A/N: I have nothing against French men, and I would happily name my child after one. And, while I'm at it, I don't mind Victor Hugo either – I like the way he places words. Also, I wrote this in a hour instead of doing my take-home exam. Hooray for procrastination!


"the importance of being hugo"
son, brother, father, lover, friend
there is room in the heart for all the affections,
as there is room in heaven for all the stars
; victor hugo ;

-:-

Ron was still hung up on Viktor. Not in a romantic way – quite the opposite, in fact. He was jealous.

It had been almost two decades since the Yule Ball of '94; two decades since she'd shared that special night with a boy who'd recognised her not only as a walking encyclopaedia but also a girl. He'd been a famous Quidditch star and she'd been a bookworm of the highest degree, but they'd genuinely gotten along nonetheless, so when he'd quietly asked her permission amidst the dusty bookshelves she'd agreed and privately celebrated the fact that not all men were blinded by pretty girls. She'd rather ungenerously added like Fleur Delacour but then retracted it because Fleur couldn't help her Veela heritage any more than Hermione could help her muggle parentage and besides, Fleur had been nothing if not cordially polite to the people around her, and jealousy was something best left to hotheads like Ron.

It had been a wonderful night for the most part, only spoilt by the events at the very end, and Hermione would be forever grateful for Viktor's kindness and attention. He'd reminded not only Harry, Ron and the rest of Hogwarts that she was female, but also herself. She'd grown used to being a sort of genderless third wheel to Harry and Ron, but from that moment on she'd determinedly latched onto her femininity, though she didn't often advertise it, and refused to catalogue herself by what other people thought of her.

So it was that after Voldemort's final defeat she got a job at the reformed ministry, dressed the part of a successful businesswoman and rose through the ranks as quickly as she'd always intended. She married Ron – her darling, rash, loving, Ron – and moved with him into a small cottage that looked like something out of a dream.

Rose arrived in the May of 2006, and Hermione and Ron felt both blessed and more complete as family than ever before. Then, in August two years later, they were surprised to find Hermione pregnant once again, this time with a boy. Hermione desperately wanted to name him Viktor, after Krum, but she knew Ron would refuse point blank and therefore used her cunning to put her son's name beyond suspicion.

She called him Hugo Victor.

When Ron asked why, she expounded vaguely but enthusiastically on the French novelist, playwright and animal rights activist, Victor Hugo. Ron agreed without a worry and the connection that honoured Krum was allowed to stay.

Hermione never told him the truth behind her choice, though she told her secret to Hugo on his seventeenth birthday. He'd smiled and replied, "I always had my suspicions about the real origin of my name."

She'd asked why, and Hugo's answer had proven once and for all that he was his mother's son: "Because there's never once been a book by Victor Hugo on our scores of bookshelves. I'd know, I've read everything on them. Plus, you used to smile a lot, as if you had a secret, whenever Dad brought it up." Hugo cocked his head to the side and added thoughtfully, "You know, I think I prefer being named after a professional Quidditch player – it beats being named after a Frenchman."

"Don't repeat that near your aunt," Hermione scolded in jest. Hugo smiled winningly and stole one of the gingerbread biscuits that had been cooling during their talk. "And don't tell your father, he'd be overcome with paroxysms if he knew I'd managed to slip that one past him."

End.

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