friend. "We can just look through the potions books and mark the unintentional inudenos again."

"I swear to Godric, if you two get me banned from Tomes and Scrolls—"

"It'll be fiiiine, Mione. Murdoch's a good friend of Uncle Moony's, he wouldn't kick us out...at least not forever," Harry said with a toothy grin before he withdrew his arm from around Ron, who seemed to find the silver-lining Harry presented as an acceptable use of time while visiting the bookstore.

Harry quickly fell into step between them, and try as she might, Hermione couldn't pretend to ignore the way his hand would brush against hers as they moved. It was accidental—it had to be, but there was an almost triumphant smugness that built inside her every time their closeness would catch the eye of the various fifth and sixth year girls who'd stared to fawn after the Gryffindor Seeker since the beginning of the year.

She was friends with Harry long before he grew into his looks, and while she wasn't even sure why it bothered her so much, every time she walked into the common room to hear yet another conversation about how fit Harry looked in his uniform, she felt one step closer to snapping at all of them.

"Chewing gum?"

Harry's question pulled her thoughts back to the present and away from how fit her best friend had become over the past couple years and she glanced to his hand which was already extended with the foil wrapped piece. "Oh, sure. Thank you, Harry." Reaching out she took the gum from him, her fingers brushing against his and as she pulled back, she flashed him a small smile as her cheeks tinted from their accidental touch.

"Oi, what about me?" Ron's face was suddenly over Harry's shoulder as his arm snaked to where they hands touched and he fumbled to reach in the bright blue and pink wrapper to retrieve his own piece.

"Circe's tit, I didn't forget about you. I was just offering one to 'Mione first!" Harry laughed, stumbling under the weight of Ron leaning on him, but instead of focusing on him, Harry's eyes remained glued on Hermione, watching intently as she began to unwrap her piece of chewing gum.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, telling herself his stare meant nothing, but it was hard to tell that to the butterflies that rioted in her stomach, and when she finally broke his gaze to look down at the gum that she'd unwrapped, the butterflies fell like a lead weight into the pit of her belly. Instead of the powdery pink gum a carefully folded five pound note sat inside the foil wrapper—the very same five pound note that they'd spent the better part of a year sneaking back and forth.

Of course.

Of course, Harry wasn't looking at her like that. He'd given her the note back! Because that made more sense than him actually feeling the same about her—because, of fucking course.

She wadded up the foil, an incredulous laugh bubbling up her throat and slipping from her lips as she unfolded the note to reveal the crinkled image of Queen Elizabeth with the faded inky mustache Harry had given her two months prior and she looked up to him. "You're such a shite. I can't even believe you did this."

"Ha!" Harry thrust his fist into the air triumphantly and he slipped out from under Ron's arm to dance ahead of them, ready to celebrate his victory. "I've literally been offering you gum for weeks—weeks, and it finally bloody happened."

Ron's brows nearly met in the middle of his forehead as he looked between the two, already noisily snapping on his gum. "Wait a second…is this that stupid thing you two've been doing since last year?"

"First off, not stupid," Harry said as he pulled out a stick of chewing gum and he held it out to Hermione with a too wide grin before shoving the pack in his jacket pocket. "Second, yes. And I've finally got her back!"

"You tricked me, it totally doesn't count!" Hermione defended as she stuffed the note into her front pocket before snatching the actual piece of chewing gum from Harry's fingers. She quickly unwrapped it before popping it in her mouth as she narrowed her eyes on Harry. "I'm just going to give it back to you, you know?"

"It absolutely counts!" Harry said, laughing as she brushed past him with a new snap to her step. "And you'd better not! It's like I told you before. A wizard—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Harry James Potter." Hermione cut him off with a lift of her hand and a hard look over her shoulder before she climbed the steps to Tomes and Scrolls. "It's like I told you before. You're not my wizard—you're just Harry." Even as the words slipped from her tongue, Hermione wasn't sure for whose benefit she was reciting it for at this point, his or her own.

"Whatever you say, 'Mione," Harry replied back, a sing-song quality to his voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and the butterflies in her stomach flutter to life once more.

She yanked the door to Tomes and Scrolls open, the jingle of the brass bell signaling their entrance to the ancient looking wizard behind the counter. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she moved over the threshold, the heat from the shop's heating charms warmed her cheeks and the tips of her fingers as she repeated a well used mantra she'd begun reciting internally at the beginning of the year.

I don't fancy Harry. I don't fancy Harry. I don't fancy Harry.

December 1996

This was a daft idea.

There's no way she'd ever say yes.

Which is precisely why he shouldn't do it. Better to not embarrass himself. After all, he had a reputation to keep up—it wasn't exactly stellar at this point, what with turning down Cho after snogging her in the Quidditch Halls at the beginning of the school year, but—well, he knew the moment they'd kissed what he felt for her was definitely not what he felt for Hermione.

And that's exactly why he was in the predicament he was now.

Because this childhood crush he couldn't quite shake was more than he could stand. Especially after seeing her hold hands with Anthony Goldstein during last months Hogsmeade visit.

Fucking Goldstein. With his good hair, and extensive knowledge about obscure things like Gaelic Charms and Ancient Runes of Mesopotamia—who the bloody hell did he think he was trying to swoop in and steal Hermione away. Didn't he know that she wasn't on the market? Harry thought he'd made it abundantly clear over the years to the boys in his year that Hermione was most decidedly not available.

Yes, she technically wasn't his—but she wasn't really not his either.

They were best friends, and by proxy that gave him some sort of say in who she dated—right?

Probably not, but still, it sounded plausible, especially now.

"Harry, are you alright?"

His eyes flashed up from the squared parchment note he'd folded and refolded at least twenty times before leaving his dorm room this morning. "What?" His brow furrowed, thick black brows nearly meeting in the middle of his forehead as he looked across the table at the witch in question.

Hermione had dragged him to the library—no surprise there—during their free period, saying she wanted to do one last revision to her Ancient Runes essay. Harry was perfectly happy with the bare minimum three feet he'd finished earlier in the week, but didn't have the heart to tell her he never actually revised his essays when they came to these study sessions. He usually pretended and wrote out Quidditch formations, or sometimes drew little inky caricatures of their professors.

