Of Gift Giving and Foggy Glasses

Disclaimer: First, I do not own Harry Potter (obviously). That credit belongs to the loffly and talented J.K. Rowling. Got that all cleared up? Good.

Author's Notes: I really wanted to do a Christmas-themed story this year, so here you go! Funny that I should finish this story on the Eve of Christmas. I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday! And thanks to Jennifer for reading this over. Feedback is very much appreciated.

Summary: It was Christmas Eve and the vast array of witches and wizards around you were clamoring around to purchase last minute gifts for their loved ones. As for you two, you're just there to enjoy yourselves and the joyful spirit of the holidays. That, and a special something you had been planning for months.

Of Gift Giving and Foggy Glasses

A blast of icy cold wind swept through the crowded streets of Hogsmeade, causing the both of you to shiver. You pull her closer towards you fearing that the intense cold of the falling snow would almost be too much for her. Her face tilts upwards to look into yours, her eyes practically aglow with happiness. She gently slides one of her gloved hands into your coat pockets for more warmth. The body heat from the pair of you was ecstatically resonating, so why she craved even more warmth was beyond you, but you appreciated the sentiment all the same.

It was Christmas Eve and the vast array of witches and wizards around you were clamoring around to purchase last minute gifts for their loved ones. As for you two, you're just there to enjoy yourselves and the joyful spirit of the holidays. That, and a special something you had been planning for months. Something that had to do with a special gift nestled in your other coat pocket. You were immensely grateful that she had not chosen that particular pocket to place her hand in or you may have had to make a few improvisations. How awkward, that certainly would have been.

You silently sigh with relief as she pulls her hand out of your pocket. The next thing you know, she's pulling you into Scribbulus, a large bookstore that's enough to put Flourish and Blotts to great shame. You give her a pleading look that causes her to laugh softly.

"It's only for a minute or two, Harry," she said, a slow smile beginning to show on her face.

You roll your eyes playfully upwards. "Need I remind you that the last time you said that, we were in there for a grand total of—" you pause for a moment, trying to count up the sheer amount of excruciating minutes, "—three hours!"

She smiled even wider. This is where she got you. "Well, that's what you get for taking your precious time in the Quidditch shop. We're even now."

With sigh of defeat you followed her into Scribbulus, pausing to look around for an empty chair to vacate yourself into while Hermione perused the shop thoroughly to her delight. You spot a comfortable armchair close to the register and plop yourself down quickly. Your eyes carefully follow Hermione around the room as her eyes light up as they usually do when she's in the presence of new books that she couldn't wait to get her hands on. You can't help but chuckle softly to yourself as she bites her lip in contemplation, hardly able to digest the amount of volumes she had been wanting to browse for ages.

You reach into your coat pocket and pull out a small, square box that you had kept hidden all day. It was a miracle that she hadn't discovered it yet. You had been thinking of nearly nothing else for the past few months now and tonight you were going to put the plan into motion. Wild scenarios of how she was going to react to this pronouncement flooded your thoughts, seeping into your nervous system, making you feel slightly sick to your stomach. You couldn't help it. Every guy before you always pictured the worst possible scenario while asking that dreaded question. Why exactly would you be any exception to that?

Inside of your head, you scan through the words that you had been planning to say to her when that moment should come. After running it through several times, you lean forward and put your head in your hands, feeling a nervous breakdown starting to come on. 'What the blazes are you thinking that she'd actually say yes, Potter?! Has the scar on your head permanently addled your already fragile little mind? Who, in their right mind, would say yes if you proposed? Well...other than fame-seekers, of course. But, what do they matter? Hermione is intelligent. She's bound to say no.'

"What's that?"

Looking up, you see Hermione peer curiously over a large stack of books she was cradling in her arms. You quickly stuff the box back into your coat pocket and shrugged.

"It's nothing," you say, trying to sound convincing enough.

She eyes you suspiciously. Now you were in for it. "Alright, if you're sure." She gently places the heavy volumes in your lap, which causes you to groan slightly. Somehow, you picked the girl who would rather go for encyclopedias than head to the magazine racks to search high and low for the latest issue of Witch Weekly. If that was a good thing or not, you hadn't decided quite yet.

