A/N - hi everyone. Sorry - this is very long but it just kept going and going. Full of gentle fluff…enjoy!!
First Date
Harry held up the dark blue collared shirt to his neck and peered at himself in the mirror, frowning, before replacing it with the dark green shirt that he had in his other hand. The frown deepened as he kept switching the two shirts in the attempt to make a decision.
"You look scrummy in both shirts dear," the mirror told him helpfully, but Harry didn't respond as he spotted Ron walking past his door.
"Ron," he called out, then more loudly as the redhead carried on walking, "Ron!"
"You bellowed?" Ron grumphed as he poked his head into Harry's room. It used to be Fred and George's, but after the defeat of Voldemort, Harry shifted into the Burrow and made the twin's old room his own. Although still reasonably bare compared to Ron's down the hall, it was a huge improvement to what he had at the Dursley's.
"Which shirt do you think is best, this?" Harry held the blue shirt to his chin, "or this?" then the green.
Ron ambled in and sat on the clothes littered bed, barely concealing the smirk on his face.
"Considering I make my fashion decisions based on what's clean, what's available and does it fit," Ron stated seriously, "I don't think I'm the best to ask about what shirt you look best in, mate."
"Just…pick a colour!" Harry cried in frustration, "I can't choose! The mirror has it down to these two shirts…"
"Why don't you ask mum?" Ron suggested, then added with a grin, "or perhaps Ginny…"
"Because your mum is with Fleur and the baby," Harry grumbled, "and Ginny still wants to kill me so it's up to you - which bloody shirt!"
"I don't know why you're making such a fuss," Ron continued, purposely ignoring Harry's scowl, "it's only Hermione. It's not like you have to make a good impression or anything - I mean, she's seen you in your pyjamas!"
"I know," Harry suddenly sighed as he slumped down next to his friend, both shirts held loosely in his hands, "but this is our first official date and I, well, I want it to be special."
It had been over seven months since Harry and Hermione confessed that they liked each other and although they had snuck a few snogging sessions in during that time, their budding relationship took a definite back seat as they, along with Ron and the rest of the Order, fought and eventually won against Lord Voldemort.
Harry had nearly died, but in the end, Professor Dumbledore had been right - it was love that saved him. And the desire to go on that first date that he had promised Hermione.
Which was tonight.
And he didn't know what to wear.
It was all rather pathetic.
"Mate," Ron started with the air of extreme patience, breaking into Harry's thoughts, "you're alive and you're finally going out. You could turn up in Filch's scrungy old coat and she wouldn't care."
"I know," Harry sighed again, "but…"
"…you want it to be special," Ron finished for him, grinning, "well then, wear the green shirt. It matches your eyes. Evidently girls love that kind of rubbish."
"Thanks Ron," Harry said enthusiastically, quickly standing, removing the t-shirt he was wearing and replacing it with the green shirt, tucking it into the black slacks he already had on.
"When are you leaving?" Ron asked conversationally.
"In about fifteen minutes," Harry replied absently, trying to make his hair a little bit more tidy but failing miserably, causing a frustrated, "bloody hell," to be exclaimed.
"Leave it Harry," Ron smirked, "she likes it all messy. It's part of your boyish appeal."
"You're not helping Ron," Harry grumbled before stepping back slightly so he could see his full reflection, "do I look alright?"
"You look very handsome," the mirror replied.
"I guess," Ron said a bit less enthusiastically, "for a bloke."
"Right," Harry sighed yet again.
"You okay?"
"Yeah…maybe…oh, I don't know!" Harry groaned, once more slumping down next to Ron and looking dejectedly onto the floor.
"Harry, you and Hermione have been looking forward to this for months now…" Ron tried to reassure.
"I know," Harry came back, "but what if we go out and we've got nothing to talk about? Or I make a real mess of things and she has a horrible time? Or her parents hate me? What if she's realised that she doesn't really want me? Or she's found someone else during her holiday…"
"Now you're just being mental," Ron interrupted with a frown, "she was in Ireland for two weeks Harry, two weeks! Besides, this is Hermione we're talking about - you're it mate. No other bloke comes close to you."
Part of him knew Ron was right but Harry was still scared. He hadn't seen Hermione for the two weeks she's been with her parents and the time away had fed the insecurities that were hidden within him.
