The Woes of Being a Beau

SwishAndFlick31

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 28/10/2007
Last Updated: 28/10/2007
Status: completed

Oh, the woes of being a beau. Sometimes your other could be bloody annoying, but it's all worth it in the end. It really is. Basically a PWP.

Chapters

1. The Woes of Being a Beau

1. The Woes of Being a Beau

Disclaimer: No. Don't own anything.

Warning: Fluff alert! OoC-ness ensuing! And stuff.

Author's Notes: Just thought it'd be cute… =D

ENJOY!

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June 15th, 1999 …

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It had taken a total of three hours, but the Harry, Ron, and Hermione were finally able to move the boxes into the penthouse. Granted, half a dozen boxes were just Hermione's books, and the others various bookcase boxes, but it still required time and lots of strength to get it through the door.

Hermione smiled, hooking her arm through Harry's. “This is going to be so wonderful!” she exclaimed, looking around the penthouse. “I can't believe we're buying a place for ourselves,” she sighed happily, leaning her head on her boyfriend's shoulder.

Ron chuckled, shaking his head. “You two are so …” he trailed off.

“Exactly,” Harry muttered, grinning.

“Anyway,” said Ron, checking his watch, “I'd better be going. Mum wants me over for dinner. Are you sure you don't want to go?”

The two nodded. “Yeah, we're sure. We still need to do a lot of things and we'll need the night to do it,” Harry answered.

“I'm sure you do,” he muttered, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “All night long, I bet.”

Hermione blushed, and shooed him away. “C'mon Ron, you don't want your mother to yell at you. I'm sure you're rather hungry, too.”

He grinned, giving Hermione a kiss on the cheek and clapping Harry's back, before apparating out.

Turing around, Harry looked around their new home. The place he was going to live in. With Hermione. He grinned, his silent desire being fulfilled. He saw the various boxes scattered around the rooms, each filled with his and his girlfriend's things.

“Let's start putting the boxes into the rooms,” she suggested, picking up a box that read: `Hermione's Books, 1—in the study.' She walked until she found the study, which already had a nice, sturdy bookshelf in it, and placed it near there.

Harry picked up the box labelled `Harry's clothes, 1,' and went towards their bedroom. He smiled, looking around and standing there for a moment, remembering how the room looked when they were first looking for places to buy. The room was large, with a large four-poster bed in the top right-hand corner of the room. There was the master bathroom, which was connected to the room, and the wardrobes were placed next to each other, adjacent to the vanity table for Hermione. Placing it near their bed, he went back to carry some more boxes into the various rooms.

“You're so slow,” Hermione teased, seeing Harry carry another box. “I'm already finished with half the boxes. I've even carried the bookshelves into the other rooms. I just need to get the things for our bedroom, kitchen, and laundry room.”

“We have a laundry room?” He never remembered the man telling them they had one when they were at the open house, a few months back.

“We'll make one,” she said nonchalantly, picking up another box (Hermione's clothes, 3), “because I'm not having my clothes washed with everyone else's. Our clothes could be mixed, and I don't fancy wearing another girls knickers or taking off another man's boxer shorts.”

Harry shrugged. “Okay.”

Nearly three hours later, the couple was finally able to rest in their bed.

“We don't have a cover,” she stated the obvious, turning her head towards Harry.

He smiled, turning his head, looking at Hermione. His vision was blurred without his glasses, so he got closer to her until there was no space left between them. “Your point?”

“We'll get cold at night,” she said.

Grinning madly, he rolled on top of her, giving her a sweet kiss. “I'll keep you warm,” he whispered, his hands starting to travel.

Smiling, she let Harry work his magic. She knew he'd be able to keep her warm. Covers are too cliché, anyway. Body heat always works.

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“You've got to be kidding me,” Harry groaned, looking at the bed covers. There was no pink in it, but the pastel blues and purples made it much too feminine for him.

“No, why would I?” Hermione asked, putting them into the cart.

“Hermione,” he whined, staring at the covers, wrapped in a plastic bag. “They look atrocious!”

“No they don't!” she retorted. “They're soft pastels, and work perfectly with our white walls and soft wood décor.”

“But I'm sleeping in the same bed as you, which means I'm going to have those!” he argued, ignorant to the other shoppers.

“Harry, no one is going to be in our bedroom except us,” Hermione told him, picking out matching pillows. Smiling, she put them into the cart. Our room is going to look so beautiful! Absently cracking her knuckles, making Harry cringe, she went on, looking at the selection of rugs and curtains. Oh, these will do perfectly! she thought.

