The Ring Finger

First fic! H/Hr of course. ^_^

The Ring Finger


“You’re being stupid. Come on, it’s just one night…one high to-do up at the—”

But Ron Weasley didn’t get to finish his less than eloquent claim.

“Blimey,” he muttered, brow furrowed as he gingerly touched the bridge of his nose, the precise spot one Hermione Granger had sucker punched him a second before. The highly irate young witch stood in what could only be described as an imposing way over the redhead, hands on hips, eyes dark.

“Harry, explain to Ronald why he’s wrong...as usual,” the prodigal beauty bit out and turned on her heel to stomp monster-like over to the kitchen counter and slouch against it. Ron for his part, eyed his other best friend as if to say ‘aw, you’ve got to be joking’ only to be met by a semi-rueful stare of emerald green. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, now a man in his prime—the tender age of twenty—sighed almost inaudibly and walked casually over to Ron who was still on the floor; he stuck out his hand.

“Ron,” Harry began genially, glasses sliding down his nose as he leant over to help Ron up. “I think it would be a lot harder than you think and,” Harry paused with a cautious glance over his shoulder and winced. Hermione’s furious stare met his tentative one and he turned back to Ron, forcing a nervous laugh. “And it might be bad for both of us if you keep pushing her.” Ron arched a brow, exasperated.

“But you have to go, both of you!” the incorrigible Weasley plugged on and Harry repressed a groan as he cast an apologetic glance at Hermione who tilted her head to one side and then stalked out of the room.

“Fine!” she yelled through the walls and Harry, patting Ron on the arm once, hurried after her. Ron shook his head, a half-smile on his lips. The chemistry was there.

Too bad it didn’t work out that way.

Of course it hadn’t worked out for him and Hermione either but for some reason that didn’t bother Ronald Weasley as much as it bothered him to see his two best friends going in circles around each other.

But it really wasn’t any of his business.

No, not really.

Dusting his pants off from his fall, Ron too exited the room at a much slower pace.

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A ravishing couple—or they seemed to be to anyone who didn’t know, and that was almost everyone—exited a fine carriage in front of a grand estate where many other well-dressed personages were socializing and arriving. First came the young man with eyes as green and bright as jewels, tall and lithe with trademark round glasses that made him boyishly handsome. Offering his hand into the carriage, the man was followed by a lovely woman of 20, honey brown hair brushing her sloping shoulders, worn down for the occasion. She held a dark silver-blue purse in her left hand—the one that wasn’t in the hold of the young man—and it set off her pearl white gown admirably. Almost, she seemed a snow princess, and her escort her prince, his dress robes a standard black tuxedo look that suited his posture.

But then the young woman frowned at her feet and the effect was somewhat broken as the young man removed his hand from hers to face her better.

“Do you think anyone will suspect?” Hermione fidgeted needlessly with her purse, running her thumb nervously over the silver latch. Her escort shook his head and pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose, again.

“No, I don’t. Ron’s good at pulling the shades down around people’s ears, don’t you remember?” he replied cheekily and Hermione rolled her eyes.

But she was smiling, if still a little nervously.

“So uh, shall we?” she waved at the gargantuan entryway, all gilded in gold.

“My lady,” Harry offered her his arm with a smile that would’ve melted anyone else on the spot. But not Hermione Granger. She stared at it warily and Harry sighed, his genial expression fading away for the first time that night, replaced with something sadder...darker...frustrated. He ran a hand through his always messy hair. “Hermione, it’s just pretend. I haven’t forgotten,” he said and it was forced, but Hermione did take his arm and they did enter, together.

Just as people expected them to be.

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As the beautiful ‘couple’ entered and passed through the bulk of the crowded party, they did their best to keep smiles pasted on their faces as barely concealed whispers jumped around them...whispers about them, as a matter of fact.

“Is that...is that Hermione Granger...with The Harry Potter?”

“Of course, haven’t you heard?”

“Clearly not.”

“Right. Well, they’re together.”

“Oh.”

And then, in a more hushed tone but loud enough to be heard:

“We didn’t know until we heard about the baby, you know.”