"But what if…" he started again before being quickly cut down.
"What if nothing," Ron nearly growled, "what if you get to Hermione's place, her parents love you, you go out, have a great time and live happily ever after. Bloody hell Harry - get over it!"
Harry looked at his friend and was slightly stunned to see Ron looking right back at him. Harry could tell Ron wasn't really angry, but was trying to get him to see just really how stupid he was being.
"You're right," he said at last, smiling slightly, "I'm being an idiot."
"That you are Harry, that you are," Ron replied more jovially, "now, would you like me to distract my sister so you can make a run for it? She really wants to kill you, you know."
"Yeah, I know," Harry agreed, taking one last look in the mirror before grabbing his wallet and the small bunch of flowers he had for Hermione, then headed out the door, "but she has to get used to the idea of Hermione and I dating sometime so…"
He was expecting Ron to be right behind him so when he didn't feel his friend's presence, he paused and turned back to look into his room where Ron was still standing, shocked.
"Harry," he stammered, "what are those?"
"What?" Harry asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Those? In your hand?"
Harry looked down to is hands to see what could've possibly got Ron so rattled.
"You mean the flowers?"
"Flowers?"
"Yes Ron, flowers," Harry explained with a mixture of sarcasm edged with a little bit of fear, "these are Hermione's favourites. I thought she might like them…"
"Hermione has favourite flowers?"
"Well, yeah," Harry answered, holding the small posy up so he could look at them better, "she mentioned last year that she liked the flowers of a traditional English garden - roses, lavender and stuff. Why, do you think it's too much? That she won't like them?"
The two friends looked at each other for a moment, Harry waiting nervously to hear what Ron was going to say. Ron, however, just continued to stare at Harry as if he was some sort of freak, obviously thinking things over carefully before finally breaking into a grin, walking over to Harry, draping his arm over the smaller boy's shoulders and guiding him into the hallway.
"She'll love them mate," Ron told him somewhat proudly, "I just didn't take you for a bloke who gets flowers, that's all."
"It was pretty embarrassing buying them," Harry admitted, starting down the stairs, "but I wanted tonight to be…"
"Special. Yeah I get it," Ron finished, laughing.
They headed to the kitchen in a comfortable silence, Ron grabbing an apple out of the bowl on the table as they passed in transit to the back yard.
Where Ginny was waiting for them.
"So, you're off for your date," she snarled as soon as she saw Harry.
"Yep," Harry replied, continuing across the lawn, Ron absently crunching on his apple at his side.
"And you're taking flowers? How quaint."
"Thanks."
"You never gave me flowers."
"No," Harry paused as he thought about the short time he and Ginny dated and realised he didn't really do many 'date' like things with her, besides snogging that is, "I'm sorry about that," he continued quietly, glancing at the scowling redhead briefly before carrying on.
Ginny seemed startled by his confession as instead of answering, she just watched him walk by. When he reached the edge of the wards, he turned back to her and gave her a weak smile to which she let out a small sob and dashed into the house.
"Don't worry about her mate," Ron advised as he threw his apple core over the hedge, "she'll get over it. One day. Just not used to not getting what she wants, that's all."
"I didn't mean to…"
"I know," Ron interrupted before whacking Harry hard on the back, his face breaking into a grin, "you just go off and have a brilliant time with Herms. Just remember, if you hurt her - I will kill you."
"I think she'll kill you first if she knows you call her Herms," Harry laughed back.
"That's why she'll never know," Ron continued, turning and making his way back to the house, "have fun!" he added as he glanced over his shoulder for a final wave before entering into the house.
Still smiling to himself at the idea of Ron maiming him for hurting Hermione (as if that would ever happen) and Hermione hurting Ron when he accidentally called her Herms in her presence (more likely to happen), he took a deep, calming breath, closed his eyes and remembered the Granger's garden shed. With a small 'pop', Harry disappeared from Ottery St Catchpole…
…and opened his eyes to an immaculately clean shed in the Granger's garden in Oxford (where he had been a couple of times before, escorting Hermione home during last year).
Making sure his flustered state hadn't affected his Apparition skills, accidentally leaving parts of him behind, he double checked he was whole, saw that he was, took another deep breath and left the shed.
