Chapter Text
The frustration of his last failed attempt was tempered well by just how good of a time they’d had that day.
The night they returned, Harry had sent an owl to the Merritts, wishing them well and asking if they needed anything at all that he might be able to assist with in any way. By that point, he was well known for his philanthropic leanings, and he made it clear that he would help them in any way he could.
He’d added a separate note, clearly marked as private. It asked them f Hermione had ever mentioned anything in particular that she’d wanted. A rare volume, a collectible first edition, whatever it may be. He added to spare no expense in acquiring it, and that he would be honored to defer entirely to their judgement, as Hermione talked in depth about books and her interests surrounding them whenever she was at their shop.
Three weeks had passed since then, and everything had gone smoothly. Edwinn’s mother was fine, and the book Harry ended up ordering arrived promptly. It seemed that if he wanted everything to go his way, all he had to do was not try to propose to his girlfriend.
He sat in his den, daydreaming, still straining his brain for the next brilliant, foolproof idea to set up the perfect proposal.
It was a Saturday, and Hermione was working a half day in the research lab. She’d be home by one, and her parents were coming over for dinner.
Harry hadn’t seen them since the day he dropped his mother’s old ring off at the jeweler to inspect the setting and ensure everything was polished to the nines.
He’d left the jeweler and immediately apparated to Cambridge that very night.
After they’d tracked her parents down in Australia, spent a week learning their schedule, and moved to meet them and reverse the memory modification Hermione had performed before the Horcrux hunt, things had been truly rough.
Harry and Hermione had only been officially a couple for a few months at the time, and her parents strained their relationship more than he’d imagined they could.
After the initial shock and horror and raw hurt they experienced as Monica and Wendell Wilkens faded into the aether, and were replaced by Thomas and Helen Granger, they needed answers. Hermione had been overcome with emotion, and Harry did much of the talking at first, explaining that he was the target of an evil wizard bent on taking over the continent and doing away with muggles and muggle born wizards like Hermione.
It might not have been rational, or perhaps it was, but by the time the explanation was finished, her parents seemed to have decided that in many ways it was Harry’s fault that Hermione had done what she did. They welcomed her warmly, but wanted nothing to do with Harry.
It nearly broke him. He’d already felt guilty enough about everything, and he couldn’t bear to add more complication to Hermione’s life.. Hermione was strong, though. She assured him it would be alright in the long run, and that they would come around in time.
She’d been right.
By the time they were ready to move back to London, Helen had mentioned wanting to teach again. Harry had quietly pulled a few strings through a friend of a friend to get her an interview at Cambridge University, where she’d been teaching now for nearly three years.
He lifted the brass knocker on their door and a moment later, Thomas answered.
“Harry! To what do we owe the visit?” He asked. “Helen is still at the university, but she should be home soon.”
“Oh, that’s alright, Mr. Granger.” Harry answered. “I was actually hoping to speak with you.”
“Harry, we’ve been over this. Please call me Thomas.” The older man scolded, but with a smile.
“Right, sorry sir.” Harry replied.
Thomas fixed him with a deadpan stare.
“Thomas… Sorry.” Harry said stiffly.
Hermione’s father smiled and waved Harry into the house.
Automatically, Thomas grabbed a pair of beers. Irish red ales, and handed one to Harry.
“There’s no game this weekend, so what brings you all the way out here?” He asked, popping the top off of his bottle. “Is Hermione alright?”
“Oh, yes, she’s fine. Nothing of that sort.” Harry confirmed. “She, uh, is working an evening shift tonight, and actually doesn’t know I’m here.”
Thomas’ eyes narrowed. It’s possible he suspected something close to the truth.
“I see.” He said evenly. “How can I help you, then, lad?”
Harry took a deep breath.
“Look… er—Thomas… Hermione and I have been together for a long time, and I hope by now you understand just what she means to me, and perhaps a small fraction of how much I care for her.”
Harry took a breath and a sip from his bottle. So did Thomas.
“You’re a good bloke, Harry. Really,” Thomas set his bottle on an end table with a clank. “I know you love her. It’s really not hard to see.”
Harry could feel his face reddening.
“I uh… I have a ring, Thomas. You’re right. I do love her, and I don’t want to spend any more of my life not being with her.”
Thomas didn’t look surprised in the least.
“I see.”
Harry swallowed thickly. He’d expected something more of a reaction or reply to that.
“Anyways, why I’m here, is I wanted to ask you for her han—”
“Stop right there, Harry.” Thomas said abruptly.
Harry closed his mouth so quickly his teeth clicked together audibly.
His heart pounded in his chest. Did he still hold a grudge? Were her parents hoping Harry and Hermione wouldn’t last as long as they had together?
Thomas gave him a subtly reassuring smile.
“Harry. Let me ask you a few questions before you continue.”
“Of course, sir—Thomas.” Harry chuckled nervously. “Of course, Thomas.”
“You know my daughter is strong, independent, and an absolute force to be reckoned with, don’t you?”
Harry laughed genuinely. “Very well, sir. I do know that, and it’s one of the things I love about her.”
“Good. It should be.” Thomas said easily. “Then let me pose my second question.”
