Author's Notes: I really, really have to go to bed. Half an hour left 'til June 21st! Well, here at least. But I made a vow to myself to get it done, and get it done I shall. I apologize for the lack of anything funny or any sort of review songs in this chapter and the epilogue, but I just wanted to get this done. Perhaps tomorrow I'll go back and update with some sort of clever review song.

P.S. I love this chapter. ^_^

***

The trials of Draco Malfoy and Dameon Stark, also known as Ulysses Ademon, were held on the 20th of March. Both were found guilty of several misuse of magic charges, as well as crimes against Muggles charges, and both were sentenced to life in Azkaban for premeditated intention to murder. Ron, Harry, and several other Aurors testified at their trials, and did so with relish. At Ron's request, Hermione was not called as a witness. Hermione pretended to be miffed about this, but Ron could see she was secretly thankful. The last thing she wanted to do was relive that night in front of the Council of Magical Law.

Malfoy joined his parents in Azkaban on the 30th of March. Stark was sent to the prison the day after, and ended up suffering the fates of both his father and grandfather, despite the measures he'd taken to prevent that from ever happening.

The elder Dameon Stark was escorted back to his time by several members of the M.L.E.S., Dumbledore, and a few Aurors. Despite all Ron's attempts to get any other information about this expedition out of Harry and Dumbledore, it remained top-secret and classified.

The Ministry elections were held before the public knew of Stark's true identity and of his arrest. Issac Crump won by a landslide. The first thing he did as re-elected Minister for Magic was put in place several new laws concerning Time Turners.

Both the Daily Prophet and Muggle newspapers across the country sported the same, baffling headlines. The mysterious illness that had swept the country, and had plagued Muggle-kind, disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The Ministry of Magic wisely decided to keep any mention of the Scrolls of Scuro out of the papers, and out of the public. Therefore most wizards and all Muggles were completely flabbergasted, but pleasantly surprised, at the sudden recovery of anyone who had been ill. Hermione had reversed the effects of the Scrolls of Scuro before the magic could even begin to work, and so the effects of the other four scrolls were never felt.

To everyone's delight, all Muggle and Muggle-born students soon returned to Hogwarts, and were met with much celebration and quite a few riotous parties in certain house common rooms. Arden Roberts, and a few other Muggle-born teachers on staff, recovered as quickly as Hermione had, and things at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were soon back to normal.

The months after the incident at Stark Manor were some of the best of Ron's life. Almost losing Hermione caused him to want to spend every waking minute with her, which was somewhat difficult considering the fact that they both had classes to teach all day. But, just for fun and partly to annoy her, Ron made it a habit of showing up in her Advanced Arithmancy class every day after lunch, when he had a spare period, to ask to borrow  random classroom items – a spare piece of chalk, a few pieces of parchment, etc. Professor Granger attempted to act as if this annoyed her greatly, but Ron knew she loved it.

Professor Weasley returned to teaching with renewed enthusiasm, vowing to make up his lack of motivation in the classroom for the past few months. He even managed to squeeze in a few class trips to the Haunted Swamps a few miles away from Hogwarts, where his students would gleefully run around for a few hours, blasting the hell out of Hinkypunks. Hermione greatly disapproved of these class trips.

After the incident at Stark Manor, at times Hermione would fall into brief bouts of silence, or would complain of pounding headaches. Though Ron never said anything out loud because of the risk of upsetting her, he suspected that this was still due to the residual Stark had left within her. But as the weather became warmer and the memories of that night gradually faded away, these quiet spells became fewer and far between, and Hermione was her bossy, stubborn, wonderful self again. Occasionally, she would stop mid-conversation or abruptly drop what she was doing with an excited look in her eyes, and would hastily retreat to the library. But this was so normal for Hermione that Ron thought nothing much of it at the time.

The hands-off policy remained during school hours, but this did not defer Ron and Hermione from making the most of after-school hours, or weekends. Ron didn't mind acting professional during school hours, because it only made the stolen glances in the hallways between classes or the smiles they shared across the table in the Great Hall even more special. It was almost as if they were making up for not being able to do the sneaking around thing during their own days as Hogwarts students.

