Hey, ya'll! As you probably know, Harry Potter and related, er, things,
are not mine—they are J.K. Rowling's. R&R pleez!
Pick up the phone, my conscience told me. "Do it, Potter. Pick it up. Dial the number. Ask him," I told myself. I picked up the phone. It held my attention for a few seconds. I knew I was just wasting time. So I dialed it. Her number. The number. It rang twice. I had an insane urge to hang it up when Mr. Granger's voice came over it. "Hello?" it said. "Hello, Mr. Granger. It's Harry." "Oh, okay, I'll get Hermione." "No, that's okay. I-I want to talk to you for a moment." What the hell was I doing? I was asking Mr. Granger, the father of my girlfriend, if I could propose to her this weekend. Why the hell did I stumble over the words like that? Because this is the most important decision of my life. And I had no idea what I was doing. "Yes Harry? What's on your mind?" Mr. Granger's voice brought me back to the land of the living. It sounded uncertain. "Canimarryhermione?" My words came out in a rush. "Come again?" "Okay. I was wondering if I could take Hermione out to dinner Friday night to ask her to marry me." This time my words came out so clear it unnerved me. Mr. Granger did not answer right away. I had the maniacal urge to hang up the phone again when I heard snatches of conversation from the other side of the line. Mr. Granger had told his wife what I had called about. "Say yes, dear." "But they're so young!" "He loves her and she loves him. Besides, they are 21." I heard no more after that. Mrs. Granger was quite sure we could handle marriage. Mr. Granger was scared. So was I. What did I do if he said no? I would be humiliated beyond anything I had ever experienced; including the time Hermione had purposely dumped a glass of water in my lap at a party last year. We had had a big argument and she decided to get even. But despite the small flaws in our relationship, we loved each other to death. "Harry, are you still there?" Mrs. Granger's voice came over the line this time. "Yes," I squeaked out.
"Good. My husband and I have discussed your request and we have decided-" the blood pounded in my ears so hard I could barely hear her voice. "-to say yes." This very loud sigh of relief escaped me. I realized only then I had been holding my breath.
"Th-thank you. I-I better go...I'll call back later to-to schedule the date with Hermione..."
"Okay, Harry, see you later."
I hung up the phone. My body was numb. She was mine. Hermione was mine, so long as she said yes. My Hermione, my very own beautiful, sweet, thoughtful, smart, sexy Hermione. Of course, she had been my girlfriend for the past four years, but it wasn't the same. Had I not been seeing her for four years, I wouldn't have recognized her. She was slim now, beautifully filled out, with sleek brown hair and big brown eyes. Hermione was the Potions professor at Hogwarts now. Snape had been sentenced to Azkaban when he was found guilty of passing valuable information from the Ministry to Lord Voldemort and his Deatheaters. That was two years ago and Snape is now considered 'mentally unstable'. I personally believe he always was. That was the story of the year for Rita Skeeter! Yes, Hermione let her go after a year. I hardly believed she would because she had been so mad about her dissing all of us. I'd never seen my Hermione so riled up!
Okay, my conscience told me. Go into the bathroom, wash your face, and then call Ron and tell him the good news. I did what my conscience told me this time without having to repeat it aloud. I walked into the bathroom. My reflection stared back at me. The stupid round glasses no longer adorned my face. Now there are contacts, mercifully. No longer was I a skinny little kid. I was now 6'2" and weightlifting had made me rather muscular. The green eyes of my mother and unruly hair of my father are unchanging.
I splashed cold water on my face to make the color recede.
"Ron, Ron, I did it!" I yelled into the phone.
"Did what?" Ron asked casually.
"She's mine!" I shouted gleefully.
"Who's yours?" Ron inquired with the air of one examining their fingernails.
"Hermione!" I said indignantly.
"Hermione's been yours for the last four years, Harry. Have you been living under a rock for all that time?"
"No, Ron. I mean, really mine. Marriage, as in."
Ron seemed to finally be paying attention. "You're married? Why didn't you tell me? I was supposed to be your best man, remember? Who was my substitute, eh? Neville?" Ron said with an injured tone.
"Ron," I said, suddenly serious, "don't ruin this moment. This is the best moment of my life. I have permission from her parents to pop the question. In other words, we aren't married yet."
Ron dropped the phone.
"And you're still best man, if you want to be," I added.
"You-your marrying Hermione?"
"Yeah, if she says yes. I thought we'd already been over this. Why?"
"Be-because, I'm getting up the nerve to ask Lillian's parents if I can marry her!"
Lillian was Ron's girlfriend of three years. She was a 20-year-old Scottish actress/ singer. Her tiny elfin body, pretty accent, and big blue eyes made her a favorite on the small stage.
"Wow. I would've given you two a year more at the least!"
"Shut up. That's exactly what mum and dad said."
Dad. I mulled the word over in my head. It was quite probable that in a year or so I could be a dad. I imagined a child with my eyes and Hermione's hair. Ugh. Poor child. Brown and green clash horribly. Then I imagined a child with my hair and Hermione's eyes. Much better. Not so much poor child.
"Earth to Potter." Ron's voice brought me out of the daydream. No, it was more like a daymare.
"Yeah, Weasley?" I answered.
"'Is anyone alive out there?' " Ron quoted one of his favorite Muggle movies, Titanic.
"Yes, but there's only six of us still alive," I called back, making a complete fool of myself. It wasn't even funny. "Oh, yes, I wanted to say something. I do NOT sound like your parents!"
