A Matter of Names by ayumi-nb

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 25/11/2009
Last Updated: 17/12/2009
Status: Completed

Sort of an AU, explanation inside. EWE (Epilogue? What Epilogue?) // Hermione wonders about last
names, and Harry ponders about his…




1. i
----



Sequel to “What's In A Name?”, a
drabble of mine posted at my LiveJournal.
You must read it before reading this, just so you can understand it better, especially since
there's a fragment of this story that takes place right after the end of the drabble. It
won't take you long, the drabble is only 200 words long.

Also, I chose to ignore that tiny little bit of DH where Snape dies, `cause I needed him for
this. So, that makes this story sort of an AU.

*Disclaimer: Harry Potter (c) JKR. Plot (c) Me.*

**~**

**“A Matter of Names”**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**Part I**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

The sound of Snape's voice is just another noise in the background of her mind, along with
the incessant sound of quills scratching paper. And, under normal circumstances, she would have
snapped out of her silly trance, but she can't, not right now. She just *can't*.

For the first time in her life, she has suppressed her workaholic side long enough for her mind
to wander, and wander. Long enough for her to realize, albeit briefly, it's been a week since
she actually paid any attention to her classes. A week since her whole focus is solely on
*it*—and therefore, on *him*.

*Bloody hell, Hermione, it's only a name…*

But, it really isn't *only* a name, it is *his* name, and that makes all the
difference.

It's all Lavender's fault, she decides. Lavender and that bloody chat about last names.
That bloody topic started it all—the wondering, the distraction. Just to think about what name
—*his or* **his**— would suit her better has been enough to make her forget about the
upcoming N.E.W.T.s and her study schedule and her duties as Head Girl, *everything*. It's
been bloody obsessive.

Snape's voice booms across the dungeon, but Hermione barely registers the sound, she keeps
on scribbling. She doesn't know what her hand is writing with such vehemence, never pausing;
she doesn't care really, her mind is too preoccupied to do so.

*And let's not forget the**ir* *talk* *about*
*boy**s**.*

Ah, yes, their talk about boys. How could she forget about it? That is another reason for her
absentmindedness. The main reason for her to wonder about *him* and *his* name.

She supposes she should be grateful that it happened, but she's not. Not entirely.

*Black, messy hair. Green eyes. Seeker and bespectacled. Shy, sweet and a little
na**i**ve**… What, in the name of Merlin, possessed me to say that?*

Actually, she hadn't meant to be so honest anyway, she had prepared herself to ignore
Lavender's question —*because she knows it was Lavender who asked her that*— and keep
looking at nothing in particular, or maybe even lie, but…

But.

His eyes had enraptured her; his beautiful, green eyes, sparkling with amusement at whatever it
was the boys were talking about. She remembers thinking, briefly, how much she loved those eyes.
And that's when it happened; her epiphany. And she understood everything then—why she preferred
*his* name over his. It had been all so simple then, and that prompted her to be completely
honest when answering.

Unfortunately, her admission had put an enormous dent in her relationship with Ginny…

**~~~~~~**

They smiled at each other until someone drew his attention away from her. She watched him laugh
at something Ron said, probably something only a man would laugh at, and she couldn't help the
tenderness that swept over her then. Nor could she help the myriad of random thoughts that invaded
her mind.

*Merlin, I love his smile**.* *A**nd the way he laughs, so carefree now. He
certainly filled out nicely this past two years. Oh, I love those eyes. Is it a crime to want to
run my tongue over his scar? He can be so endearing when he's trying to cheer me up. What would
it feel like to run my fingertips over his chest, his back? He surely is sexy when he plays
Quidditch. His hair is so… I wish he would snog me senseless when I'm being bossy.* *Oh, I
love the way he looks on his Quidditch robes, those form-fitting trousers...* *Oh,
Harry—*

A sudden screech broke through her daydreaming, and she looked away from Harry, turning towards
the girls. Only then, she realized the uncomfortable silence surrounding their table, and the
tension building up. Her only response was to arch an eyebrow.

“Black hair?”

“Green eyes?”

“Seeker?”

“Hermione, that's—”

Hermione watched as Lavender and Parvati tried to make sense of what she just said, while she
tried to find an explanation to her sudden epiphany.

“Harry,” Ginny said, coldly.

She looked at her from across the table, and met her equally cold gaze. Ginny looked ready to
jump at her and start a catfight. She mentally snorted. Wouldn't that be a sight?

“You. *Fancy*. Harry,” she bit out, standing up quickly.

Hermione stood up as well, but unlike Ginny, she was calm, eerily calm.

“I. *Love*. Harry.”

There was a collective gasp in the table, and it was a wonder how they hadn't attracted
someone's attention yet.

Hermione blinked a few times, letting the true meaning of her words wash over her.