All this time, the question that had begun to form in Ron's heart that day in the hospital wing was always on his lips, and he found himself acting rather jittery or nervous whenever he thought of the object he had begun to carry about in his pocket. But every time an opportunity presented itself, Ron's palms got sweaty, his tongue seemed to go all thick, and he couldn't get the words out. Time after time he chickened out, and so in his pocket the object remained.

There was also a growing suspicion which Ron harboured, and as time wore on, it nagged at him more and more. It had begun with Hermione's dreams concerning the scrolls, and her predictions and hunches that fateful night at Stark Manor had only strengthened Ron's theory. So this was how, on a sunny day in May, Ron found himself up in the stuffy warmth of the Divination Tower, waiting impatiently below the trapdoor with Arden Roberts.

"Ugh," Arden said, shuddering. "Don't tell Rowan I said this, but this place gives me the creeps. It's all stuffy, and there's that perfumey smell…and it always makes you drowsy and delusional and then you start thinking you hear or see things that aren't actually there…"

Ron stared at him and blinked slowly. "I think that's just you, Roberts."

"They've been up there for a really long time," Arden commented, ignoring him. "What kind of tests could you possibly do to find out if someone's a Seer? I remember in third year Divination I had to look into a crystal ball, and I just sat there and made a load of crap up, and I passed." He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Maybe I'm a Seer and I just don't know it. I should get Row to test me too."

"No, I think what happened was Trelawney passed you so that she wouldn't have to see your face again when you would have had to repeat third year Divination," Ron said wryly.

Arden shrugged. "Probably." He shook his head and glanced at the trapdoor. "How in the world did you get Hermione to agree to this?"

It hadn't been easy, Ron reflected. Trying to convince Hermione that she perhaps had the makings of a Seer had been as easy as trying to convince the other Gryffindor boys back in second year that there were giant spiders living in the Forbidden Forest. But eventually, she had agreed, if only to "put to rest these ridiculous ideas you seem to have".

Ron didn't want Hermione to have the makings of a Seer. He liked her just the way she was, without any future-predicting tendencies. But the idea had been nagging at him for so long, that he just had to know. Plus, he knew how much her dreams had haunted her…he just didn't want to see her continue to have nightmare-plagued nights.

Ron started as the trapdoor opened, and Hermione, then Rowan, soberly descended down the rope ladder. Ron looked at them expectantly, and when he was met with silence, both he and Arden demanded, "Well?"

Rowan and Hermione exchanged grave looks. "Professor Trelawney was right," Rowan said solemnly. A smile began to form on her face. "She does have a mundane aura."

Hermione smiled proudly. "Evidently, I wouldn't know a precognitive vision if it slapped me in the face."

Rowan went red. "I didn't say that…"

"Well, you meant it, and good riddance!" said Hermione matter-of-factly. "I think I'd go mad if I was a Seer. Whatever put such a funny idea into your head, Ron?"

"Well, your dreams, of course," Ron explained rather sheepishly, although he felt as relieved as Hermione was. "And…your hunches…that night."

"Well, the dreams can be easily explained," Rowan said. "Do you remember I told you that when something traumatizing, or something particularly important, is going to happen in someone's life, they could start Seeing things, even if they aren't very talented in the art of Divination?"

It sounded vaguely familiar to Ron. He remembered Rowan saying something of the sort that day in his office, when she had confessed about knowing about the scrolls. "That's right," Ron said slowly, "so she Saw in her dreams what she was going to do under Imperius. It's like her mind was warning her."

Hermione's face had become paler than usual, and she pressed her lips together firmly. The memories were still too fresh for her to talk about them so casually. "So that was just a fluke?" she tried to say normally. "It won't happen again?"

"I don't think so," Rowan said pensively. "You haven't had any nightmares lately, have you?"

Ron felt his face grow warm as he and Hermione exchanged quick glances. They hadn't gotten much sleep lately for Hermione to have nightmares.