"Are you purposefully trying to clean out the place?" you say to her, while handing over the pile of books.

Throwing you a playful look, she says, "What's wrong with a little holiday reading, Harry? Besides, you don't seem to mind when I huddle close to you on the couch while reading, do you?"

"Why would I mind?" you say, a wide grin spreading over your face.

"Well, then don't complain!" she exclaims, leaning over the books sitting on her lap. She gently tugged the collar of your coat and pulled you in for a tender kiss that seemed to go on for much longer than what was considered polite. Even you felt your face burning with intense heat. From your clear peripheral vision, you could see a few onlookers blush themselves at the scene of ardor before them. You never craved public attention. You shunned it, in fact. At this moment, you hardly paid them any mind. You didn't care about them. All you felt was the world slowly fading away and all you could see was her. You loved how she always seemed to have that effect on you. It was one of the many things you loved about her.

She pulled away from you and you could hear her giggle to herself. Your eyes were still closed, so you had no idea what she could possibly be laughing at. You opened your eyes slowly. Your glasses had fogged up in the midst of her sign of affection. Great, just great. 'Bugger.' You take the end of the shirt resting underneath your coat to wipe your glasses free of any further sign of embarrassment. 'Next time she decides to pull another one of those on me, the damn things are coming off!'

"Er, w-what was that for?" you ask, wanting desperately to know the reason.

Hermione shrugs. "Honestly, do I need a reason? Because, if you're asking for a logical reason, I could always repeat the action again."

You're eyes widen at the proclamation of this last. "Again? You almost bloody killed me the first time! A second time and I'll have to be hauled out of here by a team of highly trained and professional mediwizards."

She laughed out loud. You loved when she did that. She was much too serious in their Hogwarts days, but over the years after Voldemort's defeat, she seemed to loosen up quite a lot. When you try to point this out to her occasionally, she would respond that you had changed as well. "You're not brooding silently and angsting in an empty corner or shouting excessively. I like it this way." That is what she would say to you. The change was definitely for the best, the both of you would determine.

"You just don't want me to embarrass you again," Hermione said, still grinning madly as if she were hiding some secret behind it. "No worries, then. We can always wait until we get home to finish it." She winked at you slyly.

Your ears perk up slightly and you no longer hear the buzzing and chattering of the busy shoppers all around you in the store. Did she really just say what you think she said? The deviously sweet look on her face was enough to confirm those beliefs. Perhaps she wouldn't say no to that all-important question after all. "Is that a promise?"

"Yes, indeed," she responded, a pink tinge now touching her cheeks. She opened on the books on her laps and began to scan the indexes, unable to suppress the unusually large smile on her face. You continue to watch her as she digests volume after volume after volume. She would toss aside the books that she had no interest in, while handing you the precious few that intrigued her. One of those books was a leather-bound, gilded copy of "Hogwarts, a History."

You groan and roll your eyes upwards. "'Hogwarts, a History,' Hermione? Don't you already have several copies of that dreadful book?"

"Of course, but this is the Unselective, Highly Revised copy of 'Hogwarts, a History.' I've been waiting for this for years!" You notice that her eyes have a slightly glazed over look to them. "And I don't want to hear you say that it's dreadful ever again, or I may have to take back that promise, Potter."

Unbeknownst to you, your jaw drops so far, it could have touched the floor if it tried hard enough. "Well, I know that you've certainly grown up when you start using sex as a weapon, Hermione," you say. That only amused her even more. "I guess I know now who wears the pants in this relationship."

"You got that right," she says, dropping yet another one of her playful winks. She finally picks up a smaller stack of 5 books out of the numerous piles she had selected earlier.

"Is that it?" you ask, pointing to the books in her hands. "I'm surprised you didn't pick up more, you know."

She smacks you hard on the arm, while trying to balance her books. Not an easy feat, mind you. You feign an injury, which causes another burst of laughter from her. You grab the books from her arm and haul them over to the register, eager to get out of this place before the shopkeeper tosses the both of you out for disturbing the peace. You set them on the counter and give the shopkeeper a quick hello.

