A/N: Thank you so much to the readers and reviewers on this website and on the HMS Harmony Discord. Some of you were kind enough to reach out to me about my writer's block, which I assure you meant the world to me and motivated me to keep going. This was a difficult to chapter to write, but I hope I did it justice.

...

Friday, 2/12/1999

The late-afternoon sun hung low in the Hogwarts skyline. It was just beginning to hug the surrounding mountains, washing the castle and grounds in a warm ochre light.

Harry and Hermione traced a slow and steady path towards the entrance to Hogwarts grounds. Lately they had been taking leave of the castle earlier and earlier on the weekends, and today was no exception. They had all but sprinted from their final classes of the day, hastily gathering their overnight bags in anticipation of some much-needed Teddy time.

As they reached the Apparition point near the front gate, Harry steadied Hermione with a gentle hand to her arm.

"I told Andi we're taking a little detour today. We'll be in by dinnertime."

"Where to?"

"It's a surprise."

She nodded and covered his hand on her arm with hers. Hermione really did not like surprises much, but she trusted Harry implicitly.

"Side-along me?"

He nodded, and a moment later the front gate to Hogwarts' grounds was empty once more.

...

The first thing Hermione noticed was the sound. Or rather, the lack thereof. Accustomed as she was to the constant rumbling and activity of Hogwarts, the lack of noise was almost jarring. But it was not entirely silent. She could hear a faint rustling of leaves in the breeze, and - quite a bit further, from the sound of it - the muted roar of a river.

She opened her eyes to a two-story cottage, painted in a fresh coat of eggshell white and pastel blue. They were standing on a packed dirt road situated in what appeared to be a sparse forest. Hermione could just make out a slice of a sprawling lawn behind the house. A wrap-around wooden porch completed the picture.

"Harry?"

He hadn't heard her. His gaze was focused entirely ahead, on the two wicker rocking chairs flanking the front entrance.

"Harry? Whose house is this?"

Hermione's question seemed to shake him from his reverie. He took her arm in his again, and she instinctively wrapped her other hand around his bicep.

"5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms. The house and backyard themselves span about 4 acres, but the property lines go into the woods for quite a bit as well. The plumbing isn't completely done in the guest rooms, but everything else is more or less ready."

A flare of excitement shot through her chest, before her logical side savagely wrestled it down.

"It's about a 30 minute drive from the dental practice, according to Dan. We're a bit closer to Oxford than to London, as it turns out. But both are close enough. The nearest town is High Wycombe, which has a small wizarding population. There's an apothecary and owlery, and even a little Healer's clinic."

Hermione could scarcely breathe as she clutched his arm tighter - both to steady herself, and because she needed the reassurance that this was not a dream. At his use of the term 'We' her stomach did a sort of violent flip-flop and she squeezed his arm tight enough to bruise. Her cynical side was now desperately inventing more and more outlandish theories to explain away Harry's words. But then her niggling hope played its trump card: she recalled his quip from a few weeks back. 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, and plenty of room for the kids to play…

Harry stopped his monologue to glance at Hermione again. His tone had been light and airy, but his eyes betrayed the nervousness he felt. He really, really, really wanted her to like the house. If she didn't like it they could always find another, of course. Hell, he would gladly live in a tent for the rest of his life if it meant having her.

But the cottage...it was more than a place to live. It was the physical embodiment of his dream of a life with Hermione. For so long it had merely been a figment of his imagination. Then, the day after he had plucked those semper fideles flowers for her, he had impulsively shot off a letter to Gringotts asking if they knew of any companies to purchase or build houses. Suddenly he had acquired a plot of land, and was sneaking off at every opportunity to compare wood grains, shades of paint, and floor plan layouts.

Then, before he had even realized it, it was done. His fantasy had become manifest. Now he was here, with Hermione on his arm and a ring in his pocket. It was thrilling, and terrifying.

Hermione had hardly said a thing. She was just clutching his arm tightly and looking up at him in a mix of apprehension and wonder.

"So...do you want a tour?"

"This is yours?" She breathed, not wanting to give voice to her burgeoning excitement. It would make it all too real, and hence all too easy to take away.

He chuckled and shook his head, as though she had just asked if the sky was green.

"No, silly. It's yours."

Taking her stunned expression for one of confusion, he continued.