"No," Hermione replied quickly, her paleness disappearing as her cheeks turned pink as well.

"That still doesn't explain about her hunches and her predictions that night at Stark Manor," Ron pointed out.

"That was only due to her link with Dameon Stark at that time," Rowan explained. Hermione's eyes dropped to the ground. "It had nothing to do with being a Seer."

"Well, then, that settles it," Hermione said loudly in what Ron had grown to recognize as her I-don't-want-to-talk-about-this-any-longer tone.

"Satisfied that she won't be predicting your every move now, Ron?" Arden asked teasingly.

Ron grinned and said, "I suppose." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Well done then, Rowan," Arden said approvingly. He grinned and nudged her as an idea hit him. "Hey, you could start up a business, you know. There's plenty of Muggle frauds out there charging people twenty pounds a pop for psychic predictions, and they just make stuff up."

Rowan's eyes widened. "Really? That's horrible!"

Arden laughed. "Yeah, people will believe anything. All they need to see is a realistic-looking crystal ball and some fancy scarves, and they'll lap it up."

Hermione snorted. "Well, let's go then, shall we? It's nearly time for supper."

"Oh, I have to clean up the classroom first," Rowan said. "Professor Trelawney likes everything to be dusted and tidy every morning…"

"Slave driver," Ron muttered.

"I'll stay with you," Arden offered. Rowan blushed prettily, but nodded shyly.

"Fine, we'll see you two later, then," Ron shrugged. "Roberts, we still on for a drink and a game of chess later?"

"Most definitely," Arden replied. "Except this time, I'm bringing my chess pieces."

"Fair enough. It's not like you'll win either way," Ron said, grinning wickedly. He took Hermione's arm in his and prepared himself for the long, dizzying walk down the Tower stairs. "Thanks again, Row."

"Yes, thank you, Rowan," Hermione echoed as Ron dragged her along. "I'm sorry for wasting your time and all."

Rowan just smiled in her shy way, and Ron and Hermione turned the corner, beginning to head down the stairs. Ron waited for Hermione to make some comment, and sure enough, he was not disappointed.

"See how silly you were being?" she scoffed. "Why would you think that I was a Seer?"

"I just wanted to be sure," Ron muttered. "I…I just didn't want you to have to go through that…whole ordeal again."

Hermione stopped on the stairs, furrowing her eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know…with the dreams and everything…and…I know it took its toll on you, and…I guess I just didn't want you to blame me for causing chaos in your neat and tidy little life again," Ron blurted out quickly. Hermione stared at him, and Ron cleared his throat.

"I'll always remember you saying, 'You showed up at this castle out of the blue to make my life difficult', or something along those lines. I guess I just…I felt awful that you were dragged into this in the first place, and I just…wanted to make sure that you wouldn't have to go through those nightmares…or anything…again."

Hermione paused and stared at him, sighing deeply. "Ron," she said seriously. "Whatever I said last year…please forget that I ever said it. Because I didn't mean it. Okay?"

Ron searched her eyes for a moment, and then smiled in relief. "Okay." Hermione smiled back at him and softly kissed his lips, and suddenly Ron's palms became sweaty and his stomach seemed to disappear as he remembered the object in his pocket.

Now? thought Ron, butterflies tap-dancing in his stomach. He slowly reached towards pocket and then, nervousness causing him to chicken out yet again, he faltered. Afraid that he would end up blurting out the question he'd been meaning to ask by accident, he broke away from Hermione abruptly.

"I…er…forgot to tell Arden…what time to meet me at the Three Broomsticks!" Ron said rapidly. Hermione blinked, puzzled. "Er…meet you in the Great Hall!" With that, he quickly turned and started jogging back up the staircase, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. The further he got from Hermione, however, the more he started feeling like an idiot.

Stop acting like a fourteen-year-old. You have to just suck it up and do it, Weasley, Ron told himself firmly.

