Luckily, Harry had managed to get a good place in the queue. A large cluster of various witches and wizards was steadily growing in size behind him, but that did not matter; what mattered was the line of witches and wizards which was slowly shrinking, as opposed to growing, in size before him. At the very front was a beautiful young redhead, the sunlight causing her sweat-slicked freckles to gleam, her fingers clutching a quill and scribbling her name onto scraps of parchment for her crowd of fans.
As he waited, the raven-haired wizard swept his bright green eyes over the gathering of what looked like a large emerald cloth, but, at closer inspection, he saw that the collective green cloth was actually composed of green T-shirts with smiling and waving women in various poses on the front, the pictures moving, the text often containing the words Holyhead Harpies on them. Although the mass of T-shirt-donners was generally in disarray, Harry could just about make out nine or so lines, two of them being a lot shorter than the others. At the front of these lines were women in green Quidditch robes, smiling and signing parchment, taking pictures, inking their names onto the T-shirts. Most of these women did not matter to Harry. The one who did matter was looking at him with a bright amusement on her face as she leaned forwards, the final person in front of him having finished with her.
“I should have expected to see you here. What a lovely surprise, Harry,” she greeted, giving her boyfriend a smile that could probably have melted steel. “What will it be for you, then?”
He had gone to the signing to just see the woman he loved, in all honesty, but, seeing the autographs being signed around him, he formulated a plan quickly in his head; he was going to do something that he had wanted to do for a while, but simply did not seem to have the courage to do. Until now. Smiling inwardly at his impulsive stroke of genius, he pulled out a neatly torn piece of parchment and replied, “I’d love your autograph. I’m a massive fan.” As if to prove his point, he pointed a finger at the scene unfolding on his T-shirt of a redheaded woman throwing and catching a red ball, the background moving fluidly behind her as she flew.
“Only if you give me yours too,” she answered, pulling out a yellowed piece of parchment herself. Then, looking at the parchment, she added, “I’m afraid that I haven’t got anything better for you to sign, Mr Potter."
“I could sign your robes,” he suggested, gesturing to a man a few feet away getting his T-shirt signed.
“Good idea,” the Harpy agreed, stuffing the parchment back into her robes and placing a quill into Harry’s hands.
Then, grabbing ahold of Ginny’s arm, Harry scribbled in a messy but still easily readable scrawl, Harry Potter, before passing the quill to the Quidditch player and pointing to the parchment.
“I quite like my surname, you know,” he commented casually as Ginny signed Ginny Weasley in cursive font on the parchment. A ginger eyebrow quirked up but she did not comment as she handed back the parchment, and emerald green eyes surveyed the signature as if checking for something. “I don’t like your surname quite as much, though.”
Blinking with a rather spontaneous rapidity, Ginny gave Harry an almost disbelieving look. “Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”
“I don’t know what you think I’m asking you,” he replied coolly, seeming to change tact as he went on to survey his own signature on his girlfriend’s arm. “I think that you should change your surname to a better surname.”
Now smiling with colourful fondness shining in her chocolate eyes, she asked playfully, “Such as what, may I ask, Mr Potter?”
“Such as, say…” Just then, Harry looked around wildly, as if he was looking for inspiration. Then, his spring green eyes returning to Ginny’s arm, he said, “Potter wouldn’t be so bad of a surname.”
Brown eyes twinkling, Ginny was practically beaming as she leaned closer to Harry, and, before his mind could form a coherent thought, her lips were on his, the world fell away, and it was just them. He forgot all about what he had just asked her to do, and she forgot all about the fan meet-and-greet that she was supposed to be doing, and all that mattered was that they were kissing each other. It was not a passionate kiss of lust nor was it a nugatory light peck, but a soft yet meaningful kiss of love and hope for a future that had been denied to them for so long, yet now, they had one.
The young couple was sitting casually in their modest home, Ginny sitting innocently on Harry’s lap, both of them doing nothing much but thinking of what their day had consisted of. As they sat, the fireplace filling the air with warmth, the Chaser found herself being suddenly knocked aside by her now-fiancé.
“I’ve just remembered something.”
And then, just like that, he bounded up the stairs, leaving a bewildered Ginny soon-to-be-Potter knocked sideways on the scarlet-and-gold sofa. He was not gone long, however, as he returned promptly with a small box clutched in his hand.
“I’ve had this for a while; just never really knew how to, y’know.”
Kneeling down, Harry opened the box, revealing a golden ring decorated with a single ruby fashioned into a rose, the gold curling elegantly around it. He flashed a quick smile at the sight of the ring before removing it from the box and offering it to the woman who was now sitting upright, looking at the jewellery in awe.
“I–I, um, wasn’t sure–”
“It’s beautiful. You didn’t have to do this.”
“But I wanted to.”
Then, gently holding up the ring finger on his fiancée’s right hand, Harry put the ring on Ginny, watching how it magically adjusted to fit faultlessly on her finger.
She leaned down to kiss him again, but this time, he stopped her. “I think that, since you’ll be getting a better surname soon, you should practise your new and improved autograph instead of being… Distracted. Not that I would mind distraction, of course…”