"Whatever, Potter. I gotta go while I'm in good enough mood to call Lil's parents. Her mum's a real bitch." With that he hung up. Does no one have the courtesy to say goodbye anymore?
I decided to call Hermione to ask her out on the date first. Wait, I don't want to propose in a restaurant! Oh my God! I'm going to have to cook! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! She's going to hate me for life if I try to cook something for her! Well, the balcony off the third floor of the mansion I inherited from Dumbledore would be much more romantic than some fancy- shmancy restaurant. Yes, sadly, Dumbledore past away last year, and left me his mansion. I never knew he was wealthy enough to even have a mansion. We became very close friends after I graduated from Hogwarts. Headmaster, or really Headmistress, of Hogwarts is Professor McGonagall. We are close friends as well. Not as close as Dumbledore and I were, though.
Okay, worry about the food later. If worse comes to worst, you can order out. Hermione likes pizza. Just call her and get the date part over with.
Once again, I picked up the phone. I dialed that old familiar number and heard Hermione's voice come over it. The voice was sweet and clear. "Hello?"
"Hey, Hermione. It's Harry. I was wondering if you could come over this Saturday to have dinner with me."
"Of course, Harry! What time?" she asked. Oh, how I cherished that voice. Someday soon I would hear it every day. My idea of heaven.
"Umm, let's say about eight."
"Okay, honey. See you then. Love you lots!"
"You too. Bye!"
Wow, I thought. That was almost too easy.
However, there was still the cooking problem to deal with, and an engagement ring. I decided to get the ring first. Food can wait.
There was a jewelry store in Diagon Alley, but it only sold flashy jewelry that changed color and stupid things like that. I figured that Hermione would just want a plain old diamond ring, not a diamond/emerald/sapphire/pearl/amethyst/ruby ring. That would be too much. She wasn't a really modern girl.
I didn't think that the wizarding jewelry shop would have what I was looking for, so I went to Muggle London to look around. There were several little shops that I passed in my black Expedition, but I didn't really see what I was looking for.
Finally I spotted a little shop that looked like what I was looking for. Sadly, I had already passed it. That left my mind and I swung my SUV around, nearly clipping the old powder blue Volkswagen in front of me. I ran up on the sidewalk, backed up a bit, and pulled into a parking spot. The driver of the Volkswagen gave me the finger. I gave it back to him. I wasn't going to take any shit.
The guy at the front desk of the jewelry store, who was also the owner, had a really bad French accent. I could hardly understand him, though my correspondence with Fleur Delacour helped a little.
That little shop held more damn jewelry than anything I'd ever seen. I finally got it through to Monsieur DeBoùr that I wanted an engagement ring (he doesn't speak much English) and he showed me these pathetically expensive rings that did nothing for me. I knew Hermione, being sensible, would ask how much I'd paid for her ring.
So naturally I said, "Do you have anything cheaper?" Monsieur DeBoùr's curly black mustache twitched.
"Vell, of course you vant ze best quality for ze bride-to-be, no?" he said.
"Price is more important," I replied resolutely. "That's what she'll care about."
"Very vell," he sighed. "Follow me." He led me to the back of the store. I noticed that the fancy rings disappeared and the prices declined rapidly. This is where I wanted to be.
After browsing around for a while, I found the perfect ring. It was small, with only a diamond, and, best of all, it was cheap.
Monsieur DeBoùr looked rather disappointed. He started to go into details like how many karats and such, but I stopped him. "I'll just buy it," I said.
Monsieur DeBoùr put the ring in one of those little boxes (it had been on a manikin hand) and in a tiny fancy purple-and-gold bag. (Why bother? I have pockets!)
When I got outside, some parking meter guy had put a parking ticket in my windshield wiper. I hate those, so I shoved it in my pocket. I'd take care of it with my wand later.
When I got back to Godric's Hollow, where Dumbledore's mansion is, I stopped at the local library. They have a small cooking section there. There were so many cookbooks. Cooking: A Fine Art... Catering With Jon Pierre... Fine French Food... Italian Cooking for Dummies...