With his heart rate increasing with every step, Harry went to the front of the house and with some trepidation, made his way up to the front door. Wiping his hands on his pants, trying to get rid of the thin veil of sweat on them, he clutched the bunch of flowers tightly then rang the door bell. Trying desperately to keep calm, it seemed like years before Mr Granger opened the door.
Hermione's father was a tall, almost bald man whose eyes (which had been passed onto his daughter) hid behind a pair of glasses. He had an easy smile and a friendly face, which was now looking fondly down at Harry.
"Harry, my boy, welcome!" he beamed, letting Harry pass him into the house, "come on in!"
"Thank you sir," Harry said respectfully as he followed Mr Granger into the living room, "um, how was your holiday?"
"Brilliant," the older man said, sitting back down in his armchair and indicating to Harry to sit on the couch, which he did, "but I'll let Hermione tell you all about that. Needless to say it was fantastic to spend time with our little girl (who's really not such a little girl anymore). She's still upstairs still getting ready, by the way. Shouldn't be too much longer."
"Oh, okay," Harry said nervously, clutching the flowers for dear life.
"So, how are you?" Mr Granger asked kindly, "you've had us all rather worried."
"Um, I'm okay," Harry replied with a small frown, "it's just my leg that's still giving me problems. Something I have to get used to evidently."
"Hermione mentioned your leg was quite a mess," Mr Granger continued, "you've really been through the wars haven't you? Quite literally, actually."
"Yeah, I guess," Harry answered feeling slightly awkward and wondered just how much Hermione had told her parents about him.
"Ah, a man of few words," Mr Granger chuckled, "do you follow football Harry?"
"Er, no sir," Harry said quickly, surprised at the sudden change of subject.
"I'm a big Oxford City fan myself," Mr Granger told him, "though I don't know why I bother. It's all just a big mess at the moment."
"Oh," Harry began, "that's…"
"Harry!"
Harry stood up quickly as Mrs Granger walked into the room. She was an older version of Hermione; her hair a mass of (greying) curls falling to the same length onto her shoulders, her height and build similar and the intelligent glint to the brown eyes pretty much exactly the same.
"Hello Mrs Granger," Harry managed to stutter out before his eyes moved onto the girl that had followed her into the lounge - and his world stopped.
Hermione walked shyly into the room, looking up at Harry with a tint of blush flushing her cheeks. She wore a tan, beige coloured sun dress that exposed her shoulders with small straps while the top half of the dress clung to her before flaring outwards to a skirt that fell just above her knees. She had a slight chain around her neck which had a small diamond type jewel that sat in the hollow at the base of her throat, made more noticeable due to the fact her half of her hair was held back away from her ears and falling down her back. Her face was touched by a little bit of make-up, some around her eyes and a gloss of some sort on her lips.
She looked beautiful.
Harry tried desperately to tell her this, his mind trying to come out with something that wasn't corny, that relayed exactly what he was thinking, letting her know that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
"Wow," was all he managed, making him blush as soon as he said it - especially when he heard Mr Granger chuckling from behind him and saw both Mrs Granger and Hermione exchange a small look.
Immediately he began berating himself, knowing that he sounded so stupid, that 'wow' wasn't the most romantic, intelligent thing to say, that…
"Thank you Harry."
Hermione's words stopped him in his tracks, making him look back at her shyly, seeing that she was looking at him, a blush also touching her cheeks. He gave her a relieved smile.
"My, what lovely flowers!" Mrs Granger exclaimed, reminding Harry that he was still holding them.
"Oh yeah," Harry blurted out as he held the bouquet out to Hermione, who took them gently, "er, these are for you."
"They're beautiful," she breathed, sniffing the flowers.
"Um…the florist said they were the flowers you'd find in a traditional garden," Harry tried to explain, "the ones that are in season, anyway. I…hope you like them."
"I love them," she nearly cried, "they're all my favourites."
"I…I know," he continued to stammer, "that is, the florist said there were some missing but…"
"You remembered me telling you I liked flowers from old cottage gardens?" she interrupted, looking at him intently, "from over six months ago?"
"Well, yeah," he replied shyly, "I guess."
"Oh Harry," she beamed, shaking her head slightly, "you never fail to amaze me."
