I was in my room, my room, not a tent, or the Gryffindor common room, no, my room. With my parents downstairs. They knew me, their daughter, after all those months of living without the slightest trace of me in their memory. First thing after the battle of Hogwarts, Ron and I went to Australia to restore their memory. Ron, I thought, my heart letting off a dramatic flutter. Nerves tugged at me to stop procrastinating and just pick something to wear already.
Tonight was our first date, well, first official date anyway. I suppose we'd been 'together' for weeks by now, actually 67 days, not that I was counting. I'd asked him out to dinner, a restaurant a few miles away from my house. The entire time I blubbered out the words to Ron, Harry just stood there and laughed at us.
I'd finally decided, after much debate, on an olive green dress, nearly the opposite of maroon on the color wheel, Ron's least favorite color. But really, what were the odds that Ron Weasley would pick up on the miniscule details of what his girlfriend was wearing. I internally scolded myself for the butterflies than pittered through me at the thought of the word girlfriend.
From downstairs, I heard my parents scream, and an exploding thump, paired with Ron's cough. I thought I told him not to use the floo network in my house anymore. . . .

*    *    *
"So then, he said not to mix up the dentures again." I laughed. Ron nodded, and exhaled in a sort of understated, forced giggle. I smiled uneasily. This was painful, torturous, and well, every other synonym for uncalled for, exceedingly awkward. We both scanned the room, anxious smiles painted on both of our faces. I bit my lip, fighting the urge to ramble about the time my father gave braces to the wrong kid, and had to deal with the insurance company for the entire afternoon. Why did it always come back to dentistry with me?
    Ron made an "Uh" sound, as if he were about to say something, but quickly stopped, and shook his head slightly. What was I thinking? Bringing him to a muggle restaurant? He kept tugging at his collar, obviously uncomfortable in the formal button down he was required to wear to fit in at this place. I put my head in my hand.
    "I'm sorry, I-" I said, but Ron quickly interrupted.
    "No! No, it's, don't be-
    "I don't know what I was thinking I just. . . ."
He thought for a moment, and finally said, "Can I show you something? Or well, somewhere?" I nodded immediately, anything to try and patch up this horrid evening I planned.
"Mum took us here once, when we were really young. I think it was Dad's birthday, but I don't even remember" he said, as we walked up to a stout little stone building, leaning precariously to the side. He opened the door, and the warm yellow light and boisterous folk music came tumbling out, illuminating the muggy, gray street we stood in.
I didn't know where to look. There was a man with some sort of fantastic contraption strapped to his body, like a street busker would wear in London, however three times the size, with purple-luminescent bubbles materializing out of a side faucet near his head. Next to him, a woman dancing with her husband, her hair in fourteen or fifteen braids the width and volume of plumbing pipes. Loads of people were dancing and singing merrily, bustling about the little building that seemed to sway in time with the rhythm of the music.
He looked at me and smiled at my awe-struck face, and pulled me out on the dance floor. "You look brilliant in green Hermione, but I mean- not to say you don't look brilliant in everything." he smiled, ears turning pink. I blushed, and he swung me around. We had no idea what we were doing, for neither of us could dance a single step, but in the moment, we didn't care. The song seemed to last forever, and no time at once, we were too busy laughing at each other to notice what was going on around us.
The last note played was played in a quick staccato beat, us landing hand in hand, chest to chest as the dance floor went still, anticipation for the next song, spectators and drunk witches and wizards cheering at the bar. We laughed hardily, and stupidly, and when we caught our breath, at that moment, his eyes met mine, our hands intertwined, my heart lurched. "I love you!" I whispered with rapt elation. He pulled me into a kiss, and it was as if in that second, time stopped and spun around us, the world silent, yet cheering synchronously.
"I love you more, Granger."