“Oh my!”

And the like.

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“Oh we just knew you were perfect for each other,” a few ladies gushed with fluttering eyelashes to both Hermione and Harry—the former of which gritted her teeth politely and the latter of which gave a nervous chuckle.

“Yes, and when we heard of the child!” another exclaimed.

Hermione’s grip on Harry’s arm did a nice imitation of a vice.

Harry stifled a wince.

“We were thrilled,” a newcomer to the clutter of gossipy women flashed them a megawatt smile.

“And you just look so good together,” the first added.

“Thank you ladies,” Harry said in all politeness and at a signal from Hermione—her digging her nails into his arm—continued with, “If you’ll excuse us.”

The ladies parted, still clucking and chatting amongst themselves as if the couple of which they spoke was not ten feet away from them.

Brown eyes darkened murderously.

“I do not believe this,” the frustrated bookworm muttered in a huff and the boy who lived simply shook his head pleasantly.

“They can’t help themselves. You know Lavender...Parvati too...it’s in their nature,” he reasoned lightly as he led the furious beauty to an empty table. She eyed him caustically, a slight twitch to her mouth that suggested a bit of a wry smile.

Of course, he couldn’t be sure these days.

“Oh yes, I’m quite familiar with their full time jobs of gossiping and the occasional slandering,” Hermione bit out and crossed her arms. Harry sighed. A light blush had knit itself across her delicate cheekbones and despite the rage evident there, she was very, very lovely tonight.

Not very charming, but lovely? Certainly.

“Whatever you say,” he said at last and took seat beside her. Some couples were dancing on the floor, among them Ron and Luna—a bit of a surprise at first but at this point, an accepted pair of amusing eccentricity. And Hermione did her best not to sigh as Harry had moments before. She would not let herself. Her hands absently pressed against the opalescent silk of her dress—a needless task, as it was completely wrinkle-free. This night would soon be over—though not soon enough for her—and they could all go back to the way things really were.

And now Hermione did sigh as she cast a furtive glance at her handsome escort. Harry did not notice her momentary scrutiny, for whatever reason and for that she was glad. He was dashing more often than not lately, more fanciable than ever as she might have once said. Whether dressed up or down, he managed a charmingly attractive aura that had a great deal to do with two things: 1) his brilliant eyes; and 2) his presence. For Harry Potter had a way about him that very few women would not fall to in a matter of minutes, had they only those minutes alone with him to interact with him. Despite his earlier years of awkwardness and yes, bumbling type, Harry had grown into a disarmingly clever and suave young man.

So it was no surprise when she, Hermione Granger, resident late-bloomer in physical appearance and early prodigy in books and all other things academic, also took an interest. That was two years ago.

Somewhere along the lines and here Hermione smiled a little sadly to herself as she took in Harry’s profile, same glasses from first year, same eyes...different more defined jaw though...nice lips...Hermione shook the thoughts away. Yes, somewhere along the lines things had gotten rocky, as many relationships will and somewhere along the lines a night had happened.

A night?

Well, it was more what resulted because of the night...Sirius Potter, nearly two years old and a beautiful mix of both of his unfairly beautiful parents.

Both of them.

“Oh I bet he looks just like his father,” a high and female voice broke into Hermione’s reverie and she glanced up. Somebody…some woman was being less than subtle as she sidled up next to Harry in an outwardly seductive manner. “Handsome, yes?” Hermione stifled a snicker with the back of her hand and coughed to cover it up. Harry was perhaps not so very changed after all. He was more or less scooting back from the woman, scraping his chair along the tile floor until he bumped arms with Hermione herself. She shook her head at him and he mouthed ‘save me’ to her before turning to the ridiculously determined woman who would not, it seemed, shut up. “Has your gorgeous eyes,” she drawled, “I dare say.”

“Actually, they’re um, rather...hazel like...Hermione here...I mean, like Hermione’s eyes,” Harry stammered and absently took Hermione’s hand in his under the table. Surprised, Hermione instinctively clasped her hand with his.

After all this time, she still reacted this way with him. Inside, she sighed and relented in favor of Harry’s last pleading look to her.