"I wanted to show it to you and see if you'd like it. For us, I mean. Well, technically, it is in your name, in case anything were to-"

Hermione cut Harry off by hug-tackling him straight to the ground. She clutched his face with both hands tight enough to cut off circulation, and peppered every available inch of his face with wet, teary kisses.

"Harry-"

She kissed his nose.

"James-"

His right eyebrow.

"Potter-"

His left cheek.

"You great, big, tremendous prat!"

Harry's eyes briefly flashed with panic at her words, but relaxed as she kept up a steady rhythm of kisses and held him even tighter. Finally, she seemed to catch her breath enough to form a complete sentence.

"You built me a house? A whole house?!"

"Well, it was the builders mostly, I only-"

She cut him off with a searing kiss to the lips. Their embrace was so tight that Harry thought he might pass out for the lack of air. Several minutes passed before she came up for rest.

Harry looked up at Hermione, who was straddling him as he lay prone on the ground. Her hair had sprung from its clip to curtain their heads. Her face was streaked with tear tracks and split into a beatific smile. At the sight of her shining eyes his shortness of breath redoubled. The rest of Harry's little speech about the house escaped him completely, and all he could do was gaze up at her in wonder.

Hermione pulled him in for another firm kiss before getting to her feet and yanking him up with more force than he thought her capable of. She coyly brushed the dirt off of her clothes before wrapping taking his arm in hers again. Her expression of pride and adoration was turning his insides into a finely-ground mush. It was all Harry could do to not lose his wits completely.

"I want my tour now."

Harry nodded dumbly. For a moment he just stood there, grinning like a fool at the sight of her. Then, with a firm tug from Hermione, he started and regained his senses enough to walk. Still unable to tear his eyes from her, he blindly led them up the path to the steps into the house.

The tour, if you could call it that, was less of a guided walk by Harry and more of a systematic exploration by Hermione. She eagerly pulled him from room to room, asking him questions in her usual rapid-fire manner as she came up with plans on the fly for furniture, decorations, accenting all at once. Harry, for his part, could barely remember the little details about wood flooring or paint colors he had tried to commit to memory. He was too busy marveling at that beautiful spark in her eyes.

Harry could do little more than watch as his Hermione examined and deconstructed and reassembled the house in her mind's eye, into a home. Into something that would be theirs. The sight of it caused his heart to flare with pride and pound with anticipation. He could scarcely believe that there were no more obstacles to the realization of his dream. There were only two questions. First, whether they would graduate from Hogwarts, which was a foregone conclusion. Second, what she would say to the diamond ring that was currently burning a hole in his pocket.

Harry scolded himself for the hundredth time that week. Follow the plan. He would do it on Sunday - Valentine's Day - at the expensive French restaurant overlooking the River Thames. It would be perfect. At least, he hoped so. But a stubborn part of him - the same part that had stupidly decided to carry the ring around all the time, despite how easily she might find it - had wanted to do it the moment he had gotten Dan and Emma's blessing. It would be so simple. He could even do it here - he had that bouquet of semper fideles tucked away in the backyard, after all...

The feeling of Hermione releasing his arm shook Harry from his reverie. He turned from the photos on the mantel to spot her moving to the sole book on the living room bookshelves.

Natural curiosity had overcome her, of course, and she hastened to examine the thick, ancient-looking volume. At the lack of title or author on the cover, she turned to Harry in confusion. He merely smiled and motioned for her to read.

Hermione gently opened to the first page to find a yellowed piece of parchment, folded and tucked neatly into the cover page. She unfurled the aged scroll and began reading.

Dear Albus,

I was overjoyed to hear of your recent promotion. It is well-deserved and quite overdue, if I say so myself. I recall telling Armando Dippet many years ago, upon your appointment as Professor, that he should retire on the spot and leave Hogwarts in your capable hands. Of course the old fool did not listen! Nevertheless, I knew the post would become yours one day.

Words cannot express how proud I am of you. You and Aberforth must visit soon so we can celebrate properly. In the meanwhile, I wanted to give you the original draft copy of my manuscript so that you may keep and preserve it, in your capacity as Headmaster. I know you have already read the published text, but this original version contains many notes and sections which were left out of the final print. I trust that you will enjoy the fuller picture.

With love,

Bathilda Bagshot

Hermione reverently cradled the book and letter, scarcely believing that such an important piece of history was in her hands. She turned the page to see the handwritten title in an angular cursive script - Hogwarts: A History.

