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Time Like the Present

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She's enjoying the commentary (as they're not properly songs) of the crickets and frogs on what has turned into a lovely and cool Lake District evening when Harry says from the chair beside hers, "Why didn't we ever get married?"

She coughs. "Er, well, perhaps because we were both married to other people?"

"Not for several years now," Harry points out.

"You never brought it up," Hermione counters.

"Neither did you."

"But I'm not the one bringing it up now!"

"A fair point," Harry says. "So I think we should reconsider."

"Did we consider in the first place?"

"Let's consider it now."

For all her famed intellect, it takes this long for the implications to unfold in her mind. Hermione puts on her glasses and stares at Harry, wishing there was more than just the old miner's lantern lighting the verandah. "Harry," she says, "are you proposing to me?"

Rather than respond verbally, he reaches into one of the many pockets of his combat trousers, brings forth a small box, and hands it to her.

She hands it back. "You didn't answer my question. Is this a proposal, or a somewhat more routine gift of jewelry?"

He blinks. "I'm not sure which to be more offended by: the fact that you just said no, or the fact that you called my presents routine."

"If this is in fact a proposal," Hermione informs him, "I did not say no, as it would be impossible for me to respond to a question which has not been properly asked. And I have liked all of your gifts very much, but none has involved a query of matrimony, which you must admit carries a significantly greater weight than Christmas, Valentine's Day, or my birthday."

Harry sighs long-sufferingly, which is actually reassuring since it's the same sigh she's been hearing out of him since they were eleven. But he's smiling as he opens the box, sets it on his palm, and extends it to her. "Hermione," he says, "will you please marry me?"

She takes the box back, sets it in her lap, and laces her fingers together with his. She's smiling, too, as she finally answers, "Yes, I will."

They sit there for a moment smiling and holding hands like love-struck morons.

"I suppose it would be too routine to ask you whether you like the ring," Harry muses after a few moments.

Laughing, Hermione takes it out of the box. Her fingers, of course, discover its basic shape, but the light isn't strong enough to reveal anything more, just the glint of gemstone and the gleam of metal. Really, it could be tin and glass, and she wouldn't care. She puts the ring on and pushes it carefully into place on her left hand. "I love it," she says.

"Can you even see it?" Harry asks.

"Of course. I'm wearing it, am I not?"

"Of course. So naturally you can make out the shape and color."

"It's square," Hermione says, then has to admit, "I can't see what color it is."

"It's a brown diamond—Canadian-mined," he adds, answering the question that hadn't left her mouth yet. "I knew you were going to ask. They're not as common, but I thought it would be nice with your hair and your eyes."

She takes off her glasses and sets them on the table, then stands up and goes to him. He pulls her into his lap as though they're teenagers instead of eminently respectable adults and pillars of the Wizarding community. She winds her arms around his neck as they kiss, and he buries his hands in her hair.

"I'm looking forward to it," Hermione says a few minutes later.

"To the wedding?"

She smiles and rests her head on his shoulder. "To everything."