The titles went on and on. Italian or French, my conscience said. "Italian or French?" I muttered. "I might suggest Italian, Harry. Then again, my opinion might be biased because I'm Italian myself," a mysterious voice behind me said. I whirled around, meeting a short woman with long dark brown hair and big black eyes. "How do you know my name?" I asked. "Everyone, at least everyone like us, knows at least your name, if not more. I'm Adriana." "Very nice to meet you," I replied. "I need not introduce myself, obviously." "Yes," she said back. Than she chuckled. "Never thought I'd see Harry Potter browsing the cooking section of Godric's Hollow Public Library." "You don't seem very surprised." "It takes a lot for me to be surprised. I don't scare easy." Oh, Lord, I don't know what I was doing then. I bent down and kissed her! Not a Frenchy, but mouth-to-mouth. She didn't resist. That kiss was marvelous for a first kiss, though hardly knowing the girl I was kissing blemished the glory of it. We both just stood there, mouths open, tongues almost touching. When I pulled away, I said, "Did that surprise you?" "Yeah. I guess so." Adriana chuckled again. "So why exactly are you looking for a cookbook?" I was sort of embarrassed to tell her I needed to cook dinner for my girlfriend because I was proposing to her the next day. I was beginning to regret the kiss. At the time, though, there were no excuses wanting to come into my head. So, I told the truth. Adriana raised her eyebrows ever so slightly in suspicion at my confession. "Well, considering your situation, take this one." Adriana pulled Italian Cooking for Dummies off the shelf. She giggled like a little girl as she handed it to me. "Oh, Lord, I never thought I'd be calling Harry Potter a dummy!" she began laughing hysterically. Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, a result of something not remotely funny, she explained that her mother's father had been the first killed by Voldemort and her mother worshiped me. It had gotten quite annoying in her youth and had almost resented me there after. "She was always like 'Harry Potter this' and 'Harry Potter that,'" Adriana said. "She couldn't accept me for who I was because Harry Potter could always do it better. Ohh, just wait until she hears who kissed me in the library!" "I was sort of hoping no one would hear about that..." I said. If anyone for out about the kiss it would be on the front page of the Daily Prophet. And, naturally, my life would be ruined. "Okay. I'm cool with that," Adriana said simply, shrugging her shoulders. "Well, uh, bye, then, I guess." I took off for the front desk of the library at the speed of light with Italian Cooking for Dummies tucked under my arm. Adriana wasn't looking so hot now, thank God. "Shit," I said when I got out of the library, smacking my head. I'm the Seeker for the Wimbourne Wasps Quidditch team, and we have practice tomorrow. At six o'clock. And I can't possibly go because Hermione's coming at 8 and it'll take me a hell of a lot longer than even two whole hours to figure out how to cook dinner. I mean, there's oregano in every one of those Italian meals, and what the hell is oregano? I'd been planning to go to the grocery store and buy lots of oregano then take it home and figure out what to do with it, but no. I would have to Apparate to Adam Wright's (Wimbourne Wasps Captain and Chaser) penthouse in London. Damn. I'll have to get my oregano tomorrow. Yeah, I know you're probably saying I should just owl him. It's just that Hedwig is getting rather old but she won't let me buy another owl. I tried and she wouldn't let the poor little thing eat or drink so I gave it to Hermione. Adam Wright is the only remaining descendant of Bowman Wright, the inventor of the Golden Snitch. He's in his mid-thirties and a marvelous Chaser. Both of us have offers to play for in England in the World Cup this year. I am, of course, taking up on the offer. Adam isn't so sure. Charlie Weasley got burned very bad by a dragon two years ago and hasn't been so keen to go back to the dragon reservation since. He is now our Keeper. Katie Bell is another Chaser for our team. She dated Charlie for a while. You will never guess who our Beaters are. Ron and Fred Weasley! Half of our team is Weasleys! Fred and George started their joke shop, but Fred grew tired of it. He decided to go back to Quidditch and let George have the shop. Ron became one of our Beaters in school after the twins graduated. Our third Chaser is Adam Wright's wife, Alessandra. She's Italian and reminds me so much of Adriana I could scream. Maybe they're related. That's all of our Wimbourne Wasps. Our team is so good. This is proved by the fact that two of us have offers to play for England. The entire England team consists so far of Adam, Morgan Rabnott (descendent of Modesty Rabnott, funnily enough), Damon Llewellyn (descendent of 'Dangerous' Dai Llewellyn), Georgia Morgan (descendent of Gwendolyn Morgan), Daniel O'Hare (descendant of Darren O'Hare), Katrina McCormack (daughter of Meaghan McCormack and granddaughter of Catriona McCormack) and me. As you can see, Quidditch talent runs in families more often than not, with the exception of Morgan and Modesty Rabnott. I pulled up to my house and Disapparated immediately. Adam was sitting in his study poring over Quidditch diagrams. "Harry! How are you? Ready for practice tomorrow?" Adam greeted me very enthusiastically. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I won't be able to make it." Adam's smile disappeared. "Why, may I be so bold as to ask?" Adam hates anyone missing practice. I explained to him all about me proposing to Hermione tomorrow and me horrible cooking situation. Adam had a very wise look on his face. He took me on a walk down Memory Lane about when he proposed to Alessandra and faced the problem I do. "So anyway, it all worked out fine. It will with you too," Adam finally finished. "Let me know how it goes." "Okay," I said. I Apparated back to my house. It was about 8:00. I guess I'd had enough action that day and decided to turn in. I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed.