Could he work harder? Absolutely. But he wasn't willing to give extra brain power to looking over work he'd already completed. Besides, half of his classes hardly mattered anyways—he was less likely to use Ancient Runes while in the Academy than a handy maneuver on a broomstick.

As make Aurors—isn't that how the saying went? And with that friendly little turn of phrase, Harry was happy to coast through his remaining classes, meeting the minimum requirements necessary to keep on his projected career path.

"You just...look like you're about to be sick." Hermione laid her parchment on the well-worn table in front of her and she glanced around them, brown eyes flickering through the stacks as if looking for someone. "Madam Pince will be pissed if you vomit on any of her books—"

"'Mione, I'm fine," Harry breathed, laying the note on the centre of his desk before his hand rose to ruffle through the untidy hair on the back of his head. "I mean...at least I think I'm fine."

"Oh Merlin, Harry," Hermione winced. Plucking her wand up from where she'd let it rest on the table beside her, she tapped her parchment and it began to roll away before she began to dig through her bookbag. "I told you and Ronald not to eat that many Treacle Tarts. I know they're your favourite, but honestly, you could always just ask Dobby to bring—"

Harry watched her retrieve a thimble from her bag and she set it on the desk before flourishing her wand at the innocent object, causing it to enlarge until it was roughly the side of a small bin.

"—some to the common room when you fancy a sweet. I know he'd be more than happy to oblige."

Harry laughed, watching as she nudged the enlarged thimble towards him with a look that rivaled his own mother's, and a nervous laugh bubbled up his throat. "It's not—Merlin, Mione I'm not going to be sick...at least not like that."

Hermione pursed her lips together, slowly crossing her arms over her bosom and she tapped her wand against her shoulder, brown eyes flickering across his face in assessment. "You still don't look well…"

"Yeah, well…fuck it. Here." Harry picked up the note and he tossed it across the table towards her before elbowing the oversized thimble out of the way until it perched on the edge of the desk, allowing him a better view of her.

"Ah!" Hermione's hands lifted in her failed attempted to catch the parchment, but instead it slipped off the corner of the table and onto the floor. Bending low, she disappeared beneath the desk to retrieve it with a small huff. "Really Harry? I know it's just paper, but don't just toss things about. I'm not one of your team mates."

"Sorry." Harry grimaced, his hands winding nervously together in front of him. That really ought to make her interested in him—because every witch swoons over a sickly faced wizard who assaults them with paper products.

As she unfolded the parchment, his heart began to race. Each motion took seconds, but it felt like an eternity and he watched as the five pound note they'd been exchanging for the last two years fluttered to the table before her.

"Are you bloody kidding me? You did all this so you could—" Her words cut off as she picked up the crinkled note. Her eyes went wide and Harry couldn't tell if it was the good kind of surprise or the bad kind, but all he knew for certain was she could clearly read the red inked words he'd scrawled on the currency two weeks ago when he'd come up with this incredibly foolish plan.

"Oh…"

Harry's tongue swept across his suddenly dry lips, and he gulped to rid himself of the lump rapidly forming in his throat.

"...Oh!"

"You...already said that," Harry breathed, the riot of jack rabbits that had suddenly appeared his stomach began to kick up the dinner and numerous tartes he'd eaten and suddenly he wondered if Hermione's quick engorgio on that thimble wasn't such a bad idea.

"Harry I...Harry, this—"

"Look, it's okay! It's stupid, it's nothing. I shouldn't have even asked," Harry rushed out, his heart fracturing as he rose from his chair, knees knocking loudly against the table, sending a jolt of pain radiating down his legs. "Ow! Fuck. Okay, I just—eh. I just need this—" He mumbled as he leaned across the table, intent on snatching the note from her hand and setting it aflame.

This was stupid.

This was a bad idea.

Lavender and Pavarti were fucking wrong. Hermione very clearly did not feel the same way he did.

"What? No!" Hermione pulled her hands back, curling the note protectively against her chest as she looked up to him, her brows set low on her forehead. "You can't just take it back!"

"Yes, I can!" Harry insisted, his left hand dropping to brace himself against the table as he leaned forward, tongue catching between his teeth as he stretched. "Just give it here so I can go back to the common room and hex—"

"My answer is yes!"

Harry froze, hand still outreached, fingers barely touching the top of her hand and he slowly—very slowly, lifted his eyes to hers. "What?"

Hermione's hand curled around the note, crumpling the well worn money in her fist before she pushed up from her chair and she quickly tucked it into her pocket. "Yes...Yes I will go out with you."

"You...will?"

She didn't bother with a verbal reply but instead moved towards him, an unstoppable force and he an immovable object. Her hands curled around his cheeks, and he was suddenly keenly aware he probably should have taken the time to shave this morning. Before he could so much as react to her touch, her lips were on his and those little bunnies in his stomach began to riot. Kicking, scrambling, running amuck inside him.

Her lips were soft, just as soft as he remembered from that quick peck he got fifth year during spin the bottle, but Merlin if they didn't taste sweeter than before. His hand moved to sink into her curls as he slanted his mouth over hers, a smile stretching his lips despite their kiss.

She said yes!

Maybe her friends hadn't lied.

Or maybe she was as daft as he was, but none of it bloody mattered, because she said yes!

The sharp clearing of a throat pulled them apart, and Harry nearly tripped over his chair as he turned towards the sound to find the pinched face of a very disapproving librarian.

"Sorry Madam Pince." Hermione muttered quickly, her hands already smoothing out the bottom of her jumper and she let her eyes drop to the floor, keeping them off of the overly critical librarian until the witch swept away, muttering something about foolish children under her breath.

Harry was the first to laugh at her departure and he moved quickly around the table towards Hermione. He didn't wait to wrap his arms around her, pulling her towards him as he leaned back against the table, nearly flattening her rolled parchment with his backside.

