Ron was pointedly absent, but Hermione sat on the bed, staring up at Harry as he tried on his sixteenth (yes, she had counted) outfit. She had watched a horrifyingly old grey jumper become the traumatic experience that was his flamingo print shirt, become one of Harry's rather extensive collection of The Beatles t-shirts, become a plain white t-shirt that would have been fine had he not paired it with yellow trousers, become the denim on denim on denim that he was currently wearing. At the disgust that he found on her face, Harry turned back around and started to look for outfit number seventeen. Hermione sighed as she saw salmon pink make its way out of a wardrobe that was surely too small to contain such atrocities. She finally jumped off the bed, shoved Harry aside and ventured into a nightmare-inducing place that she immediately regretted entering.
Hermione was by no means a fashion expert, which is why she was so angry at Ron for stating that his incomplete potions essay was imminent and that the library was crucial; although she would never admit it to his face, Ron was somehow the best dressed of the trio, and this fact angered her almost as much as the fact that he had abandoned her. Hermione was definitely more skilled than Harry, but considering that the clothes of his childhood consisted entirely of too large hand-me-downs and that his heart probably soared when receiving anything that didn't have a hole in it, Hermione found it difficult to feel the good kind of superiority. The sixteen outfits were but a small portion of Harry's fabric-filled morning as he had skipped breakfast to carry out a preliminary clothes testing, and Hermione shuddered at the mere thought of the clothes that Harry had deemed to be significantly worse than those he had shown her.
Through a collective effort that Hermione led, they finally settled on a simple navy blue t-shirt with even simpler black jeans and shoes that were the closest to (and yet so far away from) smart that Harry owned. She then attempted to run a comb through his hair, ignoring all of Harry's protests, and this attempt lasted a whole five minutes out of her sheer determination, but when it comes to Harry's hair, even Hermione had to give up. Finally, with wandwork that was far more advanced than that of others her age, she smoothed out the numerous kinks in his glasses frame because she believed that small details like these were what creates the biggest impact; he looked cleaner, sharper and more mature with his straitened glasses, but what caused this change was so subtle that most people wouldn't notice it, so they would associate the better appearance with the face itself. At least, that was her logic, but she could tell that Harry didn't entirely follow it since, when she explained it, he wore his typical homework expression – blank, but trying to not be so blank. Hermione appreciated him trying and gave him a peck on the cheek. Affection was oozing out of her this morning. Two of the most important people in her life, two people who had liked each other for far too long now, two people who she believed couldn't be more perfect for each other, were going on their first date. Aside from Harry and Ginny themselves, Hermione was probably the happiest with this development.
She took a few steps back and found herself smiling at the result. "Definitely cleaner, sharper and more mature," she murmured to herself. But it was more than that; his eyes were greener than she'd ever noticed with nothing else stealing their attention, his skin appeared to be glowing beside the dark colours he wore, and the pure happiness that she found on his face made him more handsome than anything she could have done with the clothes and the hair and the glasses.
"Are you ready?" Hermione asked.