Ten years
by Bingblot

Rating: G
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 4
Genre: Romance
Status: Complete
Length: 1,281 words in 3 chapters
Published: 17 Mar 2003
Last updated: 18 Mar 2003

Hermione reminisces, ten years after her marriage.

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/329/

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1. Ten years- uploaded again

It has been ten years now.

Ten years ago, I became Mrs. Harry Potter. Ten long, wonderful years of being with my best friend in the world, my
husband, my lover, father of my children. I could not be happier.

Beside me, Harry, my husband and I still feel so lucky that I am able to call him that, sleeps. Down the hall, my two
wonderful children are also sleeping. Lily with my brown hair and her father’s green eyes, and Ben, with his messy black
hair and brown eyes.

I still remember when I realized that I loved Harry. It happened at the end of our 6th year at Hogwarts. I was actually
going out with Ron at the time. Ron and I had just had one of our regular fights, this time because Ron just could not
understand that for me, the NEWT’s were more important than cuddle-time with him. I had stormed off to be alone and to
fume at Ron’s insensitiveness and his complete lack of understanding of what was important to me. Harry found me where I
was sitting underneath the huge oak tree, staring out at the lake. He didn’t say anything, just sat down beside me. And
somehow just having him there made my anger at Ron go away. And that was when I realized that while I did love Ron it
was as my best friend for 6 years. It was Harry that I loved and was in love with. It was Harry I wanted to be dating.
When we got back to Gryffindor, I searched Ron out. We both started talking at once and we both said, “I don’t think
this is working. I’m sorry.” When we realized what we had said, we stared at each other, then laughed and then hugged
and that was that. Ron and I were just best friends again and everything was fine. That is, it was as fine as it could
be when Harry wasn’t in love with me.

Then at the end of our 7th year, Harry told me he loved me. I remember that night like it was yesterday.

It was a beautiful night and we were celebrating the downfall of Voldemort. We had finally defeated him and now Harry
was out of danger for the first time since he was 11. But even in our joy, we never forgot the people we had lost,
Hagrid, Headmaster Dumbledore, Percy Weasley, and their memory made us all a little quieter and more respectful than we
usually were at celebrations. Harry especially was subdued. He wasn’t really celebrating with us at all. He’d only come
to the Celebration feast because both Ron and I had dragged him with us.

To this day, I don’t know exactly what made Harry do what he did but I was too happy to ask. Suddenly, in the middle of
our celebration, Harry pulled me aside, away from where I had been talking with Ron and Ginny, and kissed me. Right
there in front of all those people who were, most of them, watching us out of the corner of their eyes anyway, he kissed
me. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the boy who’s still so insecure sometimes and who hates being the center of
attention, kissed me in front of hundreds of our fellow students and friends.

I don’t like being the center of attention any more than Harry does usually and I am not the most demonstrative of
people. But at that moment, with Harry’s arms around me and his lips on mine, I couldn’t have cared less that the entire
room had gone silent and was staring at us. I forgot all about them, forgot all about the world. All that mattered at
that one moment was Harry and that he was kissing me. The kiss ended sooner than I would have liked and when we broke
apart, everyone started to applaud, while Ron, dear Ron, was cheering and grinning like mad, saying it was about bloody
time. I didn’t even have time to blush and feel embarrassed, though, because Harry ignored everyone else. He just looked
into my eyes with his green eyes that I loved so much and said, “I love you, Hermione.” I never knew before that four
little words could change the world like that.

Harry asked me to marry him a year later. I am always amused at the memory of his proposal because it really didn’t go
as he had planned at all. He later told me that he had been planning to ask me at dinner that night. He had made
reservations at a nice restaurant, had arranged for us to be alone in a private room usually reserved for parties, and
had requested candles and a bouquet of roses to be at our table. He had planned to ask me after we’d eaten. We’ve
laughed over how wrong his plans went, and I once told him that I am actually glad that he proposed the way he did,
because he proposed just when he was proving once again why he’s been my best friend for so many years and why I love
him the way I do.

That day, I had had one of those incredibly bad days and I wanted nothing more than to go home to the flat I shared with
Harry and Ron and cuddle up with Harry on the sofa. When I arrived home, Ron was out somewhere and when I saw Harry, I
just burst out crying. He hugged me, wiped away my tears and listened patiently as I explained all that had gone wrong
that day. And when I had finished crying, Harry proposed.

They say that a woman never forgets her first proposal. At least I know I never will. Harry turned me around to face him
and looking into my eyes, he said, “Hermione, you’ve been there for me since I was 11. You’ve saved my life and you’ve
always believed in me. It’s because of you that I am who I am, because of you that I’m a hero, really. I can’t imagine
living without you, and I want to spend my life making you as happy as you’ve already made me. Marry me, please,
Hermione Anne Granger. Marry me, be my wife, my love.” I was crying again long before he finished and threw myself into
his arms.

Harry has teased me that I never actually said yes. I didn’t, really. All I actually said was “Oh, Harry!” My acceptance
was in the kiss I gave him, the smile I gave him even through my tears.

We were married a year later. Ten years ago exactly.

I look at the clock and see that it’s nearly 5 in the morning.

Harry is still sleeping. He looks so young without his glasses on, his face peaceful and oddly vulnerable-looking in
sleep. And as I watch him sleep, my heart swells and I realize, yet again, that I’m the luckiest woman in the world.

I bend over and drop a soft kiss on Harry’s forehead, where his scar is. My Harry.

I am smiling when I fall asleep again. Because I know that I have everything I ever wanted.

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