Soaked From Head to Toe

A/N: I've looked at all the multi-chaptered fics I've written - all 3 of them - and realized that they all start out with really short first chapters like this one. I feel bad about that so since this one is so short, I'll post it with chapter 2 as an apology of sorts. As always, I thank Pips, my Brit-picker and beta for looking over this story and having the patience to put up with me.

“Crookshanks! Here kitty kitty kitty!” Harry called, shaking a box of treats and pausing hunched over for any noise of the flat faced cat. After a moment he made kissy noises and crept forward a step. “Come here boy! Crookshanks, I'm not gonna - GOTCHA!”

A blur of orange darted out in front of him and he leapt toward the streak, slipping on the carpet runner in the hall. He regained his feet quickly and dove under the high legged couch Hermione had insisted on buying because she liked its clawed feet.

Crookshanks wove his way through the legs, hissing and spitting, his hackles up, his bushy tail looking as though he had been electrocuted. He darted out from under the couch to under the coffee table thinking himself safe. What he didn't count on was an extremely determined Harry who crawled on his elbows toward the coffee table while Crookshanks edged toward the opposite side of the table.

Harry paused and stared at Crookshanks. Crookshanks paused and stared at Harry. Neither moved for a long moment, each staring at the other intently. The tension built between the two as they stared at each other neither daring to blink. Harry's fingers twitched against the floor, Crookshanks paws tensed in anticipation. A dust bunny tumbled lazily between them in the silence.

“There you are!” Hermione swooped in, picked Crookshanks up and deftly deposited him in his carrier.

Harry slumped, knocking his forehead against the wood flooring of their flat.

“Harry. Why are you on the floor under the couch?” Hermione asked bending at the waist to peer down at him.

“I almost had him!” Harry sighed then sneezed. “You would not believe the size of the dust bunnies under here.”

“I believe it,” Hermione replied wryly, walking around to the back of the couch to eye the delectable sight Harry's bum presented. “Come along, we're going to be late for our portkey and we still have to drop Crookshanks off at Tonks and Remus's.”

Harry scooted out of the couch covered in dust which Hermione siphoned off with her wand. “This was a great idea you know,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing his lips softly.

“I know,” he replied smugly with a grin.

“It's not often you have ideas, but when you do they're usually great,” she added, a hand slipping down and patting his bum affectionately before slipping out of his embrace.

“Oi! Not funny!” Harry replied indignantly.

“Face it Harry. You're a sports whore,” Hermione teased walking over to the fireplace.

“Let me say again: not funny!” he replied joining her by the fireplace with Crookshanks' carrier. A ginger paw reached through the door and gave him a half hearted swat. “I did decently on my N.E.W.T's!”

Hermione gave him what seemed to be a pitying look that reminded him that she not only scored the highest in their year but blew test scores out of the water of the fifty preceding years as well. “I still love you though,” Hermione grinned. “The House of Ill Repute!” she called out tossing down her handful of Floo Powder before he could respond.

Harry grumbled and followed. “We men have to stick together Crookshanks otherwise she'll rule us all.”

Forgetting their rivalry for the moment, Crookshanks mrowed in a showing of male solidarity

“Who'm I kidding? She already does. The House of Ill Repute!” Harry called out tossing down his handful of Floo Powder.

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The shriek of a three year old toddler careening around the front room was the first noise to reach Harry's ears. “And you want one of those things?” he murmured in Hermione's ear with a good natured grin as he stepped out of the fireplace.

Hermione gave him a beatific smile that felt like a punch to the gut. “Yes and so do you,” she murmured back without a hint of her normal bossiness.

“Wotcher Harry! Wotcher Hermione! I didn't hear you come in,” Tonks greeted them holding a giggling black haired boy like a quaffle under her arm. “Remus has tea in the kitchen. Let me put this one down for a nap and I'll come join you.”

“Oh can I help? I've read so much on various techniques to put toddlers to bed . . .” Hermione started following Tonks upstairs.

