The week passes quickly; I spend most of my free time researching the security charm that's kept me from Ron this past year. The only helpful bit of information I come across is that it acts like a Muggle restraining order, and that it's possible a time limit could be in effect. I assume that was the case with Ron and I, considering it was almost exactly a year since that night. I'm so wound up in my research that I don't really have time to think about my date with Jonathon this Saturday until Cynthia pops in my office on Friday.

"So, Jonathon tells me you guys are heading to the Puddlemere match tomorrow," she closes my office door and leans against it.

"Yes, we are," I respond, immediately returning to my paperwork.

"I haven't seen Ron around. I take it your dinner didn't go so well?" She moves into the room and sits in the chair across from my desk.

"It was fine," I reply shortly. "I don't know why he hasn't been around. I mean, I haven't invited him to be around…and I'm sure he's incredibly busy training and what not…"

"Yeah, okay. Anyways, I was just checking in to see how you were. Wanna do lunch today?"

I agree and Cynthia leaves my office and it seems like the whole date situation is weighing down on me like never before. Puddlemere plays the Cannons on Saturday. Ron will be there.

It's Saturday morning and again I'm left with the decision of what to wear. I silently curse Hogwarts for not training me in fashion. I settle on a casual outfit consisting of jeans and a T-shirt—I couldn't help wearing a Cannons shirt, I figure they're the only Quidditch team I'll ever support, besides Gryffindor of course, and I'm not going to hide it now.

I arrive at our pre-determined location and find that Jonathon hasn't arrived yet. I find a bench nearby and sit and take in my surroundings, grasping my wand in my coat pocket. I barely have time to look around before a man appears in front of me.

"Hermione?" the man asks timidly.

"Yes," I reply standing. I awkwardly extend my hand. He takes it and introduces himself.

"Shall we head on in?"

As we make our way inside the stadium I realize just how massive it is and I'm instantly glad because I'd been worrying about running into Ron today. Jonathon leads me to what appears to be a private box, fitted with seats for approximately twenty people and we sit in two seats in the front. A waiter arrives and takes our drink order and Disapparates.

"This is lovely," I comment, motioning to the private seats. "How did you manage to get these tickets?"

"Oh, I've got season passes, I write for the Prophet covering Quidditch matches."

"Oh, so…are you working right now then?"

He laughs, his shoulders shaking with it.

"No, this is purely a pleasure outing."

"Oh, okay." Our drinks arrive and I take a moment to study Jonathon while he speaks with the waiter. His hair is dark and cut short. His eyes are an almost golden brown and he has a gorgeous smile. All in all, he has a magnificent architecture and yet he seems quite modest.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" I stumble out of what must have been quite an obvious ogling to realize he was talking to me. "Sorry, what was that?" I can feel blush filling my cheeks.

"I just was noticing that you're a Cannons fan," he says smiling plucking at his Puddlemere jersey. "That must be tough."

"Ha ha," I narrow my eyes, glaring at him playfully. "We'll see who's laughing at the end of the match," I declare and promptly turn my attention to the pitch where the players are warming up.

"Want to make a bet of it?" he asks, gaining my attention again.

"Sure," I say confidently although I'm quite sure the Cannons haven't won a match in decades. "What will it be?"

"Loser buys winner a drink?" he offers.

"Sounds fine to me." We clink our glasses and I resign myself to buying him a drink later on.

A small group of Puddlemere supporters join us in the box and the match begins. We watch in near silence for the first ten minutes of the match and Puddlemere is up 40-0 when Jonathon leans back in chair and smirks at me.

"So why are you a Cannons fan?" he asks with sincerity.

"Well, I'm Muggleborn, so I didn't even know about Quidditch until first year. My best friend from Hogwarts is a huge Cannons supporter so I guess I just took that as the team to support. Little did I know they were so horrible." I laugh. "But I guess over the years, it just stuck. Why do you support Puddlemere?"

"My gramps played chaser for them in the 50's and 60's so it's a family thing." He says glancing back as a group of Cannons fans enter the box.

I sink back into my seat and sip my Firewhisky with lemon. Jonathon fidgets nervously next to me for a moment before he slips his hand into mine. The notion quickly reminds me of the romantic implications of a date and I become nervous but I don't withdraw my hand from his because in all honesty, it feels quite nice. I glance out of the corner of my eye at him and he's smiling and I do too.

We chat and watch the match and its 130-60 an hour in. Jonathon blatantly avoids asking questions about the war which I'm grateful for, but I can tell he's curious.

"Hermione Granger?" A voice says from behind us and I turn in my seat to see who it is. A young man with a camera hanging around his neck is standing behind my chair.

"Dennis? Dennis Creevey?" I ask standing and moving around to greet him with a hug. "How've you been? I haven't seen you since the re-opening!"

"I've been good," he says blushing a bit.

"I see you've taken up your brother's hobby," I say quietly motioning to his camera.

"Yeah," he drops his head. "Well, I was wondering if I could get a photo of you, I'm interning at The Daily Prophet and..."

"Of course, Dennis. Um, will it be published?"

"No, it's just an assignment for interns."

"Hey there, Creevey, working hard?" Jonathon has turned in his seat and is grinning at Dennis.

"Oh, h-hello, Mr. Pierce," he mumbles shyly and clears his throat and motions for me to sit. "Would you like to be in the photo too, Mr. Pierce?"

"Sure, and please, call me Jonathon," he says kindly and drapes his arm across my shoulders and Jonathon points to the Puddlemere logo on his jersey and gives me a thumbs down, I just shake my head and smile.

"Thanks, guys! Enjoy the rest of the match." He hurries off out of the box.

"So how do you know Dennis? The Prophet?" I ask after watching the match for a few minutes, it's now 240-90.

"Yeah, he's doing a photographer's internship so he works with the sports department a lot."

Suddenly, the crowd erupts. The Cannons fans in the box are jumping about and shouting wildly. One of them runs over to me and pulls me into a crushing hug.

"We've done it! We've done it! We tied!" he shouts in my ear spins me in circles then runs back to his friends. Jonathon grabs my arm laughing.

"Are you okay?"

"I think I might be sick," I laugh holding my head to stop it from spinning.

"I've never seen someone so excited for a tie before! Come on let's get out of here before the madness ensues." He takes my hand and leads me out to an Apparating point and asks if I want to head to the Broomsticks for a drink. I agree—but just one—and then we're off.