*Sweet Merlin…*

“I am in love with Harry.”

Hermione wanted to laugh, but didn't. It was just… It had been all so simple, her
confession. It felt too natural to be an epiphany, actually. Maybe it was only a known fact she was
only voicing just now. Maybe she'd always been in love with him, but that love had developed so
gradually that it was just as part of her as her bookishness was, and had realized just now.

Maybe Ron was right, and it had *always* been Harry.

Just then, the boys walked over their table.

“Hey, we're going back to the castle. Are you girls done gossiping?” Dean said, but got no
answer.

“Is something wrong?”

She almost snorted aloud. Trust Ron to state the obvious.

Ginny scowled at her, and then stormed off the scene, leaving the boys with shocked and confused
expressions. Lavender and Parvati seemed about to burst, ready to spill what happened, but in the
end, they didn't.

Harry looked at her, lifting an eyebrow in question, but she just shook her head.

*Well, what a fantastic way to finish a lovely day.*

The following days were a pain whenever Ginny was around. She couldn't stop glaring or
scowling at her, but Hermione ignored her diplomatically. What was she so upset about, anyway?
Harry had made it clear at the beginning of the year that he wasn't interested in getting back
together with her. So, as far as everyone knew, Harry was single, available, and she had every
right to fancy him if she wanted.

**~~~~~~**

…It's been a week, and Lavender and Parvati have yet to tell a word about the incident.
Ron's still oblivious to his sister's anger, as well as the rest of the school. And Ginny
is still being an immature brat.

Harry, on the other hand, is worried about them, and that's the hardest thing to ignore.
Sometimes, Hermione thinks about telling him everything; the talk about last names, the last name
she chose for herself, the talk about boys and the answer to that bloody question… her confession.
But in the end, she is never brave enough to do it. But that's alright, she doesn't think
she'll be able to handle his rejection.

*You are going to be the death of me, Harry Potter…*

Snape's voice booms across the dungeon again, and this time, Hermione starts to pay
attention to her scribbling, yet ignores the lecture.

*Blimey…*

Written messily on her scroll is the source of all her problems: last names.

*[**Hermione Jane Weasley. Ginevra Molly Potter.*

*Mrs. Hermione Weasley. Mrs. Ginny Potter.*

*Not right.*

*Ginny Malfoy/Longbottom/Thomas/random name?*

*Could be.*

*H. J. P.*

*Hermione Jane Potter.*

*It's right. It's* **perfect.**

**Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perf****ect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.**

**Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.***]*

Hermione stares at the names, and suddenly she sees why her admission had been so upsetting to
Ginny.

*Ginny Potter, of course…*

The fact that some other girl fancies Harry it's not what bothers Ginny, it's the fact
that *she*, Hermione, fancies him—*loves* him, actually, what bothers her. And the ever
present possibility of Harry fancying her as well —*maybe even love her?*— makes it all worse.
Ginny has been relying so much on she and Ron getting together, that she hasn't stopped to
think of a way to get Harry back. Everyone's still so sure she and Ron are destined to be
together, that they can't see it's not going to happen. *(Sure, they shared a kiss, so
what? It's not like it was an extraordinary kiss anyway, she didn't feel anything, no
matter how much she forced herself to feel something, however small, there was nothing. And
she's positive Ron felt nothing as well, he just doesn't want to accept it, still convinced
that they were des**tined to be, but there must be some common sense in him after all, for he
hasn't even hinted at her he wanted them to be together like that.**)*

She has ruined Ginny's plan; her idea of a big happy family. Harry and Ginny, Ron and
Hermione. Obviously, without Ron and Hermione, the chances of Harry and Ginny are very slim,
especially with how their relationship is as of now.

*One Big Happy Family… More like One Big Happy* **Weasley** *Family.*

Well, too bad for Ginny. She isn't about to marry Ron just because everyone expected her
to.

Hermione gripped her quill tightly, before consciously writing down one last sentence on the
scroll.

*[I am Mrs. Harry Potter.]*

Suddenly, her breath catches in her throat, as a warm feeling envelops her. A firm, well toned,
and extremely familiar body presses to her side, and a breath collides with the side of her neck,
sending jolts of pleasure down her spine. She becomes acutely aware of *him*, and everything
else (Snape's angry voice, the murmurs of her classmates) fades in the background.

“Hermione—” he whispers in her ears, but halts his sentence suddenly.

She inhales deeply, and marvels at his unique scent. A mix of fresh air, and Quidditch robes,
and the cupboard under the stairs, and freedom, and something spicy that's so very
*Harry*… She closes her eyes and enjoys the sensation assaulting her body.

*He smells like magic…*

“I am Mrs. Harry Potter…”

The sound of his voice whispering that sentence is enough to snap her out of her musing.