From the carrier Crookshanks mrowed unhappily to get Harry's attention. “Oh right. Sorry mate.” He set the cage down and opened the door. Crookshanks poked a curious nose out, sniffed then trotted out heading for the kitchen.

Harry followed and sat at the table where Remus was serenely sipping his tea, a cup already poured for him. “Good morning Harry.”

“Morning Remus,” Harry sighed, glancing up at the ceiling. Upstairs he could hear Hermione and Tonks soft, indistinct murmurs and John's responding protests (“No! Not sleepy! NO!”) which of course meant that he was over tired already. So close after the full moon, John needed as many naps as he could get and if Harry knew the boy at all, he'd already been up at the crack of dawn running around like a . . . an . . . umm . . . hmm . . . perhaps he should've paid more attention in Hagrid's class so he could've at least attempted to finish that analogy. “May I say once again that I love the name of your house?”

Remus rolled his eyes and took a sip of his tea. “I must have been well and truly drunk to let Nymphadora name our house the House of Ill Repute. I think she did it to embarrass visitors if they're flooing from the Leaky or somewhere else public.”

“That was my first thought,” Harry agreed with a grin.

As if to emphasize their point, there was a loud crumpling thump of Tonks tripping upstairs. “So where is your trip again?” Remus asked, glancing up at the ceiling as well with a good humored grin.

“Fiji,” Harry replied before taking a sip of his tea. “Been planning it for months.”

“Does Hermione know about the - ?”

“Clueless.”

“Good. I overheard her talking about kids . . .” Remus trailed off. He watched Harry carefully. “Is she - ?”

“No! No, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure she's not,” Harry replied shifting uncomfortably. He glanced up at the ceiling again. Now that he thought about it, Hermione's request to babysit Alaric for Ginny and Draco did seem out of the blue . . . . Then again, she could've probably been planning about it for months and only thought to mention it a couple days before hand in order to ensure his cooperation and he wouldn't have a chance to skive off. But that didn't explain why she was upstairs now, fascinated by John's nap or why -

“All right there Harry?” Remus cut into his increasingly panicked thoughts. Harry looked up from where he was crouched over, his head between his legs. How did he get there? And why was the world suddenly a bit unsteady?

Remus quirked his eyebrows up in that often infuriatingly calm manner and grinned again.

Harry cleared his throat and sat up, scooting back to the table feigning a nonchalance he didn't feel. He cast his mind around for some way to save face in front of Remus. He knocked back his still too hot tea and chocked on a grimace. “Fine, I'm fine,” he said with a slight deepening of his voice. Did he just almost faint? Of course not. Guys don't faint. “How about those Canons eh?”

Remus nodded, his face carefully impassive. Despite that, Harry could still see that he was biting on the inside of his cheek to not smile. “I don't really follow Quidditch.”

“Shame. Canons are crap anyway,” Harry replied. Even though Ron lived on the other side of London, he could practically hear his indignant, “Hey! I heard that! And I'll have you know, they won their first game in almost a year!”

“So how did Hermione's cooking lessons go?”

Harry grimaced. “About the same as my driving lessons.”

Remus mirrored Harry's expression. He still wasn't sure how, but even though he'd told Ron, Draco, Seamus, Dean, Fred, and George that he was ace at driving and they'd believed him, somehow Remus had weaseled the whole sordid affair out of him. Remus had always had that effect on him. “Let's just say that I wound up with egg on my face.”

“Oh. So she was good,” Remus replied with surprise. “Embarrassed that she passed you up?”

“No, literally. I wound up with egg on my face. I still remain master of my domain,” Harry replied with a smug grin.

“Isn't that a euphemism - ?” Hermione asked walking into the kitchen with Tonks trailing behind her.

“Everything's a euphemism,” Harry interrupted with a cheeky grin.