“I’m sorry miss, would you excuse us for a moment,” Hermione hinted none too lightly by putting her free hand on Harry’s shoulder, and the woman, clearly offended, stalked off—much to Harry’s relief. Murmurs followed the woman’s exit.

“She didn’t know?”

“Obviously.”

“Poor thing, how embarrassing!”

“Cutting after a married man, tsk.”

“She didn’t know, be nice.”

“How could she not have known?”

“Well, they’re not wearing rings, don’t you think that’s a bit odd?”

“Oh my, I hadn’t noticed! People must talk.”


Back at the table, the murmurs reached the pair of H’s well enough. They exchanged looks of equal suffering for different reasons and an awkward silence ensued before Harry coughed politely.

He looked down, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose...pushed them back where they belonged...it seemed he was forever fixing them back in place.

“Thanks,” Harry said and noticing his hold on Hermione’s hand, released it immediately, muttering an almost inaudible, “Sorry about that.”

If he had looked over, he might have seen the flash of hurt cross her eyes, a look he had long since lost hope of every seeing again—hurt at his dismissal.

For Harry Potter had resolved some time ago to not pursue Hermione Granger if she did not wish it and at that time...when they decided to go ahead and keep the child, she had not wished it...had not wished for him to court her.

So he didn’t. He was a gentleman...perhaps one with a penchant for breaking rules occasionally as quite a number of people now were familiar with, but a gentleman nonetheless.

And as far as Harry knew, especially from the wary way Hermione continued to treat all men, himself included, her sentiments remained the same.

Hermione on the other hand, as Harry sifted through his thoughts, fidgeted with her napkin unhappily.

She wasn’t so sure.

But as another assailment of voices chorused down around the two, things like how glad and happy people were for them and how delightful it must be to have a child with the brains of the smartest witch since forever and the power of the boy who lived...well, she flattened her indecision.

She’d made a choice two years ago.

The choice.

Nothing could take it back.

Two years was a long time anyway.

He probably gave up and moved on eons ago, the clever witch thought sadly, but buried the regret. It was her own stubbornness, her own fault.

And nothing could change what had happened so long ago.

Absently she looked down at her ring finger. The lady gossipers were right of course. No ring to speak of, then again, they were only ‘pretending’ to be married for the sake of media and so on not getting too voracious with their social lives.

Harry and Hermione with child but not married or dating...yes that would make a fantastic story, Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to fidgeting with her napkin.

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“That was awful,” she groaned, face in hands. Harry shrugged, defeated.

“I suppose so,” he said and Hermione looked up at him, carriage rattling underneath them. The Christmas Ball of the governor had ended a bare twenty minutes before and the pair were on their way to their shared home, via the carriage they’d come in. It was customary for the Governor to throw it a couple weeks ahead of Christmas itself as so many people left on Holiday. The real thing was still a decent span away.

“You ‘suppose’ so?” she prompted, annoyed, but most of that annoyance melted as Harry sent her an asking stare. She paused, rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighed. “Sorry Harry, it’s just...I can’t stand this you know? Reminds me of the Yule Ball in our fourth year all over again,” she explained, fully aware of the lameness of her excuse.

“You didn’t have fun Hermoninny?” Harry teased, the pronunciation of her name echoing Viktor Krum’s to a T. Hermione made a face, a little shy and a lot embarrassed.

“Well, I guess a little,” she admitted with a yielding smile and added quickly, “But everything was such a mess. You and the Triwizard Tournament...and of course Ron was—”

“Being Ron. I remember. But he fancied you something terrible, Hermione. You should be fair,” Harry reminded her, coming to his other best friend’s defense as often he tended to do. A pause turned into a full silence and sighing, he lazily draped an arm behind her, careful not to touch her back, just resting it there.

This, Hermione noticed.

“I know,” she said and the carriage and the clop of horse hooves was the only sound for a while. Harry let his gaze trickle over to one of his two best friends since what he considered the real beginning of his life. Her chin rested dolefully on her right hand, propped as if she were bored out of her mind. He smiled gently.

