WHO Ron and Hermione Weasley. WHERE Their house & then a restaurant. WHEN Midweek, one evening after work. WHAT Ron and Hermione go out to dinner, just the two of them. RATING Low. STATUS Incomplete.
"Ouch," Hermione grimaced under her breath, her brush catching in her tangled hair for what felt like the hundredth time. As bushy and out of control as it usually was, her hair was being particularly uncooperative tonight as she tried to get ready to go out to dinner with Ron. It felt like it had been months since just the two of them had gone out for a night. As much as she loved to spend time with Rose and Hugo (and she loved it a lot; there was nothing quite like listening to Rose read the same books Hermione read twenty-five years ago or helping Hugo make finger paintings for Ron), Hermione enjoyed it when she got to spend a few hours alone with her husband.
Finally giving up on her hair, which looked marginally better than it had when she came home from work (which wasn't saying much), Hermione traded in her Ministry robes for one of the few dresses she had stashed in the back of her closet. Hermione wasn't usually one for dresses, but over the years she had bought a few for occasions such as this when she wanted to put in a little more effort than just the jeans and t-shirts that she wore when she was lounging around the house.
Slipping into a pair of heels, Hermione mentally ran off a list of things she needed to do tomorrow, including going to the Foodmart for groceries and picking up a few books she'd ordered from Flourish and Blotts last weekend, before she gave herself a mental shake. I'm not going to think about the hundred and one things on my to-do list tonight. I'm not touching anything on it in the next twelve hours, so I'm not even going to think about it. It's just going to be me, Ron, and a nice dinner. I've been looking forward to it all day. No work, she promised herself as she walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where Ron was waiting.
"Can you zip me up?" she asked, turning around so her back was to him. Her dress was still gaping open at least eight or nine inches where she couldn't reach to zip it up any further. Her eyes flicked over the restaurant flyers they'd collected for the past year or so and usually kept in one of the many drawers in the kitchen. They were spread out across the counter, a rainbow of color advertising a dozen different types of food. "Have you decided where we're going or do you want to just walk and see where we end up?"