~^*^~^*^~^*^~^*^~^*^~^*^~
"Good morning, wizarding world. It's 10:30 at the Wizarding Wireless Radio station in Diagon Alley, London. This is DJ Kat here with Reyanne Asler, who plays a leading role in the latest wizard movie. Reyanne, what was it like playing Lily Potter, mother of Harry Potter, in the movie 'The Boy Who Lived: The Life of Harry Potter'?" This is what I woke up to. Yes, the wizarding world has taken to making movies of their own; and yes, there is one about me. It's hard to tell who made a bigger deal of this, Gilderoy Lockhart or Rita Skeeter. Lockhart insisted making the movie about my school life so he and the other teachers could be in it. The other professors refused, as could be expected. The producers have to find wizards and witches who look like them now. They aren't too happy, let me tell you. They wanted ME to be in it, even. I told them no way. For a moment I wondered why I was so upset I was up so late, then I remembered Hermione. And I remembered I was going to propose to her. And I remembered Adriana and the kiss. And I remembered oregano and Italian cooking. And I remembered missing Quidditch practice. And I panicked. There was no way I could learn to cook AND overcome my nerves by 8:00 tonight. It wasn't humanly possible. Not even for the amazing Harry Potter. I decided to calm down and pick a meal to cook (or try to cook) for Hermione out of Italian Cooking for Dummies. It wasn't an easy choice. There was everything from Caesar salads to fettuccini alfredo to spaghetti and all other kinds of pastas like tortellini. I NEVER knew that there was something called oregano in spaghetti. I've had spaghetti hundreds of times! Finally I decided to have a main course of spaghetti and garlic bread. My dessert is going off Italian a bit; we'll have chocolate mousse. I'm going to splurge as much as to get a bottle of wine to drink, though Hermione probably will not approve. She hates alcohol of any kind, but really, would a can of Pepsi look right next to chocolate mousse? I was going to take a trip to the grocery store to get all my ingredients, but I decided I would need several practice run-throughs to get my dinner right, and to save time and money I conjured them up with my wand. The first time I made the spaghetti, it looked fine. It looked perfect, actually. I dared taste it. My mistake. It tasted burnt. It WAS burnt. Dried up. I made the spaghetti again. Again, I dared taste my creation. It looked like soup this time. Oops. No hamburger. Into the trash that went. Third time's a charm, I told myself. I hoped it was true. The spaghetti looked simply exquisite this time. I walked all around it, surveying it from every angle. Hamburger? Check. Spaghetti sauce? Check. Spaghetti? Check. Oregano? Check. It's in the sauce. It wasn't watery. It wasn't dried out. Finally, I was satisfied. All that was left was to taste it. So I did. I cringed before I realized that it didn't taste bad. It tasted GOOD. Very good. Third time IS a charm. I ate the whole plate. I made another plate and ate it too, even though I wasn't hungry. I MADE FOOD!!!!! GOOD FOOD!!!!!! I checked the clock. It was 2:30. Time flies when you're making spaghetti. Then it hit me. I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO WEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! In the movies, men are always wearing fancy tuxes when they propose to women. I glanced down at my boxers and a sweaty white wife-beater with a spaghetti stain down the front. It would have to go. Running upstairs, I dashed into my room and threw open the closet. Inside were Muggle jeans and tee shirts and wizard robes of every color. Jumpsuits and sweatpants. Sweatshirts. No tux. Nothing formal. I ran out to the car, completely forgetting about my boxers and undershirt. I ran back in and threw on a sweatshirt and jeans, forgetting that it was summer. Who cares? Somehow, the car drove itself to the nearest Muggle tux shop. I ran in and gave them measurements and told them to give me the most expensive they had. The owner himself came out to assist me. He looked pleased. I doubted that they sold many of that tux. The tux in the back seat of my Expedition, the SUV drove itself home again. I had bothered to try on the tux, but nothing more. It looked okay, but in the end I decided not to wear it. It wasn't me. Hermione would comment on that. I would wear a pair of khaki shorts and a camp shirt. My all-time most formal. Somehow, in the next hour, I managed to bake a loaf of garlic bread without burning it and chocolate mousse mysteriously appeared on my counter. I made up another batch of spaghetti. I took a shower and changed. I set the tiny little two-person table on the balcony. I tried to pick a bouquet of wine- red roses for the table. I found they had thorns and was forced to bandage my hands. Fifteen 'til eight. I took inventory. Spaghetti? Check. Bread? Check. Chocolate mousse? Check. Wine? Uh-oh. No wine. I ran down to the basement and entered a tiny wine room. I sure got my exercise that day. I grabbed a fairly old and dusty bottle of red wine and took it upstairs to clean it up. I took it up to the balcony. Then I finished inventory. Outfit? Check. Ring? Check. That was everything. The balcony was perfect. The tires of Hermione's Jaguar threw up gravel in my driveway. My heart plunged into my stomach. What if she said no? Should I not go through with it? Maybe I should just pretend that I wanted to make her dinner and marriage never had anything to do with it? I shook my head violently to clear the disturbing thoughts. I was gonna do this. No matter what it took. I answered the door. Hermione was dressed in a slinky red dress with her hair wound up in a bun. I kissed her, holding her tight to my chest. She kissed me back. "I didn't know that you cooked," was the first thing she said to me. "I didn't before today," I replied. I showed her up to the balcony. She smiled slyly and said, "How romantic..." I was SURE she knew what I was up to. Running down to the kitchen, I put some spaghetti on two plates with a piece of garlic bread and some chocolate mousse on a smaller dish. I bewitched the plates to levitate and steered them up to the veranda. Hermione flashed her beautiful grin. Hermione took the first bite. She had a funny look on her face. I figured it was because she hadn't expected it to be so good. Then I took my first bite. It tasted like salsa. You know, the stuff you put on Mexican food like enchiladas. My eyes went wide with horror. Hermione asked, "Is this Mexican spaghetti?" she always tries to find something funny in everything. Hermione rushed after me as I sped down to the kitchen to check the sauce jar for the spaghetti. I picked it out of the trash. Oh, no. Chi-Chi's Hot Garden Salsa. I slumped against the wall. It was ruined. My chance was ruined. Hermione crept up behind me. She turned my face toward her and looked into my green eyes with her big, solemn, brown ones. She said, "I love you all the more for trying." Then she kissed me. "Are you up for pizza?" I smiled at her. After we ate a large mushroom pizza with extra cheese, I decided that it was now or never. I got down on my knees before Hermione. "Hermione, I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have a family with you. I want us to grow old together. Hermione, will you marry me?" Hermione sat there, stunned. She was too dignified to let her mouth hang open. She grabbed me up off my knees and kissed me full on the lips. A full- fledged Frenchy. Then she asked... "Does that answer your question? Oh, and how much did you pay for this ring?"
