Author's Note: Written for the Final Round — QLFC 6 — This or That

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Chaser 1

Prompt: Character A meets Character B's parents for the first time. Character A tries to hard to impress them.

Add'l Prompts Used:

1 (object) a pair of shoes

14 (first line) She opened her handbag and tipped the contents onto the floor.

15 (exact word count) 1113

Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 1113

A/N: AU

I struggled from the get-go with this one and went through not a few prompts in the process. Being that this could be my last QLFC piece, I really wanted to challenge myself with the exact word count; it is difficult enough as it is to write an original piece much less to that sort of specification. I am glad I took up the challenge.

Based on the assigned Scenario, I was immediately hit with a desire to make it less than run-of-the-mill, and my thoughts immediately turned to the two characters who presented the most problems with parents - Harry and Hermione - in that, they don't have them, for various reasons. It made a Harmony!AU almost too good to pass up, so I didn't.

How do you impress the dead? Maybe love is enough.

With much love to litfreak89 for introducing me to Harmony. I ship it.

Beta Love: Story, Please, crochetaway and Litfreak89 for all their help and support.

At the close

She opened her handbag and tipped the contents onto the floor, dropping to her knees to search through the rubble. Considering the expansion charm she kept on her already oversized boho, it was a significant mess, to say the least. Harry shook his head in silent bemusement as he sipped his tea, leaning against the door frame separating their meagre kitchenette from the large studio space that was their flat. Being that this was the third time in as many days that he'd watched her go through this ritual, he was growing immune. He had almost managed to turn back to the hob to warm his mug when he nearly spat out his tea.

"Hermione," he asked, "Is that a pair of shoes?"

"Where?" she replied, not looking up from an assortment of buttons she was picking through.

"Over there." He pointed, though she wasn't paying attention. It was the fifth pair she had flung out of her bag that morning, and he couldn't help but wonder why she might need that many sensible shoes?

"Got it!" she declared, a look of triumph on her face as she stood, her hand tightened into a fist.

"I don't understand, Hermione. Five pair of oxfords?" he sputtered, grabbing a hold of the nearest pair. "Three of which all appear to be brown?"

"Don't judge me," she said in a failing attempt to scold him that broke down into a kiss to the end of his nose. Suppressing a giggle, she swiped the shoe back from him and went about clearing up the mess she'd made. With a flick of her wrist, her purse was uprighted onto the table next to their dilapidated sofa as if nothing had happened. Harry plopped down, his tea precariously close to spilling as he sunk low into the cushions.

Already fully dressed for work, Hermione joined him, sitting daintily on the arm of the couch instead. "I've been thinking," she said, leaning towards him. "Would it be gauche to put a couch on our wedding registry?" Harry barely held back a snort of laughter. They had taken over his flat, and its contents, mostly made up of the sort of things one might find in the dormitory of a local uni frat. His broken down couch was the least of the furniture items they would need to replace. However, it was a temporary, and happy, respite from the Wizarding World's unbearably small social circles. They had both broken ties with a Weasley; lingering animosity was just par for the course. Thankfully, their rejection had been mercifully brief.

"I think we can do whatever we like," he said. "It's our wedding." He smiled. He dearly loved the sound of that. Hermione's face brightened, too, and she reached down to squeeze his hand before rising to walk into the kitchen and pour herself a thermos full of tea. It was a sweet, quiet revelry that was interrupted by the chime of the clock.

"Oh, good gracious," she gasped, "I've got to go!"

"But it's only just seven?" Harry complained.

"I know, I know…but I have an early meeting." She slipped him a kiss and dashed for the door. Harry couldn't help but notice that she wasn't using the Floo. Again. She doesn't want me to know where she's going. He approached the window to watch her leave, trying desperately not to let his mind wander.

It is almost Christmas, he thought, and he convinced himself that her odd behaviour of late was all in the spirit of the season. He turned his mind to his own impending work day and shuffled off to dress.

Her hand fidgeted in his as they approached the cemetery. The cold was bracing. It reminded him of the first time they'd been here.

"Tell me again," he asked, his breath visibly misting in the chill, "why are we here tonight?" The church bells chimed the start of Christmas Eve services. "I mean, besides the obvious."

"I needed to do something," Hermione replied. She smiled, but her voice faltered with obvious nervousness. "Tonight seemed as good a night as any." She inhaled deeply as they approached the iron gate, looking up at the winter sky, full of stars. "Here, as good a place as any…" Harry wasn't sure if she was even talking to him anymore.

They'd brought an evergreen wreath that Hermione had laboured to decorate with a red velvet bow and some holly sprigs. Harry leaned down to clear a spot on his parents' gravestone his parents shared and was almost surprised at the tears. Almost.

He felt Hermione's left hand on his shoulder for just a moment. Her support — her love — had been a pillar of strength for him through the toughest times. She was always there.

He fixed the wreath in place and was about to rise when he felt the lightest touch of warmth on his cheek. He looked up into his mother's eyes.

"Mum?"

She only smiled at him in that winsome way she had whenever he saw her beyond the astral plane; more reflection than real. Harry would never know if that was who his mother had truly been, or just what she'd become in whatever came after this life was over.

He stood and turned, taking in the figure of his father; a proud smile on his face. James raised his eyebrows at Hermione. "That's some witch you've got there."

Harry looked at her, the small piece of the Resurrection Stone clutched in her hand — her spell cast silently through his own wand so as to accomplish the feat. The bright blush on Hermione's cheeks from the cold air hid any hint of embarrassment from him, but the way she turned her eyes away told Harry all he needed to know about how she felt.

"I wanted to make sure they thought I was worthy," she whispered, her eyes looking up at each of his parents in turn. "I wanted them to know. I love you, Harry." She kneeled in the snow, her face raised to catch the moonlight as she released her grip on the stone. "I'm sorry," she breathed, "it was selfish."

He kneeled beside her, taking her in his arms as the sound of hymnals from the nearby church filled the air. "Not selfish," he replied, kissing her. "It was brilliant. But how—"

"You talk in your sleep," she said, suddenly shy. She reached inside her bag and pulled out the golden orb, opening her palm so it glittered in the moonlight. "All I needed to do was place this near your pillow while you slept…"

And the rest, as they say, is history.