Hermione looks up at her lunch companion, fork frozen near her mouth as she gapes. There’s a piece of lettuce hanging off her fork that apparently doesn’t like her sudden stop because it falls onto her plate and lands in a puddle of dressing. She blinks and lowers her fork when she realizes how she must look.
“I’m sorry?” She couldn’t have heard correctly.
Griselda Marchbanks smiles. “Is it so difficult to believe that I had a fellow when I was younger?”
“What? No!” Hermione feels heat in her cheeks and shifts in her chair as Griselda gives her a look that makes her feel like a nervous first-year. “I just wasn’t sure what you said.”
“Hmph. There’s nothing wrong with your hearing, girl.” Griselda leans forward and lowers her voice. “There are times when I regret it.”
“Regret what?” This is beginning to feel like a scene from an awful comedic program on the telly. For a moment, she wonders if George has somehow got hold of Griselda’s hair and a bottle of polyjuice. He did swear retribution for the prank that she assisted Verity with recently.
“I might need to reform my opinion about your intelligence, girl.”
Every time Griselda calls her ‘girl’, it takes effort not to snap that she’s twenty-five years old and hasn’t been a ‘girl’ in years. It’s more affectionate than condescending, she knows, but it still annoys her. “Your opinions are your own and certainly not anything that I can control,” she says dryly.
Griselda lets out a bark of laughter. “Oh, they’re not going to know what to do with you when you’re fully trained. I can’t wait to see their faces,” she said with a smile that might be considered wicked. Hermione studies her a moment. Alright, not might be. Is.
“Thank you,” she says politely, unable to resist a slightly evil smile of her own. She looks forward to the day when her training with Magical Law is complete, and she can face the Wizengamot on her own. Griselda has been an excellent unofficial mentor in the ways of the Wizengamot and Magical Law since Hermione’s transfer from Magical Creatures two years ago, so she knows that there’s a vested interest behind Griselda’s excitement about the potential for turbulence with her former Wizengamot members.
Griselda’s smile fades as she tilts her head slightly. “That goal shouldn’t be put ahead of love,” she says firmly. “I made that choice in a time when there really weren’t any alternatives. You’re young and the world is different now. You don’t have to choose one or the other, so don’t.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hermione has a suspicion, but she doesn’t understand how Griselda would have figured out something that was likely just in her head anyway. The older witch is sharp, of course, but not a follower of Divination.
“You’re sitting here having lunch with me instead of your handsome paramour,” Griselda points out. “You’re also anxious and fidgety, which I’ve never seen, even when you faced down Ogden after his misogynistic rant your first day in Magical Law. I wasn’t there, but I heard about it.”
“I think everyone heard about it,” she says with a wry smile. Her fingers tighten around the fork she’s holding as she thinks about that arse, Ogden, and his belief that women don’t belong in front of the Wizengamot until they’re defendants; bloody close-minded bastard.
“You’re not going to change the subject.” Griselda announces suddenly. “Don’t think that I’ll be tricked by your sneaky ways, girl.”
“You’re the one who brought up Ogden.” Hermione purses her lips before she stabs the piece of fallen lettuce with her fork. “I’ve had a long week. The idea that my being anxious is relationship-related during the same time period when I’ve been assisting on a stressful trial is ludicrous, you realize? I think you must be getting daft in your old age to automatically assume that anxiety is due to personal situations.” She arches a brow. “Perhaps you need to stop sneaking around reading those Wanton Witch romance novels.”
Griselda snorts. “If I weren’t right, you wouldn’t be so defensive. I’m trying to offer my advice to you, so why don’t you hush your mouth and listen?”
“You know perfectly well that I never listen to advice, especially unsolicited advice about my personal life.”
“This is advice coming from me, which means you’ll listen.” Griselda looks smug before she takes a bite of her fish. She has reason to be, unfortunately. Hermione is more likely to listen because she respects Griselda, even if she can be an interfering, meddling annoyance at times. Griselda glances over her shoulder. “Oh, speak of the devil. There’s your Harry.”
Hermione twists her head quickly, eyes widening as she scans the restaurant for familiar black hair. When she doesn’t see Harry, she’s horrified to realize that she’s relieved. When she looks back at Griselda, the other woman looks even more smug, if that’s possible. “Not amusing.”
“What’s he done, then? Propose?” Griselda looks at Hermione’s hands, peering across the table in search of a ring. “No ring, so perhaps not. Or you just haven’t given him an answer. No, if that were the case, he wouldn’t have let you lie to him about having lunch plans with me.”
“I didn’t lie to him,” she says defensively. “We did have plans. Tentative, but still.”
