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"….Hermione."
"Don't," she stops him. "Don't say a word."
He bites his tongue. Harry has fought worse demons. Uncle Dursley. Snape. A basilisk. Dementors. A dragon. Inferi. Death Eaters. Voldemort. The bathroom in the Auror HQ that no one's bothered to fix.
But nothing—nothing scares Harry Potter more than a displeased Hermione Granger.
She sighs, moving away from the mirror to look at him.
He bites his tongue harder.
He coughs. "It's… nice?"
"Oh, don't lie!" she snatches off the bifocals from her face. "They look atrocious."
"Well, I wouldn't say that…" he mumbles. She shoots him a glare that would scare a thousand dementors. His mouth instantly clamps shut.
"Oh, the nerve of that man," she seethes. "When I get ahold of him, it's on sight. I'll hex him to the next century!"
Harry gulps and silently prays for the man in question. He tentatively places his hands on her shoulder, hoping to calm her down a bit. "If I may ask, who—?"
"Ron," she says with a bite.
Rest in peace, Ron.
"I asked him for one thing! One bloody thing," she rants. "Pick up my glasses, please. They'll ask you to choose the frames. Just pick something simple. Thanks."
He glances at the counter where said object is placed. The glasses in question look more than simple. Ugly, in fact. Hot pink, decorated with sequins and pops of glitter, to add insult to injury—a cat eye frame that spouts plastic whiskers on the sides. It would give Rita Skeeter's frames a run for the hills.
Hold on, Ron had some tact. He wouldn't have sabotaged Hermione's new lens without reason. Well, not on purpose. Something happened.
Harry slowly rubs his thumbs on the back of her shoulder. A tactic to calm a waking dragon. "Did he go alone…?"
She sighs, either from exasperation or from his massage. He's hoping it's from his massage. He's very proud of it, you know. "No, he went with Luna."
Ah, that explains it.
Ron and Luna—the two had become intertwined during the events of eighth year. They're not exactly exclusive to one another yet. Still playing the game of hooky that he and Hermione had played over the years in Hogwarts.
Every time Harry tries to bring it up, Ron shuts him down with "Mate, we're just friends. I reckon she feels the same."
He's definitely heard that one before.
Hermione groans, hands covering her face. "What am I going to do? I have work tomorrow, Harry."
"Hey," he gently turns her around to face him. His hands prying hers away from that lovely face of hers. "Need I remind you that you're a witch? Who has a mastery in Transfiguration?"
"I guess so…" she mutters, still glaring at the glasses on the counter. "But how would I—oh!"
She tugs her hands away from his grip—not that he was holding them that tight—and moves to seat herself on the counter. A skeptical look crossing his features.
He's watching her rearrange the counter so she doesn't knock anything over. Toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, razor, tissue. "Are we doing that now? I mean, I wouldn't be opposed to shagging but I don't think that'd be helpful right—"
"Oh, shut it, here," she presents him with her wand. "You'll help me pick a new design."
He reluctantly takes her wand, the slow rush of magical energy buzzing in his fingertips. He never had problems using hers and she with his. They talked about it once, how holding each other's wand didn't feel odd but moreso like home. A small smile tugging his lips. The memory will always be one of his favourites.
"Well?"
"Hm," he pretends to think. Acting one part coy, other part who still feels reluctant on his own abilities. "I'm not exactly good at Transfiguration, you know. Plus," he glances at the glasses, "I'm not sure what type of magical properties they've put on that. What if it has a Protection Charm? Or an Anti-Theft Charm where it only recognises your magical signature? I don't want to get blown up and potentially drag you—"
"Harry," he feels her hands cupping his cheeks. He didn't realise he was gripping her wand so hard.
"You're doing it again," she rubs her thumbs on edges of his cheeks. His paranoia kicked in again. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to." He does want to. "Also, to alleviate your worry, there are Protection Charms in place but they've already recognised you the minute you held my wand."
"Oh," he flushes. He forgot that she keys him into everything immediately. For his assurance than hers. "Are you sure, though?" He rolls her wand on the palm of his hand, still worried.