Her hips slipped between his knees, but they kept a respectable distance from one another. A distance Harry prayed would disappear over the next few weeks, but he wasn't keen to press the issue—especially not now. His hands locked on her lower back, threading together comfortably as he smiled down at her. She'd said yes. She was his!

No fucking Goldstein, no other blokes talking about how fit she might look in a tighter fitting jumper. And no bloody dates with anyone but him.

Her hands pressed against his chest and he felt her fingers smooth across the scratchy wool of his cardigan, toying with the button that sat at the centre of his chest and he couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "Say it again," He requested before sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully as he watched pink tint her cheeks.

"Say what?"

"That you'll go out with me."

Hermione's smile brightened to her eyes, and she took a quick glance down the aisle to where Pince had just stood, checking to make sure the coast was clear before she looked back up at him. "Yes," she whispered, brown eyes flickering down to his lips as she rose up on her toes. "Yes, I'll go out with you." She added for good measure before sealing her mouth over his once more.

January 1998

Christmas Holiday had been busier than Hermione had hoped.

What with helping her parents pack for what they kept referring to as their 'sabbatical'. She was graduating in seven short months, and had already signed paperwork to begin an entry level position with the Department of Magical Creature in late July. That had apparently sent her parents into a spiral of figuring out what to do with their lives now that their only child was grown and entering the real world—whatever the bloody hell that meant.

They'd waffled for months, changing their minds several times before finally landing on something that stuck. Australia. Merlin only knew what they'd do when they got there, as their certificates and licensing didn't transfer between countries, but they were dead set on going.

It had bothered her in the beginning—knowing they were selling her childhood home and would be literally a continent away, but magic helped. She could always access a Portkey to go visit, and fire call when they were home. And truth be told, she knew the Ministry would keep her busy.

Well, the Ministry and Harry.

Her relationship with her childhood best friend showed no signs of slowing down. When she'd told him yes over a year ago, she wasn't entirely sure how long they'd last. It wasn't that she wasn't interested in a relationship with him—quite the opposite actually. She'd just wondered if maybe she wanted it more than he did. Maybe it would put a strain on their friendship with Ron. Maybe Harry would realise she wasn't as great as he might have once thought.

But those fears were quickly silenced by the time they'd reached the sixth month mark and celebrated by spending the night in his suspiciously empty dorm room learning each other's bodies.

"I'm sorry I couldn't sneak away before Christmas." Hermione glanced up at Harry as they walked side by side down the sidewalk leading up to her home. The For Sale signed swung in the gentle winter breeze, stirring the freshly fallen snow to swirl around their boots. "Mum's had family over nearly every night since we went on holiday."

"It's fine." Harry squeezed her hand, flashing her that cheeky smile that made her breath hitch in her throat. "I've kept busy too."

"Oh?" Hermione lift a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Doing what exactly?"

"A little of this and that," Harry said with an offhanded wave. "Homework, visiting Ron and Neville...flirting with that cute barista at—ow! Okay okay! I was kidding, geez." Harry laughed, releasing his hold on her hand to loop his arm over her shoulders. "I did visit Ron and Neville, but I've mainly been lounging around the house, eating too many sweets and waiting for you to finally tell me when I could take you out on a proper date."

Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder, his arm looping around her waist and she tucked her hand into his jacket pocket to keep the frost off her already cold fingers. "You should have owl'd me sooner, I would have found time," she sighed.

"No way, It's your family's last holiday together before your parents leave...I know how important it is to you."

It was moments like these—where Harry said something to foolishly selfless that she was reminded all over again why she fell for him in the first place. It wasn't his looks—although that bit did help—but rather his heart. So big, and beautiful.

Harry had had all the potential of growing up to be an arse. Famous family. Loads of money. Award winning smile. He was, by all accounts, destined to be a total brat. But he wasn't—he was so far from selfish and pompous that is was almost astounding. He never once questioned her ability based on being Muggleborn. He stuck up for her when Malfoy and his cronies used that terrible slur, and even went so far as to break the rules so he could sit alongside her in detention when she slapped the blond ferret during their third year.

Harry was everything she could have ever wanted in a boyfriend, and she was lucky enough to not just have him as her partner, but also her best friend.

"Did you find the note?" Harry reached out, pushing open the small gate that blocked the walkway up to her front porch and let her out from his protective hold so she could slip through before he followed.

Hermione snorted, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder before she shook her head as she made her way up her front steps. "Yes—and thank Merlin I did and not my Mum. How would you have expected me to explain that being pinned to a pair of my knickers in my trunk?" She said through a small laugh.

"You're a smart witch. I'm sure you could have found a way," Harry teased, and as he reached the top step, he pulled his knit cap from his head and tucked it into the jacket pocket her hand had been a resident of.

"I don't know whether to be happy you have such confidence in my abilities, or disappointed because you and I both know how shite I am at lying." Hermione stepped closer to Harry, her arms winding around his waist once more as she leaned in. Even through the thick layers of their jackets, she could feel the warmth of his skin radiate into hers.

"Hrmmm. I'd say go with the first," Harry said as his hands lifted to slide into the side of her curls, holding them back from her face and he leaned down to press a kiss on the tip of her rosey nose. "Because that one's always true." He beamed down at her, his thumbs sweeping across the high of her cheek almost reverently before he leaned down to bring her into a slow, burning kiss.

Hermione molded her body to his, letting the familiarity of his tongue sweeping past her lips ignite the fire low in her belly. It would be so easy to sneak him inside and upstairs with her, what with silencing spells and her exhausted parents. She'd nearly perfected her wards by now, and Harry even knew the contraceptive charm wandlessly now. They could celebrate their little yuletide dinner date properly—but as badly as she wanted it, she knew the timing wasn't right.

The last thing she needed was to mess up and have to have the dreaded yes, I'm shagging my boyfriend and yes we're being careful conversation with her parents—and knowing them, they'd likely insist on telling Lily and James, who in turn would tell his uncles, and the last thing she needed was everyone in his bloody family knowing they were shagging because Merlin only knew it would make their plan of her staying over during Easter holiday exceedingly awkward.

Slowly breaking the kiss, Hermione brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth sweetly as she slowly lowered back to the ground from her toes. "Happy Christmas, Harry," she whispered, her lips still close enough to ghost against his.