You hear rustling next to you as Hermione tries to get out her galleons to pay for her purchases. "Ah, here it is!" she exclaims, pulling out a small, closed bag that was jingling. She started to untie the clasp, but your hand stopped her midway. She eyed you quizzically, one of her eyebrows now raised.

"Merry Christmas," you say to her with a grin. "You'll get your other gift later."

Her eyes lit up and you notice a blush coming to her cheeks once again. You're glad that you were able to do something for her that she would love, just in case the "other gift" fell through. Somehow, you couldn't bear to let her down anymore than you have done so since the moment you met her many years ago. You pull out your galleons and lead her out of the shop with cheerful holiday proclamations.

Hermione clutches your side, pulling up the long knitted scarf she had made herself around her face. You don't blame her. The atmosphere along the streets was unbearably cold. Witches and wizards were beginning to abandon their shopping tasks to go home to curl up by the fire or do whatever it is to keep themselves warm during the winter time. As for you, all you wanted was to be closer to her...and to get yourself a nice glass of warm, frothy butterbeer, but that was beyond the point.

After a minute or two of meandering the streets, she turns to you and says, "How about we kip into Madam Rosmerta's for a bit? A few glasses of butterbeer sounds heavenly right about now. What do you say?"

'Bloody hell! How is it she can always read my mind!? I feel so used...

"Just what I was thinking," you say to her and the both of you are weaving through the crowd of people to make your way into the pub.

As usual, the place had been decorated for Christmas (although, not to the sickeningly sweet efforts that had gone into decorating Madam Puddifoot's, a place you had been avoiding diligently since a disastrous Valentine's date you encountered when you were 15 years old). A large Christmas tree had been placed in the corner and trimmed with the usual wizarding bobs and ornaments. The snow trimming around the edges of the window panes gave the decor a nice, winter touch. Luckily for them, the pub wasn't all that crowded. You supposed that people had gone home to spend the rest of their Christmas Eve. You lead Hermione by the hand to an empty table at the back of the room near the fire. Not only because you needed the warmth of the flames, but also because you didn't need the occupants of place pointing and laughing that Harry Potter crashed and burned after he proposed to a girl. That was publicity you didn't need, thank you very much.

She gently points upwards towards some mistletoe overhead. You think she is about to administer yet another one of her life-threatening kisses, until she pauses midway and whispers. "Now, do you honestly think I'd fall for something that cheesy and cliché?" You felt your heart stop beating for a few seconds. 'She's going to kill me one of these days.'

You are quick to notice a few people sitting around in nearby tables staring at you...their eyes traveling up the familiar path to rest on the scar on your forehead. 'Dammit.' You take your head and began roughly patting your hair to cover up the infamous lightning bolt-shaped scar, but it was no use. Once you had finished patting it down, they would spring right back up to it's original place. 'Thank you, Dad, for providing me with your hereditary trait of unruly hair. My (hopefully) future children greatly appreciate it.' "It's no use," you grumble.

"Just ignore them, Harry," she says, placing an arm comfortably on yours. "We're just sitting here drinking butterbeer and talking. It's nothing worth making the front page of "The Daily Prophet, is it?"

Inside, you can feel your stomach clench together tightly. 'Why in the hell is that dishrag of a paper always around for my worst moments?' If you crashed and burned tonight, then the entire wizarding world will know by the time Christmas morning rolls around. You take a large gulp of butterbeer and began quickly chugging it down.

Hermione's eyes grew to the size of saucers. She pulled the butterbeer away from your grasp forcibly. "Take it easy! What's wrong? You-you're shaking." Indeed you were, but this time you couldn't blame in on the cold, because you were sitting close to a roaring fire that could heat anyone several feet away.

"I need you talk to you," you say, your voice now rough and unchecked. Without another word, you get out of your seat at the table and pulled the small box that had been waiting patiently out of your coat pocket. You walked up, closing the gap between you and her and kneeled down on one knee.

Boy, did her eyes just grow even wider. You weren't sure if that was even possible, but here was the proof. The sight wasn't comforting to you at all. It only made you even more nervous to begin with. Truth be told, you much would have preferred a reassuring smile that you weren't digging yourself your own grave. But I guess you'll take whatever facial expression you can get. Unless it's a frown. A frown is where you most definitely draw the line.