"I am, but it's alright if you aren't," she slides her hands down from his cheeks to his bicep, fingers fiddling with the stray piece of fabric. "It's just– I can barely see right now and my contacts have yet to come in. I've already been told off for using correction magic on my eyes." Her fingers are rubbing faster now. "Oh, maybe I'll just floo Neville—"
"I'll do it," he says it instantly at the mere mention of her other best friend. Pricks of jealousy washing over the paranoia. He does not want to lose his top spot on her list.
"Are you sure, Harry? Again, I don't want you to do something you don't—"
"Hermione, breathe." She does. "We've talked about this, yeah?" She nods.
They've talked about constantly asking if it's alright. How they could go all day babbling about their worries. Their solution was simple—hit the reset on the conversation. If the other was still unsure, then no need to push.
"Right, then if you would prefer me to, I'm sure," he says.
She nods, her lips pressed tight, hands sliding off him to sit next to her. She's biting her tongue. He smiles, knowing how she's gotten better at overcoming her anxieties.
Unable to help himself, he hooks his finger and flicks the tip of her nose. "Hey!" she exclaims. She looks like an angry kitten.
He takes a sidelong glance at the abandoned object next to them before turning back to her. "How d'you wanna go about this?"
"Oh, simple Transfiguration," she re-explains the basics to him. He knows but he loves hearing her voice. "Imagine what you think looks best on me and we'll pick the best one. I know you're unsure of your perfectly capable abilities but I can hold the spell to lock it into place."
He nods, biting the inside of his cheek. "And why can't we use a Glamour Charm?"
"Because I don't want to get hit with a Finite and have the whole world see that monstrosity."
"Right," he slides the glasses next to her thighs.
For the first time, he's not distracted by them. Sort of. He'll deal with that later.
He flicks her wand and goes for something simple and professional—titanium black, rectangular frames. She's a Healer after all, wouldn't it look perfect?
Hermione picks them up and places them on her face. "Well?"
It doesn't. It looks— "Tacky."
She chuckles. "Don't mince your words now, Mr. Potter."
"Sorry," he blushes at his bluntness. "I just think I can do better."
"Well, we've got all day. Why not try ones like yours?"
Seeing how there's zero repercussions on his wandwork, he does exactly that. Oh, it looks— "Worse."
She turns to look at the mirror. "Oh my, it does. Maybe try making the circles a little bigger?" A swish. "Golden?" A flick. "Hm, it looks alright it's just…"
"Poking your cheeks?" he says, bemused.
"Yeah!" she agrees, turning back to him.
He chuckles and pinches her cheek. "Well, yours are fuller."
"Are you calling me fat?"
"Never in my life."
"Great, now keep going."
He tries geometric. "Oh, bad." Aviators. "Really bad." He's starting to get irritated now.
Amidst his constant switching, she's looking at him with curiosity. "How did you pick yours?"
"Aunt Petunia picked the cheapest and ugliest pair off the shelf. Didn't really have a choice," he says casually, still focused on his task. No, not green. Definitely not orange.
"Oh," she's blinking away the faint smoke from her eyes. "Well, you look very dashing in them."
"So I've heard," he smirks, remembering the time she asked him to keep them on during their nightly trysts. "Right, this should be it." He adjusts them, untucking her curls from the confines of the temples before gesturing her to take a peek.
Hermione looks back at the mirror and sees thin dark brown metal frames, the Wayfarer type—it took him a minute to remember the term—not too big, not too small either. Just enough to accentuate her features. Paired with slim light brown temples and silicone nose pads that situate perfectly on her nose.
"Oh, Harry!" she wraps him up with her signature hug. "It's perfect! Thank you!" She gives him a quick peck on the cheek.
He smiles, setting down her wand to hug her back with equal ferocity. "Anytime, love."
She pulls away and hops off the counter to look at them properly. "How did you figure out the color?"
