After asking the Grangers for their daughter's hand, something Harry was quite glad to be over with, he excitedly apparated back to his flat to get ready for the big night.
"Well, I guess I ought to go make myself presentable," he mumbled to himself, upon entering his flat. He took a nice, long shower, thinking nervously about the night ahead of him. When he was certain he had done a good job making himself clean (he wanted to smell nice for Hermione) he stepped out of the shower and examined himself in the bathroom mirror. He really didn't know what the look was that he wanted to sport tonight. Even though he knew Hermione loved him, he still doubted himself and was rather worried she might decline him. So, he figured, the better he looked, the more bonus points he would be awarded, making him more appealing as husband material. He thought this was only natural. Taking a deep, calming breath, he pressed his face closer to the mirror and examined it. To shave, or not to shave? Shaving would make him look more sophisticated and well-mannered. This would, in turn, draw descriptions such as smart, high-classed, handsome, and gentle. On the other hand, deciding not to shave would leave that sexy stubble that seemed to flutter the stomachs of a lot of women. Sexy was definitely a good thing to be, but, he decided, Hermione was more the well-kept type and she would probably prefer him to shave. His decision made, he lathered his face in shaving cream and carefully began to remove the offending facial hair with his razor. When this step was completed, he rinsed and dried his face and then applied a tad bit of aftershave balm to make his face soft, for Hermione to kiss. Of course, that was assuming she would want to kiss him after tonight. What if she said no? What if she really didn't love him? What if, instead of crying with joy, she cried with laughter at the preposterous idea of marrying someone that was as pathetic and unworthy of love as Harry?
"Dammit Potter! Get a grip on yourself!" he shouted at the mirror, in disgust, "She will say no, if I don't have any confidence in myself." Sighing, he trudged into his bedroom to get dressed. Stepping into his closet, he pulled out the black pants that he bought the week before, specifically for this occasion. Pulling them on, along with his shiny black shoes, he contemplated what shirt he should wear. He had found himself physically incapable of deciding whether he wanted the green, white, or black button down shirt and ended up buying all three. White would be the safest. It was the basic shirt color for special occasions. However, Harry feared this shirt would be viewed as plain, something he didn't want to be viewed as. Black would be sexy and masculine, but he feared that this would be too much black, since he was already wearing black pants and shoes. The last thing he wanted was for Hermione to think that he wasn't creative enough to pick out two different colors for his outfit. Green he had bought because he remembered that Mrs. Weasley had said in fourth year that it brought out the color in his eyes. On the other hand, he thought that green might be too informal, making him seem unsophisticated and childish. Unable to decide, he resorted to closing his eyes and grabbing one, which turned out to be green. `Well,' he thought, `I hope Mrs. Weasley was right.' He then pulled on an undershirt and put the green shirt on over top. Then he tucked in his shirt and put on his new black belt, before reentering the bathroom to brush his teeth and hair. Finally, he stepped in front of the mirror for his final once-over. Feeling satisfied that he didn't look incredibly terrible, he placed the ring box in his pocket and, seeing it was time to go, he got in the car and drove over to Hermione's apartment, to pick her up for the most nerve-racking night of his life.
During the entire ride, Harry found himself with the same feeling that he had gotten before the final battle against Voldemort. It was that all too familiar feeling of dread that tonight might be the last night of his life. True, he wouldn't physically die if Hermione turned him down. He was more worried that he would simply never feel alive again for the rest of his life, like an empty shell, wandering in the darkness.
When Harry pulled up into the driveway, he suddenly found himself at a loss of breath. It was as if he had just run an entire marathon and simply stopped breathing, about to pass out from the undying heat of love-sickness. Pulling at the collar of his shirt, he reached into the backseat to retrieve the two-dozen roses that he picked up earlier that day. When he knocked on the door, he suddenly found himself feeling very self-conscious, as if he was a five-year-old, about to attend his first day of school.