"Happy Christmas, 'Mione," he returned, his hand lifting to pet against her curls. She could feel his body tense with a need she was all too familiar with, and before she could change her mind, she slipped from his hold, letting one of her hands slide down the length of his arm and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she stepped even further back.

"See you at King's Cross on Monday?" Hermione questioned hopefully, her head tilting to the side.

"Stampeding Hippogriff couldn't stop me." Harry withdrew his hat from pocket, and just as he shook out the burgundy cap, preparing to stuff it over his untidy hair to keep out the cold, a small rolled up note fell from it, and landed at his feet. "Oh bugger, is this—really? Tonight?"

Her breath caught in her throat, watching as Harry bent low, picking up the tightly rolled note. He wasn't supposed to find it yet! He was supposed to wait until he got home! Shite.

This little game of theirs has been going strong for over three years now. The back and forth with the same note he gave her that summer before fifth year. Ron's annoyance with their game was limitless, although he was happy to participate when either of them recruited him.

Hermione had gotten quite good at sneaking the note into his text books and magicking it to his homework—it was an easy way to double check that he was actually doing what he was supposed to. She'd also once stickied it to his broomstick before a big Quidditch match against Slytherin, hoping their playful game might relax him, even just a bit, before he took the field.

And Harry, for his part, was rather clever with how he'd return the note to her. He'd tucked it in her loafers one evening after a long snogging session on the common room couches and she didn't find it until halfway into the next morning when her foot kept slipping and sliding in her shoe. One time, he'd gone as far as to figure out which book she'd be checking out next from the library and tucked it inside for her to stumble across during her reading.

The key was to be unpredictable–catch the other person off guard, and really surprise them. And since she'd had the note since October, she figured tonight would be shocking enough—but she'd hoped he would find it once he wasn't in front of her to see what she'd written on it.

"I have to admit, I was starting to wonder if you'd given up," Harry laughed as he untied the small red twine that she'd secured around it, and when he unrolled the note, his smile faltered, emerald eyes widening as he stared at the newest addition to the words they'd penned over the years.

"I..uh...I'm just going to—" Hermione mumbled as she took decisive steps backward, feeling for her doorknob. Shite, shite, shite! She needed an out, she needed to give him the opportunity to act like he didn't see them—those three little words that held so much bloody meaning.

Harry looked up, a dumb-struck look still blanking his face but when her hand finally found the cold metal knob to her front door, her grandmother's opal ring clinking against it, Harry seemed to snap back to reality.

One second he was across from her and the next he was on her, pinning her against the door, his lips pressing against hers feverishly, and his hand, with the note—their note, still held betwixt his fingers, was at her cheek.

He kissed her like never before, pouring every ounce of the universe into that singular moment. Like she was the moon, the stars and the heavens above, and he a humble servant to their offerings of greatness. She'd only dreamt of being kissed like this, with such reverence that it made her knees buckle and her mind go numb.

He molded himself against her, pushing her against the hard wood of her parent's front door, and she gasped for air when his lips finally left hers and he began to pepper soft pecks across her cheeks and brow.

"I love you too," Harry breathed against her skin, his lips brushing across her still closed eyelids. "I've loved you for so bloody long." He spoke the words like a confession—as if he were suddenly free from the weight of it.

Her mind was still fuzzy, trying to catch up to speed from her lack of oxygen, but as she finally cracked open her eyes to look up at him, what she saw wasn't the boy who'd taken her out to dinner earlier, but rather a man. Just on the cusp of adulthood, but a man nonetheless, pouring his heart out to her on her parent's front porch.

Her heart skipped a beat, and as she lifted her hand from his chest to cup his cheek, a new warmth spilled into her soul. He loved her. He felt the same as she, and moreover, he'd said he felt that way for a while. "Don't go home," she whispered impulsively, her other hand curling into his jacket, afraid he might slip away into the night. "Stay with me…tell me again—say it a million times over."

Harry nodded, a slow smile lifting his lips so wide that the corner of his eyes crinkled. "I'm not going anywhere...tonight, or ever," he promised as his fingers sunk into her curls and he angled her head back as he bent down to brush his lips across hers. "I love you, Hermione Granger."

A shiver ran down her spine, and all the reasons she'd come up with for him not to stay suddenly seemed so childish. "I love you too, Harry."

Chapter Text

March 1999

Life was flying by at a break neck speed.

One minute Harry was walking hand in hand with Hermione down the drafty corridors in Hogwarts with months to go until graduation, and the next they were packed in the Great Hall celebrating with their friends and family. It all seemed to go so fast, and his schedule only grew more frantic the further he got into his Auror program.

And while he was enjoying every bit of the freedom his newfound adulthood allowed him—he had to admit he missed seeing Hermione every day. He'd gotten so used to waking up and being able to kiss her good morning, or run off for a quick snog before Potions that he was taken aback the first time he went three whole days without seeing her.

But that was life now.

Wake up, off to the Ministry, desk duty, physical training, lunch on the way to the gym, back to work, and finally home—back to the tiny little studio flat he found above Madam Primpernelle's. It wasn't much, and was certainly a far cry from his home in Godric's Hollow, but it was his. He'd filled it with second hand furniture and hand me down fixtures from his parents and turned the dusty little space into a warm and inviting—albeit sometimes messy—space for him to rest his head.

But the best part of moving out of his parent's house was that Hermione could come stay the night at any time. Though the space technically wasn't hers, he'd given her a drawer for some clothing and bought a second toothbrush to sit beside his in the chipped mug on his porcelain sink.

She didn't stay as often as he'd liked, as her own schedule was nearly as busy as his, and she had that grumpy feline to look after, but when she did grace his flat with her presence, it felt more like home than ever.

After graduation she'd moved into a shared flat in Muggle London with the Patil twins, opting to share the burden of paying rent with two partners. Their cramped two bedroom was a lot nicer than his own but was hardly the place for sleepovers. Which was why Harry had insisted she come over to his place for the weekend. It had been over two weeks since she'd spent the night, and as fantastic as their quick shags and stolen kisses were, he was craving more time with her than fleeting moments could provide.

