Disclaimer: Harry Potter etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

Epilogue

"Ron, where are you taking me?" Hermione asked him for the hundredth time that day. Three years since they'd finally admitted to each other how they felt, and Ron still never ceased to amaze her. He was all Hermione had ever dreamed of, all she'd ever wished for, and now he was hers; sure, it had taken a near death experience to get them to admit their feelings, and as insane as it might sound Hermione was actually quite glad for having almost been killed. Who knew how long it would have taken her to fess up to her feelings if she hadn't? At the moment, however, Hermione was feeling just a tad bit insecure. Ron had been acting bizarre all week, and that morning he had gotten up before she had…an even that in itself was unprecedented…only to announce shortly thereafter that he needed to talk to her. He's going to break up with me had been her first thought. No matter how many times Ron reassured her that she was the only woman for him, she couldn't help but feel that somehow it had been too easy, that she was just too lucky for something so wonderful to last.

"Hermione, I'm not going to say it again. For once, would you just trust me without arguing?" she heard Ron say from somewhere behind her. Had she been able to see him she would undoubtedly have given him a very stern look, but as she had been expertly blindfolded a few moments before she could only pretend to glare at him.

"But, Ron," she protested in a voice that sounded very much like a toddler's. Ever since Ron and Harry had disappeared the week before on a trip that Ron insisted was only 'business', he had been acting reserved, even nervous at times. Hermione had at first attributed it to a bad case of nerves, as Ron had just begun his training as an Auror, but the week had progressed and Ron's behaviour had only worsened despite his assurances that work was going quite well, and that he very much enjoyed his new position.

"But, Hermione," Ron mocked her, and Hermione felt him stand behind her to verify that her blindfold was properly in place. "I'll tell you what, shnookums," he said, using the term he always did when he was humouring her. She didn't know where it had first originated, but Hermione rolled her eyes at hearing it, knowing full well that Ron couldn't see her.

"What's that, pooky?" she responded, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She wasn't angry in the least, but rather irritated at this whole childish ordeal. She crossed her arms over her chest, and set her mouth in an annoyed pout. Her tantrum lasted all of ten seconds, however, as she felt Ron's breath on her neck and heard him whisper in a deep, tantalizing voice for her to 'behave herself.' Argh! Why does he always have to do that? How am I supposed to act angry at him if he won't stop acting so desireable!? "That's just like you to say," she muttered resignedly, and she swore that she could hear Ron smile triumphantly.

"As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, Hermione, dearest," Ron continued. "If you promise not to ask any more questions, I'll give you a hint."

"What kind of hint?" Hermione asked, trying very hard to maintain her annoyed appearance, although she couldn't mask the hint of interest in her voice.

"Well, I don't know if I should tell you anymore; you hurt my feelings by not trusting me," Ron teased, his voice mirroring the pout that had been on her lips earlier. Hermione tried to hit him, but the effort only resulted in her swiping at empty air.

"Stop it," she scolded, with a now very large smile on her face. "Where are we going, Ron?" she asked again, getting a bit more enthusiastic about Ron's little game. She nervously played with one of the charms on the golden bracelet she wore, a habit she had developed some years back. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as Ron once again leaned-in behind her, his breath like a warm breeze on her skin.

"A hint is in order, I suppose," he conceded, "but, do you, Hermione Granger, solemnly swear that after I give you this hint you will stop badgering me, your poor, helpless boyfriend, into revealing anything more about this little adventure?" he asked, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

"That's not fair," Hermione answered. "You know I can't think straight when you're this close."

"Hmm, I know," Ron retorted in her hair, tightening his arms around her. Hermione playfully swatted his arms away, and entwined her fingers with his.

"Well, alright; I suppose that I, Hermione Granger, do solemnly swear that after you give me this hint I will stop badgering you, my poor, helpless…though I can think of some better words to describe you…boyfriend, into revealing anything more about this little adventure," she said resignedly. She felt the brief pressure of Ron's lips on her forehead, and squeezed his hand.

"Your hint, beautiful madam, is this: a boy always remembers the first woman who ever slapped him, and in this case the location where it happened, too," he answered rather cryptically.

"What!?" Hermione asked, obviously not catching on. She went to protest, but was cut short by Ron's finger on her lips.

"Ah, ah…you solemnly swore," he reminded her, and Hermione silently fumed.

"But that made no sen—" she tried again, although this time it was the feel of Ron's lips on hers that ultimately stopped her from protesting any further. When she felt Ron pull-away, she was left lightheaded and exalted. All of Ron's kisses affected her just as deeply as if they were their first, and they were a powerful weapon that she knew Ron used only when he was desperate to avoid a fight. Hermione was itching to let him have it anyway, but decided against it. She'd have plenty of time to get back at him later, she mused, although she knew that deep down she could never hold the grudge long enough to bring it up again.

"Well I guess we'd better get to it before you break out of your trance," Ron teased, and Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "Now, now, don't tempt me or we'll never get anywhere," he teased some more, and Hermione couldn't help but be affected by their close proximity. He still had not released her from the hold he'd garnered when he'd kissed her, and it was affecting her brain synapses in a most unsettling manner.

"Ron," she whined, although she really wouldn't have minded being sidetracked a little. Ron finally released her, and guided her through the sitting room of her flat in the direction she knew to lead to the fireplace.

"Yes, yes, I know; we're almost there. We're travelling by Floo as you can't possibly Apparate somewhere you don't know you're going, so it will be a bit of a bumpy ride," he said. She heard the familiar whoosh of Floo Powder in the fireplace, and held Ron's hand tightly as he marched both of them into the flames where he yelled-out the word "Greggain". Hermione shut her mouth tightly as the swirling sensation overtook her, slightly disappointed that she had no idea what 'Greggain' was, nor could she make any sense of the cryptic clue Ron had given her a moment ago. As the spinning stopped, Hermione took a deep breath, smelling an odd mix of mildew, wood, and candle wax. For some reason she had a feeling that wherever they were, she'd been there before, but she just couldn't put her finger on it.