She turned to Harry, who was beaming at her dumbstruck expression.

"How did you…"

"You mean, besides you quoting the book about a thousand times?"

Hermione gingerly set down the priceless artifact, careful to not damage the binding, before firmly smacking his arm. Harry laughed and pulled her close to nuzzle her nose.

"It's from Professor McGonagall. She said that if you kept the book then she might convince you to take her job one day."

Hermione flushed at the praise from her favorite teacher.

"She really said that?"

"Of course she did."

"Me, as Headmistress? What would I even teach?"

"I don't know, but I do know you'd be damn sexy as a Professor."

"Mr. Potter, you are a shameless flirt."

"True, but I'd be a great teacher's pet."

"Oh? Well let's have a little exam right now, shall we…"

...

Several minutes later, Hermione dragged Harry into the last part of the tour: the backyard. As they stepped out from the kitchen, they both noticed that the sun hung much lower than it had when they entered the house. The sky was shot with a spectrum of red and purple hues that marked the beginning of sunset.

For the third time that day, Hermione was at a loss for words. It was breathtaking. The backyard was not so much a yard as it was an enormous field. To their left was a thick treeline which led into the surrounding forests. Before them lay several Quidditch pitches' worth of freshly cut-grass, gently sloping up to crest at the head of the cliff that the house was built on.

But the natural beauty was not what stole Hermione's breath away. It was the massive, sprawling garden to their right, which was full of thousands of flowers. There were varieties of every imaginable shape and color: bright blue, pale pink, gay yellow, rich crimson...there had to be at least a hundred species, and Hermione could recognize but a few of them. Their Latin names came easily to her: vitae pulcherrimae, gemmae molles, musicae risae, sacrae amores-

And then she understood.

Hermione turned to face Harry, who was nervously tracking her gaze as she took it all in. Unbidden tears came to her eyes once more as she looked up at him in wonder.

"For me?" She whispered, still scarcely able to believe it.

He nodded, and gave her a shy smile. "I promised you, didn't I? Every Monday, for as long as you'll have me."

She could only manage a whimpering sob before she crushed herself into him again, ruining his shirt with a fresh torrent of tears. Hermione's mind flooded with images of all the times she had thought she might have lost him. Every single time her brave, stupid, selfless Harry had rushed off into danger and yet somehow come back to her. She couldn't let go of him now. She needed to hold him, to feel his breath and heartbeat and warmth and assure herself that it was all real. How could it be real? How could she be so lucky?

"I don't deserve you," she choked out between sobs.

"Never say that!" Harry redoubled his hold on her, squeezing her back with the same desperate need. "Never. Without you...you deserve everything, Hermione. I'm the lucky one. I don't deserve you. Nobody does."

"Can't you just-" she whimpered again, burying her head deeper into his chest. "Can't you just agree with me, you stubborn git?"

"Never." Harry kissed the top of her head, and cradled Hermione to him as her sobs subsided. After a few minutes, she relaxed her grip on him but did not let go.

"I love you, Harry."

"I love you more."

"Not possible."

"Yes possible."

"Stubborn git."

Harry laughed and pulled away so they stood side by side again. He tenderly brushed a few errant strands of hair behind her ear, before turning to gesture to the yard.

"Now, for the end of the tour."

Hermione wrapped both arms around his right arm, and he led them up to the massive oak tree at the crest of the hill. The sun had begun to set now, throwing the landscape into brilliant relief of deep reddish-orange. The faint sound of the nearby river in the valley enveloped their comfortable silence.

After about 10 minutes, they reached the peak. Harry led them to the wooden bench hanging from the ancient oak tree, and they wordlessly sat side by side to take in the majestic scene before them. Rolling hills went miles in every direction, extending beyond the horizon. The rushing river wound its way through the valley below, a deep midnight blue in the shadows cast from the surrounding forests. The cliff itself faced directly west towards the setting sun, which tinged the sky with the rich spectrum of colors that signal the coming of dusk.

Harry had never stopped to enjoy the sunset in all of his visits to the cottage. The moment was nothing short of perfect. Between the tranquil beauty of nature before him, and the reassuring warmth of Hermione beside him, he felt more at peace than at any other point in his life.

Happiness was so simple. It was utterly simple, he realized. It was just this. It was this moment, repeated day after day, year after year, for the rest of his life.

