Friday, 11/6/1998

A blistering snow storm raged outside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was dead of night. While most sane denizens of the castle were already asleep, the Eighth Year Gryffindor boys' dorm rang with raucous laughter and hollering, as the five friends took part in their weekly ritual.

The culprit for the noise - a rather large bottle of Firewhiskey, courtesy of George Weasley - lay cradled in Harry's arm. He was sprawled out on the floor and definitely not in a position to get up of his own power. Frowning, he stared hard at the empty bottle in his hands, as if he could conjure more of the amber liquid by sheer force of will.

"Sorry to break it to you, Harry, but Granger isn't hiding at the bottom of that bottle!" Seamus hollered from his bed.

"I - hic - know that, you smarmy git!" Harry soured, flinging the bottle away as though offended.

Ron, taking pity on Harry, staggered over from his game of Exploding Snap and plopped to the floor alongside him. Clapping his friend on the shoulder, he screwed up his face in what he probably thought was a serious look, but only ended up looking both dopey and hungry at the same time. "Listen mate, you're not going to bugger it up. Well, okay, you might. But this is Hermione we're talking about, you know? She's not going to run around and tell everyone your wand is small if you do, you know?"

The rest of the room burst into raucous, belly-aching laughter. Harry gaped like a fish, swinging his face from one to the next.

"Ron! I - she - we - I mean, why would she even know about my wand?!"

"Well, mate, when a witch and a wizard love each other very much…"

They burst into laughter again, Seamus rolling off of his bed with a thud while clutching his sides.

"Argh! You gits are all useless! Shacked up with your own witches and so you're going to take the mickey out of me now, is that it?"

"Okay, okay, hold your hipogriffs, Harry. Hey, that sounds funny. Harry's hipogriffs. Hipogriff Harry. Harry had a hungry Hipogriff…"

Harry began to crawl around looking for the empty bottle, hoping to permanently impair his hearing rather than continue this hell. Thankfully, Neville came to his rescue. "Harry, have you and Hermione been fighting or something? She seems pretty normal to me. If you buggered something up, might want to apologize with flowers or something. Does the trick with Hannah usually."

Groaning as he confirmed the Firewhiskey was finished, Harry shook his head. "No, mate, that's the whole thing. I think things are normal, but now that we're dating, shouldn't we be...you know, doing dating things? Like, going to Madam Puddifoot's or something? Everything just seems so normal, and I don't know, I just feel like she'll realize I'm no good at this shite and decide she needs a bloke with some more finesse, you know? And," he turned to Ron, shooting daggers at him "if you tell me to show her my wand, I swear to Merlin, I'll shove your wand so far up your -"

"Relax, relax mate! Just a joke! Here, I know just the thing for you. Give me a minute."

As Ron turned to rifle through his trunk for a minute, Harry stared off into space, returning to his previous train of thought.

After the war had ended in May, he had finally allowed himself to confront the feelings he had locked away for years. Harry was in love with Hermione. Madly. When she and Ron had quickly realized they were mismatched, he had secretly jumped for joy. Harry and Ginny, too, admitted that they were simply too different to go back to their fledgling relationship after almost a year apart. They were both changed people. Harry avoided telling her the truth, that he had secretly been quite glad to avoid contact with her on the run last year. Even then, he had begun to realize that he was not really serious about her - he could not picture a future with her, pretty and funny as she was. They were better as friends.

Hermione, on the other hand...that future he could picture very easily. He had pictured it. Way, way, way too many times. Marriage, kids, a small cottage somewhere, weekend trips to her parents' and the Burrow, reading by the hearth, growing old together - all of it. Truthfully, he had always known that he wanted Hermione to be a part of his life forever, but around fourth year, when he started to picture not just him and Hermione in the cottage but also a few kids with brown hair and green eyes, that he knew he was a total goner.

When the picture stubbornly stuck throughout sixth year, and the hair colors of his imaginary children remained a chestnut brown rather than Weasley red, he knew his relationship with Ginny was a farce. Still, he could not bring himself to admit the truth to Hermione. He was too scared, and he knew he could not promise her he would make it through alive, or in one piece, by the end of the war. Besides, he didn't think he could handle the pain if she rejected him.

But now, that fairytale happy ending was a possibility, a live option with the war over and the both of them safe and sound. Even better, they were actually together - together, and the thrill that shot through his chest at that thought burned much hotter than the Firewhiskey - and he was completely terrified of fucking it up.

After two months of Officially Dating Hermione, Harry was deliriously happy. She seemed happy too. But he could hardly tell her that he had already planned out what kind of ring he wanted to get her, and where they could live, and that he had carefully researched 12 options (6 for a boy, 6 for a girl) for baby names from Shakespeare, to match her own. Hermione. Her-mi-o-ne. What a perfect name. It's just so nice to say. I should hex whatever tosser came up with the name "Harry," that just means that I'm hairy, what witch would go for that...