*Oh, bloody hell…*

Their eyes meet, and it feels like that night at the Three Broomsticks all over again. Hermione
can feel the fear crawling up her mind and, for once, she doesn't know what he's
thinking.

Harry grabs her hand, looking as serious as ever, and opens his mouth to talk. But a loud
*slam**!* makes them jump apart, and they collide with those sitting at the other side of
them. And Hermione has the sudden urge to crawl under the table and stay there.

“I see…”

Snape's voice finally registers in her brain, and her eyes widen in horror when she notices
he's reading her scroll. She doesn't know what's worse; Snape finding out her deepest
secret in the middle of a class where half of the students are Slytherins, or the look on
Harry's face as he watches her intently.

“Detention, both of you,” said Snape, dropping the scroll in front of her and stalking away.
“Oh, and ten points will be taken from Gryffindor.”

The rest of the lecture passes in a blur, and though normally Hermione would enjoy some time
alone with Harry, she isn't looking forward to spend detention with him.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Harry keeps stealing glances at her as she sweeps the floor at the other end of the dungeon that
is Snape's classroom. She has half her side done, while he hasn't even started.

It's just… well, he can't concentrate on his task. But after seeing, in Hermione's
for-once-not-so-neat handwriting, `I am Mrs. Harry Potter' written down as if it is the most
natural thing in the world, how could he possibly focus on something other than her?

Ginny had cornered him yesterday and had flat out asked him whom he liked better as a
girlfriend; Hermione or herself. After sending a quick thanks to the Dursleys for not letting him
show any feeling aside from misery and anger, he had managed to answer her without giving away
anything of what he felt. He had to lie of course, just to salvage his friendship with the youngest
Weasley, about how he really felt about Hermione.

*Well, I didn't exactly lie, I just didn't tell her the whole truth. I really
don't know who'd be a better girlfriend, I've never dated Hermione.*

And his guilt had started to eat him up, until she told him what had transpired at the Three
Broomsticks last week, and he felt guilty no more. Again, he had to thank the Dursleys for being
able to maintain his blank expression, even though he had been practically bursting with joy.

*“She fancies you, Harry. She's supposed to be with my brother, and she fancies
you.”*

At the mention of Ron, Harry had felt as if someone had put a damp cloth over his happiness,
though it hadn't been enough to deflate him. He had spent the rest of yesterday's
afternoon, and today's morning thinking about what Ginny told him.

The truth is that this is what he has been hoping for to happen since the beginning of their
seventh year. When, after two months of no Hermione in his life, he sees her and thinks, just like
that, no cosmic realization or nothing, I am in love with her. He doesn't even know when he
actually fell for her, but he supposes it was somewhere around last year, while they were hunting
for the Horcruxes.

*Really, I should have noticed it sooner, especially after reacting so strongly at the kiss
she shared with Ron last year… I am a bloody idiot…*

So, he has enough reasons to be happy; Hermione fancies him! But *happy* doesn't begin
to cover how he's feeling right now after reading what was written on her scroll. And Hermione
is right, he decides, she would probably carry his family name better than anyone else.

Ginny Potter, for example, it certainly doesn't sounds right, and while it doesn't sound
*wrong* to him, there is something off about it that makes him uncomfortable.

Who else? Cho Potter? Lavender Potter? Parvati Potter? Susan/Hannah/Pansy Potter?

No, definitely not.

Harry is positive he could eventually find some witch whose name would go well with his, but
that's not the point. That's not the point at *all*.

It's the feelings that seeing her name next to his evokes in him what matters. The feeling
of fulfilment, of happiness, of *finally*, at the thought of it —*of her*— matters.

Hermione Potter. His wife, his lover, his best friend, the mother of his children.

See? It's not really about the name; it's Hermione. *She* makes the difference. The
fact that he can actually see himself growing old with her…

Harry sighs, stealing another glance at her.

Now he only needs to find a way to make her fall in love with him (is it obvious how insecure he
is, that he can't even think of the possibility of Hermione loving him already?). And once
that's done… He touches briefly the square little object that has been sitting in his pocket
since Christmas last year, that little velvet box that would change his life forever and that seems
to get heavier with each passing day. It's not like he was going to propose to her right away,
they obviously needed to date first, but if they last long enough to think marriage was the next
obvious step in their relationship, he would put what's inside the box to use.

*And it's not like I'm sure she'll ever want more than a date with me, regardless
of what Ginny said, I just thought… it would look nice on her finger. It certainly seems to be
something* *she* *would like…*

“Harry?”

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**To be continued…**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

So, how was it? Good, bad, I suck? Comment please! And you know, if there's a mistake, go
ahead and tell me, I'll fix it asap.

Next, and final, chapter will be up in two weeks from now, give or take.