But what if it's all wrong? Or if she doesn't like it? Or if she thinks it's too soon? Or if you mess it up? The paranoid voice in his subconscious squealed.

Ron sighed and stopped walking. "Stupid brain," he muttered. There was no point in going back down to Hermione now - he would just look like an idiot. Ron slowly continued to climb the stairs again. Perhaps he could help Rowan and Arden clean up, and then go down to the Great Hall.

Ron slowed as he reached the corner that would lead to the trapdoor landing. It seemed that Arden and Rowan were not getting any cleaning done; rather, they were both chattering. Ron heard Rowan's laughter, and Arden's warm chuckle. Intrigued, Ron peeked around the corner.

Rowan and Arden were standing together, a warm glow in Rowan's cheeks, and a bright smile on Arden's face. Rowan was talking animatedly about something, while Arden listened, hands in his pockets.

" – and of course, Roger was looking for the perfect way to get Professor Trelawney back for that comment she made about Seeing him spending the rest of his life begging for change in Diagon Alley," Rowan chattered on, giggling.

Ron snorted.

"So," Rowan continued, taking a deep breath, "Professor Trelawney was telling all of the students to swirl their teacups and whatnot, and then they poured out the tea and were looking at the dregs, and Roger says in the most innocent voice, 'Oh Professor, could you tell me what my tea leaves mean?'. And of course Professor Trelawney hurries over there and peers down at the teacup," Rowan said all in one breath. She suddenly took on the air of the Divination Professor, and Arden grinned widely. "Oh yes, my dear," Rowan said breathlessly in imitation, "This clearly shows many hardships in your future…"

Ron's eyebrows were beginning to raise higher and higher. First of all, he'd never heard Rowan speak so much in her entire life, especially in front of Arden Roberts. Second of all, he would have never dreamed that she could do, or would do, such an accurate impression of Trelawney. Thirdly, Arden was looking at her in quite a different way than he usually did. There was amusement and laughter in his eyes, but also something far more serious as he studied Rowan's lively face and expressions.

"So I guess in the fifth year Transfiguration class they're turning teacups into toads," continued Rowan, oblivious, "and by now Professor Trelawney's nose is practically in the teacup, of course. So Roger nonchalantly reaches over with his wand, and turns the teacup into a toad." She started giggling uncontrollably. "Professor Trelawney screams at the top of her lungs, jumps backwards, and Roger says, 'Bet you didn't See that coming'."

Both of them burst into laughter. Rowan bit her lip and attempted to stifle her giggles with one hand. Arden's laughter died away as he fixed her with that stare again, a lopsided grin beginning to form on his face.

"Well, needless to say, Professor Trelawney wasn't very happy about that," Rowan continued, still giggling. "And so she takes Roger by the arm and she – "

Rowan was cut off as Arden abruptly leaned forward and quickly kissed her on the lips. She froze, eyes wide, and Arden pulled away sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry," he blurted out.

Rowan did not reply. She only stared forward, eyes practically bulging out of her head.

"Aw, geez," Arden muttered, his cheeks beginning to turn red, "I'm really, really sorry Row…I dunno what came over me, it's just you were standing there and laughing and you're really pretty when you smile and stuff…argh, but I thought you might react like this since I was a teacher when you were a student here and everything, but we're only a few years apart, so it's not really – "

He was then interrupted as Rowan Richardson, possibly the shyest, quietest, and most introverted girl Ron had ever met, threw her arms around Arden's neck and kissed him back. Arden raised his eyebrows in surprise, but then he grinned against her lips and returned the favour.

Ron decided that this was probably the best time to slip away, and so slip away he did, grinning to himself.

***

Somehow, May slipped into June without Ron noticing, and before he knew it, he had exams to create and to mark. Having gone through the torturous experience of creating written exams once before, Ron opted for exams à la Lupin – physical exams which would test the students' knowledge by pitting them against the creatures they'd learned about that particular year. These exams were a huge success, and were much easier to mark. After watching Hermione furiously mark Arithmancy exams for five hours straight one night, Ron brightly suggested that she should create some sort of obstacle course in which students would have to use their knowledge of Arithmancy to keep themselves alive. Needless to say, she was not impressed.