Pick up the phone, my conscience told me. "Do it, Potter. Pick it up. Dial the number. Ask him," I told myself. I picked up the phone. It held my attention for a few seconds. I knew I was just wasting time. So I dialed it. Her number. The number. It rang twice. I had an insane urge to hang it up when Mr. Granger's voice came over it. "Hello?" it said. "Hello, Mr. Granger. It's Harry." "Oh, okay, I'll get Hermione." "No, that's okay. I-I want to talk to you for a moment." What the hell was I doing? I was asking Mr. Granger, the father of my girlfriend, if I could propose to her this weekend. Why the hell did I stumble over the words like that? Because this is the most important decision of my life. And I had no idea what I was doing. "Yes Harry? What's on your mind?" Mr. Granger's voice brought me back to the land of the living. It sounded uncertain. "Canimarryhermione?" My words came out in a rush. "Come again?" "Okay. I was wondering if I could take Hermione out to dinner Friday night to ask her to marry me." This time my words came out so clear it unnerved me. Mr. Granger did not answer right away. I had the maniacal urge to hang up the phone again when I heard snatches of conversation from the other side of the line. Mr. Granger had told his wife what I had called about. "Say yes, dear." "But they're so young!" "He loves her and she loves him. Besides, they are 21." I heard no more after that. Mrs. Granger was quite sure we could handle marriage. Mr. Granger was scared. So was I. What did I do if he said no? I would be humiliated beyond anything I had ever experienced; including the time Hermione had purposely dumped a glass of water in my lap at a party last year. We had had a big argument and she decided to get even. But despite the small flaws in our relationship, we loved each other to death. "Harry, are you still there?" Mrs. Granger's voice came over the line this time. "Yes," I squeaked out.
"Good. My husband and I have discussed your request and we have decided-" the blood pounded in my ears so hard I could barely hear her voice. "-to say yes." This very loud sigh of relief escaped me. I realized only then I had been holding my breath.
"Th-thank you. I-I better go...I'll call back later to-to schedule the date with Hermione..."
"Okay, Harry, see you later."
I hung up the phone. My body was numb. She was mine. Hermione was mine, so long as she said yes. My Hermione, my very own beautiful, sweet, thoughtful, smart, sexy Hermione. Of course, she had been my girlfriend for the past four years, but it wasn't the same. Had I not been seeing her for four years, I wouldn't have recognized her. She was slim now, beautifully filled out, with sleek brown hair and big brown eyes. Hermione was the Potions professor at Hogwarts now. Snape had been sentenced to Azkaban when he was found guilty of passing valuable information from the Ministry to Lord Voldemort and his Deatheaters. That was two years ago and Snape is now considered 'mentally unstable'. I personally believe he always was. That was the story of the year for Rita Skeeter! Yes, Hermione let her go after a year. I hardly believed she would because she had been so mad about her dissing all of us. I'd never seen my Hermione so riled up!
Okay, my conscience told me. Go into the bathroom, wash your face, and then call Ron and tell him the good news. I did what my conscience told me this time without having to repeat it aloud. I walked into the bathroom. My reflection stared back at me. The stupid round glasses no longer adorned my face. Now there are contacts, mercifully. No longer was I a skinny little kid. I was now 6'2" and weightlifting had made me rather muscular. The green eyes of my mother and unruly hair of my father are unchanging.
I splashed cold water on my face to make the color recede.
"Ron, Ron, I did it!" I yelled into the phone.
"Did what?" Ron asked casually.
"She's mine!" I shouted gleefully.
"Who's yours?" Ron inquired with the air of one examining their fingernails.
"Hermione!" I said indignantly.
"Hermione's been yours for the last four years, Harry. Have you been living under a rock for all that time?"
"No, Ron. I mean, really mine. Marriage, as in."
Ron seemed to finally be paying attention. "You're married? Why didn't you tell me? I was supposed to be your best man, remember? Who was my substitute, eh? Neville?" Ron said with an injured tone.
"Ron," I said, suddenly serious, "don't ruin this moment. This is the best moment of my life. I have permission from her parents to pop the question. In other words, we aren't married yet."
Ron dropped the phone.
"And you're still best man, if you want to be," I added.
"You-your marrying Hermione?"
"Yeah, if she says yes. I thought we'd already been over this. Why?"
"Be-because, I'm getting up the nerve to ask Lillian's parents if I can marry her!"
Lillian was Ron's girlfriend of three years. She was a 20-year-old Scottish actress/ singer. Her tiny elfin body, pretty accent, and big blue eyes made her a favorite on the small stage.
"Wow. I would've given you two a year more at the least!"
"Shut up. That's exactly what mum and dad said."
Dad. I mulled the word over in my head. It was quite probable that in a year or so I could be a dad. I imagined a child with my eyes and Hermione's hair. Ugh. Poor child. Brown and green clash horribly. Then I imagined a child with my hair and Hermione's eyes. Much better. Not so much poor child.
"Earth to Potter." Ron's voice brought me out of the daydream. No, it was more like a daymare.
"Yeah, Weasley?" I answered.
"'Is anyone alive out there?' " Ron quoted one of his favorite Muggle movies, Titanic.
"Yes, but there's only six of us still alive," I called back, making a complete fool of myself. It wasn't even funny. "Oh, yes, I wanted to say something. I do NOT sound like your parents!"