-->



2. ii
-----



Okay, I decided to update a few days earlier because I won't have time next week, so
don't make a habit of this… XD. Aaaanyway, part 2, hope you enjoy it!

*Disclaimer: Harry Potter (c) JKR. Plot (c) Me.*

**~**

**“A Matter of Names”**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**Part I****I**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

*“Harry?”*

He starts at the sound of her voice, fearing she might have caught him staring at some point,
and turns to look at her. “Yes?”

“I… Are you…?” she trails off, and then continues, “Do you need help?”

“I…” he pauses to look at her, standing there and fidgeting nervously, “Yes, I do.”

Hermione nods and walks away from him to start sweeping from the opposite side. Harry watches
for a few seconds, noticing for the first time since they started detention that she has been
awfully quiet. Not knowing what to say though, he finally starts to sweep the floor. After a few
minutes of sweeping in silence, they stand side by side looking at the clean floor.

This is it, Harry thinks suddenly. This is the moment when he should ask her about her
confession at the Three Broomsticks, and about the meaning of the written scroll, or, at the very
least, ask her out and work things from there.

*Alright, here I go—*

“Er… We did a good job, cleaning, don't you think?” Hermione said rather suddenly.

*Blimey…*

“Yes… I reckon we did, but Hermione—”

“Well, I suppose that is all, I… I'll see you at the Great Hall, Harry, for dinner,” she
said, cutting off his sentence, and walked hurriedly to the door.

Feeling slightly panicked and a lot more confused, Harry blurts out the first thing that comes
into his mind, “Ginny told me what happened last week at the Three Broomsticks!”

She stops abruptly, halfway across the classroom, and Harry wonders why he hadn't thought of
saying something before now to get her attention. Then, he feels the guilt twisting his gut as he
realizes he probably shouldn't have said that, Hermione must has had her reasons for keeping
the incident from him.

“She did, didn't she?”

She doesn't say it as a question, nor as confirmation, instead it sounds to Harry as a known
fact, almost as if she has been expecting it to happen. Maybe she has been waiting for Ginny to
tell him, knowing that she would, eventually.

“She wouldn't miss this chance, knowing that I haven't told you, would she?”

“Hermione…”

She sighs, but says nothing. She doesn't move either, doesn't try to escape like moments
ago. And Harry can't help but feel hurt, if only a little, that she isn't facing him, that
she isn't allowing him to look at her in the eyes and see what's there, what she's
thinking.

“Hermione…” he says again.

*Look at me. Why won't you look at me?!*

“What do you want, Harry?”

Hermione sighs again, and he flinches.

*Merlin…*

She sounds so dejected, so… resigned. But resigned to what? Why would she feel that way? And
why, goddammit, won't she look at him? What happened to his best friend, the girl that's
always confided in him? The strong, confident, straightforward girl that he's grown to love?
Where is *his* Hermione!?

*Merlin…*

Suddenly, Harry feels the panic coming back as a probable reason for her behaviour forms in his
head.

*Of course…*

Maybe Hermione has realized that what she said last week was a mistake. Maybe Ginny
misunderstood her. Or maybe… maybe she just doesn't *fancy* him anymore, and knows how he
feels and doesn't know *how* to let him down without hurting his feelings… And, could
someone blame her? Who would want to be with him, anyway? Sure, Voldemort's gone, but the media
is not. The press, the constant rumours about him and his love life *(which is nonexistent, by
the way)*, the harassment.

Why would Hermione want that?

Ever since she met him, her life has been in danger. It's always one thing or the other. And
now, she finally has the normality she has probably been yearning for, the peaceful life she
deserves.

Of course, why give that up for a life with him and the craziness that follows him everywhere he
goes? But…

But.

What about what she wrote then? I am Mrs. Harry Potter. What does that *mean*? *Why*
write that if she doesn't want him?

“Are you?” he asked, feeling somewhat desperate, needing to know about the true meaning of
*that* sentence.

Two words that could mean anything and yet Hermione finally turns to face him after hearing
them, an odd expression plastered on her face, one that Harry finds cannot decipher.

“Harry…” she sighs.

He tries again, “Are you, Hermione? Do you really—?”

“Yes,” she says quietly, solemnly, “I am in love with you, Harry. I love you.”

He gasps, not quite believing his ears, and vaguely notices Hermione's frown.

*Wha…? Love? What?*

“Hermione, what…?”

Hermione raises her hand to stop him, rubbing her temple with the other, “Oh, bloody hell…”

Harry ignores the shock that sweeps over him at hearing her cursing, and focuses on the matter
at hand, which is trying to make her confirm he didn't hear wrong. However, he will store that
little bit of information for later…

“Hermione,” he says, and it's surprised at how confident he sounds.