He didn't know what to say to that, but felt his heart bursting with pride. He was glad he made the effort that morning to go into town and get the small posy now, even though it had all been rather embarrassing.
"How 'bout I take those, put them in a vase and put them in your room," Mrs Granger suggested, taking the flowers from Hermione.
"Thanks mum," Hermione smiled, grabbing a small cardigan and bag that her mother had been holding, "I guess we should be off."
Harry followed her as if dreaming, her parents behind him. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch her, to see if she was real - to convince himself that 'the date' was finally happening. But another part of him was too scared, making him keep a safe distance.
"Well, you two have fun," Mr Granger told them as he and his wife stood in the door jam as Harry and Hermione started down the front path.
"Thanks daddy," Hermione said fondly, "I'll see you both tomorrow."
"Now, Harry," Mrs Granger started, making Harry pause, "you are joining us for Hermione's birthday next weekend aren't you?"
"Yes Mrs Granger," Harry replied promptly.
"Brilliant," the older woman smiled, "we'll see you then!"
"Good to meet you again Harry," Mr Granger continued in farewell, "take care of our daughter for us, will you?"
"Daddy!" Hermione admonished.
"Yes Mr Granger," Harry blushed before carrying on onto the footpath and waving good-bye to Hermione's parents, who were still watching them go.
The young couple walked in silence for a few moments, close - but not touching. Harry was thinking of things to say, his fear that they had nothing left to talk about prominent in his mind.
"So, how are you?" Hermione asked finally, breaking the silence.
"Fine," Harry replied automatically.
"Don't lie to me Harry," she said quietly, glancing at him, "you're limping quite badly, you're kind of pale, still way too skinny and you look tired."
He looked at her and saw the familiar concern in her eyes. She had refused to leave his side during the three weeks he was unconscious in St Mungo's and it wasn't until she was one hundred percent sure he was going to be alright that she caved into the pressure given by both him and her parents and went to Ireland for a family holiday. They had kept in touch while she was gone, but he had found it easy not to tell her about the after affects of his injuries, not wanting to spoil her time away.
But now he knew he couldn't hide them from her any longer and although he had wanted 'the date' (as he had come to know it in his mind) to be happy and all talk of war to be forgotten, she wouldn't be at ease until she knew the truth about what was wrong with him.
He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, took a deep breath, looked at the path before him and then began to speak.
"My leg hurts," he started, "and it will never work properly. They've tried everything but nothing will make it better. So I just have to live with the pain, or take potions to numb the pain, and limp, I guess."
"So you can't be an Auror anymore?" Hermione asked softly, knowing that was the only job he had ever considered doing.
"No, I can't," he confirmed, "or play Quidditch. I don't really know what I'm going to do next."
He half expected her to treat him with pity, like everyone else did, but wished with all his heart that she wouldn't. However, when she linked her arm around his (her touch sending shivers down his spine) he knew that, like usual, she had read his mind.
"We'll work it out," she told him firmly, before adding quietly, "what else is wrong Harry?"
He was once again amazed at how she knew he hadn't told her everything but instead of dwelling on the wonder that is the connection he and Hermione seemed to have, he let the warm fuzz of her words that she would help him even though he was pretty much useless envelope him.
And she was still hanging on to his arm.
"Well, er, I still have the nightmares now and then," he told her, "though they are getting less. And I've only been at the Burrow for a week so I guess Mrs Weasley's attempts to fatten me up haven't taken effect yet."
"Oh yes," Hermione commented in a tone that Harry wasn't too sure about and when she removed her arm from his, he frowned, "how is it living with the Weasley's?"
"Okay, I guess," he said truthfully, looking at her and seeing her stiffen up slightly, "I mean, when Mr and Mrs Weasley offered me a room, I thought it would be brilliant. I didn't want to go back to Grimmauld and really didn't have anywhere else to go."
"I feel a 'but' coming on," Hermione interjected, still not looking at Harry.
"But," Harry confirmed, looking back at where they were walking, seeing they had reached the township, "well, Mrs Weasley nearly bursts into tears every time she sees me or she tries to get me to eat something," Hermione chuckled; Harry carried on, "Ron spends heaps of time with Luna and when she comes over, Ginny joins us which makes things rather awkward."