"Whatever, Potter. I gotta go while I'm in good enough mood to call Lil's parents. Her mum's a real bitch." With that he hung up. Does no one have the courtesy to say goodbye anymore?
I decided to call Hermione to ask her out on the date first. Wait, I don't want to propose in a restaurant! Oh my God! I'm going to have to cook! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! She's going to hate me for life if I try to cook something for her! Well, the balcony off the third floor of the mansion I inherited from Dumbledore would be much more romantic than some fancy- shmancy restaurant. Yes, sadly, Dumbledore past away last year, and left me his mansion. I never knew he was wealthy enough to even have a mansion. We became very close friends after I graduated from Hogwarts. Headmaster, or really Headmistress, of Hogwarts is Professor McGonagall. We are close friends as well. Not as close as Dumbledore and I were, though.
Okay, worry about the food later. If worse comes to worst, you can order out. Hermione likes pizza. Just call her and get the date part over with.
Once again, I picked up the phone. I dialed that old familiar number and heard Hermione's voice come over it. The voice was sweet and clear. "Hello?"
"Hey, Hermione. It's Harry. I was wondering if you could come over this Saturday to have dinner with me."
"Of course, Harry! What time?" she asked. Oh, how I cherished that voice. Someday soon I would hear it every day. My idea of heaven.
"Umm, let's say about eight."
"Okay, honey. See you then. Love you lots!"
"You too. Bye!"
Wow, I thought. That was almost too easy.
However, there was still the cooking problem to deal with, and an engagement ring. I decided to get the ring first. Food can wait.
There was a jewelry store in Diagon Alley, but it only sold flashy jewelry that changed color and stupid things like that. I figured that Hermione would just want a plain old diamond ring, not a diamond/emerald/sapphire/pearl/amethyst/ruby ring. That would be too much. She wasn't a really modern girl.
I didn't think that the wizarding jewelry shop would have what I was looking for, so I went to Muggle London to look around. There were several little shops that I passed in my black Expedition, but I didn't really see what I was looking for.
Finally I spotted a little shop that looked like what I was looking for. Sadly, I had already passed it. That left my mind and I swung my SUV around, nearly clipping the old powder blue Volkswagen in front of me. I ran up on the sidewalk, backed up a bit, and pulled into a parking spot. The driver of the Volkswagen gave me the finger. I gave it back to him. I wasn't going to take any shit.
The guy at the front desk of the jewelry store, who was also the owner, had a really bad French accent. I could hardly understand him, though my correspondence with Fleur Delacour helped a little.
That little shop held more damn jewelry than anything I'd ever seen. I finally got it through to Monsieur DeBoùr that I wanted an engagement ring (he doesn't speak much English) and he showed me these pathetically expensive rings that did nothing for me. I knew Hermione, being sensible, would ask how much I'd paid for her ring.
So naturally I said, "Do you have anything cheaper?" Monsieur DeBoùr's curly black mustache twitched.
"Vell, of course you vant ze best quality for ze bride-to-be, no?" he said.
"Price is more important," I replied resolutely. "That's what she'll care about."
"Very vell," he sighed. "Follow me." He led me to the back of the store. I noticed that the fancy rings disappeared and the prices declined rapidly. This is where I wanted to be.
After browsing around for a while, I found the perfect ring. It was small, with only a diamond, and, best of all, it was cheap.
Monsieur DeBoùr looked rather disappointed. He started to go into details like how many karats and such, but I stopped him. "I'll just buy it," I said.
Monsieur DeBoùr put the ring in one of those little boxes (it had been on a manikin hand) and in a tiny fancy purple-and-gold bag. (Why bother? I have pockets!)
When I got outside, some parking meter guy had put a parking ticket in my windshield wiper. I hate those, so I shoved it in my pocket. I'd take care of it with my wand later.
When I got back to Godric's Hollow, where Dumbledore's mansion is, I stopped at the local library. They have a small cooking section there. There were so many cookbooks. Cooking: A Fine Art... Catering With Jon Pierre... Fine French Food... Italian Cooking for Dummies...