His dragonhide boots thumped loudly up against the rickety staircase as he made the climb to his flat, a white plastic bag with a red smiley face printed on the side swung precariously from his hooked finger as he fumbled to pull his wand from the inside of his Ministry issued duster.

"You went to Hunan Palace? Merlin, you're a literal god send, Harry."

The melodic sound of his girlfriend's voice pulled his eyes from the inside of his coat and a wide smile spilled across his lips as he watched her push up from where she'd been sitting on the floor in front of his door.

She wore a knit coral sweater dress, paired with white stockings and a pair of brown booties that would have made his tongue lop from his mouth had he been a weaker man. Her curls were already piled atop her head, haphazardly held by the length of her wand. She was stunning, even in her work attire. Though, to be fair she could have worn a bloody trash bag and Harry likely would have found it alluring.

Snatching up her coat and purse from the dirty floor, she brushed her hands along her rump to rid herself of the soot that clung to her dress as she moved to greet him with a small kiss.

"Figured a little take away was in order." Harry withdrew his hand and used the same arm to pull her close for a quick embrace, enjoying the feeling of his witch in his arms just for a moment. "Got enough for leftovers for tomorrow since I know cold chow mein is your favourite."

"What did I do to deserve you?" Hermione sighed playfully, her hand lifting to tuck some of his shaggy black hair behind his ear affectionately.

"I'd say it's all those years you spent helping me through Arithmancy, but having that smart bum of yours certainly helped," Harry teased with a playful tap of his wand against her backside before he leaned in to steal one last chaste kiss before he moved to unlock his front door, tugging her along with him.

Her laughter filled the tiny hallway, and a blossom of warmth that seemed to permanently turn his insides to mush every time she was around returned. Gods he missed that laugh, the way it seemed to erase all his troubles from the day and make him forget about the worries of tomorrow. If he could bottle that laugh and sneak a listen anytime he felt anxious and upset, he'd never have to worry about anything for the rest of his life.

"How was your day?" Hermione slipped into his flat as he pushed open the door, and although he couldn't be certain, he would swear her hips swayed just a little bit more than before as she moved across his small living space to slip off her boots by his hearth.

Harry shrugged from his duster and tossed it over the back of his faded floral wingback chair as he nudged his front door closed with his boot. "Rather uneventful. Loads of paperwork—though I did get to see Ron open a Howler charmed to spit, so that was quite amusing." Harry hummed as he moved to set the bag of take away down on his kitchen counter.

"Who was it this time?" Hermione was already at his dresser, rifling the drawers in search of something more comfortable to wear. Harry set the boxes of take away on the chipped tile before he turned to lean against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched her with a crooked grin as she began to divest herself of what was quickly becoming his favourite dress of hers. "Angelina from accounting?"

"No, but I suspect that one will come here shortly." Harry cocked his head to the side, eyes hungrily running down the length of her now exposed body, watching as she wiggled out of her form fitting tights. "Rebekah from Flourish and Blott's. Guess she found out he was dating both of them and didn't take the news well."

"Not Rebekah!" Hermione groaned as she balled up her tights and set them beside her dress on top of his dresser. Turning to face him, her hands went to her hips, resting just above the modest cut of her lacey pink knickers. "I bloody shop there! What was he thinking?"

"Well clearly he wasn't," Harry laughed. "Because Angelina is obviously the bett—"

"Seriously, Harry?" Hermione tossed her hands in the air, letting out a playful growl as she spun around to snatch the pair of sweat she'd pilfered from his drawers and slip them on. "Rebekah is obviously the better choice."

"Just because she gives you a discount."

"Of course it's because she gives me a discount! You better tell him not to ruin that for me."

Harry pushed off the counter, leaving his wand beside the take out boxes and he snatched two of the wrapped fortune cookies that sat inside the bag. "I'll do my best, love." Harry watched as she turned her back to him and slipped her bra off before pulling on one of his old training Quidditch jerseys.

Even though no one would see, the fact that she wore his family name across her back sent a thrill of primal triumph coursing through his veins. She was his, and had been in every sense of the word, but seeing it did something funny to his brain. They were far from being ready for that step in their relationship, but the hints of wanting her to not just wear his name, but take it as her own tickled the edge of his consciousness.

"Are you really starting with the cookie?" Hermione lifted a brow at him as she adjusted her wand in her hair, making sure her curls were still secure before she moved over to meet him at the lumpy couch that sat in front of his fireplace.

"Why yes I am." Harry picked up a broken piece of the cookie, popping it in his mouth as he flopped down next to her. "There's no rule that said I had to wait until after I've eaten dinner…besides, I like seeing what I got." He fished through the clear plastic wrapper, pulling out the small white fortune that had lived inside the cookie until moments ago and he brandished it in her direction.

Leaning over, Hermione picked the still wrapped cookie from his hand, rolling her eyes as she settled back against the arm of the couch and set her bare feet in his lap. "You know they're rubbish, right? Just a couple less than insightful words printed on scraps of paper."

"Why, yes, Hermione. I am well aware that Muggle fortune cookie manufacturers are not skilled in the art of Divination." Harry shook his head, soft laughter bubbling up his throat as he turned the paper so he could read his printed fortune. "But it's all in good fun. Besides, how else am I supposed to know that…'people rely on my dependability'?"

"Ha! Hardly," Hermione snickered.

"Well, that's not really a fortune, but whatever." Harry stuffed the scrap of paper in the wrapper before tossing it on the coffee table. His hands wound around Hermione's cold feet, thumbs stroking across her arches as he lifted his brows at her expectantly. "Well, go on. Open yours and let's see what delightful little nugget you've got waiting for you."

Hermione looked down to the cookie in her hands, lips pursed in silent debate. Harry squeezed her toes, wiggling her feet just slightly in encouragement and it seemed to do the trick. Hermione quickly opened the crinkly wrapper and Harry watched with bated breath as she snapped the cookie in half to reveal not a fortune, but a carefully folded five pound note inside.

"Harry!"