You've got to be kidding me… Lord, help me. He shook his head, though he followed his girlfriend nonetheless.

Nearly an hour later, after picking out thing that would do for their various rooms (they'd bought a washer and dryer, which was to be put in a different room so when they used magic, the other rooms wouldn't be affected. While they were in the car—something Harry had gotten himself for his nineteenth birthday, though it hadn't arrived yet—Hermione was smiling, playing with the radio dial.

Tuning to a popular rock song, she turned to Harry and asked, “Are we hooked up to the floo network?”

“Not yet,” he answered, taking the exit and then turning right. “They said they'll do it around next week. Since we still aren't working full-time, I wasn't in a hurry to have it hooked up. Though, the wards were already set up. Only a select few can apparate or floo in.”

She nodded and turned her attention to the rhythms of the drums. I love this song… She smiled, looking out at the scenery. Looking towards Harry, whose attention was on the road, she thought, I love him, too.

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“Harry, this possibly cannot be right!” she said, rolling her eyes. “How can you possibly—” She shook her head, storming into the bathroom, where Harry—wearing nothing but a large towel around his waist—was looking at Hermione with a confused look.

“Did I miss something?” he wondered, towel drying his hair.

“Yes!” she muttered. “Harry, you have somehow managed to get cockroaches—cockroaches, for Merlin's sake!—in our sink, because you were careless enough to leave the pizza in the sink yesterday!”

Taking the towel off, leaving him nude, he looked around for his boxers, pulling them on after he found them. “Cockroaches? Just charm the little buggers away,” he told her, shrugging. What's the big deal, anyway? Just nasty little critters, they are. Pretty annoying, too.

“You're impossible,” she muttered, walking away.

Minutes later, when Harry came into the lounge—fully clothed—he found Hermione squirming around with the two—

Two? Harry questioned. Two bloody cockroaches and Hermione's ready to castrate me? Bloody hell, woman. Shaking his head, he walked inside and sighed, gaining Hermione's attention.

“Two cockroaches, aye?” he questioned, smirking.

“Shut up,” she muttered, slapping his arm lightly.

“Ouch,” he feigned, grumbling. “Jeez, woman, you've got strong, small hands.”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Just get these - these things away, and we can talk.”

Shrugging, Harry took out his wand. Don't know why she hates insects, anyway.

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“Harry, love, is that you?” asked Hermione, calling from the kitchen.

“Yeah!” he shouted from the entrance. “Ron says hi, and sorry that he couldn't make it. He had a date with Susan,” he informed her, walking into the kitchen and giving her a kiss on the cheek. Sniffing, he smelt something … odd. Hermione, he noted, wasn't the one that usually cooked, but when she did… He gulped. She was good at many, many things, but cooking wasn't one of her greatest skills. He didn't know how she could brew Polyjuice in second year, while she hard the hardest time even bringing water to a boil.

“I've cooked dinner,” she told him, turning around in his arms, wrapping them around his neck. “I hope you're hungry.”

“Depends on your definition of `hungry,' sweetheart,” he muttered giving her a short, deep and heated kiss. “Hungry for food? Sure. Hungry for you? Always.”

“Such a charmer,” she whispered, giving him another kiss. Pulling back, she turned around and started bringing the ingredients out, some of which included various types of vegetables and herbs.

Again, Harry inaudibly gulped. Perhaps I should've had the fish and chips when Ron offered…

During dinner, while Hermione was happily eating her food, seemingly satisfied with her cooking, Harry was having a tough time swallowing it. I don't know how she can like this, Harry thought, taking another bite just for the sake of his girlfriend. This food is horrible! It tastes like something off a horrible cooking show!

“This is very… exotic,” Harry tried complimenting, giving a small smile, trying his best to swallow without spitting it back up.

She smiled, setting her plate down. That was another thing, Harry noted: She was too fast of an eater, and he wondered how she could possibly stay that thin while eating at a rapid pace. “Oh, you think so?” she asked, smiling brightly, and suddenly all thoughts cleared Harry's mind. “I was just watching a cooking show on the telly today, and thought I might try it out.”

Ah ha! I knew it! A bad cooking show! I

He nodded, “Nice.”

She smiled, picking up her plate and walking into the kitchen. Again, he heard the echo of her knuckles cracking, and he cringed. Must she do that? Harry wondered.

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“Doesn't she get annoying sometimes?” Ron asked, sitting against a tree.

“Who?” asked Harry, knowing full well who he was talking about.

“Hermione, mate,” he answered.

Harry shrugged. “Why?”