"Can I look yet?" she asked hopefully, convinced that Ron would tell her she couldn't. To her surprise, however, she felt his fingers unfastening the blindfold and, keeping her eyes closed, felt the material slide down her cheek as Ron removed the barrier.

"Well, open your eyes," Ron whispered in her ear, and Hermione realized that her eyes were still closed. She took another deep breath before opening her eyes slowly, a silent 'oh' forming on her lips as she recognized the room in which she stood.

The cabin was little changed from the last time she had been there. It was cleaner and had been fitted with several candles, for one, but other than that it was still the one room she remembered with its musty old sofa in front of the fireplace, and the dingy window at the back. The table that they'd used for firewood when they'd been stranded here had been replaced, and on it had been set more candles. Hermione blushed as the memories of her being here with Ron came flooding back to her. Though it had only been three years, it seemed like an eternity ago. So much had happened since then…they'd faced death in the face, they'd fallen in love, they'd both gotten promising jobs and moved-out of their parents' house…Hermione turned to Ron who smiled down at her.

"Do you like it?" he asked her, running his fingers across her cheek.

"I love it," Hermione answered truthfully, "but what's the occasion?" she asked. Ron frowned at her question, and simulated an insulted air.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten our anniversary," he said, and this time it was Hermione's turn to frown.

"Ron, our anniversary isn't until next week," she told him, as Ron shook his head at her.

"No it's not," he argued.

"Of course it is, Ron. It will be three years to the day, next week, that I woke-up in the hospital wing, and you told me you loved me," she told him as if he were a small child, which, to her immense surprise, caused him to smile widely, his eyes gleaming.

"You're wrong," he said, still smiling. "That may be the day on which we've celebrated our anniversary, but it's not by any means our true anniversary," he told her, taking her hand in his and taking a light hold of her charm bracelet. "It says right here," he said, opening up a charm replicating a copy of Hogwarts: A History that held pictures of the two of them when they were younger and pointing at a date engraved underneath them, "that today is in fact our anniversary. Don't you remember? Three years ago today, I found courage enough to tell you how I really felt about you," he told her, the smile never leaving his face.

"I remember," Hermione said fondly, tears gathering in her eyes as she looked-up at Ron.

"Good," he said, leading her to the sofa where they both sat down. He reached beside him and lifted an object that Hermione recognized as being Ron's old school knapsack…the same knapsack, in fact, that he'd carried when they had been stuck in that very same cabin. Hermione looked at Ron quizzically, but the latter merely winked at her before placing the knapsack on his knees, and extricating from it a small model of a train car. Upon closer inspection, Hermione noticed that it was in fact what looked like the car from the Hogwarts Express.

"Is that—" she began to ask, but was silenced, once again, by Ron's lips on hers.

"Sshh," he smiled, "no questions," he said as he held the train car between them. "I know you recognize this," he told her, "because not only did we first meet on one of these, but it was while we were coming back from school after fourth year, when we were all sitting in a train compartment that I realized just how crazy I really was about you, and it's partly thanks to one of these that we're together today," he told her, handing her the wooden model and gesturing for her to open the top. As she did so, Ron continued to speak. "It was on a train car that you first came into my life, and even though I didn't realize it then, it's the best thing that happened to me. Four years later it was on a train car that I realized I loved you. I was so scared of the knowledge back then, and for the longest time I didn't want to face it, but when three years after that I found myself in that train car with you again, realizing how special you are to me, and when that very same train car derailed and I almost lost you, I knew that you were the one for me. You were everything that I could ever hope for, and you were all that I wanted in life. You were you, you were Hermione, my Hermione, and I couldn't bear ever being away from you," he said as Hermione gasped in front of him, pulling-out a black velvet box from the inside of the model train car. Ron kneeled in front of her, taking her hand in his as tears glinted in his eyes as well. "Hermione, I've spent half my life loving you, and if there's anything I'm afraid of now, it's not being able to tell you enough how much you mean to me. You're my match, my soulmate; there's no one else I could ever love as much as I love you, and if you'll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life proving it to you," he told her as tears fell down both Hermione's and his cheek. "Will you marry me?" he asked her, opening the velvet box holding the ring. Hermione only glanced at it before throwing her arms around Ron's neck.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, as both now cried openly and embraced. Ron slipped the ring on Hermione's shaking finger, and pulled her in for a kiss. It was a long time before they broke apart, and when they did, Ron pulled Hermione close to him, kissing the top of her head.

"Thank goodness you said yes," he whispered in her hair. "My mother has known about this day for months, and she would have had my head if I had messed it up," he laughed. Hermione looked up at him, with a smile on her face as something dawn on her.

"Greggain the Gory," she whispered.

"Yeah, that's the adjective Mum used when she told me that she had her heart set on having you as a daughter in law, and that she wouldn't settle for anything else," he teased, and Hermione burst out laughing.

"Well if I didn't marry you, I could have easily married one of your brothers," she teased back, and Ron's eyes bulged. Hermione kissed him before he could have a conniption and smiled at the fact that her kisses had just as much of an effect on him as his did on her. "On second thought, there is no Weasley that I'd rather spend the rest of my existence with than you. There's no man on earth whom I will ever love as much," she whispered as she tilted her head until her lips were fractions from Ron's. She felt him smile against her lips.

"That's more like it," he whispered, before closing the distance and kissing her, his fiancee, his match, his Hermione.