Disclaimer: I do not own Harry, Hermione, or any other HP characters, they belong to J.K. Rowling. I can not claim, either, the song 'Remember When' by Alan Jackson.
A/N: This story was inspired by Alan Jackson's touching song, 'Remember When', and I am dedicating it to my grandfather, who died this past Monday, and to my grandmother, who had been married to him for over fifty years. Never before have I encountered two people as in love as they were.
*~*Prologue*~*
*2058*
Absent was the usual loud cheering. No one danced, or even moved. Instead, the entire room of over a thousand people stood or sat in silence, completely mesmerized by the rich, if aged voice that sang the lyrics of a song that had been born roughly forty years ago, and would never die.
Sitting in the very last row of seats was a couple who looked to be in their sixties. Though they, too, were captivated by the song and its singer, their minds were in a world where they were as young of body as they still were of heart. Simultaneously their clasped hands squeezed a little tighter.
Unexpectedly, the last notes of the song died away. The ninety-something Alan Jackson on stage stood on trembling knees to say his last farewell to the fans who had supported him throughout his over sixty year career. There were few dry eyes about the room as he spoke.
"I hope you'll all remember me, and I hope you never forget to remember when. Thank you." He too was crying as he concluded his speech, and after exiting the stage, his cries turned into full-fledged sobs.
*****Later that night*****
As Harry lay in bed next to his wife, his mind was spinning. Like it or not, he was still 'The boy who lived', the one who defeated Voldemort, the hero of the wizarding world. Yet, Hermione and he had been hiding from all of that for more years than he could count. Maybe it was time that they shared some of there secluded lives with the rest of the world.
"What are you thinking about, sweetheart?" Hermione leaned over to plant a soft kiss on his mouth, and then rubbed her face against his neck.
"I was just thinking about that concert we went to tonight," he replied.
"Yeah, I can't believe Alan Jackson's so ancient. I can remember when he was still in his early forties. 'Remember When' came out when we were only, what, about twenty-three?"
Harry was silent for a moment, and then decided to speak him mind. "Hermione, I want us - you and I - to write a book."
She waited but he didn't continue. "Care to expand on that?"
"The whole bloody world loves us! I defeated Voldemort, and you and Ron stood beside me every step of the way. We saved the world, not to sound conceited. And yet we've been hiding from them for all these years," he paused, took her hand in his, and looked her in the eyes. "I just think we owe it to them to let them know our story."
Hermione pondered this for a moment. Then, before he knew what was coming, her lips and tongue were on Harry's, kissing him with a vigor commonly associated adolescents.
Breaking the kiss momentarily, Hermione whispered exactly what she thought. "Harry, you are without a doubt the most brilliant wizard in the..." But she never got to continue, as Harry had brought his head down until his lips just barely brushed hers.
"Not as brilliant as my witch." He retorted, before once again claiming her mouth with his own.
A/N: Sorry if I got some time lines mixed up, but I don't feel that's really relative to the story. Please review. I'll try to update soon, but I really don't know how long it will take to write the next chapter (no, it isn't written yet.) I do promise I won't abandon this story. I've got it all planed in my head. Thanks for reading!