“So what do you want for Christmas?” he inquired and Hermione turned to face him, chin still resting on her hand.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said with a shrug. But Harry would have none of that.

“Come on, you know I’ll tear it out of you by hook or crook, so you’d better just tell me,” he said amiably and Hermione rolled her eyes, but her expression was not unkind...amused maybe, but not at all unkind.

She could never bring herself to be unkind...not with him.

“Alright, I want a surprise,” she said, a familiar trace of the old know-it-all Hermione from Hogwarts seeping into the smirk she allowed. She’d found a loophole, of course! Harry mused lightly. Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers...

And so on.

“Fine, a surprise? I can do surprise,” Harry threw her a suggestive look.

This earned him a light slap upside the head but he laughed it off.

He was after all, half serious.

As they rode in the carriage, another semi-easy silence settling, Harry glanced at his own ring finger, remembering the gossip from earlier. He supposed it was suspicious for a ‘married’ couple—though not really, known only to them, Ron, Luna and a few select others—not to have them. His heart tightened as he moved his eyes to Hermione’s ring finger. It too of course, was bare.

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Back at the shared apartment Hermione puttered around, now in faded jeans and a pale blue cotton tee. Casting one last glance at the sleeping child in the cradle past the doorway in which she stood, Hermione closed the door softly, almost imperceptibly. When she turned, she saw Harry sitting on the couch reading a new book out about his eternally favorite sport, Quidditch. She shook her head and repressed a knowing smile. Perhaps he felt her gaze for he looked up just then and their eyes caught each other.

“How is he?” Harry asked, setting the book to one side.

“Asleep,” Hermione said and embarrassed at being caught staring, hurried into the adjoining kitchen. Green eyes followed her.

“Feeling better then?” he called out to her unseen form. He heard some porcelain clangs...probably she was making tea.

“A little,” she replied and Harry nodded to himself with a sigh. Conversation was always so forced. And living together was a mutual decision, but it didn’t make it easy. They weren’t married...not even dating, but they did have a child and they were struggling to keep their friendship afloat.

The strain was painfully evident at times.

Harry’s eyes clouded as he leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. He hadn’t planned it like this. He had wanted better than this...more. But...

But she hadn’t.

And at that thought, one that occurred to him at least once every day from simply being near her, Harry closed his eyes, rubbing a hand absently against his temple as if to relieve some of the pension.

“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione stood in the pass-way to the kitchen from the living area, mug in hand—tea, just like Harry had guessed. He eyed her through his glasses and offered her a soft smile as he stood.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he said and then, “I’m going to bed. Let me know if you need anything or want me to watch little Sirius. Don’t wear yourself thin.” He paused next to her on his way toward the hall. Brown eyes bore into his green ones and he knew she felt the tension too. But he wondered if her tension was anything like his own—his that was the result of wanting to reach out and trace her jaw with his finger...to reach out and maybe even...kiss her once again. Inwardly Harry sighed. He might very well never know. “Night Hermione,” he said a little more gruffly than he meant and turned to go.

Imagine his surprise when a small hand grasped onto the sleeve of his long, Gryffindor-red shirt. Barely daring, he let his gaze travel down his arm to the crook of his elbow where Hermione had in a moment of unexpected panic, latched on. She stared at him. He stared at her.

“Night Harry,” she whispered and he could swear her eyes were asking him something...or was that wishful thinking too?

He leaned in a little, a little down. She leaned in, a little up. So close, he could inhale her scent, very specific, cinnamon spice like that in pumpkin pie in October and a bit of something else...vanilla maybe. So close, she could feel his breath on her eyelids, shaky and warm.

But then a wail was heard from the room Hermione had closed earlier and the moment was gone as Hermione shook herself back to attention and all but scrambled into little Sirius’s room. Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

So close.

And so far.

Always.

But he followed her shortly into the room and soon they had little Sirius back to a peaceful sleep, after which they each went to their separate rooms without a word.


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A couple weeks later...



Christmas Eve bash had been a fun thing. Cleaning up had not. But of age now, Hermione and Harry had things fixed up pretty quickly with a flick or two of their wands and Harry couldn’t help but think momentarily how Flitwick would be proud of his improvement with charms.