“Thank you for -“ Hermione was interrupted as Tonks stumbled into the table. Hermione quickly grabbed the edge while Harry lunged for the tea pot and Remus held up his cup. Tonks recovered with a softly muttered curse and a sheepish grin. “For watching Crookshanks. He and Ron are still a bit bitter about third year.”

“Our pleasure,” Tonks replied seating herself next to Remus. “I'm sure John will appreciate the company.”

Everyone looked over at Crookshanks who blinked back at them from his perch on the island and all of them silently wondered if the opposite would be true.

“Well, we don't mean to be rude for such a short visit, but we must be off. Our portkey to Fiji is soon and we still have some things to do around the house before we leave,” Hermione said standing regretfully. “Thank you again.”

“Any time,” Remus replied standing as well. “Have fun.”

They made their good byes at the fireplace then floo'd home. “We could've stayed a bit longer if you wanted,” Harry said stepping out of the fireplace.

“I wanted to, but there's so much left to do. We have to close up the house, double check the cooling charms on the refrigerator -“

“Hermione. Love. We have an hour and a half until our portkey. The fridge is empty, the flat has been charmed to send the owls to Ron's, the wards have been renewed. There is nothing left to do other than shrink our luggage,” Harry said, folding Hermione in his arms. “This is our holiday and we have yet to do anything remotely holiday-y. We got up, you burned the toast, I ran after Crookshanks, we visited Remus and Tonks, all non-holiday stuff. How about a quick kiss to calm you down?” he murmured suggestively, rubbing his hands slowly up and down her back..

“And since when is snogging considered `holiday stuff'?” Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

“That's beside the point.” He stepped closer to her, his eyes darkening sensing her slow capitulation. He leaned down and teased her lips with his. “This trip is about relaxation and you, Miss Granger, need to relax.”

With the last of her reservations manhandled and tossed out the door like a bouncer tossing a drunk, she leaned into him and Harry deepened the kiss with a soft groan.

He loved it when she listened to him for once.

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A/N: Ok, I lied. I wasn't going to post this until Saturday, but I had some time tonight and I realized I might not be able to post this weekend. The “lyrics” were inspired by “The Sweetest Thing” by U2. If anyone can catch the Mystery Men shout out, you'll get a very large snickerdoodle. As always, thank you to Pips for the beta. Enjoy!

Hermione woke and stretched next to Harry, snuggling up next to him as the sleeping draught provided by the hotel wore off completely. Harry lay next to her, mouth hanging open, his arm flung over his head which allowed Hermione to get closer to him. She had hoped that they would've been able to have seen a bit of the island before having to go to bed, but it was nearing eleven at night when their portkey deposited them in the designated drop off point in the hotel lobby. Instead of the leisurely stroll Hermione had hoped they would get in, they were checked in, given a sleeping draught and whisked up to their rooms in a matter of minutes. Not the least bit sleepy, they took their time to unpack and relax a moment before taking the potion.

A gentle breeze laden with the sweet and spicy smells of tropical flowers, the deep pungent heavy smells of jungle, and underneath it all the tantalizing salt of ocean wafted through the open patio doors. Hermione smiled and kissed Harry's chest before slipping out of bed. In response Harry snorted and rolled onto his stomach, drooling on the pillow.

Hermione scrunched her nose, thankful that the bed linens would be changed while they were out as she stepped into the bathroom to shower.

Harry woke with a startled snort, momentarily disoriented with the unfamiliar smells and sunshine he could see behind his eye lids. His mind told him that it was January and the sun hardly even showed itself in June much less January. He opened an exploratory eye not buried in the pillow and took stock of his surroundings. Oh. Right. Fiji.

He rubbed his eye sleepily and wiped the drool from his cheek. I hope Hermione didn't see that, he thought with a bit self-consciousness. He sat up and looked at the patio windows with a confused frown. What was that? Maybe his glasses would make it better. Nope. What was that noise? Were tropical birds supposed to sound like that?

It was a moment longer before he could actually distinguish words in the screeching and groaning and it was coming from the bathroom. “Merlin,” he sighed flopping back on the bed. “She's singing.”