Harry nodded.
Thomas’ voice was low and serious, but there was a glint of mischief in his eye.
“Just how do you think my fiery, strong, independent baby girl would react to hearing that a man—you in this instance. Came to another man—that one is me today… asking for her hand, or any of her other fine parts, in marriage or in any other capacity, whatsoever?”
Harry blinked dumbly for a moment, thinking about the question.
The color left him.
“Not well… Not well at all, Thomas.” He said seriously.
Thomas grinned.
“Then how about the both of us pretend this conversation never happened?”
“Right. Thank you, sir.”
The two men finished their beers, and with a firm handshake, Harry left the Granger residence.
That was the last time he’d seen Thomas.
All of that would change in a few hours, though. They tried to get together every month or two. More often than not, it was in Cambridge—apparating was far easier than the drive to London.
This time though, the Grangers were visiting Grimmauld. There was a conference on Monday they were both attending in the city, so it all worked out pretty well.
Harry was pulling out all the stops tonight. He didn’t often get a chance to cook for Hermione’s parents and he had a reputation to maintain. He cooked mostly without magic, both because it’s how he had learned, and to a lesser extent, he felt like it was cheating if he didn’t earn it.
There was a dutch oven full of braising beef short ribs on low heat, he’d made a large batch of mashed potatoes using chicken stock and just a hint of white pepper and parmesan, and when it was closer to dinner, he would sauté up some broccoli rabe with garlic and red pepper flake.
He’d even dug up a great vintage of Cabernet Sauvignon that would pair well with everything.
He set about finishing up the cooking early so that by the time guests arrived, he wouldn’t have much to do.
While he took the ribs out and reduced the braising liquid into a rich sauce, he thought of what he might say to Thomas later that night. Surely the man would wonder why Hermione wasn’t showing off a ring the minute they walked in the door.
He didn’t have a satisfactory answer of that though. He’d been trying—it just hadn’t come together yet.
Later that night, the dining room was full of laughter as Hermione was catching up with her parents. Harry had been around intermittently, but was almost done preparing dinner, so his attention was needed in the kitchen. He’d be sure to be more social afterwards.
“Everyone still hungry?” He asked, grinning at the awe on Hermione’s parent’s faces as he levitated the meal to the table effortlessly.
“Absolutely!” Helen said. “The way Hermione here talks about your cooking, I’m not sure whether we’re hungry or not matters much, I’d want to eat it anyway.”
Harry smiled at the compliment. “Well, I hope this lives up to expectations.”
Thomas nodded. “If it tastes half as good as it smells in here, you’re in the clear.”
Harry took a minute to serve up the meal while Hermione poured the wine, and they all tucked in.
“So Hermione,” Thomas started. “Is Harry here taking good care of you?”
She cast him a sideways look. “Very much so, yes.” She said once she swallowed a bite. “Spoils me, even.”
Harry colored a little at that.
“Is that so?” Helen asked.
Hermione nodded. “Just a couple weeks ago, out of nowhere, he takes me for a lovely day out to my favorite cafe, and then shopping in Birmingham.” She paused and put her hand on his shoulder.
“That’s lovely, dear.” Helen smiled warmly and took a sip of wine.
“And at the end of the day, he even brought me to my favorite bookshop for a surprise but they were closed unexpectedly.”
“Well at least you got a lovely day out of it.” Helen commented.
Thomas made eye contact with Harry, and Harry’s eyes bulged for a split second. Thomas grinned knowingly.
“We sure did. And then just this week we finally got the surprise Harry had arranged for me there.”
“And what might that have been?” Thomas asked, still staring at Harry, who was turning red.
“Oh, it’s a pristine early manuscript of one of the absolute leading texts on Arithmancy. It’s even got handwritten notes from the author in the margins.” Hermione was giddy with excitement just talking about the book. The Merritt’s had come through in a big way.
“Just out of the blue, eh?” Thomas asked.
Harry coughed. “Well, you know, she’d been working long shifts for a couple weeks and I wanted to do something nice for her.”
After dinner, Harry quickly cleared the table again levitating things to the wonderment of the Grangers. He zipped everything into the fridge and returned with another bottle of wine and a couple of beers.
“Shall we move this into the den?” He asked.
Everyone happily agreed.
“Attaboy.” Thomas said proudly when he saw the bottle.
Harry corked the wine for Hermione and Helen, then opened the beers for himself and Thomas.
They clinked bottles and settled into a conversation about football, occasionally shifting their focus back to the women in the room with them.
Harry and Thomas were on one side of a roaring fireplace in comfortable leather chairs, and Hermione and her mum were across from them on a loveseat.
Helen was recounting an embarrassing story from Hermione’s youth involving a stuffed teddy, a swimming pool, and a beautiful spring sundress Hermione had ruined that fateful Mother’s day. She was turning beet red.
Thomas was watching Harry, whose focus rarely drifted from Hermione.
“So,” Thomas whispered to him. “When’s the next attempt?”
Harry shook his head. “I really don’t know… I’ve never been a great planner. Both times I tried, something went wrong and I bailed out.” He sighed. “Every time I think I have something foolproof, it all goes south.”