"Whaaat? How did that get in there?" Harry said with mock disbelief, his jaw dropping playfully.

"I can't believe you." Hermione leaned out to set the cookie on the coffee table, brushing the crumbles off her chest before she pulled her feet from his lap, tucking her legs underneath her bum as she shifted on the couch. "How did you even get that in there?"

"I didn't do anything. It's clearly the work of Muggles," Harry said, lifting his hands innocently towards her. When she gave him a suspicious look, the corner of his lips lifted in a mischievous grin. "Better open it up and see what your fortune is. I hear it's bad luck to not read it."

"Bad luck—I can't believe you subscribe so that sort of—"

The words died on her tongue as she unfolded the note, brown eyes flicking across the bill. Time had faded the once bright colours, and the inky stains from their previous questions had bled until they blurred into the paper, but Harry had added a new question so its surface. Brightly scrawled in Ministry issued green ink, just so she couldn't miss it, a question he'd been dying to ask since the moment he signed the lease on his flat.

Will you move in with me?

Except this time, he wasn't scared. Even if she said no, he held no doubt their relationship would be strong. They were young and had plenty of time to build a life together, but not being able to see her was getting rather old—and he very much liked the idea of sharing this little space with her, and yes, even Crookshanks.

"So…"

Hermione lifted her eyes, a slow grin spreading across her lips and she tossed the well-worn note on the arm of the couch before she crawled over to him, settling in his lap with her knees on either side of his hips as her arms wound around his shoulders. "Are you sure? This is…a big step Harry. I'm not exactly the best roommate."

Harry hummed, playfully lifting his eyes towards the ceiling as his hands slipped to her waist, sliding under the elastic waistband of her borrowed sweats to curve around her lacey covered arse. "I mean…now that you mention it."

"Harry!"

"Of course I'm sure! I wouldn't have asked you if I wasn't," Harry insisted, eyes boring into hers as he tipped his head back against the couch, letting himself get lost in the endless pools of chocolate that were her eyes. "Does this mean you will?"

Hermione sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, chewing lightly on the corner of it before she gave him a slow nod. "Yeah…I will," she agreed.

Harry let out a small crow of victory as he pulled her closer so her body molded against his and he tipped her over on the couch, pinning her against the lumpy cushions as his mouth found hers in a needy kiss.

It'd been too long. Too bloody long since he got to feel her body beneath his, and he planned to correct that situation immediately. Cold dinner be damned, she'd just agreed to move into his flat, and they needed to celebrate.

November 2000

"You know…Celeste was always my favourite." Hermione mused as she leaned against Harry, her arms resting over his as they swayed to the music, watching the friend sweep his bride across the dance floor.

"Hmm, really now?" Harry hummed in her ear, his warm breath sending a small shiver down her spine. "Because I distinctly remember you saying you didn't like her when they started dating."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Hermione waved her hand in front of them. "You're clearly mistaken."

"Hmmm. I don't know about that—there was something about a lack of a discount at Flourish and Blott's…and Celeste's working with MacKenzie to opposed your Goblin Reparation Act…"

Spinning in his arms, Hermione quickly clapped a hand over her boyfriend's mouth, eyes widening as she looked up at him. "Don't ruin this for me, okay? I finally like her…and their wedding was lovely. Let me have this moment?"

Reaching up, Harry gently tugged her hand from his lips and he pressed a gentle kiss against her knuckles. "Alright, but only if you dance with me." He said with a hopeful lift of his brows.

Harry was right. Of course, she'd never admit it, but it had taken her several months to warm up to the blushing bride. She found every excuse in the book not to like her—mainly because this was the first relationship Ron had stumbled into with an actual suitable candidate. She was smart, funny, and most importantly, seemed to genuinely love him.

It wasn't that Hermione didn't want him happy—of course she did, but him getting married was solidifying the fact that the last remains of their youth were slipping away.

They'd graduated nearly two years ago, and time felt like it was fleeting. Nearly all of their friends had found partners, and it seemed like everyone was rushing to the altar. And while she so happy for all of them—perhaps there was a small twinge of jealousy that bloomed in her stomach every time she attended a bridal shower and wedding.

She didn't mind waiting for Harry to be ready—she knew he was the only person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, and truthfully they were still rather young, but…jealously wasn't always logical.

And tonight? Seeing him up there standing beside Ron in those smart dress robes, so handsome and put together, it only amplified the irrational side of her brain that demanded he hurry up and pop the bloody question already.

"Dance? Harry, do you not remember what happened at Goldstein's wedding?"

"First off, Fuck Goldstein," Harry murmured, his arms circling her waist. Before she could so much as laugh, he'd picked her up, her toes skimming the ground as he took determined strides to join the bride and groom on the dance floor. "Secondly, my toes healed. I've had worse than a stomped foot."

Her arms locked around his neck, a tinkle of laughter filling the air as she allowed him to pull her onto the floor. "I'm pretty sure you had bruises for weeks." Hermione's fingers toyed with the shoulder length shag he'd opted to grow his hair out to. She knew his mother hated it—but Hermione had to admit it'd grown on her. He looked more man than boy now, what with the black stubble that was permanently christening his cheeks and the small scar on his eyebrow from a stray hex. Roguishly handsome. She'd always found him fit, but he'd grown into a man she was proud to keep on her arm at the dreadful Ministry functions—and not just for his good looks.

He was still Harry underneath it all. Still kind, and sweet, and caring. Still the boy who'd stolen her heart so many years ago.

"A small sacrifice I'm willing to pay." His arms slipped around her waist, a hand pressing low on her back, toeing the line of improper with its placement and he gently swayed with her to the music, a brightness dancing within his eyes that made butterflies riot to life.

She wasn't sure she'd ever not think herself lucky to have found someone like him. Their lives could have turned out so differently—but here they were, going on four years together and she was still as smitten with him as she was during their fourth year. Except now her impulses went much further than snogging and hand holding—thank Merlin, for that.

One song bled into two, and before she knew it, a gentle tap on her shoulder pulled her attention away from looking up into Harry's eyes.

"Mind if I cut in?"