“He hasn’t asked, then. You just think he’s planning on it?” Griselda continues as if she didn’t speak, and Hermione glares momentary before taking a bite of her salad. The lettuce is limp and covered in dressing, and she blames that on Griselda for introducing such a ridiculous topic of discussion. She shifts slightly when she feels eyes staring at her. Griselda nods. “That’s it. You can’t lie to me, girl. You think he’s going to ask, and you’re scared.”
“If you’re planning to start practicing Divination, I’d appreciate a warning so that I can assure that my calendar will be too busy for our routine lunches anymore,” she says matter-of-factly.
“You love him. Why does the thought of him proposing make you so anxious?” Griselda looks curious, which isn’t a good sign of her giving up and letting the subject drop. “When I was in your place, I foolishly thought that he’d wait for me to finish building my career with the Ministry. If he loved me, he should have understood. However, I know now that I should have been willing to compromise if I loved him.”
“Did you? Love him, I mean.” Despite herself, Hermione’s intrigued at the thought that Griselda had once been in such a situation. It isn’t the same as her own, of course, but she still wants to know.
“I did. I loved my job more, though.” Griselda shrugs a shoulder. “He was very angry when I refused, and it wasn’t six months before he was engaged to a proper Pureblood girl who had no aspirations outside of providing a home and children.”
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, unable to imagine what she’d feel like if Harry found another woman in so short a time. She’s lucky to have him, she knows, but she realizes it even more when she compares him to other men. “Harry’s very supportive of my career. I think we’re both serious about our jobs, so we understand about late nights and long weeks.”
“If that isn’t the problem, then what is?”
“Nothing. That’s the problem. Or maybe I am?”
“You expect him to resign from the Aurors and stay home to raise children?”
“What?” Hermione looks up and frowns. “No, of course not. Nor would he expect that of me. I wouldn’t be with him if he were the type of man who had such beliefs.”
“You don’t love him?” Griselda’s disbelief is obvious in the question, but she still asks it.
“I love him so much that it scares me,” she admits quietly. She puts her fork down and reaches for her glass of water. “He hasn’t proposed, so it’s a moot issue.”
“Do you want him to but he hasn’t, then?” Griselda shakes her head. “You’re a confusing girl, I hope you realize.”
“I prefer to think of myself as complicated, thank you very much.” Hermione leans back in her chair and sighs. “I don’t want him to. At least, I don’t think I do because the thought of him proposing is terrifying. I think he plans to do it, though. He’s behaving oddly, even for Harry, and I caught him looking my jewelry box over the weekend. I don’t actually have much jewelry, but he was holding the ring that I got from my mother. I think that he might have been trying to get the size of it.”
“I’ll fall back on my opinion that you’re confusing. You already live with him, he’s not likely to want you to quit working to stay home and have a dozen children, and he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the world. Why would that be terrifying?” Griselda makes a face. “I’m turning into those meddling old witches who need lives of their own, aren’t I? Bloody hell. I always swore that I’d never be like those bitter old harpies.”
“Yes, you are,” Hermione says honestly. “Bothersome and interfering in ways that are highly annoying.”
Griselda at least has the decency to look ashamed. For a moment. Then, she tilts her head and says, “Stop being so scared of change, girl. If you won’t have him, some other woman will.”
It’s been nearly eight hours since lunch, but Hermione can still hear Griselda’s warning in her head. She doesn’t want to marry Harry just to keep him away from other women, though. That’s juvenile and wrong in ways she doesn’t want to try to list right now. If she agrees to marry him, she wants it to be for the right reasons. Still, she can’t stop imagining the Daily Prophet headline announcing his engagement to someone else.
When she realizes that she’s been staring at a crack in the wall for longer than she cares to admit while lost in thought, she shakes her head. It’s almost nine, and Harry isn’t home yet. His owl had just said he’d be late, so she isn’t sure when to expect him tonight. She tries not to be uneasy when he’s on a case, but it isn’t always easy. He might be twenty-four now, but he’s still got that rash streak that leads to him rushing recklessly into things; he bases decisions on impulse over judgment. It serves him well, so far, but she always worries about the day when he’ll be injured.
Instead of going into the kitchen to start making for dinner, she goes upstairs to their bedroom. For the last two weeks, Harry’s been acting secretive and strange. They don’t keep secrets from one another, save for the surprise birthday party that she helped organize for him two years ago, so she knows he has to be up to something. It isn’t her birthday for months nor do they have an anniversary coming up or any other surprise party type of occasion, so she can rule that option out.
After much analysis, she continues to come back to the likelihood of him proposing. They’ve been dating for almost five years, and they’ve been living together for four of those years. The next logical step is marriage. Then, they’ll start a family, in several years, when they’re prepared to be less selfish and are able to spend the necessary time needed to raise children properly.
