Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is the mastermind behind all Harry Potter books. I own nothing!
Author's Notes: Hello All! Yes it is I, Snaps For Daryl, returned from the dead. I've been really uninspired for a really long time, until finally, something hit me. I think it's the fact that my boyfriend's gone for the whole summer and I need a way to express all my pent up romance. Please review! I love to hear what my readers think, even if they think my stories stink. Thanks all!
"All my life, starting from when I was eleven years old, one thing has remained constant. You, and now I stand before you, a man, nothing more nothing less, asking you to start your life with me as my lawful wedded wife."
For once Hermione was speechless. She watched as the little boy she once knew turned into a man by asking her…her of all people… to marry him. "I…," she began as a single tear rolled down her rosily rouged cheek. She began to wonder if this boy, well man, really knew what he was getting himself into; if even she knew what she was getting herself into. Am I really going to psychoanalyze this like I do everything else? She thought to her self. Not a chance. "I will…yes Harry James Potter I will be your wife."
"Oh my God!" Harry exclaimed as he jumped up in bed. She's your best friend Potter, He thought to himself. But then again…is it so wrong?
"Of course it is!" He exclaimed to himself before realizing he was alone.
On went this internal battle until he decided to start cooking breakfast or else he'd have some cranky Dursleys on his hands. Making his way down to the kitchen Harry kept reeling over how beautiful Hermione really was.
How her cinnamon hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall over a mountain, or how her chocolate eyes were soft yet piercing, warm yet dangerous. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten or ever really noticed until now. After he'd finished frying the greasy bacon and other disgustingly unhealthy breakfast foods the Dursleys insisted on having every morning, an owl arrived.
"Oi Pig!" Harry called through the open kitchen window of the bonny bungalow. At last…Harry sighed to himself. With the tiny bird perched on his shoulder and the letter in his hand, Harry sprinted up to his "quaint" room. His letter from his red-headed friend and new found savior read:
Dear Harry,
How ya' been mate? Sorry its taken men this long to write. I've been fine. So mum said it's all right if you want to stay at the burrow for the rest of the summer. Seein' as how your birthday is only two days away, and 'cause that whole blood pact thing with your aunt, we'll come pick you up the day of your birthday.
Your Friend,
Ron
P.S. I think I'm going to ask Hermione to my girlfriend. What d'ya think?
Was Ron of his rocker? Why did Harry care so much? Shouldn't he still be wallowing over his break up with Ginny? Harry couldn't help but feel an unexplainable twinge of jealousy. Maybe his dream wasn't so ridiculous after all.
Right now the most important thing was his freedom. His freedom to practice magic in a somewhat safe environment given the circumstance, and his freedom to finish what he started with Dumbledore. He needed to get back to the wizarding world; his world, not just for his sake, but for the sake of witches and wizards everywhere. With a quick response of "yes", Pig was on his way. Just two more days…Harry thought to himself. Two more days until freedom…