"Your eyes," he situates his face on the crook of her neck, arms snaking around her waist. "I wasn't sure if they were brown or golden. Turns out it depends on your mood," he props his chin on her shoulder. The frames look really good. "Usually they're brown, but when you're happy—or sad—the rims of your pupils are gold. Sometimes," he nips the back of her shoulder. "it happens when you're aroused."
She shudders. "Magical manifestation, perhaps? That would explain why yours also," she coughs, "change sporadically."
"Are you saying you look at my eyes a lot, Ms. Granger?"
"You do it too!"
He laughs, "I've never stopped."
A comfortable silence fills the air. They're both looking at the bathroom mirror's reflection. She's still in slight awe at her new glasses and he's still wrapped around her like a new cardigan.
Seeing them side by side like this, Harry thinks he's satisfied. Satisfied with the way her glasses look. Satisfied with how happy she is. With the way they complement each other. How comfortable he is with her.
Perfectly satisfied with how easy it is to be with her.
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"How did you update your prescription every year?"
"Oh," he remembers. "Funny story, I was actually going blind in third year. I had to ask Lupin," his voice tightens a bit. She leans her weight back, a small gesture to let him know she's there. "on it. He took a look at it and saw your magical traces on it. You know, from the Quidditch matches?" she nods. "Didn't ask more about it. Just sent me a glasses subscription that gave instructions on how to update the size and prescription."
"I just assumed your relatives took you out every summer."
He shrugs. "Seeing as Dudley doesn't really wear glasses, they saw no reason to."
"I'm—"
He cuts off the oncoming apology. "Why didn't you ask me to pick them up?"
"Oh, my glasses?" He nods. "You were on duty and I was in the E.R. It was a busy day so everyone was working. Ron was the only off."
That is true. They had just arrived this morning due to overtime. Passed out and woke up in the late afternoon.
"I'm guessing you didn't expect him to bump into Luna?"
"Not really. It was just a quick errand. It was more, I didn't expect him to actually let her pick that."
"Well, you know Ron. When it comes to Luna, he lets her do anything."
"Lesson learned. Are they still not together yet?"
"Nope."
"Even though he looks at her like she's the whole world and she looks at him like being in his aura repels even the nastiest of Wrackspurts?"
He laughs, "Yeah, is that what we looked like?"
"To the entire magical population? I guess so."
"Merlin, we were blind."
"That explains why there's two pairs of glasses now."
"Right, well," he glances at the wrist watch she gifted him last Christmas. "I'd say we have plenty of time for something else. Fancy a quickie?"
"You're incorrigible, you know that?"
"Is that a no?"
"It's a perhaps," she shakes her head. "Why the sudden inclination besides the usual 'can't a man want some'?"
"It's actually," he corrects. "'the more I stare at you, the more I want to see you on top of me and try to keep it on' type of thing."
"Ah, yes, how could I ever miss that," she rolls her eyes sarcastically. "So, a challenge," she thinks for a moment. "How would we even kiss?"
He spins her around causing her to squeal. His arms blocking her sides and pinning her to the counter.
Despite the oncoming lust he's been fighting back for a while now—he blames the thighs—his eyes soften at the display of the new frames on her face.
He can still trace the freckles on her cheeks, the eyes with pupils that flicker between gold and brown, and now her adorable nose pops out like it's begging for attention.
"You're so beautiful," utterly mesmerised by her, "so, so beautiful." He leans in to trace his nose along the sides of her face, lips pressing soft kisses against her skin. "I could never tire of looking at you, Hermione."
She lets out a sigh, cheeks turning pink at his ministrations. "Even if they cover my features?"
"Your features are never covered in my eyes, Hermione," his hands come up to rub the skin under her shirt. "Everything—anything you put on makes you more beautiful than you already are," his mouth travels to her neck. "They're like accessories. Ornaments that highlight your qualities like a spotlight."
He flicks his tongue. Her breath hitches. "Harry…"
He pulls back to look at her flustered appearance. Her glasses are already slightly askew. He chuckles, "Mind if I show you?"
She shakes her head, clouded gaze taking him in as he takes her. Faces slowly leaning in, lips meeting halfway in a passionate embrace.
Their glasses bump every so often, matching the beat of their hearts.