Soon, the students were taking down posters on their dormitory walls, exchanging addresses and, in the Muggle-born students' cases, phone numbers for the summer, and packing up their belongings. After their annual, teary farewell to the students from the castle lawns, the staff headed up to the staff common room and festively celebrated their departure.

"To exams!" Professor Sinistra exclaimed, raising her mug of Butterbeer. "May we not have to mark them again until next year!"

"Hear, hear!" her peers echoed cheerfully, banging their mugs together. Everyone, save for the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress, had showed up for the staff's classic end-of-the-year party. Professor Flitwick had charmed one of the sofas into crooning popular songs, Professor Willows had brought up enough food from the kitchens to feed a small army, and Professor Woods had mysteriously disappeared and then re-appeared with an ample supply of Butterbeer, ale, and plenty other alcoholic beverages.

"To ze students!" Professor Bouchard cried. "May we enjoy our two months of freedom from ze little brats!"

"I take it that means he's coming back next year," Ron muttered in disappointment, sitting side-by-side with Hermione on one of the long couches. Hermione tried not to smile and shushed him.

"To those of us who are returning," Professor Willows called out, raising her glass, "and to those of us who won't be coming back," she said sadly, glancing at Professor Trelawney. The old Divination professor had become quite emotional, and daintily dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

"Hear, hear!" Ron muttered enthusiastically under his breath. Hermione nudged him with her elbow, and Ron choked on his ale, causing Hermione to clap a hand to her mouth to stifle laughter.

"And to those of us who've been promoted!" Arden said enthusiastically, grabbing Rowan by the waist and drawing her into the limelight. She blushed furiously and stared at the ground.

"Cheers!" everyone called, clinking their glasses together.

"Want to get out of here?" Ron murmured in Hermione's ear.

Hermione smiled and nodded, then allowed Ron to pull her to her feet. He led her through the crowd of teachers, past a rather tipsy Professor Flitwick and a very ruddy-faced Professor Woods, out of the staff common room and into the very quiet hall outside.

"Well, they sure know how to throw a party, I'll give them that," Ron commented, swinging Hermione's hand back and forth as they walked down the hall. Hermione giggled and nudged him to stop it.

"They do it every year," she said, shaking her head. "You'd think they were a bunch of teenagers, the way they carry on past midnight in there."

Ron suddenly snorted with laughter. "I just had the most fantastic mental picture of McGonagall dancing around with a lampshade on her head."

Hermione tried not to laugh, and failed. "Oh no, she never comes," she said, shaking her head and letting her curls fly. "Neither does Albus."

"Hm. I wonder what they do all summer," Ron mused.

Neither of them knew.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked curiously. They were still hand-in-hand, and as they both turned an all-too familiar corridor, her eyes lit up in recognition. "The Gryffindor common room?" she asked, puzzled, as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Why in the world are we going here?"

"For old time's sake," Ron said in satisfaction. The Fat Lady snorted in her sleep, and opened her eyes blearily to stare at the both of them.

"You two?" she said, yawning. "You haven't been here in awhile," she noted matter-of-factly.

Over eight years, in fact, Ron thought, shrugging at the Fat Lady. Perhaps a painting had a very different concept of time. The Fat Lady raised her eyebrows as she became more and more awake, and eyed their entwined fingers.

"Well, it's about time," she declared. The portrait then cleared her throat importantly. "Password, please?"

"Lucky leprechauns," Ron said promptly. Hermione arched an eyebrow, but the Fat Lady obediently swung open. They both stepped through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room once more.

"Oh, my," Hermione breathed, releasing Ron's hand and walking into the empty room. "Nothing's changed."

A fire was roaring in the empty common room, and the chairs, tables, and sofas scattered about were still in the exact same positions as Ron had seen them last. Squashy, crimson armchairs still beckoned invitingly to them, and the long sofa before the fireplace still looked worn with age and the use of hundreds of students over the years. Hermione let out a contented sigh as she walked around, running her fingers lovingly over a particular table.

