This plot came to me this morning. I decided to let it grow into a story. Fanfiction needs more Hermione/Luna stories that treat Luna as a real person, after all. I hope that you enjoy it. : ) If my hope is fulfilled, let me know by reviewing. ; P

I will try to update everyday for the next two weeks, so the story will seem to occur in real time.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Hermione would be paired with someone who was her emotional and intellectual equal.

Hermione Granger had two weeks left to live. In exactly a fortnight, she would cease to exist and some strange entity called Hermione Weasley would take her place.

Hermione did not want to change her name. While laying out the initial wedding plans, she told everyone that she would stay a Granger, to protest the sexism associated with a bride taking her husband's name.

No one really seemed to understand her argument.

"Just think about it, Ginny. You are born with your father's name, with his label! The he gives you away at your wedding, and you are given your husband's name."

"But you love Ron, don't you? I don't get this... I thought you loved him."

"Yes, Ginny, I love him. I love him very much. But he'll never own me...I'll never be his possession..."

"But you love him!"

Most people thought that it was that simple. If she loved Ronald, she would take his name. Mrs. Weasley even started crying when Hermione told her; she saw it as a sign that Hermione did not want to be a part of the family.

So, Hermione eventually gave in. A name was only a name, after all. This wasn't half as important as SPEW. She should be less stubborn.

Hermione Weasley would be better. She would be less stubborn, more self-sacrificing, neater, more feminine, humbler, and thinner than Hermione Granger. Ron deserved the best version of Hermione that she could give him.

As Hermione was thinking these things, a large, mangled barn owl nearly crashed into her bedroom window. Hermione chuckled softly; he reminded her of Erol.

She untied the letter from around the poor creature's talons while thinking about what an awful experience it would be to be scratched by such an owl two weeks before a wedding. The bird's nails were longer than any Hermione had ever seen, and as a witch who had been corresponding with witches and wizards across the globe for years, she had seen several.

The letter caused Hermione to shiver before she even read it. It was not an ominous shiver of suppressed fear. It was a nice shiver, a shiver of anticipation, that the small, loopy, familiar-yet-unplaceable cursive had elicited in Hermione.

The note's message did not please Hermione quite as much.

It read: "I am not yor fiance, but I think you are more beautiful than phoenix tears. "