The titles went on and on. Italian or French, my conscience said. "Italian or French?" I muttered. "I might suggest Italian, Harry. Then again, my opinion might be biased because I'm Italian myself," a mysterious voice behind me said. I whirled around, meeting a short woman with long dark brown hair and big black eyes. "How do you know my name?" I asked. "Everyone, at least everyone like us, knows at least your name, if not more. I'm Adriana." "Very nice to meet you," I replied. "I need not introduce myself, obviously." "Yes," she said back. Than she chuckled. "Never thought I'd see Harry Potter browsing the cooking section of Godric's Hollow Public Library." "You don't seem very surprised." "It takes a lot for me to be surprised. I don't scare easy." Oh, Lord, I don't know what I was doing then. I bent down and kissed her! Not a Frenchy, but mouth-to-mouth. She didn't resist. That kiss was marvelous for a first kiss, though hardly knowing the girl I was kissing blemished the glory of it. We both just stood there, mouths open, tongues almost touching. When I pulled away, I said, "Did that surprise you?" "Yeah. I guess so." Adriana chuckled again. "So why exactly are you looking for a cookbook?" I was sort of embarrassed to tell her I needed to cook dinner for my girlfriend because I was proposing to her the next day. I was beginning to regret the kiss. At the time, though, there were no excuses wanting to come into my head. So, I told the truth. Adriana raised her eyebrows ever so slightly in suspicion at my confession. "Well, considering your situation, take this one." Adriana pulled Italian Cooking for Dummies off the shelf. She giggled like a little girl as she handed it to me. "Oh, Lord, I never thought I'd be calling Harry Potter a dummy!" she began laughing hysterically. Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, a result of something not remotely funny, she explained that her mother's father had been the first killed by Voldemort and her mother worshiped me. It had gotten quite annoying in her youth and had almost resented me there after. "She was always like 'Harry Potter this' and 'Harry Potter that,'" Adriana said. "She couldn't accept me for who I was because Harry Potter could always do it better. Ohh, just wait until she hears who kissed me in the library!" "I was sort of hoping no one would hear about that..." I said. If anyone for out about the kiss it would be on the front page of the Daily Prophet. And, naturally, my life would be ruined. "Okay. I'm cool with that," Adriana said simply, shrugging her shoulders. "Well, uh, bye, then, I guess." I took off for the front desk of the library at the speed of light with Italian Cooking for Dummies tucked under my arm. Adriana wasn't looking so hot now, thank God. "Shit," I said when I got out of the library, smacking my head. I'm the Seeker for the Wimbourne Wasps Quidditch team, and we have practice tomorrow. At six o'clock. And I can't possibly go because Hermione's coming at 8 and it'll take me a hell of a lot longer than even two whole hours to figure out how to cook dinner. I mean, there's oregano in every one of those Italian meals, and what the hell is oregano? I'd been planning to go to the grocery store and buy lots of oregano then take it home and figure out what to do with it, but no. I would have to Apparate to Adam Wright's (Wimbourne Wasps Captain and Chaser) penthouse in London. Damn. I'll have to get my oregano tomorrow. Yeah, I know you're probably saying I should just owl him. It's just that Hedwig is getting rather old but she won't let me buy another owl. I tried and she wouldn't let the poor little thing eat or drink so I gave it to Hermione. Adam Wright is the only remaining descendant of Bowman Wright, the inventor of the Golden Snitch. He's in his mid-thirties and a marvelous Chaser. Both of us have offers to play for in England in the World Cup this year. I am, of course, taking up on the offer. Adam isn't so sure. Charlie Weasley got burned very bad by a dragon two years ago and hasn't been so keen to go back to the dragon reservation since. He is now our Keeper. Katie Bell is another Chaser for our team. She dated Charlie for a while. You will never guess who our Beaters are. Ron and Fred Weasley! Half of our team is Weasleys! Fred and George started their joke shop, but Fred grew tired of it. He decided to go back to Quidditch and let George have the shop. Ron became one of our Beaters in school after the twins graduated. Our third Chaser is Adam Wright's wife, Alessandra. She's Italian and reminds me so much of Adriana I could scream. Maybe they're related. That's all of our Wimbourne Wasps. Our team is so good. This is proved by the fact that two of us have offers to play for England. The entire England team consists so far of Adam, Morgan Rabnott (descendent of Modesty Rabnott, funnily enough), Damon Llewellyn (descendent of 'Dangerous' Dai Llewellyn), Georgia Morgan (descendent of Gwendolyn Morgan), Daniel O'Hare (descendant of Darren O'Hare), Katrina McCormack (daughter of Meaghan McCormack and granddaughter of Catriona McCormack) and me. As you can see, Quidditch talent runs in families more often than not, with the exception of Morgan and Modesty Rabnott. I pulled up to my house and Disapparated immediately. Adam was sitting in his study poring over Quidditch diagrams. "Harry! How are you? Ready for practice tomorrow?" Adam greeted me very enthusiastically. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I won't be able to make it." Adam's smile disappeared. "Why, may I be so bold as to ask?" Adam hates anyone missing practice. I explained to him all about me proposing to Hermione tomorrow and me horrible cooking situation. Adam had a very wise look on his face. He took me on a walk down Memory Lane about when he proposed to Alessandra and faced the problem I do. "So anyway, it all worked out fine. It will with you too," Adam finally finished. "Let me know how it goes." "Okay," I said. I Apparated back to my house. It was about 8:00. I guess I'd had enough action that day and decided to turn in. I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed.