“I wanted to run, but she made me crawl. Oooh oh, the Swedish thing!”

Harry sat up on his elbows with a frown. Granted he didn't know too much Muggle music, but there were some artists he did know and listened to regularly. U2 happened to be one of them.

“Something something something something. Oooh oh, the Swedish thing!”

Harry's laughter had died to chuckles by the time Hermione stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a terry cloth robe, her hair swept up in a towel. He took one look at her and burst out into fresh laughter.

“What, may I ask, is so funny?” she asked planting her hands on her hips.

Harry wiped his eyes, righting his glasses on his nose and stood in front of her clad only in his boxers. “It's the sweetest thing, love. Sweetest,” he explained holding her elbows.

“What?”

“The song you were singing. The lyrics. They're `the sweetest thing' not `the Swedish thing.'”

Hermione frowned, feeling her cheeks heat up. Sure now he tells her. “That makes a bit more sense,” she muttered, looking away.

Harry grinned with a glint in his eye. “So. What is `the Swedish thing'? Stockholm? Furniture? ABBA?”

“I'll have you know that Sweden has a very long and ancient history predating the Vikings -“

“Love, I'm just taking the mick. But I have to admit I love it when you go into professor mode. It's sexy seeing you get all riled up.”

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms over her chest but let Harry kiss her anyway. “Go brush your teeth,” she muttered. “Your breath stinks.”

Harry chuckled. “I love you,” he murmured with a puppy dog face.

Hermione snorted and looked away. “I hate that face,” she sighed with little conviction.

“Because it never fails to get me what I want,” he grinned winningly.

“Go before I decide to hex you,” she ordered with an affectionate shove. Already her insides were melting from the power of `The Face.'

“Yes ma'am.” Harry chuckled and kissed her nose. “Be thinking about what you want to do while I take a shower.” He retreated into the bathroom before Hermione could say another word.

“Cocky prat, stupid face, I hate that face, he knows I hate that face - the Swedish thing, how could I have been so stupid?” she muttered digging out her bathing costume and a sarong.

____

Ruffled feathers were smoothed by the time Harry finished his shower.

“Let's do some shopping and beach sitting,” Hermione suggested, packing a book in her beach bag.

Harry grinned despite really not wanting to do shopping, but if that was what Hermione wanted, that was what Hermione would get. He dressed in his swim trunks, flip-flops and a white t-shirt.

“We're so pasty,” Hermione groaned as they walked out of the hotel, hand in hand, down to the main shopping strip a few blocks away. All around them were tanned well toned bodies and even though she was slightly well toned, Harry even more so, they stuck out for the sheer fact that people winced and shielded their eyes when they passed.

“It's winter and we're English. Were you expecting anything less?” Harry asked as she pulled up on his hand to peruse a vendor's wares.

“We could've at least performed a tanning glamor or something until we got some of our own color,” she replied, picking out a wide brimmed straw hat and paying for it. She sat it on her head and looked at the mirror to adjust it just so.

Harry turned back to her from looking at the exotic cockatoos on display to reply and was caught with a face full of hat. “Bloody hell, Hermione, what is that thing?” he asked dropping her hand to cover his eye. “I think it attacked me.”

“Honestly, it's a hat,” she replied in what Harry secretly called her “captain obvious” tone as in “don't be daft, hats don't attack people Harry” and “can't you recognize a hat when it's obviously sitting on my head?”

Nonetheless Harry glared at the wide brimmed monstrosity with new animosity. “Now how'm I supposed to steal kisses?”

“How can you steal something that was always freely given?” Hermione grinned up at him, taking his hand and leading him back down the street.

“Sure, spoil my fun. And here I was thinking I was being sneaky and clever,” Harry replied with a mock put upon sigh.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn't contain her grin.

They strolled through the shops and street vendors for about an hour more before stopping for an early lunch, having missed breakfast. Afterwards they made their way back down the street returning to the hotel and the beach beyond.

