The naked foot crept carefully along the vertically striped wooden floorboards. The nails, neatly cut so they protruded slightly from the owner's toes, were painted a fierce, fiery red. The fourth toe, neighbouring the pinkie, sported a beautiful, golden toe-ring – which enforced the fragility of the woman who wore it. In her hands was a pair of silver high heels, embedded with delicate gems, and slimming straps. She wore a gorgeous, long, flowing, backless dress which was black, with small, white polka dots providing a beautiful touch to the magnificent work. On her shoulder, she carried a small, round, beaded bag – which looked like a normal, muggle handbag – but had an undetectable extension charm cast upon it. As the woman snuck through the house, she smiled at the gold-framed photographs which adorned the mantle and were hanging permanently around the cottage. Ginny, she knew, was away until next Sunday, accompanying Luna to one of the crazy Nargle conventions she loves so dearly. Hermione rolled her eyes at the thought, and then smiled bemusedly at the untidiness of the house since Ginny's absence had begun. She crept quietly along and opened the creaky bedroom door, making it loud enough to awake Harry, but not enough to over-startle him. As she entered the bedroom, she saw a tired man with tousled, long black hair, leaning against the wooden headboard of the double bed, and she smiled.
'Hermione?' Harry asked, as if clarifying whether he was still dreaming. His question was answered as she walked over to her friend and gave him a tight and loving hug hello.
'So, what brings you here at this time on a Sunday?' Harry asked, implying a huge intrusion on her part. Of course, it was already eleven-thirty in the morning - and Hermione had been up since six.
'Well… I have something I wanted your help with.' She said, a small smile dawning on her pretty, unblemished and make-up-less face, 'But we have plenty of time to discuss that, let me get you a coffee.' At those words, Harry smiled. Each morning, Ginny usually brought him a hot coffee. He was used to the perfectly brewed beans and steaming coffee waking him up properly each morning. Whenever she was away, however, despite his constant attempts, his coffee would always turn out burnt, too strong, too weak, plain revolting – or he gave up midpoint through. Hermione left the room, and wandered to the kitchen. As she entered the room, the ceramic tiles coldly touched her un-shoed feet, and she took a moment to adjust to the temperature change. She set about making a coffee and, within minutes, was back in Harry's bedroom – handing him the cup of Joe, then collapsing on the bed beside him, carefully ensuring she was not wrinkling her recently ironed dress. Harry took a deep sip of the heavenly drink and exhaled appreciatively, steam rising from his mouth. He smiled in gratitude, took another sip, then asked the question she was obviously waiting for him to ask.
'So, is there a specific reason you're here?' He asked, raising his eyebrow in anticipation and, he admitted to himself, a half put-on interest in her reasoning. After she spoke her next words, however, the interest became very real indeed.
'Well…' She said, smiling in spite of herself, 'I'm going to ask Ron to marry me.'