"Oh. How is Luna and…and Ginny?"
"Luna is fine," Harry answered, his frown deepening - he knew something was wrong but he really didn't quite know what, "she and Ron are practically joined at the mouth, it's all rather sickening."
"I still can't believe they're getting married," Hermione mused out loud.
"I know," Harry allowed himself a smile, "Ron Weasley - Mr Responsible. But it's true, he starts work at the Ministry in two weeks so he can start saving for a place of their own."
"Mrs Weasley must be going spare what with a new grandson, a wedding to plan…"
"And Remus and Tonks too," Harry added, "don't forget them. They're getting married in a few weeks! Mrs Weasley has Ginny making sure Tonks doesn't spoil the plans, making Ginny crazy…"
"Ginny must be in a right state, what with one thing and another," Hermione said quietly, "I guess you two have been spending a lot of time together - I mean, she would need some support…"
"Hermione," Harry grinned, finally realising why Hermione was acting so strangely, "Ginny hates me, we're barely talking," he paused, making her stop and look at him, "she tried to 'entice' me back and had a little tantrum when it didn't work. All I could think of while you were away was you."
"So you didn't get back together with Ginny?" Hermione asked hesitantly.
"No."
"I feel really stupid," she groaned, dropping her head with embarrassment, "I was so sure that you'd realise just how much prettier and perfect Ginny is, then dump me..." Harry's chuckle made her look up at him and frown, "what's so funny?" she asked, slightly put out.
"It's just that," he answered, still grinning, "I was sure you'd find a charming, good looking Irish bloke who was incredibly smart and you'd realise just how thick and dorky I actually was and come back and dump me. You…you haven't, have you?"
"No, no I haven't," Hermione sighed deeply, intertwining her hand with his before looking back at him, "I think we both have some self esteem issues that we may need to work through."
"Yeah, I guess," he smiled back, "though I don't know why you think you're not pretty or perfect because you're beautiful and amazing."
"Well, Mr Potter," she grinned through her blush, "I think you are charming, extremely handsome and very, very smart. Though, now you mention it, there's nothing quite like the Irish accent…"
"Really?"
"Oh yes," Hermione nodded as they started to walk once more, now hand in hand, "how else do you think Seamus was so popular with the girls? All he had to do was open his mouth and say hello."
"I never knew," Harry mused out loud then fell silent. Comfortably silent.
Hermione's hand fit perfectly in his own, and it felt so…right. His sweaty palms had thankfully disappeared along with many of his fears. As they walked down the main street of Oxford, he reflected on the first half hour of 'the date' and surmised it hadn't gone too badly. So far, so good.
"So where are we eating?" Hermione asked after a few more minutes of walking.
"Walters," Harry told her, turning down a side street confidently, glad he had done a trial run the day before so he wouldn't get lost.
"Walters," Hermione repeated, bringing him to a stop with a tug on his hand, "but Harry, that's awfully expensive!"
"Is it?" Harry shrugged then started to walk again.
"Yes it is," Hermione continued, stopping him once more, "we don't need to eat there Harry - you've already impressed me with the flowers."
"The thing is," he tried to reason, "I went to the information centre and asked for recommendations, they told me a few names so I went to the library, got the librarians recommendations then checked them all out on the internet…"
"You used a computer?"
"I'm not totally daft Hermione," Harry sniffed as if insulted, "besides, the nice librarian showed me. Anyway, Walters had the best reviews and customer comments so, that's where we're going."
"You've really put a lot of thought into this date, haven't you," Hermione said after a moment, her eyes searching his.
"You have no idea," Harry admitted, then started walking again, "and if we don't hurry, we'll be late for our booking."
But they arrived at Oxford's most exclusive restaurant on time and was escorted to their table by a very well dressed maitre'd. After ordering their non-alcoholic drinks, finding the menu nearly totally in French (Harry giving Hermione permission to order for him) and noticing they were the youngest people in the nearly full restaurant, the couple fell into relaxed conversation.