“What did Ginny tell you, exactly?” she asks, not looking at him.

“Hermione, look at me,” his request goes ignored, and he feels some of his confidence leave him,
“I… She told me that… that you fancied me, I… That's all she said.”

“Darn it…”

“Hermione?”

When she finally meets his eyes, he sees only sadness in them, and it breaks his heart. He lifts
his hand, trying to reach for her, but Hermione only shakes her head, stepping back.

“Just… forget what I said, okay, Harry? It's… It'll be better that way,” with those
words, she turns around and stalks towards the door again.

A sudden wave of anger washes over him, and, on an impulse, Harry withdraws his wand from his
pocket and waves it in the door's direction. And watches, satisfied, as it swings close,
locking itself with a loud click. Hermione spins around, looking at him, shocked at his actions.
She opens her mouth to talk, but he cuts her off right away.

“No. You're going to listen to me now,” Harry says, breathing deeply to calm down, “You
can't just walk out on me after saying something like that!”

Harry tries to lower his voice, but the frustration, and what little anger lingers in him,
prevents him from doing so. He just wants to…

“Harry, I told to for—”

“No! I won't forget it. I don't want to forget it, because,” he takes a deep breath, and
wills himself to say the words, to confess, but he can't, “Because… Well, just because! And you
still haven't answered my question! And we're not going to leave this place until you
do!”

“But I already answered it!”

“But that wasn't my question, you misunderstood me! Argh!”

“Well, then, ask!”

“I was going to ask about what you wrote on that scroll!”

*Deep breaths, Harry, deeps breaths…*

At last, he manages to calm down, however now he feels awfully tired.

“Oh…”

Her soft murmur brings back some of his energy, and he looks up only to find her looking at
anything but him, trying to hide her blush. The sentence written on that blessed scroll seems to
hang over them. He blushes too.

*[I am Mrs. Harry Potter.]*

So simple, yet so significant, those words.

“I…” he sighs, gathering enough courage for what he is about to do, “Are you, Hermione?”

His voice is soft and tentative. He observes her as she fidgets nervously, staring at something
off to their side. Harry searches his pocket for the little box, pulling it out once he finds it.
He measures the distance between them, calculating quickly the amount of strength he'll
need…

“Hermione,” he says, and throws the velvet box at her, pleased to see that her quick reflexes
haven't been dampened for she catches it in midair, and continues, “Would you?”

Hermione looks at him, wonder and hope *and love* shining in her eyes, squeezing the object
in her hands. Harry watches silently as she opens them, seeing what she caught, and gasps. Tears
well up from her eyes, and she chokes back a sob.

“Oh, Harry…” she whispers, smiling tenderly.

He walks towards her, stopping once he is at a prudent distance, “I… It wasn't supposed to
be this way, you know?”

She moves her gaze up at him, meeting his eyes, and smiles, ignoring completely the tears that
blur her vision.

Harry fidgets a little, before speaking again, “I… We were supposed to go on a date first, and
then, perhaps, our relationship as just friends could change to more than friends, and… maybe, if
we think it's going to work, you know, you and I as a couple… we could, I don't know,
marry. Someday.”

Hermione closes the remaining distance, and rests her head on his shoulder, hugging the little
velvet box to her chest tightly. Harry doesn't miss a bit, and puts his arms around her, albeit
a little tentatively.

“The thing is… I am in love with you, too, Hermione,” he says after a while, and pretends not to
notice her stiffening at his confession, “I think I fell for you sometime during the hunt of the
Horcruxes, but… I only realized it when I saw you at King's Cross last summer, September
1st. It was so simple, you see, no big explosion of feelings or nothing, no epiphany,
just acknowledgement of a fact.”

Relaxing quickly, Hermione giggles and he smiles in response, though she can't see it.

“I know, not romantic at all, but that's me, I'm not romantic, never learned how to
be.”

“Oh, Harry, it's alright. I love you anyway, always will.”

He squeezes her in response, and drops a kiss on her head, “So, what do we do now?”

Hermione pulls away from him, and hands the box back, “First, you do this right.”

“Do you want me to ask you out first?” Harry asks nervously, toying with the box.

“No. You propose to me the right way.”

Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair, and nods, “I… alright, but… I was hoping to be
somewhere a little less dark and cold…”

“Very well.”

She withdraws her wand and points it at the ceiling. And before Harry can ask about it, the
ceiling starts to reflect the darkening sky outside (with its shades of purple, red, and orange),
pretty much like the ceiling of the Great Hall does. Hermione keeps pointing her wand around the
dungeon, murmuring enchantments and soon, their surrounding looks exactly like the grounds around
the lake. All in all, it is an excellent illusion, although if one stares hard enough, the walls
surrounding the classroom could still be seen.