~^*^~^*^~^*^~^*^~^*^~^*^~
"Good morning, wizarding world. It's 10:30 at the Wizarding Wireless Radio station in Diagon Alley, London. This is DJ Kat here with Reyanne Asler, who plays a leading role in the latest wizard movie. Reyanne, what was it like playing Lily Potter, mother of Harry Potter, in the movie 'The Boy Who Lived: The Life of Harry Potter'?" This is what I woke up to. Yes, the wizarding world has taken to making movies of their own; and yes, there is one about me. It's hard to tell who made a bigger deal of this, Gilderoy Lockhart or Rita Skeeter. Lockhart insisted making the movie about my school life so he and the other teachers could be in it. The other professors refused, as could be expected. The producers have to find wizards and witches who look like them now. They aren't too happy, let me tell you. They wanted ME to be in it, even. I told them no way. For a moment I wondered why I was so upset I was up so late, then I remembered Hermione. And I remembered I was going to propose to her. And I remembered Adriana and the kiss. And I remembered oregano and Italian cooking. And I remembered missing Quidditch practice. And I panicked. There was no way I could learn to cook AND overcome my nerves by 8:00 tonight. It wasn't humanly possible. Not even for the amazing Harry Potter. I decided to calm down and pick a meal to cook (or try to cook) for Hermione out of Italian Cooking for Dummies. It wasn't an easy choice. There was everything from Caesar salads to fettuccini alfredo to spaghetti and all other kinds of pastas like tortellini. I NEVER knew that there was something called oregano in spaghetti. I've had spaghetti hundreds of times! Finally I decided to have a main course of spaghetti and garlic bread. My dessert is going off Italian a bit; we'll have chocolate mousse. I'm going to splurge as much as to get a bottle of wine to drink, though Hermione probably will not approve. She hates alcohol of any kind, but really, would a can of Pepsi look right next to chocolate mousse? I was going to take a trip to the grocery store to get all my ingredients, but I decided I would need several practice run-throughs to get my dinner right, and to save time and money I conjured them up with my wand. The first time I made the spaghetti, it looked fine. It looked perfect, actually. I dared taste it. My mistake. It tasted burnt. It WAS burnt. Dried up. I made the spaghetti again. Again, I dared taste my creation. It looked like soup this time. Oops. No hamburger. Into the trash that went. Third time's a charm, I told myself. I hoped it was true. The spaghetti looked simply exquisite this time. I walked all around it, surveying it from every angle. Hamburger? Check. Spaghetti sauce? Check. Spaghetti? Check. Oregano? Check. It's in the sauce. It wasn't watery. It wasn't dried out. Finally, I was satisfied. All that was left was to taste it. So I did. I cringed before I realized that it didn't taste bad. It tasted GOOD. Very good. Third time IS a charm. I ate the whole plate. I made another plate and ate it too, even though I wasn't hungry. I MADE FOOD!!!!! GOOD FOOD!!!!!! I checked the clock. It was 2:30. Time flies when you're making spaghetti. Then it hit me. I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO WEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! In the movies, men are always wearing fancy tuxes when they propose to women. I glanced down at my boxers and a sweaty white wife-beater with a spaghetti stain down the front. It would have to go. Running upstairs, I dashed into my room and threw open the closet. Inside were Muggle jeans and tee shirts and wizard robes of every color. Jumpsuits and sweatpants. Sweatshirts. No tux. Nothing formal. I ran out to the car, completely forgetting about my boxers and undershirt. I ran back in and threw on a sweatshirt and jeans, forgetting that it was summer. Who cares? Somehow, the car drove itself to the nearest Muggle tux shop. I ran in and gave them measurements and told them to give me the most expensive they had. The owner himself came out to assist me. He looked pleased. I doubted that they sold many of that tux. The tux in the back seat of my Expedition, the SUV drove itself home again. I had bothered to try on the tux, but nothing more. It looked okay, but in the end I decided not to wear it. It wasn't me. Hermione would comment on that. I would wear a pair of khaki shorts and a camp shirt. My all-time most formal. Somehow, in the next hour, I managed to bake a loaf of garlic bread without burning it and chocolate mousse mysteriously appeared on my counter. I made up another batch of spaghetti. I took a shower and changed. I set the tiny little two-person table on the balcony. I tried to pick a bouquet of wine- red roses for the table. I found they had thorns and was forced to bandage my hands. Fifteen 'til eight. I took inventory. Spaghetti? Check. Bread? Check. Chocolate mousse? Check. Wine? Uh-oh. No wine. I ran down to the basement and entered a tiny wine room. I sure got my exercise that day. I grabbed a fairly old and dusty bottle of red wine and took it upstairs to clean it up. I took it up to the balcony. Then I finished inventory. Outfit? Check. Ring? Check. That was everything. The balcony was perfect. The tires of Hermione's Jaguar threw up gravel in my driveway. My heart plunged into my stomach. What if she said no? Should I not go through with it? Maybe I should just pretend that I wanted to make her dinner and marriage never had anything to do with it? I shook my head violently to clear the disturbing thoughts. I was gonna do this. No matter what it took. I answered the door. Hermione was dressed in a slinky red dress with her hair wound up in a bun. I kissed her, holding her tight to my chest. She kissed me back. "I didn't know that you cooked," was the first thing she said to me. "I didn't before today," I replied. I showed her up to the balcony. She smiled slyly and said, "How romantic..." I was SURE she knew what I was up to. Running down to the kitchen, I put some spaghetti on two plates with a piece of garlic bread and some chocolate mousse on a smaller dish. I bewitched the plates to levitate and steered them up to the veranda. Hermione flashed her beautiful grin. Hermione took the first bite. She had a funny look on her face. I figured it was because she hadn't expected it to be so good. Then I took my first bite. It tasted like salsa. You know, the stuff you put on Mexican food like enchiladas. My eyes went wide with horror. Hermione asked, "Is this Mexican spaghetti?" she always tries to find something funny in everything. Hermione rushed after me as I sped down to the kitchen to check the sauce jar for the spaghetti. I picked it out of the trash. Oh, no. Chi-Chi's Hot Garden Salsa. I slumped against the wall. It was ruined. My chance was ruined. Hermione crept up behind me. She turned my face toward her and looked into my green eyes with her big, solemn, brown ones. She said, "I love you all the more for trying." Then she kissed me. "Are you up for pizza?" I smiled at her. After we ate a large mushroom pizza with extra cheese, I decided that it was now or never. I got down on my knees before Hermione. "Hermione, I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have a family with you. I want us to grow old together. Hermione, will you marry me?" Hermione sat there, stunned. She was too dignified to let her mouth hang open. She grabbed me up off my knees and kissed me full on the lips. A full- fledged Frenchy. Then she asked... "Does that answer your question? Oh, and how much did you pay for this ring?"