“What are you smiling about, Potter?” Hermione joked in a Draco imitation and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Nothing, Granger,” he shot right back.

They paused, each fighting a smile before laughter broke them.

Minutes later Harry grinned at her.

“That was nice.”

“What?” she asked, crossing her legs on the couch where she perched.

“Laughing, with you,” Harry said quietly and Hermione’s smile almost became apologetic. What could she say? Yes, it was nice for me too?

Somehow that didn’t sound like quite the right thing to say.

“Harry,” she began but he held up a hand.

“I’m not suggesting anything more than that Hermione,” he sighed, long since used to her paranoia about the subject of or prospect of ‘them’ as together or rather, a couple. Hermione nodded drearily, half to him, half to herself.

“Right, right, of course,” she forced a nervous laugh that didn’t carry.

“You look tired, get some rest. I’ll listen for little Sirius tonight,” Harry offered, stretching his arms above his head.

“You need sleep too,” Hermione pointed out stubbornly.

“I don’t even do sleep,” Harry shrugged carelessly and Hermione, hands on hips shook her head.

“Incorrigible Harry Potter,” she said, almost fascinated, and walked out of the room without another word.

Harry listened for the click of her door and then sunk deeper into the armchair in which he had been sitting. Slouched, he dug around in the pocket of the khaki cargo pants he wore that night with his white button down shirt. Casual but nice, as he like to put it. A little more digging around and his fingers clasped around something...a box of sorts as he withdrew it from the pocket.

Small, black, velvet.

No guesses as to what was in there.

He seemed to have a staring contest with it, thumb running over its soft shell meditatively, uncertainly. She’d wanted a surprise...and he’d had this thing for a year now, waiting to ‘surprise’ her...not that the opportunity had ever arisen. Now or never was how he’d thought of it for this occasion but the ‘now’ part was starting to scare him as much as the ‘never’ and as he examined it, Harry Potter, boy who lived and multiple defeater of Voldemort himself, began to speak to no one in particular.

“I...I know you didn’t want to be together...when we...when you had Sirius, but I loved you then and I love you now...I...I know you don’t want to be with me at all at this point probably...you...I’m sorry about that night...well not sorry but for you I mean...Hermione...I can’t even say what I want to say when you’re not in the room...how could I tell you face to face? I...” he trailed off bleakly, burying his face in his hands as he set the velvet box down next to him in the chair.

I still want to be with you.

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Harry must have been speaking louder than he thought.

Footsteps crept along the hall, Hermione the maker of them as she peered into the living room area. There sat Harry, head limp on his right hand, propped on the arm of the chair, slouched of course. Her unreadable expression softened at this. He would be so sore in the morning.

Clad in a pink t-shirt and plain white pajama bottoms, Hermione padded silently over to the sleeping wizard, and first removed his glasses very gently, placing them on the side table next to the chair. Her eyes darkened, taking in his image. The moonlight played beautifully on his skin through the large apartment window, making him seem almost ghostly...but too beautiful to be a ghost.

Too beautiful, she thought sadly.

And whether of her own accord or her subconscious, Hermione reached out a tentative hand and cupped his cheek, drawing a thumb lovingly down his jaw. He did not even stir. Poor thing, she mused and turned to grab a blanket to tuck around him. Returning, she did her best, though his half-sitting, half-slouching position made it somewhat difficult. But as she tucked in the left side, her hand hit something.

Curious, she felt her hand grab onto something and pulling it up to see in the moonlight, she saw it was a small, black, velvet box.

Now of course Hermione wasn’t stupid.

But she couldn’t believe...

She opened it, not knowing what else to do with it...what else to do with herself, no less.

There in its slot sat a perfectly elegant and simple ring of gold, a band with a single fire red ruby sitting in its center, of circular cut and too many sparkling facets to count. On closer inspection there were three delicate settings on either side of the ruby, diamonds, she realized. It was beautiful.

And Hermione felt a wave of hurt wash over her.

How could she not have known?

They lived together. How could he not have told her anything?