The setting, Harry has to admit, is pretty romantic, probably more than what he would've
pulled off.

“All done,” she says, and smiles at him, “Now you can propose.”

Clearing his throat several times, Harry turns his attention to her, “I… I… I love you, you
know,” he pauses, and takes a deep breath before continuing, “You have been the first person to
ever give me some kind of affection. My first hug, you gave it to me. My first kiss, though not on
the lips, you gave it to me. Hermione… you are the only one that has been by my side no matter
what, and… I think that… that thought, and the fact that I can actually see myself growing old with
you… has helped me come to a decision.”

He kneels in front of her, pulling the ring out of the box, and grabs her hands. Hermione's
smile widens so much it threatens to split her face, but it doesn't and she's never looked
better in his eyes. She looks beautiful and radiant and—and perfect. She's perfect.

*Will you, Hermione? Will you really be Mrs. Harry Potter? Would you do me the honour of
becoming my wife?*

Harry takes one deep breath, and is suddenly more than ready to pop The Question, “Hermione Jane
Granger, please, allow me to spend the rest of our lives showing you how much I love you, how much
you mean to me… Marry me.”

Hermione tugs at his hands, making him stand up, and leans up to press one tender kiss to his
lips, “In a heartbeat.”

Before he can even react, Hermione jumps on him, quite literally, and wraps her legs around his
hips, kissing him passionately. Harry hastens to grab her, to provide her of some sort of support
other than her legs (her hands are too busy gripping at his hair), and kisses her back with equal
passion. After a heavy round of snogging, (tongues battling for dominance, breaths mingling, hips
rubbing enticingly against each other, moans and groans echoing in the room), they pull apart,
gasping for air and grinning like idiots.

“Wow,” he whispers, resting his forehead against hers.

She sighs and nods, and then starts to giggle softly.

“What?” Harry asks, barely opening his eyes.

She looks at him, smirking, “You, Mr. Potter, are wicked. I never thought you would take
advantage of our current position to cop a feel.”

Only then, Harry realizes what he is holding on to.

*No wonder it felt so soft and squeezy.*

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” she says, stifling her giggles.

Harry squeezes her bottom for good measure, and smirks smugly when Hermione squeaks a bit. And
after squeezing her backside one more time, he puts her down, not being able to avoid the hit that
connects with his arm. He laughs as she tries to hit him again, clearly flustered. He catches her
hand a few seconds later, and slips the ring on her finger.

The loving smile that graces her face then as she looks at the ring, Harry decides, is worth the
wait. Especially when her smile is directed at him, as it is now.

“It's beautiful, Harry, I love it,” she says, giving him one of her crushing hugs.

He is about to say that it's not as beautiful as her, but decides against it; it'd be
too cliche.

“I'm glad,” he replies instead.

After sharing one last kiss, they leave Snape's classroom and head towards the Great Hall,
where dinner awaits them, hand in hand.

For one brief moment, he pictures everyone's faces as they see him and Hermione walking in,
hand in hand, as it was the most natural thing to do. He thinks of Ron's expression of
disbelief, and Ginny's expression of anger, and the shock in the rest of the Gryffindors as
well as the rest of the school.

He looks at their joined hands and at the ring adorning hers, and knows chaos will break loose
once they set foot in the Great Hall.

But for once, he is beyond caring of what others may think. This is what he's been waiting
for, and now has he has it, he's not letting it go.

*Hermione Jane Potter… indeed.*

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**The** **End****… not quite**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

So, yeah, I lied, this is not quiet the end. I wrote an epilogue for this, just so it can
explain a bit what happened here in case some of you didn't understand… And, comment please?
=D

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3. iii - epilogue
-----------------



*Okay, since a part-time job came up for tomorrow, I'm updating in advance! Take it as an
earlier Xmas present, `cause I don't know if I'll be able to write something for Xmas.
Anyway I hope you enjoy this!*

*Disclaimer: Harry Potter (c) JKR. Plot (c) Me.*

**~**

**“A Matter of Names”**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**Epilogue**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Hermione looks at every detail of the place she is going to start calling home from now on and
smiles.

The flat is not extraordinary by any means; it is like any other flat in the building. Three
bedrooms, two bathrooms, the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen, plus two balconies; one
outside the living room and the other in the master bedroom. There is nothing special about it,
really, but…

But.

The fact that it is *theirs*, hers and Harry's, is what makes it special. It's what
makes it *perfect*.

Hermione giggles and practically skips towards the master bedroom, smiling broadly at the sight
of it.

Another plus about this particular flat is that it came completely furnished. She had seen it in
a catalogue, while looking for a place to live with Harry, and she had fallen in love with it,
furniture and all, at once. Everything about the picture of it had given her a warm and content
feeling, the sensation of being home. And she'd wanted it, and Harry had bought it for her,
without a second thought.