Despite knowing all this, the idea of Harry proposing scares her. She isn’t sure that she’s ready for that step, logical or not. It’s just a ceremony and a piece of paper, which doesn’t actually change the relationship, so it’s never seemed particularly important. Yet, it means more than that because it’s about making things permanent, or as much as they ever can be in life, and that is important. Even if she thinks that marriage, on the whole, isn’t necessary for two people who love each other, she’s wants to go through the tradition before they start a family.
She opens the wardrobe and begins to search the pockets of his robes as she thinks about fear and the future. Marriage doesn’t necessarily mean family, immediately or otherwise, so just because he wants to get married doesn’t mean that he’s ready to start a family now, either. There are also people who are married who never have children, after all. Besides, they’re too young for that sort of responsibility yet, and he must know that, right? They both really enjoy their jobs and work odd hours, which would change with children.
No, Harry’s not ready for that. That’s something she’d certainly know. What if he’s planning to ask because he thinks she wants to get married? He might think that she’s tired of just living together without a ring, but he surely knows that she’s not the type of the woman who believes that foolish nonsense. Or is she? Lately, she’s not entirely sure about that. It’s driving her mad, trying to figure it out and determine what her reaction will be when he asks.
There isn’t a ring in the wardrobe. It’s unlikely that he’d take it to work with him, so it has to be hidden in the flat somewhere. He’s going to ask tonight; she knows it. In the owl he sent to let her know he’d be late, he mentioned wanting to talk to her when he gets home. Harry never says he wants to talk unless it’s important. It can only be one thing. She isn’t sure why she’s trying to find the ring, but it gives her something to do while waiting.
Her stomach growls when she’s searching through his shorts drawer. She frowns and closes the drawer before opening the one with all his socks. She unrolls each bundle to make sure that he hasn’t hidden the ring inside one, then pokes through the jumble of coins and old keys and scribbled notes on scraps of parchment in the box in the top drawer. Finally, she can’t ignore her stomach any longer. She’s hungry, and it’s nearly ten already. She can’t keep waiting dinner for Harry since she has no idea when he’s going to get home.
Abandoning her search, for now, she leaves the bedroom and walks downstairs to the kitchen. As she nears it, she smells something spicy and good. She smiles as she walks just a little faster. Harry’s home. “If you’re here to rob the flat, leave the food and take the wireless,” she calls out before she enters the kitchen. She sees Harry emptying cartons of Indian food onto plates and wonders how long he’s been there.
“What if I want you instead of the wireless?” he asks as he glances at her and gives her a cheeky smile.
“Sorry. I’m taken,” she says primly as she walks over to see what he brought. “However, that looks really good, so I might be persuaded.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is? I’m replaceable if the food is right?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and ducks his head down to kiss her lightly. “Sorry I’m so late. My meeting ran over. By a lot.”
“It’s alright. I didn’t even hear you come in,” she admits before she kisses his jaw and inhales his scent. She takes a step back when she realizes that she’s dangerously close to forgetting about food and enjoying him instead. He always has that effect on her. “Really good food can replace a great many things. I’m undecided when it’s compared to you, though. Ask me again when I’m not hungry.”
“I called out your name when I got home. I figured you must be using the, uh, well.” He shrugs and the tips of his turn red as he nods in the direction of the downstairs bathroom.
“Toilet?” she asks, amused that he stumbles over the word after years of sharing a flat. He’s dealt with her when she was sick with flu and seen her on her worst day of pmt, but he still blushes when talking about her using the toilet. She can’t resist kissing his cheek, lingering briefly as she remembers her fear and concern about a proposal.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks quietly, pulling back so he can look at her. “You went into one of those mental fogs of yours.”
She looks at him and blinks as Griselda’s words come back to her mind. If you won’t have him, some other woman will. Suddenly, she knows what to do, what to say, and it’s like the entire world finally makes sense after days of uncertainty. “Yes.”
He frowns slightly. “You’re sure that you’re alright?”
“No, Harry. I mean, yes.” She bites her lip and looks at him expectantly.
“Yes what?” He runs his fingers through his hair and looks confused.
“We can get married,” she says with a hint of aggravation. This isn’t how she’s planned for her marriage proposal to happen, so he could at least catch on and give her the bloody ring before she starts having doubts.
“Married?” He leans back against the counter and stares at her. “You’re asking me to marry you?”
“No, you’re asking me. Oh, honestly, Harry, keep up.” She smiles even as she feels the nerves start to rise. “I have a few conditions, though. I don’t want to think about children for a few more years, and I want a small ceremony. Or maybe we can elope because it’ll be a media circus if the press finds out. Oh, and none of that magical forever nonsense. I don’t need a spell to reassure me that you won’t leave me, and, if one of us dies in a century or so, then I want you to know that you can move on even if I’m dead.”
“Dead? What are you talking about? I don’t care if we’re fifty or a hundred and fifty. You’re all I want, and that’s not going to change,” he says firmly.