James' brows lifted over the rim of his wire framed glasses as he looked at his son, holding his hand out for Hermione's. To say Harry had inherited his good looks from his father was an understatement—the Potter genes ran strong, and Merlin was she thankful for that. James was bulkier than Harry, thick with well-defined muscle after years on the force at the DMLE, but there was a gentle edge to his chiseled handsome that made him even more appealing.

"Only if you're careful." Harry leaned down, pressing a quick kiss against her cheek before he guided her hand into his father's with a quirked grin.

"I'm always careful. Just ask your mother." James guided Hermione towards him, his hand finding the small of her waist, and he kept a respectable distance as he flashed that medal worthy Potter grin her way.

Merlin, she was going to be mush by the end of the night if she wasn't careful.

"It wasn't you I was worried about. Hermione's gods awful at dancing, Watch your toes, old man," Harry teased, ducking away from her swat as he made his retreat to join his mother at their table on the edge of the ballroom floor.

"Ahh. So you do have a weakness," James teased, his rumble of laughter rocking against her chest as he swirled her away from Harry and into the centre of the dance floor.

"Several in fact, but yes. Dancing has never been something I excel at," Hermione admitted with a pink blush. The soft fairy lights that lit the tent canopy made the gray that colored his temples appear silver, and she could see a hint of it in the soft scruff of his five-o-clock shadow.

"Well I'd better sign you up for lessons then," James mused with a small hum, hazel eyes drifting up from hers to glance across the floor to his wife with an almost conspiratorial smile. "From what I hear you'll be needing them real soon."

"Lessons?" Hermione's brow met and she cocked her head to the side. "Why on earth would I need dance lessons."

His lips parted, another booming laugh a precursor to some piece of important information that never came, for the moment he took in a deep breath, ready to give some insight as to his cryptic words, a shout from across the tent caught both of their attention.

"Are you bloody kidding me?!"

Harry was standing before his place setting, that same well-worn folded note held between two fingers, the outside covered in bit of frosting and crumbly cake. Lily was reaching for Harry, laughter highlighting her features as she tried to yank her son back down into his seat.

He'd finally found it!

She knew it was only a matter of time before his sweet tooth got the better of him, and the only foolproof way she would have at making sure he found the damn thing was to put it in his slice of cake.

Harry shook out the note, flinging the bits of confection around him before he slapped it down on the table, licking the frosting from his finger tips, his eyes narrowed on her playfully as he gave a slow shake of his head, as if to silently warn her she would get payback for her plant.

"I can't believe you two are still doing that," James said, admiration thick in his tone.

Hermione lifted her eyes back to her boyfriend's dad, and she lifted her shoulders. "I can't let him win," she said, as if it was so obvious. The game wasn't about him paying her back for the ice lolly at this point, as he'd paid for numerous dates since then, but rather about pride. Who would outsmart the other? Perhaps there was a bit of childish romance still lingering there as well.

"I hate to break it to you, love, but I'm afraid he's already won," James teased, his hand slipping from hers and he gave the end of her nose a fatherly tap before he handed her to over to Harry, who was waiting expectantly on the edge of the dance floor for her. "He's already got you, hasn't he?"

January 2001

The flat above Madam Primpernelle's had been their home for a year. But as cozy as it was sharing the studio flat, Hermione and Harry were both eager for a bit more room.

Which is why when his lease came up at the end of the previous year, the two spent weeks scouring the city for a new place—a proper home for the life they'd created together. With being well into their careers, they could both afford more in the way of rent, and thus when they stumbled upon a townhome just outside of Godric's Hollow in a small Muggle village, they jumped at the opportunity.

It was far from perfect, the plumbing was a bit wonky at times, but it was precisely what they needed.

Hermione's parents had made a life for themselves in Australia, and come back to visit as often as their budding second careers would allow. Which meant the only family around was Harry's—unless you counted the Weasleys who'd unofficially adopted them into their heard. Being close to his parents wasn't so bad—they respected their boundaries and didn't pop over unannounced too often. Unlike Sirius who'd gotten an eyeful of Harry's white arse the second day they'd moved into the flat.

Since then Uncle Padfoot learned to bloody knock, and shout when entering a room in their house.

It had been nearly three weeks since they'd moved in, and although they were still living out of boxes, this new place felt as much like home as their last. They had two extra bedrooms, one of which Hermione was converting into a study, and a proper living room and dining room. Harry didn't have to eat, sleep and dress in the same space for the first time in his adult life—not that he'd minded it previously, as it was rather convenient when one was running late, but nonetheless, having room to stretch felt nice.

It was the smell of bacon that finally roused him from his sleep on that cold winter morning, and the sound of his girlfriend humming along to the Wizarding Wireless that played softly from the kitchen brought a sleepy smile on his face. Rolling over on the bed, Harry slipped from beneath the covers, the crisp air biting at his bared thighs. "Your mum's up early," Harry said through a small yawn as he scratched Crookshanks just behind his ear.

The cat purred, leaning into his fingers appreciatively before responding with a low yowl, as if he understood Harry perfectly. "Yes, yes. I'll sneak you some bacon," Harry told him as he moved to snatch a pair of pajama pants off the hook on the back of his en suite bathroom door and he shimmied them up his legs. "But if you let her find you with it, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."

Crookshanks, who seemed to find Harry's promise acceptable, rose up from his pillow throne at the head of the bed, spine arching towards the ceiling in a low slow stretch before he hopped down and slipped out of the room, the small jingle of the bell around his neck acting as a guide for Harry to follow.

Hermione was in front of the stove, her back to him as he entered. Her hips swayed gently from side to side to the upbeat pop melody of the latest Fiona Spellblock's release. She still wore that oversized jersey of his, the white letters of his last name peeling off the back and the crimson and gold faded, but it looked just as good on her as the day she first wore it.

Harry's head tilted to the side as he watched her move eggs around the pan, completely unaware of his presence until the tea kettle whistled. aAs she moved to fill the pot on the counter, she jumped.

"Merlin's pants, Harry!" Hermione gasped, a hand lifting to her chest and she let out a heavy breath. "You should have said something!"

