Can I ask you something?
"Can I ask you something?"
Hermione lifts her head and peers at Harry from above the tome placed in her lap, resting comfortably against her bent thighs.
"Shoot."
"I have a specific date in mind. I was wondering if you can recall it since you pried yourself on your eidetic memory."
An instant scowl forms over her mouth, resulting in a smirk to curve one side of his in an upward trail.
"I don't have time to play your stupid games."
She goes back to focusing on the text she was deeply submerged in before.
"Wow, I didn't expect to see you admit defeat even before I posed the question."
She whips her head back up, eyes blazing.
"I'm not admitting anything, certainly not defeat, that too for a nonsensical game I choose not to partake in because unlike you I don't have the luxury to waist away my time. I suggest you too do something substantial, for example, I can smell the laundry from here so I would greatly appreciate if you would kindly take some time off your extensively busy schedule and clean your SHIT!" She blew a long, wavy brown curl that had fallen over her face in her fit of rage and blew it away all the while glaring daggers at the stunned man before her. "Plenty of space and time for you to amuse yourself by delving deep into your brain and picking out more gems for the weekly pub night. Plus, that company is far aligned with your tastes and I'm sure will eagerly answer any of your existential queries. Now, kindly fuck off."
She pulls her feet away from his lap as he shifts his weight and gets off the sofa and walks away.
A few hours later she closes the tome and rubs her eyes, a deep sigh escaping her parted lips before she lets out a loud yawn, arms pointing towards the crystal chandelier.
"Fuck." she groans, craning her neck from left to right. "Harry! Can you fetch me a glass of water please" She rests her neck against the arm of the sofa and shuts her eyes, only to open them a few seconds later when she doesn't hear the sound of approaching footsteps. "Harry?"
Sighing, she sits up. "Harry?" Irritation bubbles in her and she swings her legs off the sofa before standing up.
She walks into the kitchen and summons a glass silently before filling it up with tap water. Draining it in one gulp she puts it in the sink and heads towards the basement.
It's devoid of his presence.
"Harry!"
She heads up towards the staircase, climbing the steps with the grace of a sleepy panda. She pushes the door open to their room and lets out an exasperated sigh, eyes roving over his sprawled form. He is lying on his front with his head resting on the foot of the bed, arms dangling over the edge and gaze locked on the gold coloured spinning top wobbling on the carpet.
"Didn't you hear me? I've been calling you for the past five minutes."
She rolls her eyes at his nonresponse and walks over to sit next to him, lifting her left hand to move it through the back of his head. "Hey." She whispers softly. She glides her hand to his cheek and tickles it with her forefinger. "Hey. Drama queen." She smiles as he grunts his disapproval and turns his head in the opposite direction. "Oh my god, I can't handle this level of cuteness."
She lifts herself onto the bed and covers his body with hers, nuzzling his neck. "God, you smell good. Why do you always smell so good!" She pinches his cheek, hard.
"Mmm!" He shrugs her hand off.
"Okay, I'm sorry." she chuckles. "Merlin baby, you're really outdoing yourself tonight. Certainly, your best performance till date." She takes a deep breath. "And the Oscar for best performance of the year goes to...Harry James Potter!"
She catches as a hint of a smile flashes across his face and presses her face more firmly against his neck. "Hey..." She curls her fingers around his and leans up to place a kiss on his jaw. "I'm sorry. Forgive me?"
He nods in assent. "Okay."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Okay." She giggles as he rolls onto his back but keeps her place on top of him. She bends down and gives him a light peck on the lips before resting her head on his chest. His hands come to rest on her lower back. "Ask me about the date."
She basks in the warmth radiating from his chest and the rhythmic beating of his heart. "No."
She lifts her head and frowns. "Why not?"
"Not in the mood anymore."
"Fuck your mood. Come on, now."
He stares deep into her eyes and every nerve in her body tenses up.
"Nineteen September, nineteen ninety-seven."
The tension leaves her body faster than a firebolt and she rests her head back on his shoulder, arms going around his back, hands meeting in the middle, grasping one another, one finger grazing the metal that hasn't left her hand since her husband first put it on this very day thirty years ago.
"Happy birthday, my sweet, beautiful, bushy haired, with white in them, slightly chubby - ouch! - insensitive, bold, always keeping me on my toes, old - that actually hurt - but with an ass still to die for, Hermione."