“Not to worry.” Thomas replied. “Your moment will come.”
Harry nodded, lost in thought.
He really was horrible when it came to planning things out. Most of the times he’d ever been successful throughout his young life could be attributed to dumb luck… and improvising.
That’s where he excelled. Going with his gut. Operating on instinct.
If only that applied here.
He stretched back in his chair.
“This really is quite the home you have here.” Thomas said, thoughtfully.
“Yeah… It is.” Harry mused in return.
‘Home.’ He thought.
He never had much of a proper home to live in. Not until after the war, anyway. Grimmauld had been dark and dreary and depressing, but even before they were together, Hermione’s presence had added something to it. Something he couldn’t place.
Now that it was fixed up—the walls brighter, windows clearer—it was a nice place to live.
He’d used ‘home’ to describe the place, but it was more the place than the feeling.
Sitting there, by the fire, surrounded by Hermione and her parents, he came to a realization.
Home isn’t a place.
It never had been.
His home was with Hermione, wherever she was.
In this cozy den, with people that loved her—loved him even. That was home.
A warmth filled his chest, and he felt a piece of him that had been restless for as long as he could remember, settle for the first time.
“I’ll be right back.” Harry told Thomas, and pushed out of his comfy chair.
Hermione noted him standing. “You alright, love?”
“Never better.” He replied, touching her shoulder as he walked past her and out of the room.
“Probably needs the loo.” Thomas commented.
Harry returned a few minutes later, but instead of returning to his seat, he stood in front of Hermione.
Her attention turned lightly to him, towering over her sitting on the couch. She looked up, smiling widely and fixed him in a curious stare. “Harry, is something wrong?”
He chose that moment to drop to one knee right there in the den.
The room fell silent immediately, only disturbed by the fire crackling merrily in the hearth.
He heard Thomas shift behind him, and Helen’s mouth was open in surprise.
Hermione’s heart skipped in her chest, and for a moment she forgot to breathe.
“Hermione.” His voice was steady—calmer than he’d imagined it would be.
Her eyes were wide. His voice rumbled through her like a midnight train, shaking her very foundation. The way her name left his lips—like an oath—solemn and earnest, gave her chills.
“I can hardly tell you how long I’ve spent putting every ounce of me into creating the perfect moment for this. I thought it should be some grand thing for some reason… But I was wrong.”
Helen wiped her eyes, and Hermione’s face glowed in the firelight.
“Growing up, I’d never had a real home. You know I lived with my aunt and uncle. I stayed in their house, but it was never my home…” He sniffled, doing his best not to cry like a blubbering fool in front of his hopefully soon-to-be parents-in-law.
“Then, on a train ride to some strange, magical world—I met a girl.”
He reached out a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek.
“She was smart and kind, caring and always willing to help a friend or a stranger in need, and she had this beautiful, wild, completely mad brown hair.”
Everyone in the room gave a small chuckle, and Helen wiped her eyes again.
“I got to Hogwarts and thought it felt like home. It served alright as one for a while, or at least I thought it did. Really though, with all the crazy, horrible things that happened to me there, I should have known better, but you were always there to support me. Always eager to help, to be close. Somehow that feeling like I was home stayed with me through everything.”
Harry took a deep breath.
“I came to a realization recently, that my home was never a castle. It was never a train, and it was never a house in Surrey.
“You, Hermione. You are it. I love you. When I’m with you, I’m happy—I feel whole, and at peace.
“So here, and now—in this perfect moment—I want to ask you if you’d let me have you in my life, and as my home, forever.”
He removed that black velvet box from his pocket and opened it.
“Hermione Granger, will you marry me?”
Hermione stared at him, utterly stunned and unmoving.
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound escaped her—only a sharp steadying breath as tears clung like diamonds to her deep brown eyes.
For a lingering moment, she was simply frozen. Harry had short circuited her brain, and she needed a moment to find herself again.
She looked at Harry. His hair was a bit of a mess as always, and he had that trademark crooked, hopeful grin.
She wanted to drink it all in. To keep it. Preserve it.
She needed to make sure she remembered every minute detail of this exact second for the rest of her life. Her father’s proud smile behind Harry… Her mother’s happy trembling breaths next to her… and Harry’s piercing emerald eyes, looking at her like she was the only thing in the entire world that would ever matter to him.
Finally, she exhaled.
A trembling whisper. “Yes.”
Then louder, more composed. “Yes! Yes, Harry! Of course, yes!”
She sprang from the couch and Harry stood, wrapping her in a hug as she threw her arms around his neck.
She pulled back and kissed him before taking a half step back.
He took her hand.
“This ring was my mother’s.” He told her.
The gravity of the moment struck her then. She looked at the ring properly for the first time, as Harry slid it on to her finger.
The fit was perfect, and she wasn’t sure if it was nerves or excitement or something else, but her hand tingled for an instant when it was fully seated on her finger.
“It’s beautiful, Harry.”
Behind them, Helen let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She’d moved to stand with Thomas. “I knew it,” she whispered into Thomas’s shoulder, wiping more tears from her eyes.
Thomas smiled and stood straight. “Well, it’s about bloody time.”