"Hermione," you begin, feeling a lump rise in your throat. "We've known each other for ages. You've always been there for me through those times when I needed it the most and your friendship with me never wavered one bit. I know, that I didn't exactly appreciate you 100% through those years and I'm kicking myself now that I didn't show you every bit of respect and admiration that you certainly deserved. After Voldemort's defeat, everything got better for us from then. I'd like to continue that journey with you by my side, but not as my girlfriend. Something more than that. Because that's what you are to me. So, so much more." Your voice was getting more high pitched by the minute. You wished that the people around you would look away and stop whispering themselves, because they were only adding to your nervousness. Grabbing your tankard of butterbeer, you took a swig to clear your throat before continuing. "Will you marry me?"

You open the small box to reveal a simple, silver ring with one elegant diamond placed in the middle. Hermione never liked things tremendously gaudy, so you were hoping she'd like a more understated piece that was beautiful in it's own way. Just like her.

'Oh God, don't pause. Please don't take a long pause.'

Her warm brown eyes were beginning to well up with tears and her face was shining. "I-I don't know what to say..."

You hang your head in defeat. 'Well, at least it was an easy letdown.' "Er-I guess I tried. I mean, we can continue dating if you want, but—"

She cut you off with the feel of her soft lips pressed up against yours. You could still taste the essence of the sweet butterbeer on them. She had brought herself down on the floor in front of you and wrapped her arms around your neck. You wished the both of you could stay in this position forever, but people were still staring and your glasses were beginning to fog up again. 'Bloody hell, why must she torture me so! One of these days, I'm bound to keel over due to the effect her kisses have on me.'

Pulling away from her rather reluctantly, you look into her eyes for some reassurance. "So, is that a yes?" you ask her nervously, your hands now shaking desperately.

The firelight illuminating her bright face was breathtaking. She gently reached down and picked up the ring out of it's designated spot inside the box. "Do I have to put it on myself, Potter?"

You emitted a short, hoarse laugh in relief. It took every one of your efforts to not shout delusions of Hallelujah to the ceiling and prance around like a fool, but you maintained your appearance. You took her left hand in yours and slowly slid the ring into it's rightful place. You're both grinning like idiots, but you can't help it. If anyone had tried to tell you off for smiling, you might have told them to bugger off.

"I was so scared you would turn me down," you say, now breathing in short gasps.

"How could I possibly turn you down after a proposal like that?" she says sweetly, now wrapping her arms around your waits, pulling you closer towards her. "Every girl dreams of being asked to marry someone like that. You're lucky I love you so much. You had no reason to be nervous at all. Even if it was a plain 'Will you marry me?' I still would have answered yes, simply because I can't see myself not spending the rest of my life with you."

Even as a guy, you felt yourself getting dramatically close to tears. 'Hold yourself together, Potter!" You brush away any signs of a tear with the sleeve of your coat.

She placed a comforting hand on your cheek and whispered. "Don't get emotional now. That's my job." She winked at you again. "I daresay, this outstrips my upcoming Christmas present to you by far. I doubt I can top something like this."

You scoff at her. "You!? Hermione Granger be outsmarted by Harry Potter? The idea is outrageous. Although, I will say that my gift is hard to top. " You grin at her playfully, waiting for a witty quip.

"Well, I did make a promise to you earlier, did I not?" she asks you. You nod in remembrance, heat now rising to your cheeks at the memory of her little pronouncement inside of Scribbulus's bookshop. "How about we finish up our butterbeer and make our way home so I can fulfill that promise?"

Grinning, you say, "How about we skip the butterbeer and just go home?"

She thinks for a moment, gently tapping her chin. "You one-upped me again for the second time!" you hear her exclaim, laughing as she pulls you to your feet. "My, you're just full of surprises today."

The both of you chuckle softly and placed a few galleons for Madam Rosmerta on the table. You throw an arm up around her shoulders and exited the shop feeling as close as ever to her. She steers you into an empty alley around the corner of the street. You kiss the top of her head just before the both of you disappear with a soundly pop! as you Apparate home. To you, this will certainly go down in your memories as the Best Christmas Ever and as Hermione pulls you over towards the bed you share the minute you touch home, you're sure that she feels the same way.

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