"This was my table," she declared, "the one that I always came to study at. I loved this spot, set apart from the rest of the common room, in this cozy little corner…"

"Hermione Granger's fondest memory of her Hogwarts days: the table which she studied at," Ron said dryly, jumping onto the couch in front of the fire. It was still delightfully soft, and smelled of wood and fire.

"Well, it's a very nice table," Hermione shot back defensively. Ron rolled his eyes, but grinned to himself.

"So why did you want to come here?" Hermione asked curiously.

Ron shrugged his shoulders. "For nostalgic purposes, I suppose. I missed the old place, and with all the students gone…it's all ours."

"And the password?" Hermione demanded, wandering over to the couch that Ron had stretched out across.

"Wrangled it out of Ernie Konalian before he left," Ron grinned, drawing his knees to his chest to give Hermione a place to sit before the fire. She gratefully sunk into the squashy couch.

"Oh, I am so glad they're gone," she announced, "I don't think I could stand another class with those third-years of mine. They were the worst bunch I've ever taught. Did you know that four of them failed my class? Four. How do you fail third-year Arithmancy?" she asked incredulously as Ron sat up and shifted down the couch, until his body was pressed against hers.

"Yep, Hogwarts is going to pot," Ron said wistfully, putting an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Four third-years failed Arithmancy this year…next year it'll be five…and the year after that, six…pretty soon everyone will be failing Arithmancy, and you'll be out of a job."

"Oh, shut up," Hermione muttered half-heartedly, laughing. She suddenly straightened, and announced, "Ron, I have something to tell you."

Ron arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Hermione took a deep breath and fidgeted excitedly. It seemed that she had been dying to tell him this for quite some time, and Ron smiled to himself. "I've been working on a spell," she began, "which would destroy the Scrolls of Scuro."

Ron sat up straighter. "You have?"

"Yes," Hermione said excitedly, her eyes lighting up. "It was such a simple idea, really, but since the reversal process was so simple, I thought that maybe it would work. The power of the scrolls is stored in the words, correct? So I began to think about it, and I thought, what if I took a well-known spell – the simple Erasing spell that you use to clear a piece of parchment and such – and changed a few things around. So I began working on it, and I simply added a few more layers to the spell, made it more powerful, and…" She paused to take a breath. "Well, I think I almost have it."

Ron could only stare at her. Stark had said that, in his future, a Hogwarts professor had unlocked the secret to destroying the scrolls. He had obviously been referring to Hermione. Perhaps it really was her destiny to rid the world of the Scrolls of Scuro forever.

"Hermione," Ron began sincerely, "you are brilliant. Absolutely…brilliant."

Hermione flushed with pleasure. "Well, of course it only works in theory, and it has to be tested, but…I'm quite confident," she admitted. "Only don't say anything to Harry or anyone just yet. I…want to approach Alastor Moody about this…on my own."

"My lips are sealed," Ron promised. Hermione smiled brightly, and then sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. "What a year," she murmured.

"But we got through it again," Ron reminded her, kissing her forehead, "together."

"Together," Hermione agreed sleepily, nestling closer to Ron. His heart began to speed up, and the object in his pocket suddenly felt very heavy. This was it. It was the perfect time, the perfect place: back in the common room where they'd spent most of their teenage years together. Reflecting back, Ron realized what an absolute waste of time his seven years at Hogwarts had been, Hermione-wise. All they had had to go through would have been so much easier with Hermione by his side, like this. His heart pounding, and a strange ringing in his ears, Ron abruptly removed his arm from Hermione's shoulders and all but leaped off the couch, wringing his hands, which had suddenly become very slippery. Hermione shook herself awake and stared at him, her forehead creased.

"What? What is it?" she asked, knitting her eyebrows together.