They talked about Ireland and the holiday Hermione had there, how she had told her parents everything that had been going on in her life for the last seven years and why she had spent so little time with them. They talked about the Burrow, about Jacques, Bill and Fleur's baby son, about Remus and Tonk's up-coming wedding. While eating their dinners, they talked about how Remus finally accepted Harry's offer of Grimmauld Place as their home though insisting on paying rent and how Harry was putting that rent into a trust fun for any children the couple may have.
Before Harry knew it, they had finished their desserts, it was now dark and it was time to move on. After deciding they didn't really want to go to the movies, but instead enjoy the beautiful summer evening and continue to catch up.
When they left the restaurant, Harry took Hermione's hand in his with confidence, enjoying the little smile that played on her lips as he did so. They continued to talk about Remus and Tonks, Harry updating Hermione on the many compromises that was being made for the very tom-boyish bride and the attention-shy groom.
Hermione was taking him to one of her favourite places in Oxford, pausing in front of a amazing, ancient building that she looked onto with awe.
"I always wanted to study here," she said wistfully, "it's one of my favourite universities."
"Oh," Harry replied, looking away from the building and at her face, noting the mixture of longing and sadness that was there, "why don't you?"
She looked at him sharply, as if she had just woken up from a dream - maybe she had. She started walking again, pulling Harry along slightly.
"Oh, many reasons," she answered absently, "it doesn't matter."
"Have you decided what you're going to do now school's over?" Harry asked, suddenly curious.
"No, not really."
"You're kidding!"
Hermione stopped and looked at him, her head tilted slightly to the side, but he recognised the annoyed hardness in her eyes.
"Why are you so shocked?" she questioned, "you don't know what to do with the rest of your life."
"Yeah," he started, thinking hard, not wanting to annoy her any further, "but, well, you always seemed like you had everything planned."
"Actually," she sighed, walking away from him and not waiting for him to follow, "I did. Then I met you."
"Me?" Harry asked, beginning to panic.
Hermione sat down at a bench that sat on the edge of a perfectly manicured lawn, ordered gardens bordering the square piece of grass. Other couples passed by, often hand in hand and laughing, also enjoying the perfect summer night. Harry quickly sat next to her and watched her worriedly.
"When I was little, I wanted to be a lawyer, fighting tirelessly for those who couldn't fight for themselves," she began, her eyes looking down at her clenched hands in her lap, "or a doctor and find the cure for cancer. I had it all planned - what exams I needed to pass, what university I would go to, everything. Then I found out I was a witch, which of course changed everything," she paused briefly, a small smile touching her face, "then I decided I was going to bring equality to all magical races, free the house-elves and other enslaved creatures. Or become a Healer and find cures for all sorts of curses. Or perhaps one day become the Minister of Magic and make everything right."
"You don't want to do any of those things now?" Harry ventured, "because you could, you know. I mean, you're so brilliant, you could do anything you want."
"Thanks Harry," she chuckled softly, glancing at him fondly, "the thing is, I don't want to do any of those things anymore. The idea of working at the Ministry after all they put you through the last few years…well, it just doesn't seem that appealing."
"I know what you mean," Harry agreed, "I think that even if I could be an Auror, I don't think I would be. I guess I'm too much of Dumbledore's man to trust the Ministry. Ron actually asked for my permission before he took the job working with his dad…"
"Really?"
"Yep," Harry nodded, "he felt like he was betraying me. I told him to stop being daft, that it was a great opportunity for him and that he and Mr Weasley could make some changes while they help rebuild the Ministry's structure."
"It is the perfect job for him," Hermione mused.
"But not for you," Harry prompted.
"No, not for me," Hermione sighed again, "and after all the time I spent in St Mungo's with you, I realised that a Healer's life isn't for me either. I don't think I have the patience, to be honest. Thing was, everyone expected great things from me - 'brightest witch of my age' and all that. Goodness, I even expected great things from me! I needed to get the best marks in all my tests, needed to be the best so I could do what ever I wanted once school was over."
"You nearly drove Ron and I spare when we were waiting for our OWL results," Harry added with a chuckle.
"Yet now, I don't care about my NEWT's at all," she said quietly, "last year, everything changed. My whole focus was keeping you alive, beating Voldemort and nothing else mattered. I sat my tests not caring what my marks were, if I passed or failed. It wasn't important, not anymore."
"I…I don't understand."
