"I hate you, you know."

She looks up from writing another address neatly on the crisp envelop. A flash of a grin, a peck on my cheek and back to work. This girl is my family, there's no doubt about it. The Weasleys are fantastic, but I know that if I were to have a serious row with any of them, they would band together in a second. When Hermione lost her own parents at the age of seventeen, we became all each other had. More than once, we've demonstrated that we would easily die for one another; so to say that I love her is quite a bit obvious. Yes, even with her obsessive nature,  making sure to dot every "i" and cross all her "t"'s in a perfectly horizontal dash.

She waves another envelope at me.

"Hate, all-consuming hell-fire, ate-the-last-piece-of-pie, stole-my-girlfriend, killed-my-dog hate."

Instead of the previous response, she whacks me on my scar. Did I mention that she has gotten quite physical over the past few years? "Stop being such a baby, Harry. Now, lick and seal or these will never get out on time."

"I have cotton mouth!" I stick my tongue out to show her the poor, overused muscle; that is, once I manage to detach it from sticking to the roof. "And glue tastes disgusting. And I don't think I have any more saliva."

"Drink some water." She returns to her task diligently and checks another name off the list. Minerva McGonagall. Check.

"Water does nothing for the taste." Even as I complain, I put another envelop on the "sealed" pile. "That's it. I'm putting on a pot of tea."

Before I can even get to the kitchen in her homey one-bedroom flat, I feel a pair of arms around my waist and suddenly, I am sprawled out on the floor with a witch on my back. Yes, definitely gotten more physical. "Y-You bull rushed me! What the he-"

"Tea will stain the envelops and I will hurt you. You will have water and that's that. I did not spend all that time deciding on 'first snow' over 'ivory' just for you to stain it, Mr. Potter!"

She is not letting up, is she?

"Are you serious? Have you gone completely mad?" She twists my left arm behind my back, probably because she needs me as her right-handed personal slave later on. Now I really regret teaching her this move during the war. I'm pretty sure she uses it on me more than she did on death eaters. Apparently, I'm taking too long and she lifts my arm further in the awkward angle. "Ow! Ow! All right! I'll have water!"

With an annoyingly triumphant "humph," she went back to the table. I pour myself another glass of water before slowly and carefully returning to my workstation. "You know, I'm going to post a note in the Prophet about the future Mrs. Cedric Diggory's violent behavior."

"And I will post an article about The Boy-Who-Lived-to-Shake-in-His-Boots."

"I feel like the majority of the male population would be sympathetic to my situation." She gives me a narrow squint and a slight growl before returning to her penmanship. A true lioness, that one. "You're insane, you know. We've already done forty envelops, my dead taste buds are proof and we still have about fifty left to do. There is this little thing called magic that could possibly make things just a tad easier."

She doesn't reply and what else can I do except return to my task. After another ten minutes of working in silence, she speaks, but never turns her gaze from her work. "My cousin got married when I was eight. She's moved to the States now so I don't know, but as a bride, she was absolutely gorgeous. I was still little, but she let me help my mum put together the party favors and make tiny bouquets that consisted of one white rose and one red rose. Mum had to redo all of mine because I couldn't tie the ribbon tight enough so eventually I just sorted the flowers. My cousin and my aunt were sitting at the table, writing out each invitation. It was all terribly cliche, but there we were - four women sitting in the kitchen, working together as a family and it was more like a celebration than work. Actually, I don't remember too much about the ceremony itself but... I do remember thinking that one day, I will be the one writing out invitations with my family."

I stare at her and suddenly, my mouth is even drier than before. I can feel myself getting a bit choked up, but I'll be damned if I ever let Hermione know. I take a deep breath, put my palms flat on the table and lean back. "So uh..." I clear my throat. Yes I'm clearing my throat and my voice is not shaky from feelings or whatever.  "...when are we going to start working on those party favors?"

"Tomorrow, red and yellow roses." She finally smiles up at me. "I'll go get you another glass of water."

Red and yellow. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. "Ugh, you are terribly cliche," I yell towards the kitchen.

"Stop picking on my fiancee." I hate that Cedric can just apparate in here whenever he feels like. Don't get me wrong, I like the guy, but Hermione's not married yet and he's a bachelor and they're not married and... well, it's just not proper! The first time it happened, I may or may not have threatened him quite a bit about taking advantage of her, but we don't talk about that. Something about misogynistic, outdated morals... well, basic Hermione rant. "Potter, are you... are you crying?"

"Shut up, Diggory."

"Harry, who are you talking t- CEDRIC DIGGORY! What are you doing here? Get out! OUT!" Hermione doesn't even make it back into the living room. All I saw was a flurry of brown curly hair rushing back to the safety of the kitchen. I look at Cedric for a clue, but apparently he doesn't have one either. The bloke looked positively frightened.

"Darling, what-"

"The groom is not supposed to see the bride! I told you!" The screeching combined with the dry mouth is not good for my health at all.

"It's weeks before our wedding! Doesn't that rule only apply for the night before?" He looks at me for help and I just shrug.

Pal, if I knew how that brain worked, life would be a whole lot different and a lot less painful.

"This is practice! I told you this is practice week! I need you to get used to fighting the temptation to see me. Now GET!" It amazes me that Cedric is getting married to Hermione, have dated her for the past three years, and still doesn't know the cardinal rule: just do what the girl tells you.

"Darling, I can't wait a week to see you... among other things." He's actually toeing towards the kitchen. Does he really want Hermione to be a widow before they have the chance to be married? He is obviously trying to be a teasing flirt and what that may lead to... well, let's just say that I live in a bubble where Hermione is still as pure as the day she was born.

I stand between my friend and the doorway to the kitchen and put a hand on his chest, halting him where he stood. As family to Hermione, I need to ensure that first and foremost, there will be a live groom to present at the wedding ceremony. He gawks at me, looking thoroughly betrayed. "What happened to the brotherhood, Harry?" He speaks so softly that there is a chance that Hermione cannot hear him.

I clear my throat again and, doing my best impression of Hermione, embarks on saving this man's life. "Cedric Diggory. You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Hermione and I are very busy writing out invitations and sealing envelops and let me tell you that we did not spend all that time deciding on 'first snow' over 'ivory' just so you can traipse in here and try to satisfy your inner randy schoolboy!" I shiver to myself a bit at the thought. Well, a shiver and a gag, really. "Now out with you!"

"Can't you just use magi-" I do the Hermione growl and he seems to finally understand as he holds up his hands in surrender. "All right! All right! How about tomorrow?"

"Party favors and flowers! Now OUT!"

Hermione must have heard the pop of the apparation because her fuzzy little head peeks around the corner to make sure that the coast is clear. She walks over to me with watery eyes and the only thing I can think of is... dear God, if you cry, I'll cry. Her arms surround me in a tight hug and she kisses me on the cheek. "Thanks Mum." I make a show of wiping off the slobber that Dudley used to do when Aunt Marge would launch herself at him. "Oh I know you have a thing for tear-stained wet kisses, Harry. Now come on." Slap. Wha- She did not just slap my on my behind! "Let's get back to work. If you're good, I'll make cookies for when we finish."

"Was that sexual harassment I just heard from you, Ms. Granger?"

"Oh, I would never harass my mum who just chased away the big bad fiance."

She walks back to the table and as I stare at her back, I can't help but put on a few dramatics, even if I mean every word. Wiping away a fake - and I mean fake - tear, I say in complete falsetto: "They grow up so fast."