He must have been dating this girl for a long time to want to...to...

Hermione could not properly get her mind around the word: propose.

Her chest tightened and to her own surprise and distress, she felt hot white tension behind her eyes as tears trickled down. You fool, she chastised herself. You told him no, told him it wasn’t smart...you let him get away and now...now...

Hermione’s knees gave out on her and she sat, a slightly crumpled heap on the floor next to the sleeping Harry, velvet box in hand still open as she cried. Her attempts to muffle her sobs were somewhat successful, but Harry was not a terribly light sleeper, even when he was exhausted, and he blinked his eyes open only to find the world a blurry mess. Frowning, he instinctively reached out to the side and his hand found the glasses on the table, right where Hermione had placed them. As he stirred the blanket haphazardly thrown over him slid off and he noticed the shaking form of Hermione on the floor. Shocked and a little alarmed, for he had seldom seen Hermione cry—she was far too proud—he knelt beside her and took her into his arms reflexively.

She pushed him away and pained, he let her. She was mumbling something.

“Hermione, Hermione calm down, just, just tell me what’s the matter, alright?” Harry took her by the shoulders and she shook her head at him wildly. The moonlight made her tears look crystalline.

“You, how could you not tell me?!” she accused through sobs, upset with herself for pushing blame onto him right away, upset with him for such a mess of things she could not distinguish any more.

“Tell you what? Hermione!” Harry shook her a little and her tears wavered slightly as her voice came out whispered, shaky, but not wracked with crying this time.

“This,” she held up the velvet box and Harry’s hands dropped off her shoulders like stones. He stared blankly at it. How had she?

Oh...the blanket...he realized. She must have found it when she was putting the blanket over me. He stared at it still and Hermione took his silence for regret.

“How could you Harry? I know...I mean I know we’re...I said...I know what I said but...you and...how?” she couldn’t get a coherent thought out edgewise.

“I can’t help how I feel Hermione!” Harry said in a loud whisper, ever aware of the sleeping child in the other room. And now Hermione’s temper flared as well.

They rather matched each other well on that ground.

“Very well but you could at least have the decency to tell me!” she also whispered in a loud hush. Harry tilted his head to one side incredulously.

“I think I’ve been pretty clear on it actually! It’s hard when trying to respect your wishes though,” he replied hotly and Hermione opened her mouth to say one thing, closed it firmly and then did it again, lost for words. “I didn’t think it would matter so much to you,” he added, frustrated and confused. Running a hand through his messy hair, he sighed deeply, looking away.

“Not mean so much? Harry,” Hermione’s anger diminished at the troubled look on her friend’s face—once lover, her mind too logically reminded her—and her heart clenched but she ignored it as best she could. “Harry,” she put a hand out on his shoulder. He turned to face her again. “It matters to me a lot. I was just...upset you hid it. That’s all,” she mumbled.

And now it was Harry’s turn to be confused.

“But how did you know I’ve been hiding it if you just saw it?” he asked, brow quizzical as his posture relaxed, his own temper easing out of him.

“Well, I presume when you decided to propose to your someone, whoever she is, that you would have thought about it for some time and bought it, right?” Hermione explained a little confused herself.

Somehow she got the feeling they weren’t talking about quite the same thing anymore...

“My…? Oh...” Harry trailed off, half amused with the situation, half devastated. She thought he was marrying someone else...thought he wanted to marry someone else. That was why she cared.

Not because it was her...his heart cracked.

“What? ‘Oh’ what, Harry?” Hermione inquired, a little exasperated now, as she placed the ring in its box in Harry’s hand gently. And he gave her a look.

It was a look she recognized well. He’d given it to her when they first began a relationship those years ago, and that night the child had been conceived...it was a look of love and now unhidden want and she shifted uncomfortably.

“Harry?” she prompted, finding her voice a little thin. He reached out a hand and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear softly.

“Hermione?” he quipped and this elicited a smile from her even then. “Hermione,” he repeated and she let their eyes meet again, a holding stare.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I’m not marrying anyone,” he said flatly and Hermione’s face contorted furiously into confusion.