“Yes, well, one can never be sure, so I want it clear that you have my permission to move on if I die before you. Otherwise, you’ll never do it because you’d feel guilty and think I’d hate you for it,” she tells him. “I love you. I want to marry you. I’m not scared anymore. I mean, I am, but not for the same reasons.”
“I love you, too. I’m still not thinking about some future hypothetical death, however.” He reaches out and touches her cheek. “You really want to get married? I’m surprised. You’ve never really cared for it, you know? I just assumed I’d wait until you wanted to or we’d just not, so I didn’t force you into something just to make me happy. I didn’t realize you’d want to now.”
She frowns slightly. “You were planning to propose, though. I saw you getting the size of my finger for a ring, and you’ve been so secretive lately. Why would you plan that if you were alright waiting?”
“I was?” He blinks and looks guilty for a moment before he clears his throat. “Oh, uh, well, I’ve been keeping a secret. It was work related, so I couldn’t say anything under threat of termination and reprimand. But, uh, well, Kingsley told me tonight, during our meeting, that I could tell you finally. I’ve been offered a position as Robards’ second-in-command. Rogers is retiring, and I was told about it a couple of weeks ago, but there were issues with it becoming public knowledge yet. I wanted to talk to you about it before I accept, so Kingsley said I could tell you. It’s part of what our meeting was about.”
“Really?” She smiles. “Oh, Harry! That’s such an amazing opportunity. If you accept, you’ll be Head one day, when Robards retires. That’s what you’ve wanted, isn’t it? You haven’t told Ron yet?”
“I just said that I couldn’t tell anyone. Ron is anyone. You aren’t. I mean, you’re someone. Not anyone. Bollocks. You know what I mean.” He smiles sheepishly. “It is what I want, eventually, but I didn’t realize I’d have the chance so soon. It means more time supervising and working in the office, though.”
“As if you not out risking your life daily is a negative?” She leans up and kisses him soundly. “You’re going to accept, aren’t you?”
“Probably. I just didn’t want to make that kind of decision without talking to you. It affects us both, after all.” He brushes her hair back from her face. “I didn’t expect a marriage proposal before I could tell you, but, now, I think it’s good that I’ll be making more money. I’m told that marriage is expensive.”
She starts to blush when she thinks about what they’d been discussing before his news. “You weren’t going to propose, were you?” she asks quietly, feeling foolish and annoyed with herself for jumping to conclusions.
“I was, one day.” He pulls her closer and traces her frowning lips with his thumb. “Hey, none of that unhappy frowning, alright? My beautiful girlfriend has just asked me to marry her, so this is a time to be happy.”
“I didn’t ask you. I assumed you were going to ask me,” she argues.
“Actually, that’s true. You didn’t ask. You just told me we’re getting married.” He pulls her towards the table, where he sits down in a chair and tugs her down onto his lap. “Somehow, I think that’s fitting for us. You’ve been telling me what to do since I was eleven, so I guess that shouldn’t stop now.”
“Stop teasing. I’m embarrassed and feel ridiculous,” she mutters even as she shifts a little closer to him and leans against his chest. “You should have stopped me.”
He snorts. “Like anyone can stop you once you get going? Besides, it took me a while to figure out what you were saying. I was caught up in visions of you wearing a gorgeous dress and looking incredibly sexy while every man in the world envied me for being the one you were walking to. And, uh, I might have thought about the wedding night. Honeymoons mean sexy knickers, right?”
“Typical. We try to discuss something serious and your mind is on knickers,” she says, unable to resist a smile.
“On your knickers,” he corrects. “And you in them. And out of them.” He kisses her chin. “I was trying to think how you could possibly get knickers sexier than the ones you already have.”
“I’m sure I could find some,” she says, pulling back to glare at him. “Stop distracting me, Harry. We have to talk about this.”
“We don’t have to talk about everything this minute, Hermione. I want a winter wedding, so we have several months to plan and figure it all out,” he tells her. “I do have a few conditions of my own, though. No eloping. I want you in a gorgeous dress that you’ll tell our children about and Ron to be best man and Hagrid to have plenty of tissues. I also want you to ask me, to make it official. I’ll ask you at the same time, so there’s no arguments about who asked whom.”
“You’re serious?” She looks at him and shakes her head. “You’re crazy sometimes. You know that, don’t you?”
“So are you. It’s why we fit together so well, I think.” He brushes his lips against hers. “On three. Okay?”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she murmurs before she nods. “On three.”
“One-two-three,” he counts slowly.
“Will you marry me?” she whispers against his lips, feeling his breath against her mouth as he asks her the same question.
“Yes,” he says forcefully before he kisses her thoroughly. When he pulls back, he smiles the cheeky grin that always makes the butterflies in her belly flutter. “Just so you know, I’m telling everyone you asked me first.”
End