It was mid-afternoon when they found two vacated beach chairs and settled in to work on their tans. Harry had bought a pair of sunglasses so he could actually see in the bright tropical sunlight and Hermione grumped just as much as he had about her hat.

Hermione sighed and leaned back in her beach chair, content to read while Harry leaned forward, content to people watch for a moment.

The beach wasn't overly crowded, but had a wide enough variety of people to make watching them interesting. He felt pity for the frazzled American parents and their rambunctious sprogs, and a bit of envy for the French couple snogging furiously just down the beach from them. Harry glanced over at Hermione -

“Don't even think about it, Potter,” Hermione murmured glancing over at him with a slightly wicked grin that promised she'd make it up to him later.

Grinning stupidly Harry returned to watch and after a minute or so more he felt restless enough to pull off his shirt and run head long into the surf. The water was a bit on the cool side, but no worse than a tepid bath. The ocean was a shade of blue he'd never seen before, not even in Tonks's hair. It was a crystal aquamarine so pure it was like the Mirror of Erised - it invited him to stare at it forever. The nearly pure white beaches and crisp blue water was so far removed from the deep almost black blue/green of the Channel or the murky brown of the Thames, it all felt a bit odd, like he was sullying the waters just by standing in them.

Harry wasn't the best swimmer, so he kept to the shallows, never letting the water get further than just below his chest. He saw Hermione watching, or at least he thought he did, it was hard to tell with that thing on her head, and he waved to her to join him. She seemed to hesitate, so he waved harder, jumping and falling to his side to entice her to join him. It was a few minutes before he realized that she wasn't looking at all and he'd just made a spectacular fool of himself if the American kid's reactions were anything to go by.

“Nice show Mr. Potter,” Hermione murmured when he plopped next to her, soaking wet. “Do you only do matinees or will there be an evening showing too?”

“Why you little - ! Why didn't you show that you saw me?”

“And have you stop that performance? It was inspired. Besides, I didn't want to cut you short seeing as the kids seemed to be getting a kick out of that dance,” Hermione replied lazily turning a page of her book.

Harry responded with an evil grin moments before he launched himself at her, laying on her dry body with his soaking wet one and kissing her face and neck with his with his wet face. Hermione shrieked various combinations of “Honestly!” and “Harry!” and shoved and smacked at his shoulders, instinctively curling up into herself. “Now I'm all wet,” Hermione pouted when he finally leaned up off her.

Harry leaned down and kissed her sweetly and deeply. “What's the point of a swimming costume if you're not going to go swimming?” he asked against her lips. Satisfied she was good and soaked, he returned to his lounger to let the sun dry him off.

Hermione shot him a disgruntled glare and returned to her slightly damp book with a huff. Harry returned to his people watching. After a few minutes he raised a disbelieving eyebrow at the two over buffed men strutting across the beach. They looked ridiculous, scoffed an inner voice that sounded a lot like Hermione. But his inner Harry voice kind of wanted to be them. Ginny had talked about seeing a Greek Adonis once on a vacation to Greece with Draco a couple of years ago. Harry had wondered what a Greek Adonis looked like, but maybe these two blokes were Greek Adoniseses . . . Adonisi . . . Adonisees . . . what was the plural on that?

“Hermione, what's the plural on -“ Harry turned and received a face full of vicious attacking hat. “Merlin's bloody beard! That thing's a bloody menace, Hermione! When we get back to the room you're gonna get it!”

“I'm shaking in my sarong, Potter,” she grinned.

“So going to get it.”

“Define `it.'”

Harry looked her over before grabbing her hand and in one swift swoop had her over his shoulder before she could even squeak. “Let me show you,” he replied picking up her bag and heading back up the beach toward the hotel.

“Harry! Harry, let me go this instant! Harry! Oh! My hat! Harry, go back and get my hat!”

“Casualties of war, the good die young, the bigger they are the harder they fall and so on and so forth.”