"And ruin the performance? I think not." Harry laughed, his hands lifting to pull his long black hair into a sloppy bun on the base of his head, using one of the black Muggle elastic bands she'd purchased for him earlier in the week.

"Ha ha, very funny." She peered at him through her thick lashes, a coy smile painting her lips as she filled the tea pot before returning the lid atop it with a soft clink. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long." Harry moved forward, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead before picking up the tea pot and he gave a small nod towards their dining table with a lift of his brow—silently asking if she wanted to eat there as opposed to their living room couches this morning.

"I was hoping to get this all done before you woke up," Hermione explained, nodding to his question before she turned back toward the stove once more so she could attend to the sizzling eggs. "I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed."

"Well I'm still surprised." Harry moved around the counter and set the pot down on the old wooden table before he used wandless magic to summon plates and forks for them both. "What brought this on?"

"Just figured it'd be a fun way to start our week off work."

Moving during the holidays was a nightmare, and allowed them practically no time to properly unpack. That, and it was one of the busiest times of the year for Harry with the DMLE—dark wizards, it seemed, still opted to join in familial merriment and it was easiest to capture them during that time of the year.

But work had begun to slow, and with a lull in sight, they'd both decided to take the week off, wanting to get the house in order and set up before spring came. Lily insisted they host Easter dinner this year, saying something about showing off their new flat to the family. Harry didn't quite understand the need to show his living space off to his cousin and his new wife, but he figured Dudley would at least bring over some Muggle pints as a congratulations, so he figured why not.

Besides, Hermione seemed keen on the idea.

"Well it smells delicious." Harry sat, adding the finishing touches to their place setting before he moved to lean over the counter, elbows resting on the cold tile as he watched her flit about the kitchen with an affectionate grin.

His mind wandered as he watched her work, thinking of how they'd fallen into this sort of domestic bliss together so easily. Their lives fit together like puzzle pieces, as if they were made for one another. Where she lacked strength—such as cooking, or murdering creepy crawlies , Harry flourished.

He didn't subscribe to fate, nor believe in Divination, but he couldn't help but feel like there was something larger at work when it came to the two of them. Like maybe they were always meant to be together—like the universe conspired to unite them or something equally as daft.

"What? Do I have egg on my face?"

Harry blinked back to reality, focusing back on his girlfriend once more and he shook his head. "No. Sorry, I just couldn't help but think how beautiful you look right now." He admitted, tapping his fingers on the kitchen counter as if to punctuate his point.

"Right…I'm a real looker," Hermione said with a harsh laugh, looking down at her attire before glancing back at him. "I'm in oversized pajamas and haven't showered in two days. Better call up Witch Weekly and let them know they've got a new it girl on their hands."

"I said you were beautiful, not that you smelled nice."

"Alright, smart arse. To the table," Hermione said as she plucked the pan from the stovetop and she waved at him with the wooden spatula. "You're lucky you're cute or else I'd give these all to Crooks."

"He'd share with me. Cat likes me better than you." Harry moved over to the table, but instead of going to his chair, he lingered in front of Hermione's, his hand casually draped over the back as he watched her pad around the kitchen counter towards him.

While setting the table, Harry had left something special for Hermione on her place setting—something he'd gotten months ago but struggled to think of the best way to present it to her. He wanted everything to be perfect, because—call him a hopeless romantic—she deserved it. She deserved to have this moment shine and stand out in her memory. She deserved the butterflies and the bubbly laughter that should follow. She deserved more than he could ever give, but dammit if he wasn't going to spend the rest of his life trying.

And as he lay in bed, listening to her hum along to the wireless, Harry couldn't think of a better time than now to give it to her. Because while yes, her eggs were probably a little runny, and the toast was likely burnt, this was their sort of perfect. This was the life he wanted to sign up for and never look back.

A little red velvet box sat open on her plate, the handpicked ring from his family vaults sat gleaming in the soft morning light. Diamonds and rubies wrapped around the thin band. It wasn't flashy, and was far from ostentatious, but it was classically beautiful, and more importantly, functional. She wouldn't get a bauble caught on books while thumbing through the library, or snagged in her curls when she tamed her hair into submission in the morning, and he knew that quality alone would make her happy with his choice.

Before the velvet box laid the same five pound note that had been passed between the pair countless times. Inky smears from their years of hidden messages scrawled onto the face of it, but the most important question stood out the darkest.

'Will you marry me?'

The pan slipped from her fingers, clattering to the ground, sending the egg flying around their feet, and Harry looked up from the plate setting to watch as Hermione's hand rose to cover her lips, eyes wide, already brimming with tears.

"H-Harry?" She questioned, her voice trembling.

Harry reached out, picking up the small box from the plate and he moved over to her, gently taking her left hand from her lips and he dragged his thumb across her knuckles. "'Mione…I've loved you from the moment I met you on the train first year. We've been through…everything together and I cannot imagine going through my life without you by my side."

A small squeak slipped from her lips as tears fell down her cheeks and when he lowered himself down to one knee in front of her, she let out a small happy sob. "Harry…I—"

"I've had this ring since August and knew I wanted to do this months before that. I was waiting for…I don't know, something perfect but Hermione, I don't need a fancy dinner, or some holiday to make this special or perfect. Because no matter what, it will be…because I'm asking you." He withdrew the band from the box, and let the velvet container drop to the floor without a care. "Hermione Granger, would you make me the happiest wizard on the planet and marry me?"

"Yes!" She gasped through trembling lips, nodding her head so quickly that stray curls bounced free from her bun and when he slipped the ring on her finger, she wasted no time in lowering to her knees, practically throwing herself at Harry in a fierce hug, tacking him on the egg covered floor.

Her lips met his, and he tried to brush the falling tears from her cheeks as he laughed, unable to help the giddy flourish that bubbled out of him. This was it—the first moment of the rest of their lives together, and as he rolled her over on their kitchen floor, narrowly missing the orange cat that had begun to eat the fallen food off the tile, he couldn't help but marvel at how trying to repay Hermione for that ice lolly was probably the best bloody thing he'd ever done.