Upon entering the master bedroom, she grins and runs straight to the king-sized, canopy bed,
hopping onto it.

The bed's the only difference between the real thing and the flat in the catalogue. Hermione
had wanted a king-sized bed, with white bedcovers, instead of the queen-sized one, with peach
coloured bedcovers.

“Ah, I love this place. It feels like Heaven,” she says, letting out another contented sigh.

“Well, I'm glad you feel that way. Because it would certainly suck if you didn't.”

Hermione sits up on the bed, looking over her fiance as he sets down a heavy-looking box near
the door. He's obviously exhausted, but says nothing about it. He's even insisted in doing
all the box-carrying business himself.

“Harry, that's the last of my boxes, right? Come lie here a little, take a break,” she says,
patting the empty space next to her, and is happy to see him oblige.

Harry plops down next to her and groans in pleasure, “Oh, you're right, this does feel like
Heaven.”

Hermione smiles at him, brushing some hair out of his forehead, and leans down to place a kiss
on his scar, “I just wish you'd let me help.”

“Hey,” he says, grabbing her free hand, “You're just coming out of a nasty cold. The Healers
said you should not exert yourself.”

“I know. I'm sorry for not checking our flat's location before you bought it. I
didn't know that this neighbourhood was populated by muggles mostly.”

Harry gives her a dashing smile, which effectively takes away all her concerns. And it's in
moments like this when she wonders why everyone keeps telling them to wait a few more years before
marrying. Is it not obvious how perfect they are for each other?

“It's all right, Hermione. You love this place, and that's what matters to me.”

She smiles again *(**it's* *funny how as of lately she'**s been*
*all smiles)*, “I know.”

“Besides,” he adds, and smirks, “All the boxes are inside our flat now, so we can use magic to
unpack.”

With a sigh, Hermione lays down next to Harry, snuggling up to his side. They stay like that for
a few minutes; before she lifts her left hand above their heads, displaying the beautiful
engagement ring Harry had given her two years ago, at the end of their 7th Year. The
light entering through the window hits the diamond, making it sparkle.

“We're getting married…” she whispers suddenly, looking at her ring adoringly, and smiles
once again.

She doesn't need to see him to know Harry's smiling as well.

“Yeah…”

Hermione suppresses a squeal that threatens to escape by giggling in a very girly manner, “Next
month…”

“Yeah… But, Hermione…” he trails off, sounding worried.

She groans and rolls on her back, frowning at what is to come, so she goes ahead of him and
doesn't let him finish his thought, “Harry, I know what you're going to say and *yes*,
for the umpteenth time, I am *positive* this is *what I want*.”

Harry props himself up on his elbows and looks down at her, a slight frown marring his face,
“But, Hermione—”

“Stop that, Harry,” she interrupts, mimicking him, and propping herself up on her elbows.

“Just listen to what I have to say, please.”

Hermione relents and nods, though she isn't pleased with this turn of events. They've
been having such a lovely moment…

Harry takes a deep breath and begins, “I've been thinking—”

“You've been thinking? Are you sure it's not *everyone else* putting ideas in your
head to `make you see reason'?” she cuts in angrily.

He decides to ignore her comment and proceeds, “I've been thinking about what our
*friends* and *family* have said—”

She snorts, sits up, and turns away from him, crossing her arms over her chest.

*Of course*. Of course, it's about what everyone have said, she shouldn't be
surprised. She's really starting to think they are set on ruining her relationship with Harry,
but she knows they're only trying to spare them the possible heartache, so she can't just
snap at them.

*Oh, but they don't understand. There's not going to be* *heartache**,
because this is right! Harry and I…*

“—and, maybe, they have a point, you know?”

“Oh, Harry…”

She hears him scoot his way close to her, until he's right in her line of sight.

“Just listen, Hermione… They do have a point. Maybe this *is* too rushed; it's only
been two years… We've just moved in together and our wedding is next month already,” he says,
trying to make her see reason, but she's going to stand her ground, “Maybe we are rushing too
much. Moving head first into something that might need more time to work it out.”

Harry looks pleadingly at her, and her resolve starts to crumble…

“Hermione, love, it's only been two years since we started dating…” he says softly.

And that's enough to make her resolve come back full force.

*I am not giving in.*

“Since we got *engaged*, you mean,” she points out.

“Exactly! See what I mean? We haven't even dated!”

“Harry,” she says, grabbing his hands and looking at him tenderly, having finally understood his
real worries about their wedding, “I know you don't want to mess this up, and trust me, I
don't want to either.”

Once she's sure she has his whole attention, she begins talking again.