Hermione tried to get some leverage by bracing her hands just above Harry's bum, but couldn't quite manage it. The indignity, she thought with another huff. “I must say if this is `it' I'm not impressed, Potter.”

Harry moved the bag he carried to the arm that was wrapped around her legs and smacked her bum. “Smart arse.”

Hermione made some more indignant noises, but couldn't hide the amused and thoroughly wicked grin spreading across her face, one that she'd never let Harry see.

Harry carried her into the hotel to show her exactly what `it' was and cash in those promises she'd smiled throughout the day.

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A/N: This is it! Thank you so much to those who've reviewed and read! Even if I don't reply to every single review (like I thought I was going to have time to), I do appreciate your kind words, encouragement and enthusiasm. There is a sequel to this called Sink or Swim which will be posted sometime soon. Unlike this one and Lessons it's not complete so after a certain point the updates may be slower. Again, thank you all so much!!

Hermione sighed wistfully, taking in the beautiful ocean spread out before her. She was lying on a beach towel, propped up by her elbows, her legs stretched out and crossed in front of her. Every once in a while she would reach up to absently rub her stomach and glance over at Harry who lay next to her on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arms. “Harry,” she finally murmured. When she received no response, she poked his ribs with a pointy finger.

He moaned and muttered incoherently, half asleep.

“Harry. Are you awake?”

“I am now.” He shifted on his towel and turned his head to squint up at her. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Maybe. Aren't you sad this is our last day here?”

Harry grunted softly. “A little. Why?”

“Well, we've been having so much fun this past week, it seems like we can't just up and leave in the middle of it.”

“We'd have to go home sometime otherwise it'd get boring and then we'd need a holiday from our holiday,” Harry replied rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow to look up at her. “Why so melancholy?”

Hermione was quiet a moment before shaking herself out of whatever had come over her. Goodness, that had come out of nowhere. “I'm not entirely certain,” she replied hesitantly. She smiled down at him, restored to her former cheer. “I'm fine though, honestly.”

Reassured, Harry grinned and glanced at his watch. “We should probably get going if we're going to get ready for our reservations.”

They stood and began packing away their towels, suntan lotion, and whatever else they'd brought with them when Hermione paused, her eye caught by something familiar a little way down the beach. Why does that look familiar? “Harry. Is that my hat?”

Harry paled and whipped his head to look where she was pointing. “No, I don't think so. It's probably just some debris, let's get going,” he said hurriedly, grabbing her hand and pulling her up toward the hotel.

“No, Harry, it is my hat!” She tugged on his hand to stop him.

She was about to walk over to retrieve the object she'd grown oddly attached to so quickly, but a dog off his leash bound up to the hat and sniffed around it. The dog approached warily, sniffing closer to the brim sticking out of where it was half buried under the sand then yelped and ran away. “And there is your proof. The hat is a beast, pets flee before it. Now let's get ready for our dinner,” Harry said tugging on Hermione's hand back up the beach.

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Harry smoothed down his dress robes for what seemed like the fiftieth time that night, shifting uncomfortably in front of the free standing full length mirror in the corner of the hotel room. He took a deep breath and looked himself over again. “Ok Potter, you can do this,” he told himself softly. “You survived a dragon, at least seven attempts on your life, Voldemort, N.E.W.T's and Hermione's french toast. You can survive this.” If only his stomach would settle down and stop acting like it did after Hermione's french toast, he'd be a better man.

“Sod it, Ron was right. I will need a drink.” He glanced over at the bathroom door and pulled out a small airline bottle of Firewhisky from its carefully hidden spot under his swimming trunks, jeans and t-shirts. He glanced over at the closed door again and took a bracing swig, draining the contents. There was only about one and a half shots in the bottle, but it was enough to at least smooth out his jitteriness.

He returned to the mirror smoothed his robes one more time and stepped out onto the balcony. His eye was immediately drawn to the Dog Star and he grinned up at it. The star seemed to wink at him and Harry realized he really hadn't needed to drink that firewhiskey after all.