"I had never thought about getting married or having a family," Hermione carried on, not looking at Harry, but keeping her gaze steadily dropped to her hands in her lap, "in all my planning, having a home life never featured. I was a career girl, determined to make my mark on the world and succeed in whatever field I chose.
"Even after I met you and I began to think of you in a romantic way, I never thought of giving up my career aspirations for you. Any man who wanted to be with me would have to accept my job, whatever it was. That was one of the many problems with me and Ron - he would've been resentful to any job I chose because there would be a great chance it would be more important than him."
"You know I'd support you in anything you choose…"
"I know Harry," she looked at him, "and I love you for that. I know that you wouldn't be threatened by my career and would be there for me no matter what. But I don't want that any more.
"I found myself watching you and seeing you as a man, five…ten years from now, playing with our children. Harry - I had never thought of children and myself in the same sentence before, I could never see myself having children! But I could see it, with you…"
"Children?" Harry spluttered, making Hermione laugh.
"Honestly, you don't need to look so afraid," she giggled, "this is our first date so I'm not expecting a proposal anytime soon. And if it never happens, then, well, it wasn't meant to be."
Their eyes locked as Harry thought about the idea of marrying Hermione and having a family of his own. He hadn't really thought about it much, he had purposely kept thoughts of a future out of his head until he was sure he had one.
But he had to admit, if only to himself, that the idea of settling down with Hermione had crossed his mind while he had been laying in St Mungo's. Especially after Ron had told him he had proposed to Luna, who had said yes.
He knew witches and wizards got married earlier than Muggles did. And he knew that one day he would marry Hermione. But not just yet. Well actually, not for quite a while. He was barely coping with 'the date'!
But as he sat there, looking at her, half her face in the shadows, her brown eyes large and slightly wounded as she confessed her fears, he knew he had to reassure her that he pictured that future as well.
"It will happen," he told her softly, taking her hands in his. He saw her relief before she dropped her gaze, took a deep breath and carried on talking.
"Watching you fighting for your life at St Mungo's, not knowing if that family I had been seeing would ever happen, not knowing if I'd have you…it was so difficult. The lists of friends we'd lost kept growing and as I sat there, hoping and praying that you'd come back to me, I realised something."
"What's that?"
"That money and career and proving myself because that's what's expected of me - all that isn't important," she said, looking back at him once more, "family, friends, love, health and happiness, they are the things that really matter."
"Books and cleverness aren't important," Harry thought out loud, remembering a time when Hermione had said those words to him, so similar to what she was saying now, "friendship and bravery are."
"Pardon?" she asked, genuinely confused.
"A certain young witch told me that, many, many years ago," he grinned at her as the memory returned to his friend, "it seems she was right. It doesn't surprise me though - she's pretty much always right." He could see her blush even in the half dark.
"I can't believe you remember me saying that," she smiled, "that was nearly a life time ago."
"Seems like it doesn't it," Harry mused, "but it was only seven years ago."
"Do you understand then Harry?" she continued, sliding closer to him on the park bench, "do you understand why I don't really know what I want to do? I've had offers from all over and only a couple really appeal. At the moment, I just want to spend time with you, mum and dad and all our friends. That's all that matters."
"I understand," Harry told her seriously, "but I also know you, Hermione Granger. You're happiest when you are achieving or reading a good book…"
"How 'bout writing a good book…"
"Sorry?"
"I've been asked to write a book about what we've done the last seven years," she said carefully, watching for his reaction, "and when I was telling mum and dad our story, they thought it would sell in Muggle bookshops as well…"
"Write a book?" he frowned.
"Only if you endorse it Harry," she assured him, "if you don't want your story told, then I will say no."
He thought about what he had been through, what people didn't know about his life and the lead up to his battle with Voldemort. He thought about the lies that had been told about him. He thought about those who had helped him yet were forgotten by the Ministry and the press. He thought about those who had died in the struggle between good and evil, and how they deserved to be remembered. Maybe it was his story, but in reality it wasn't all about him - there were other stories intertwined with his and they deserved to be told.
"I think that's a bloody brilliant idea," he smiled, glad to see her smile in return, "if anyone could give the truth out about what happened, it will be you."
"You'll read everything before anyone else sees it," she grinned excitedly, "and then Ron."
She paused.
