It was a month after the Battle of Hogwarts, and Ron and Hermione had finally decided to actually go out together, as there hadn't been much time for them to do that, what with the aftermath of the war. Ron had planned a simple, elegant date at a restaurant in Muggle London, and both the redhead and the brunette were looking forward to it immensely. When Fred had died, Ron barely spoke to anyone, and Hermione was someone who he had been able to confide in completely and wholeheartedly. She was there for him in one of his darkest times and had done so much for him that even though she had saved his life a countless number of times, that meant as much, maybe even more to him.

Hermione was dealing with her own scars from the war as well. Being close to the Weasley twins, she had taken the loss of Fred hard. But that was not the only thing. She was forced to relive her torture in her nightmares, having recurring dreams about what Bellatrix had done to her. After a few nights of Ron rushing across the landing when she screamed in her sleep, and her hugging him in the kitchen of the Burrow when he was kept tossing and turning through the night, she realised that their constant proximity during their year on the run had made them quite dependent on each other for mental peace and comfort. Ethics be damned, they had just barely survived a war: if being in the same room for a night meant a few hours of precious sleep then so be it.

The long-awaited date night finally came, and Friday night saw Hermione in a midnight blue dress, standing in front of a mirror and fastening on a pair of earrings. A spritz of the perfume he had given her three Christmases ago and she felt that she was ready. Taking a deep breath and twirling for effect, she tore her eyes away from the tarnished mirror and headed out of Ginny's bedroom. Shoes clicked down the stairs to the kitchen, where Ron was bouncing up and down on his heels, biting his lip and sporting a brilliant shade of red at the tips of his ears.

"You look great," smiled Hermione, softly taking his hand in hers and placing a kiss on his lips.

"So do you," whispered Ron, reciprocating with enthusiasm and snaking his arm around her waist. "Let's have a bit of fun."

The night progressed smoothly until they reached the restaurant, when they saw their waiter. A young redhead in his mid-twenties, he was fair, had a slight dusting of freckles across his nose, brown eyes and he was built short and stocky. Ron noticed it first, eyes going wide and menu slipping out of his hands. Hermione noticed it the moment he spoke, with a heavy Devon accent, words light hearted, joking. The couple looked at each other, eyes wide, both seeing it at the same time.

"So have this lovely young couple decided what they would like to order?"

"I - I can't." mumbled Ron, getting up from the table and throwing his napkin to the floor. He rushed towards the exit, paying no heed to the confused glances thrown his way. Muttering an apology, Hermione got up too, following him out of the restaurant. She caught up with her boyfriend a couple of doors down the road, reaching out and grabbing his hand to stop him.

"He looked just like - I mean, I know it's silly, George does too, but George is - completely took me by surprise - I'm sorry. I just -"

"You don't have to rationalise every single emotion, Ron. It's perfectly understandable… I saw it too."

Ron reached out and wrapped his arm around her, waist, drawing her closer and placing a tender kiss on her lips. His breath was short, and his eyes were a bit wider than usual. Hermione cupped his face as they pulled apart, whispering, "You want to go back or go somewhere else?"

"Let's go back. I have to find a way to deal with it, I guess."

The couple started walking back towards the restaurant, their hands clasped in each other's, gripping the other person a little tighter than normal, Hermione's face pale, he boyfriend's distressed. "I don't react that way when I look at George because he's… changed, if you know what I mean. He doesn't smile, doesn't laugh. Seeing that waiter, who looks so much like them, with a smile on his face… I guess it was just a bit too much."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. It was hard for me too." Hermione inwardly marvelled at how much he had changed over the years. Earlier he would never have been so forthright about his emotions, and she hoped that he would continue to be so comfortable around her.

They slipped into the restaurant together, weaving their way in-between round tables covered with crisp white tablecloths and adorned with silverware until they came to their table. The napkin had been folded and kept back on the table, and no sooner had they sat down then a different waiter came to their table, and quietly asked them if they were ready to order. Hermione looked to Ron, who nodded with a polite smile and proceeded to place their order.

The night passed quickly after that. Although conversation was a bit stilted at first, they both felt considerably better once a glass of champagne had been finished. It was definitely not the kind of night they had expected when they first set out. Instead of light-hearted and fun, the evening they spent together was almost tender, and intimate. Candlelight glinted off Ron's blue eyes, tentative jazz music filled their ears, and Hermione's perfume lingered the entire night, a faint, comforting scent that enveloped the two of them.

They finished their meal, and as Ron was paying the bill, Hermione caught the first waiter's eye from across the room. She lightly nodded in his direction, a slight smile on her face, as she tried to convey her gratitude. He gave her a roguish grin in return, and a sort of mutual understanding passed between the two strangers.

After they had left, without much warning, Ron gathered the bushy haired young woman in his arms and Apparated them to the countryside some distance from The Burrow. Stumbling a bit from the surprise, Hermione lightly cursed him for giving her no warning, but trailed off when she saw the almost intense expression on his face.

"Fred would always joke that the two of us act like an old married couple," he began. "and as much as I disliked the teasing, I always found myself a bit enthralled by that image."

"Ron, are you - "

"No, not yet. But someday, if you'll have me."

"I love you," she said, placing her hand on his face and gently tracing a line down it. "and there's nothing I'd like more."

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