“Whew! Getting the festivities started a little early Mr. Potter?” Hermione asked, stepping up next to him and wrapping an arm loosely around his waist. She grinned up at him and Harry smiled back, wrapping an arm loosely around her shoulders, careful not to mess up her hair.

“Just trying to get a head start on you since you have a tendency to drink me under the table,” Harry teased.

Hermione gave him a wry glance. “You are talking to me right?”

Harry chuckled and turned to look at Hermione fully. Her dress was demure, but seductive in a dark blood red with black beading that enhanced her golden tan and the blonde highlights coming out in her hair. Her hair she had tamed with Sleekezy's to fall in ringlets down her back. It was swept out of her face with two diamond clips Harry had given her for a birthday present a couple of years ago. Other than some very subtle make-up she wore no other adornment or enhancement. She was a vision. “You look wonderful,” he breathed softly, running his hands down her arms and lifting her fingers to his lips.

Hermione blushed and looked him over. He looked handsome despite unconsciously radiating discomfort in his formal attire. She reached up and straightened his bow tie. “Let's go before we miss our reservations,” she murmured, giving his lips a soft peck.

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The restaurant was posh. Very posh. So posh that wizards who could afford it portkeyed from Australia and New Zealand to attend it and reservations had at least a year wait. Harry was lucky enough to have only a six month wait and that was even pulling strings, using, with a cringe, his name. But it was worth it for Hermione.

They were seated out on the back deck over looking the bay and the quarter moon that hung low in the sky. The reflected moonlight looked like strung pearls across the gently moving water, the stars shining in all their brilliance. The deck was charmed so that the light coming from the restaurant did not dim the show in the sky.

They had to wait only a few moments before the waiter served the first course. Harry had called ahead to pre-order their wine and Hermione's favorite appetizer. She was touched that Harry remembered that she loved this dish and that it reminded her of her vacations to France with her parents. She happily yet daintily ate her dish, closing her eyes every few moments in bliss. “This is even better than the French escargot!” she sighed, taking a sip of her water.

Harry looked dubiously at the sauce drenched lumps on his plate. It wasn't that he wasn't adventurous . . . ok, it was. Thankfully the snails weren't in their shells. Harry didn't think he could handle it if they were. The sauce smelled overwhelmingly of garlic, but when he poked the lumps with his fork, they gave a bit of a springy resistance. Harry glanced over at Hermione who was watching him with an amused twinkle in her eye and that hardened his resolve. He straightened in his seat, speared a sauce laden lump and popped it in his mouth.

Hermione looked at him with a questioning raised eyebrow. Harry shrugged in reply. The sauce tasted like it smelled. The experience wasn't half bad until he bit into the escargot. A slow grin stole across Hermione's lips as Harry's face turned slowly green. It was chewy, like a clam and he hated clams. He quickly chewed what he had in his mouth and swallowed it nearly whole. “Yum!” he grinned sipping gratefully from his white wine.

Hermione giggled softly. “If you don't like it you don't have to eat it.”

“Oh thank Merlin,” Harry murmured setting his appetizer fork down on the plate. “But you enjoyed them.”

“I did. They were excellent,” she smiled happily back.

The waiter's face remained blank while he removed their plates, but Harry could tell he was disapproving of the remaining escargot left on Harry's plate. They were served a mild tasting, almost bland sorbet to cleanse their pallet, then a delicate broth, perfect for the warm weather. The conversation between the couple was as light as their soup and it wasn't long until their main course, oysters for Harry and filet mignon for Hermione was served.

It was almost time. He felt a bit cold all over and his hands shook slightly. He popped open an oyster shell, charmed to open at the flick of his fork in the crease. He glanced around for a moment and upon finding no one looking their way, took the shell and let the meat slide into his mouth. “You lose the juices with a fork,” he explained at Hermione's raised eyebrow. “There's no dainty way to properly eat oysters. Do you want one?”