“What? But...the ring,” she gestured.

“Yes I know,” Harry said in a placating tone.

“But I don’t! Harry that’s a...a beautiful ring, you surely must have gotten it for someone?” Hermione prodded. She was missing the truth, she was sure of it and she’d be bloody well damned if she let him get away with lying to her.

Even if the smile he tossed her way was absolutely melting her years of firm resolve and defense against his charm.

“I did get it for someone,” he admitted and glanced at the wall clock.

12:42...Christmas morning officially. He sighed and looked down at the box, opened it again. The jewels glistened in the moonlight and as he turned his eyes on Hermione he saw an even lovelier sparkle in her, the one he’d fallen in love with and never gotten the chance to tell her.

Now or never, he reminded himself and inhaled deeply.

“TheringisforyoubecauseIloveyouandIwanttomarryyouifyou’llhavemepleaseIloveyou,” he said in a hurry, feeling fourteen and foolish again. Hermione quirked a brow.

“Say that again?” She paused, a small smile on her face, a soft one. “All of it,” she added wryly. Harry opened his mouth to try again but his heart ached with her nearness and he knew his words would fail him. Panicked, he looked down at the ring as it glittered back at him and without a word grabbed Hermione’s hand and slipped the ring over her ring finger, box clattering to the floor in his haste.

Hermione stared.

I don’t believe it.

That was her first thought.

There’s some mistake. He’s nervous and confusing himself.

That was her second thought.

Did he say he wants to marry me?

And that was her third thought, some of Harry’s smudged together babble from before sinking in now.

“What, but I don’t understand,” Hermione’s brow knit, pained and confused.

“I love you...still...I mean I always have...I wanted to ask you last year but...” he began but didn’t finish as Hermione, previously sitting and staring as one stupefied threw her arms around his neck, sobbing again.

“You idiot. You idiot. I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot,” she said things in twos.

“No, no you’re not,” he drew away from her slightly, still in each other’s arms.

“I am, and you are too. I said no and no but if you had asked me that very day I would have said yes, you idiot Harry Potter, you great, horrible idiot!” she cried and sniffled a bit, laughing a little sheepishly. “My pride is awful…are you sure this is for me?” she asked, still incredulous to a degree as she moved her right hand in the light of the moon, ring’s sparkle winking back at the pair.

“I am absolutely, one hundred percent positive,” Harry smiled down at her. “Are you sure you want it to be?” he asked, some of his guarded persona coming back by default.

“Absolutely, one hundred percent positive,” she mimicked and was about to say something else but Harry intertwined their hands and drew his lips down to meet hers, silencing anything else she might have wanted to say. His mouth fit perfectly against hers, and Hermione could scarce think of a better feeling than their bodies pressed together as their kiss intensified and he lowered her down on the floor. Pinned underneath him, she began, “I’m so sorry I was so—” but he put two fingers over her lips, quieting her.

“It doesn’t matter, love. It doesn’t matter,” he said and this time it was she who drew him down to her, putting everything into this kiss that two years of waiting had built up. Her hands tangled in his hair and they were truly like man and wife, as if they were already married, so well did they seem to know each other’s bodies and what was right. Feelings that under usual circumstances would have to be said aloud, or well lettered, expressed themselves in amorous caresses and seeking lips, tasting the intensity of what could have been so much sooner.

Finally what they had to or didn’t have to say didn’t matter.

What was important could be said without words.

And the moon shone down on the loving couple, Christmas snow falling in the dark of the early morning quiet.


-------------------------------------------------------

A week later Hermione selected a simple, gold band for Harry, the same gold as her ring, just no adornments. When she slipped it over his ring finger, she planted a kiss on it almost bashfully afterwards, an inviting light in her eyes. Harry returned the gesture, and after a pause they both seemed to agree that a kiss from each other was a nice way to round out the little ritual. Those who passed them assumed it was an anniversary or the like, since they already thought the pair was married, and they pointed and smiled as if they knew what they were talking about.

Harry and Hermione shared their own secret smile, faces not even an inch apart as they intertwined ring fingers. Only they knew the truth.

And that was just fine with them.