"Hermione," Ron began nervously, shoving one hand into his pocket. "Er…I…we've been…er…" His tongue had gone thick again, and he couldn't seem to form a proper sentence. Ron drew his hand out of his pocket, his fist tightly clenched around the small object. "I…we…"

Hermione looked absolutely clueless. She smiled quizically and folded her arms. "Really, Ron, just spit it out."

Ron swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath. "Hermione…Hermione…" He couldn't even get past her name. Ron mentally slapped himself.

Suddenly, to his horror, the object slipped out of his sweaty palm and dropped to the ground with what seemed like an ear-splitting crash. Ron stopped breathing and panicked. The golden object winked at him in the firelight, as if mocking him.

"What is that?" Hermione asked curiously. Ron snapped out of it and quickly bent to scoop up the tiny, golden object. He fumbled with it, and Hermione rose from the couch, a mischievous look in her eyes. She still looked completely oblivious as to what was really going on.

"Ron, what are you hiding?" she asked with an impish grin. She took a step towards him, and Ron quickly took a step backwards, nearly tripping over a chair. He stumbled and righted himself, fumbling with the little object in his hands.

"Nothing," Ron blurted out, panicking. This wasn't how it was supposed to go at all. He had screwed it up royally this time. "It's nothing."

"It's obviously not nothing," Hermione said, her curiosity piquing. Ron's heart sunk; it was the kind of interest and curiosity that Hermione would not soon let go of. She would stubbornly pursue him until she found out what it was he was hiding. Judging from the playful look in her eyes, she must have thought it was some kind of game. She took another step forward, and Ron took another step back.

"Really, Hermione, it's…it's nothing important…"

"Obviously it is, if you're hiding it like that," Hermione pointed out, still smiling.

She doesn't suspect it at all, Ron inwardly groaned. How can someone be so smart and yet so completely clueless? Just walk away Hermione…just walk away…can't you see I'm trying to do this right?

But apparently she could not, because she took yet another step forward. Ron maintained his stubborn grip on the little golden object.

"Ron," Hermione said, now sounding impatient, "just show me what it is."

"Hermione, trust me," Ron said in a voice that was about an octave higher than his usual tone.

"Just let me see," Hermione demanded half-teasingly, hands on her hips.

"No!"

"Ron…"

"No!"

"Fine," Hermione said haughtily, drawing her wand from her robes. "Accio!"

To Ron's horror, the golden object, like a tiny Snitch, flew across the Gryffindor common room and into Hermione's awaiting grasp. She closed her fingers around it with a triumphant smile. Ron went very rigid and mouthed wordlessly as Hermione uncurled her fingers and stared into her palm.

Twinkling up at her was a beautiful gold ring, encrusted with a few tiny diamonds.

Hermione gaped at it, her eyes widening. Ron could only stare at her anxiously. She slowly raised her other hand to her mouth in shock, still staring at the ring in her palm. When she finally looked up at Ron, her eyes were teary and her face was flushed.

"Oh, Ron…" she managed to choke out.

Before either of them knew what was happening, they were in each other's arms, and Hermione was half-laughing, half-crying, clutching the gold engagement ring. Ron was grinning wildly. He was flying. He was on top of the world. He held Hermione to him in elation. His romantic plan for the proposal, and all the times he had carefully imagined this scenario, had just gone to waste. But somehow, this communicating without words, this simple…understanding between them, was so much better.

"Will you, then?" Ron murmured huskily in her ear.

"Of course," Hermione managed to say through sobs of joy. She pulled away from him, laughing as she wiped away her tears and extended her left hand. Ron, relieved that the Muggle way of doing these things was the same as the wizard way, slipped the ring onto her slender finger, practically bursting with relief and joy.

Then the two of them were holding each other again, a picture of bliss in the empty Gryffindor common room. And despite the fact that things had not gone as Ron had planned, it was somehow perfect.

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AWWWWWWWWWWWW!

Told you I love this chapter. I got to be quirky and funny and mushy again, after all that serious stuff before. Not that the serious stuff wasn't also fun to write…but this was even more fun.

Anyways…gonna post the epilogue now…REVIEW!