“Because she does get bloody annoying to me!” he exclaimed. “I don't even live with her, but she's still bloody annoying sometimes!”

“I thought you were her friend?” Harry asked lazily, lying on the grass.

“I am,” he quickly defended himself. “I am, really! It's just… I don't know… I just get annoyed! I mean, we've been friends for, what, nearly nine years now and she's just…” He shrugged.

“I know what you mean, mate,” Harry said, picking a few random pieces of grass and playing with them. “She does get annoying sometimes, but it's all right.”

“Really? You think she's annoying, too?”

“Only sometimes,” he answered. “Like when she cracks her knuckles. Merlin I hate that sound. And then her cooking and how fasts she eats, it's bloody amazing it doesn't get stuck in her somewhere in her body. And bloody hell, mate, you won't believe what she did to our bedroom. So girly!” he rolled his eyes. “But it doesn't really matter, anyway. I still love her.”

Ron shrugged. “You must really love her, mate.”

“You have no idea…”

“Say, when are you going to propose, anyway?” asked Ron a few minutes later. “You've been dating for nearly a year, started shagging her—I still think it's unbelievably gross, and moved in with her. When are you going to pluck up the courage to propose?”

“I've already got the ring,” he answered. “But I don't know when to. I'm not romantic, so doing something like that would give me the best opportunity to muck up everything. And I can't just say something like, `Hermione, sweetheart, I know this is completely random, but will you marry me?'”

“Why can't you do that?” Ron asked.

“Because you just can't. Girls want that mushy romantic stuff, and,” he shrugged, “I donno.”

“Why don't you make her dinner and then propose?” Ron suggested.

“Maybe…”

For a few minutes, the two were in silence. But then, Misses Weasley's voice was heard, calling Harry. “Hermione's said that she'll be home in a few minutes, Harry!”

Nodding, he shouted, “Thanks, Misses Weasley!” Sitting up, wiping the grass from his back, he stood up and said, “Well, I best be off. I might even propose tonight.”

“See you, mate.”

And with that, Harry apparated back to his and Hermione's flat.

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Later on that night Harry had cooked a spectacular dinner for the two of them, and had a plan (not really, he thought) on how he was going to propose to Hermione.

Sitting across from each other on the coffee table (they hadn't bothered buying a dining table, rather using the dining room as an extra study for Hermione), they started eating.

“Harry,” said Hermione, “could you please take your elbows off the table?”

This is the chance! Harry's brain screamed. And he took it. Now or never. Giving his best, widest, cheeky grin, he answered, “Only if you'll marry me.”

“Wh-what?” Hermione spluttered her eyes wide. It was clear, Harry noted from her expression, that she had not been expecting the answer she'd received.

“I said, `only if you'll marry me.'” His grin just got wider.

“Bu-but - Oh my god,” she gasped. “Yes!” she shouted, standing up and going to his side, tackling him in a hug. “Yes, yes! Oh of course I'll marry you!”

Harry grinned, taking out the ring he'd held in his pocket for the last month. Opening it, though it was hard mainly due to the fact Hermione was still latched onto him, he rubbed Hermione's back. “Love, it's hard to breathe here.”

Immediately she released her hold on him. “Sorry,” she muttered sheepishly.

“No problem.” Smiling softly, he showed Hermione her engagement ring. It was a beautiful white gold matched set (he'd forgotten to take the wedding ring out, since he was so busy with everything) with fourteen karats. The marquise cut an interesting combination with the design of the sing. He just hoped that he'd gotten her ring size right.

She gasped, looking at them, but then chuckled as she saw the wedding band nestled safely behind the engagement ring. “Someone's not willing to wait, eh?” she teasingly asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Just put the ring on,” he ordered softly, grinning.

Smiling, she put it on. “The ring fits perfectly!” she exclaimed happily. “Oh Harry, how did you know my ring size?”

“Luna,” he stated simply. Before she could open her mouth, he interrupted. “Don't ask. Really, because I don't know the answer, either.”

She nodded, but then wiggled on his lap, remembering she was straddling him. Smiling as a thought came to her, she asked, “Why don't we celebrate,” in Harry's ear.

Groaning, he managed to mutter, “Why not. I'm always up for celebrating.”

Smiling, she whispered huskily in his ear, “I hear the bedroom is always the best spot to celebrate.”

“Then the bedroom it is.”

Author's Notes: Don't even ask why I decided to type this. I don't even know. =P A little birthday present to myself, because I'm insane like that. Hah.

So what'd you think? Total waist of time?

Oh, and here's Hermione's rings. http://www.danforthdiamond.com/engagement_rings/120/5213/

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