When the door opened, Harry held his breath for a moment upon seeing Hermione for the first time that day. She was dressed in a beautiful blue dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. For that one, single moment, Harry felt as if he had died and gone to Heaven.
"Err…Happy Birthday, Hermione…y..yy.you look very beautiful," Harry stuttered out in his nervousness.
"Thank you, Harry!" she replied happily, "You look very handsome, as well. That shirt really brings out the color in your eyes."
`Thank you, Mrs. Weasley! She likes my shirt!' Harry thought, feeling slightly relieved.
"Oh, err…these are for you." Harry handed Hermione the red roses and was met with an excited squeal.
"Oh Harry, they're beautiful!"
"Just like you," he replied with a smile, earning himself a blush from Hermione.
"Well…err…thank you," she said shyly, taking the roses from him, "I'll just go put these in some water. Please come in and sit down. I'll be ready to go in a minute."
"Okay, Luv," he replied, taking a seat on the couch.
Five minutes later, Hermione returned to a now slightly sweating Harry who quickly hopped up and took her hand. They walked out to the car and Harry opened Hermione's door for her with a bow, earning a cute smile from Hermione, who smoothly entered the vehicle. He then closed the door before moving around to the driver's seat, allowing himself in.
The ride to the restaurant was slightly awkward, mainly because Harry kept nervously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and making jittery attempts at conversation. His actions, of course, made Hermione a bit curious. Harry hadn't acted this neurotic since their very first date, but she figured it was probably just because this was the first time they had gone someplace this fancy together. She figured he would probably cool down some when they got to the restaurant.
The high-end Italian restaurant quickly seated Harry and Hermione at the table he had reserved two weeks in advance. It was, arguably, the best table in the house, as it was slightly secluded, which, in Harry's opinion, was the best place to be. Harry hated attention and, even though they were in a muggle restaurant, his abnormal scar tended to attract furtive glances. Hermione knew this, naturally, and found that she also enjoyed a break from the publicity that she and Harry drew whenever they went to any magical place. They were, in a sense, the most popular and publicly watched couple in the entire Wizarding World. Hermione felt that this was completely because of Harry, but Harry insisted that she had become quite media-loved, herself.
"Good evening. My name is Angela. I'll be your server for tonight. May I start you out with some drinks?"
"Yes, please," Harry responded, "I'll have a Merlot."
"Yes, sir. And, for the lady?"
"Water, please."
"Okay. I'll be back in a minute with your drinks."
"Thank you."
When the waitress left, Harry smirked at Hermione. It was incredibly typical of Hermione to order water.
"You're smirking at me, Mr. Potter. May I inquire as to the occasion?"
"You ordered water in a fancy Italian restaurant, on your birthday."
"And…" she replied questioningly, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
"And you're supposed to order expensive alcohol on your birthday and make me pay for it, so that I can feel like I've done something to make you happy."
"Well, I guess you'll just have to find another way to make me happy, then," she said, with a challenging smirk.
"What if I'm not capable of doing it another way?"
"Oh, believe me, Mr. Potter, you're certainly capable," she said with a suggestive wink, leaving Harry fumbling for words, as a slight tinge of rouge rose on his cheeks.
Their game was broken up, as Angela returned with their drink orders.
"Are you two ready to order, or would you like a few more minutes?"
"I think we're ready," Harry said, relieved at the excuse to change the topic, "I'll have the fettuccine alfredo with shrimp and scallops, please."
"And, would you like a soup or salad with that?"
"Ummm… I think I'll have a caesar salad."
"And I'll have a house salad with Italian dressing," Hermione chimed in.
"Okay," said Angela, cheerfully, "You kids enjoy yourselves and I'll be back in a while with your food."
After Angela left, Harry looked at Hermione and sighed. "A house salad and water?" he asked a bit exasperated.
"Honestly Harry! Do you insist on having a problem with everything I order?"
"If you always get the cheapest thing on the menu, then yes, I insist," he replied matter-of-factly.