"Is there something else Hermione?" Harry asked cautiously.
"Um," she began somewhat nervously, "well, Professor McGonagall has…has offered me a trainee position at Hogwarts. Teaching first and second years at Transfiguration., part-time for…for now. I…I told her I'd think about it."
"What's there to think about, that's perfect!" Harry enthused, just seeing her in front of a classroom - a miniature McGonagall in the making, "you could teach and write at the same time!"
"That's what I thought," she agreed, "and it does really appeal…"
"But…"
"But, I'll be barely older than the students…"
"Not first and second years," Harry countered.
"And I've never taught anyone before…"
"Hermione, you've been teaching Ron and me for seven years," Harry laughed, "we would never have survived Hogwarts without you showing us what we were supposed to do!"
"I didn't really teach you though," she argued, "I just told you, or showed you…"
"You taught us. Anyway, you said it was a training position," Harry reminded her, "which means you'll get trained. I think you'll be great."
"Really?"
"Really."
"There is another reason why I didn't say yes straight away," she continued, dropping her eyes once more.
"Which was?"
"You."
"Me?" Harry exclaimed for the second time that night.
"I wasn't sure if you'd…whether you would stay or perhaps want to go somewhere."
She looked up at him nervously and Harry could only imagine what was going through her mind. In some of his darker moments during their Horcrux search, Harry had shouted that he wanted to leave, to run away and just forget about it all. He never did, of course, but he could see Hermione had thought it was an option he might which to take.
Strangely, even though he had never travelled, the thought of leaving his life behind and see the world had never crossed his mind.
"I'm not going anywhere," he proclaimed, "in fact, I had been thinking of helping Hagrid with looking after Hogwart's grounds. Knowing you'll be in the castle makes that option even more attractive."
"Really?"
"Really."
She smiled at him making Harry realise he didn't want to talk any more. They were already only inches apart and it only took a slight lean forward for him to kiss her.
At first, it was chaste and innocent but it didn't take long for the intensity to increase to a point where his mind went totally blank. Hermione, however, cast a few charms on their park bench, making any other couples wanting to use it suddenly think of somewhere else they should be and not notice the young couple furiously snogging away there.
After a steady session of kissing, a very flushed and breathless Harry pulled away from his girlfriend, painfully aware that he needed to stop otherwise he soon won't be able to. Hermione looked at him briefly, but then understood, giving him an understanding smile.
"I think I should be getting home," she said softly.
"Right," he managed to choke out, his voice slightly higher than normal - he cleared his throat with an embarrassed cough before repeating, "right. It's pretty late."
When he looked at his watch he saw that it was indeed pretty late as it had already become the following day. Seeing they were alone, but retreating to the shadows just in case, they Apparited to the Granger's back garden where they held hands then quietly made their way to the front door.
"I had an amazing time Harry," Hermione whispered, "it was perfect in every way."
"I was so sure I'd mess up," Harry admitted.
"Well, you didn't," she assured him, "it was absolutely perfect."
"Great," he said, suddenly nervous, "I had a great time too."
"So our first date was officially a success," she smiled cheekily.
"I believe so," he smiled back, "so, you're coming over to the Burrow tomorrow?"
"Actually, later today," she corrected, "and yes, I'll be there. Slightly later as I think I'll have a bit of a lie in. But I'll be there. It will be great to catch up with everyone."
"Ginny might be a bit…"
"I can handle Ginny," Hermione interrupted.
"Of that I have no doubt," he chuckled.
"So, I'll see you later then," Hermione continued, looking at him expectedly.
"Yeah, I'll see you later," Harry confirmed before kissing her once more, relishing in the feel of her mouth on his.
"Bye," she breathed as she pulled away and opened the door, "thanks for a lovely night."
Harry just smiled and watched as she closed the door, her eyes never leaving his. He stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where she was although there was nothing now but solid oak. A satisfied smile appeared on his face and he thought about the night, how it had been a mixture of the seriousness of their lives plus the light-heartiness of just being. And then there was the kissing.
Turning on his heel, he made his way to the back garden, and with a final look up at the bedroom that was now lit as Hermione got ready for bed, he grinned and with a small pop, disappeared, happy that 'the date' was over and his life with Hermione had finally begun.