“But don't you see? We are *not* going to mess it up, *not ever*, because we are
perfect for each other. We will fight, yes, and there'll be time when we won't even want to
see each others' faces, but that's okay, because that's part of relationships too,” she
pauses long enough to take a deep breath, and smiles, “Think about it, Harry, we don't even
*need* to date.”

“Why not?” he asks, confusion written all over his face, “I thought that's also part of
relationships?”

“Yes, but, Harry, the whole point about dating is getting to know that special person. And we
already know each other better than anyone else.”

Hermione is pleased to see that Harry finally understands her point of view. She gives his hands
a little squeeze before grinning at him.

“Honestly, Harry, do you really think I would have let you propose if I thought we weren't
ready for this?”

And he has the decency to look sheepish after that comment, “Well…”

“Besides, we've already postponed it two years. Remember I said I'd marry you in a
heartbeat, and I meant it. If there had been a way, I would've gone through with it.”

“I know,” he says, smiling at last, only to frown again, “What about what your mother said?”

She sighs, tilting her head backwards. She knows her mother means well, she really does, but she
doesn't need to put more doubts into Harry's mind. He is very insecure as it is, thanks to
those awful relatives of his, to have other people, people that he respects, add more to it.

“My mother is only worried about us, but without any real fundaments actually.”

“Uh?”

“You see, Harry, my mother's little sister, my Aunt Susanne, married at my age. She, too,
got engaged right away, and didn't even bother to date her fiance before accepting his
proposal. Pretty much like us. But… there's a difference. And my mother was not taking into
account that difference when she said she wanted us to wait a few more years.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, “A difference?”

“Yes, my Aunt and her fiance… they weren't like us, love, not really,” she replies, smiling
when she notes as realization begins to dawn into her soon-to-be husband.

“They weren't best friends.”

Hermione nods, “That's right, they weren't best friends, like we were—still *are*.
They weren't even friends. In fact, they met a week before this man proposed to her, and being
the young a naive girl she was, my aunt actually believed herself in love. So they married… and a
few months later they divorced.”

“Your Aunt must have been devastated,” he says.

“She was… Now, that is what my mother doesn't want for us.”

He leans in to press a soft kiss to her lips before placing his head on her shoulder, “I can
understand her worry now…”

She snakes her arms around him, resting her head on top of his, and sighs, “We're not like
them, Harry, love, we're not naive, or innocent for that matter. War changed us, too much, it
made us grow up to fast, especially you.”

“Yeah, the War only showed me that life's too short to waste it… But if a war is what it
takes to be like this with you, I'd fight it as much as it's necessary,” he mumbles into
her shoulder.

“Then we don't need to postpone the wedding any longer, unless… that is what you
*really* want?”

She pushes him back a little to search his eyes for the definite answer. What she finds there is
more than what she is expecting; unconditional love, trust and devotion, along with the great
desire he feels for her.

*Harry and I are perfect for each other. We are mean to be.*

“If I could, I would marry you right *now*,” he says, putting especial emphasis on the last
word.

Hermione doesn't even know she has said it, until she sees Harry's shocked face, but
even if she had been aware, she wouldn't have changed her words.

“What's stopping you?”

She knows her expression mirrors his own; utter surprise, disbelief, not because she's
clearly said she wants to marry right then and there, but because she has been putting so much
effort, along with her mother and Mrs. Weasley to make their wedding as perfect as it can be, to
throw it all away and elope with him.

*Elope…*

Harry crashes his mouth to hers, kissing her with such passion she thinks she's going to
faint. He moves his lips with sensuous aggressiveness against her own, knocking the air out of her
lungs. He presses her into the mattress, imprisoning her hands at each side of her head.

“Harry, wait…” she moans, “I didn't mean—”

He cuts off her sentence with another aggressive kiss before pulling away, but not enough to
break full contact with her lips, “Yes, you did. You, Miss Granger, want to elope with me.”

“I didn't—” Hermione moans again, squirming to try to escape those wonderful lips of his so
she can think properly, “Oohh… said—*oh, Harry*—that!”

He sucks at her neck hard and then finally pulls away, hovering over her as he grins
mischievously, “You implied it.”

And it's the same grin he gave her back in 3rd Year, when he snuck out of the
castle to go to Hogsmeade, to prevent her from turn him in. Only this time, the mischief shining in
his eyes is… *quite* different.

She smiles in return, and their lips meet once more.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Hedwig and Crookshanks, who've been frolicking peacefully in the living room, far away from
each other, don't even blink when they hear a loud *crack!* coming from their masters'
room.

After all, it is none of their business.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**The** **End****… for real this time**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

I guess it's until next time now, since I don't have finished stories so far,
they're mostly WIPs (and I don't like to post stories that aren't finished yet). In the
mean time, you can visit my livejournal and check the drabbles there. HP drabbles (as well as those
fics posted here) are all there—>here.

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