“Oysters are an aphrodisiac you know,” Hermione said, accepting a closed shell over the table.

Harry waggled his eyebrows at her salaciously. “Why do you think I ordered them?”

“So the great Harry Potter needs help getting it up or am I not . . . stimulating enough?” Hermione teased with a grin.

“Neither. But it wouldn't hurt to add some enhancement to what I plan on doing when we get back to our hotel,” he winked back at her with a cocky grin.

“In that case,” Hermione replied placing the oyster on her plate. She inserted the tines of her fork in the crease, but the oyster refused to open as easily as Harry's had. She frowned and glanced up at Harry. “The charm must've worn off.”

“Bollocks,” Harry muttered. “Here, let me try.”

He took a firm hold of the oyster and jammed his knife in the crease and heaved. His face was growing red with exertion when the oyster popped open and the contents inside shot out, bounced on the table with a delicate metallic ping and sailed over the torso high slatted fence that surrounded the patio. Harry yelled a curse that had many diners turning their heads with snooty scowls and leapt after the object, nearly upsetting the table in his haste.

Whispering expletives under his breath, Harry bent over the fence and looked down. The bay lapped gently at the wood support beams under the deck. To his left a wooden staircase lead down to a small dock which remained empty, but could easily support a small yacht for the wizards who wished to dine on their boats and not bother with the crowds. Harry scanned the dark waters about twenty feet below, feeling that hope was lost until he spied a glint on the little lip of deck just beyond the fence. “Thank Merlin,” he sighed, sagging with relief. Maybe the night was saved.

“Harry are you all right?” Hermione asked worriedly behind him.

“I'm fine. I'll just be a minute,” he grinned over his shoulder at her. “Just sit there and be pretty.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly.”

Harry leaned over the railing, reaching for the ring. It lay tantalizingly just out of reach of his fingers. “Just a bit more,” he whispered, shifting forward on the railing so that only the tips of his toes were touching the deck floor.

“Harry, be careful,” Hermione called out.

“I'll be fine,” he called back, shifting just a bit more. His fingers had just grazed the metal on the ring when his back end was no longer able to balance out his torso and he tipped arse over tit into the bay below.

“Harry!” Hermione yelped rushing to the fence and leaning over.

“I'm ok!” he called out from below, treading water a bit before swimming over to the nearby floating pier.

Hermione sighed and shook her head. “Oh honestly,” she muttered, kneeling down. She reached her slender fingers under the three inch gap between the deck and the bottom of the fence and pulled out the ring. “He's fine, don't worry,” she said waving off the waiters who came running out to help. They retreated back into the restaurant reluctantly. None of the other diners on the deck even bothered to glance her way, so engrossed were they in their meal and conversation.

Harry was pulling himself out of the water by the time Hermione trotted down the stairs to the pier. He flopped out onto the bobbing structure, laying on his back out of breath. Swimming in dress robes was harder work than it seemed.

“Harry, are you all right?” Hermione asked kneeling down at his head and leaning over to look him in the eye.

He looked up at her. “Positively fine. Only my ego's bruised.”

She leaned down and gave him a sweet upside down kiss. “Salty.”

“Nice view.”

“Harry.”

“What?”

“I believe you dropped this.” She held out the beautiful diamond ring. The setting was simple, yet elegant, the stone set between two smaller diamonds on a white gold band.

“Why Miss Granger! Are you proposing?” Harry asked, clapping a hand to his heart with a squelch.

“Only if you promise to accept,” she grinned wryly.

“Then my answer is yes, but only if you accept my proposal.”

“Then my answer is yes. Would you care to wear the ring?”

“I would, but it isn't my size. Perhaps you should wear it.” He plucked it out of her hands and slipped it onto her ring finger on her left hand. “Perfect.”

“Indeed.” She stood and moved around so that she knelt next to his arm and leaned down to kiss him properly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Harry.”

“Yes?”

“I'm pregnant.”

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