If he told her all of this, she would rightfully call him a nutter and run for the hills. It was way too soon. So, he had to pretend he was just normal Harry, kissing her goodnight in the Common Room and taking her to Hogsmeade as though she was just another girl. If only she knew how intensely he felt. If only…

"Right! Here it is mate, you can have my copy. Not sure what you did with the one I got you for your birthday, but it's fine, I've got the thing memorized at this point. I know I'm not exactly the expert on wooing Hermione-"

"Ha! Too right, Weasley!" Seamus cackled.

"Bugger off, Seamus! Anyways, this stuff is universal Harry. You could probably win over McGonagall with it. I'm telling you, try it out, any of the tips. You can't go wrong."

Still woozy and rather out of it, Harry dragged his head down to the small, hardcover book Ron had shoved into his lap. The letters swam before his eyes, refusing to come together into coherent words.

Seemingly sensing his confusion, Ron prattled on. "Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Remember? The book I got you last summer? I reckon you didn't think it was any good, eh? Well, I'm telling you, it really is pure gold. Trust me, mate, you can't go wrong."

Harry snorted at the thought. Ron, who had never read for pleasure unless it involved Quidditch statistics, was giving him a book to woo Hermione. Hermione, the girl who had probably read every book in the castle at least 3 times. The whole situation was so arse-backwards that Harry lost it, letting loose big belly laughs as he clutched the book to himself, rolling around on the floor.

The others, noticing Harry's laughter, switched to a new target.

"Memorized that book, have you Ron? Have you sat the practical exam yet, or just done the theory?" Dean shot over.

Drawing himself up with pride, Ron haughtily replied, "I've done the practical more than once, and I've been told my wandwork was straight-O material, thank you very much."

"No! Weasley, you dog! Tell us, does she really Love Good?"

Saturday, 11/7/1998

Harry felt like his brain had been bashed with an oversized Bludger. Repeatedly. With a great effort, he pushed up his dry and heavy eyelids, only to wince at the bright sunlight streaming through the dorm window. Resolving to sleep through at least the weekend, he rolled over onto a hard and decidedly un-pillow-like object.

Blindly groping for his glasses, he dragged himself into an upright position and grabbed for the offending object.

A book?

Had he been reading in bed? But what was he even studying? This looked too small to be a textbook. Peering at the title, he blinked as the previous evening rushed back to him all at once.

Bugger, bugger, bugger. I'm never drinking again.

Clutching the book as his headache throbbed with a vengeance, Harry remembered moping and whining about his fear of disappointing Hermione, how he was good at being a friend but didn't really know how to be a boyfriend, and his dormmates' gleeful ribbing over his predicament. Ron, though, had really put the cherry on the top, handing him a book on girls, as though Harry was some clueless sod who had never met one in his life.

Well, I really am a clueless sod, though. No use in hiding it. Might as well see if I can get something useful from this thing.

Flipping to a random page, Harry began reading.

Tokens of Affection: How the littlest things often matter the most.

Along with giving your witch your time, and your honest thoughts, you should from time to time give her small tokens of affection. These items should show her that you are thinking about her and care for her. It doesn't have to be flowers and chocolates - anything can be a good gift, if it is meaningful to your witch. Think about what makes this woman special. What unique things make her excited? If she loves walking in the snow, maybe she'd appreciate a warm winter scarf. If she loves music, you could fix up her old wireless.

Tokens of affection do not have to be practical to be meaningful. A small piece of jewelry could signify something you shared, reminding her of your happy time together. Next time you visit somewhere new, buy her a small souvenir from a local shop. Or, buy a more expensive version as an anniversary or birthday gift. Get creative! But in all things, remember that the gift must match the witch! Generic gifts like fancy jewelry, or flowers, are always appreciated but rarely remembered. To know if your gift is good, ask yourself - would another witch appreciate this gift just as much?

Snapping the book shut, Harry groaned as he felt his headache burrowing deeper in his head. A small gift? What kind of a stupid book was this? Hermione had always been the organized one, so he doubted she would need anything practical. Should he get her jewelry? He had never seen her wear jewelry before, except maybe at the Yule Ball. Flowers and chocolate were obviously out, as well. Hannah might appreciate flowers from Neville, but he doubted Hermione cared about such things.

In fact, looking back at every Christmas and birthday from the past seven years, his go-to gift for Hermione had always been a book. Not that this was a bad thing, mind you. He was pretty sure she always read the books, usually within the very day she got them. But it didn't quite have the boyfriend-y tones he was going for, now did it? Oh Hermione, I'm mad about you and want to be with you forever, and to prove it I got you another book just like everyone else does. Enjoy!

Groaning again, Harry lobbed the book into his trunk. Why couldn't there be a book called "Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Hermione Granger, Who Happens to Be Unlike Any Other Witch on the Planet but She's Still a Girl So You Should Probably Make an Effort, Potter"?

He would gladly empty his Gringotts vault for that.