"I like salad, though," she said in the manner of a child who had just been told they couldn't have chocolate for breakfast.
"I know that, Luv, but I want to spend lots of money on you," Harry said, as he took her hand in his. She smiled shyly and lost herself in his beautiful, green eyes. "I love you."
"You do?" she asked, hopefully.
"I do."
Once again, the moment was broken as Angela appeared with the food. "Okay, here's your food. You guys enjoy yourselves and call me if you need anything."
"Thank you," Harry replied, still looking at Hermione.
"Say it again, Harry."
"What?" he asked rather stupidly, before catching her eyes and knowing the answer.
"Tell me you love me."
"I love you."
Hermione closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, before responding softly, "I love you, too, Harry."
At this point, Harry gulped, maintaining his composure. If this wasn't the perfect moment to ask her the question that would change their lives forever, he didn't know what was. He reached in to his pocket and pulled out the ring box, before kneeling down in front of her, never taking his eyes away from hers.
"Hermione, I love you very much and I want to always be there for you. I want to be the shoulder you cry on when you're upset. I want to be the one to make you laugh when you're stressed out. I want to take care of you when you're sick. I want to kiss you every day. I want to be the father of your children. I want to love you and to hold you until the end of time." Then, he opened up the ring box and took out the ring to show to her. "I know I'm not perfect and I know you deserve someone a thousand times better looking than me but I would be the happiest man alive if you would be my wife. What I'm asking you, Hermione, is will you marry me?"
Harry looked up and saw a single tear rolling slowly down her right cheek. She gulped and then replied simply, "Yes." Then she threw herself into his arms and cried with tears of joy onto his shoulder. "Yes, Harry, I'll marry you, under one condition. Tell me that you're the handsomest man alive and then kiss me."
Harry smiled. He had been worried for a second, when he realized there was a condition, but then cheered up again when he heard what it was. "I'm the handsomest man alive." He then bent forward and kissed her gently on the lips and gasped when he felt her tongue on his lips. He opened up his mouth to her and then kissed her passionately. When he pulled back, he smiled giddily and placed the ring on her finger. "I believe this belongs to you, my fiancé." He got back up and sat down in his chair across from her. Hermione smiled at him ecstatically and then looked at the ring on her finger for the first time.
"Oh my god, Harry, it's beautiful!"
"I wanted a ring that was as perfect as the woman wearing it, but I couldn't seem to find one. That one was closest I found."
"Oh Harry, you're so sweet. But it is perfect, just like you."
The rest of the meal consisted of laughter and excited talk of the wedding. When Angela came back to ask about desert Harry was cut off before he could open his mouth. "No, thank you. Harry and I are having desert at my house," Hermione said anxiously.
"Okay, I'll bring the bill."
"Hermione, I didn't know we were eating desert at your house."
There was a moment's pause before Hermione responded with a gulp, "Who said anything about eating?" For the next minute, the world seemed nonexistent. As their eyes met in a fiery gaze, they both became incredibly nervous, all of a sudden. They had never actually talked about sex before. It had never come up. When Angela came back, Harry quickly paid and then took Hermione's hand in his own and led her to the car. This day had been filled with undying emotions of worry, doubtfulness, anticipation, and love. Harry had gone through the steps of asking for Hermione's hand from both her parents and Hermione, herself. But now there was a whole new idea to be nervous about. They were going to make love for the very first time. This would surely be a day that they would remember for the rest of their lives.
Author's Note: Well, there's chapter two! The beginning of this chapter was a little hard for me to write, but by the time I got to the proposal, the words were just flowing through me. I really hope you enjoyed the way Harry proposed, I tried to make it realistic and romantic at the same time, which was a bit difficult, seeing as I've never been proposed to before. Please give me feed back before the next chapter! I really do appreciate all of your reviews. And, for those of you that haven't guessed yet, the next chapter is indeed the reason that this fic is NC17. Hehehe…I'm going to have lots of fun with it! Until next time-
♥ EmilyKP ♥
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