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.

Author's Note:

Happy birthday, love! I hope you have an amazing birthday week- you deserve it!

until next time. xx