He knew what he had to do. Harry gently let go of Hermione as he stood up from the bench and wandlessly summoned a book from the house. His heart was pounding against his ribcage as he snatched the book from mid-air, almost fumbling it, and handed it to Hermione. At the confusion in her eyes, he wavered for a moment, but then found his resolve.

"Read the last page," he murmured, too nervous to make eye contact. Then he headed off to the flower gardens.

Hermione looked down at the slim book in her hands. It appeared quite old, but in good condition. The dark green leather bindings were just barely beginning to show their age. A rich gold filigree spelled out the title: Ars Floris. The Art of Flowers.

Hermione flipped to one of the many plastic tabs sticking out of the side, to find an animated drawing of a periwinkle blue wildflower that she would recognize anywhere.

Gemmae molles, the unbreakable gem, is a remarkably resilient species which can be found in a wide variety of climates...

She flipped to another tab, to find a drawing of a spiraling white rose.

Vitae pulcherrimae, the flower of unparalleled beauty, is said to have been a gift from King Menelaus of Sparta to Helen of Troy, the greatest beauty of the world...

Hermione skipped from tab to tab, slowly becoming overcome with emotion as she read about each and every species of flower Harry had ever gotten her. By the time she was at the final page, she had not even noticed her freely flowing tears.

Semper fideles, the flower of undying loyalty, signifies the last step in a proper courtship. The wizard, upon presenting these unto the witch, has stated that his heart belongs to her forever. To accept the flower is tantamount to accepting marriage...When given and accepted with verity of heart and magic, the flowers shall preserve forever. No spell is needed to maintain their freshness or aroma. Indeed, it is said that the smell of the semper fideles is akin to Amortentia, the strongest of love potions; hence the witch shall be reminded of her wizard, and the wizard of his witch…

She looked up to see Harry returning up the footpath to the crest of the hill. His jacket and hair fluttered in the breeze, and half his face was silhouetted by the long rays of the setting sun. Still, she could see his eyes blazing with determination. In his left hand he clutched some small object she could not see, and in his right hand-

In his right hand, he held a bouquet of flowers covered in a white cloth.

She immediately knew. Hermione's hands shot to her mouth to cover her gasp. She blindly stumbled to her feet as she locked eyes with him. It could not be. It could not be, but it was, it had to be, because she knew Harry to the depths of his soul and that look in his eyes left no room for doubt.

He was here.

Harry got down on one knee before her and tugged off the cloth to reveal a dozen red roses. More beautiful than their spiraling blossoms and deep crimson coloring was their aroma: a sharp, heady mixture of parchment, spearmint, and freshly-mown grass. There was no logical connection, no proof or demonstration, but she somehow knew it was the scent of the most treasured things in life: of friendship, and family, and love. It was the scent of home. It was her Harry.

Hermione's tears redoubled as she patiently waited for the speech which always accompanied her flowers.

Except that the speech never came. Harry was so overcome with the sight of Hermione that all he could do was gaze at his love in wonder. She looked beautiful in the dying rays of the sun; more beautiful than words, more beautiful than the greatest bards and poets could ever hope to describe. But more than her incredible beauty, Harry was overcome with the knowledge of her boundless and infinite heart. Hermione Granger was too good for this world. Too good for him, certainly, and yet here she stood. Kind, compassionate, loyal, strong, honorable, brave, brilliant…

Yet the words died in his throat. The paltry speech he had prepared was all too small for the magnitude of his emotion. A thousand would not be enough. A million would barely scratch the surface. So Harry forgot it all, and just said what he had meant to say for so long. He had wanted to say it for years, ever since he had realized that she was everything to him, and that she always would be.

"Will you marry me?"

Hermione found her voice through a fresh wave of emotion.

"Yes! Yes, always yes, always…."

Harry handed her the bouquet before displaying the small velvet box in his left hand. He unclasped it to reveal a sparkling diamond ring inset with deep blue sapphires. He gently clasped her left hand and slid it up to the base of her ring finger. It was a perfect fit.

Finally, Harry proceeded just as he always did when he got flowers for Hermione. He stood to tightly embrace her to him, and captured her lips in a deep kiss.

The way they held each other conveyed the depth and intensity of their feelings better than words ever could. In that simple and wordless language, Harry and Hermione repeated the same truth to each other over and over again.

I love you.

I love you too.

The setting sun disappeared fully behind the hills as day finally turned to dusk. Overhead, the first stars appeared in the night sky.