Fulfilling Obligations
by forbiddenharmony7

Rating: PG13
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 7
Genre: Angst, Romance
Status: In progress
Length: 205,498 words in 47 chapters
Published: 4 Feb 2012
Last updated: 6 Aug 2014

Did you ever wonder what happened in the 19 years between the last chapter and the epilogue of Deathly Hallows? Or what
happens afterward? Totally, completely, and eventually H/Hr, but we have a long road to get there! Rated PG13 for
language & sexuality.

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/8920/

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1. Dawn of a New Day

Disclaimer: Get this. I don't own Harry Potter. No, seriously. It's true.

Author's Note: Hey again! This is the first fanfic I ever wrote, as may be a bit obvious in these earlier chapters. I
started this a few years back, and I'd like to think my writing has gotten better since these first chapters. And they
DEFINITELY get longer. Also, this story is rather long, and follows very closely to canon. In other words, R/Hr and H/G
do happen in this story, but they will be muted and done with in due course, so please stick with it! I'd really
appreciate it!

So, without further ado, here's the first chapter. And please tell me what you think!

Chapter 1: Dawn of a New Day

Harry was awoken by the incessant but peaceful chirps of songbirds, the serenade associated with early morning. He
opened his eyes blearily and, after taking his glasses from the nightstand, slipped them onto his nose. The ceiling of
the Gryffindor common room loomed lucidly into view above him, instantly reminding him of his presence at Hogwarts, and
consequently the events of the previous day.

For a brief moment Harry smiled to himself, feelings of warmth flooding his body as he sighed deeply; he was home, and
the burden of being the world's savior had finally, after so many years, been lifted from his shoulders.

He lay contently on his four-poster for a few more minutes before his stomach suddenly gave a loud growl, which of
course reminded Harry that he had eaten almost nothing over the previous days…indeed, the past few months. After
returning the Elder Wand to Dumbledore's tomb, he, Hermione, and Ron had returned almost immediately and collapsed fully
dressed onto their respective four-posters (Hermione reluctantly abandoning Harry and Ron for her own dormitory, which
Ginny also occupied).

Harry rolled onto his side with the pretense of seeing if his friend was awake and was immensely surprised to see that
Hermione was there as well, enveloped in Ron's arms. Harry watched them for a moment, hoping that they would awaken, but
they continued to lie quietly on the still-made bed, breathing (or in Ron's case, snoring) steadily, oblivious to his
presence.

Harry averted his eyes, feeling a bit awkward for being witness to the display. This is going to take a while to get
used to, he mused. But at least something good came out of all this. But as Harry reflected on this— the small bits of
happiness that came out of the war— he was forced to remember the more prominent grief that came as well. He couldn't
help but feel that the good paled in comparison.

The contentment Harry had felt as he woke up was now all but vanished, and he felt an intense desire to roll over and
fall back into blissful, ignorant sleep. But his stomach seemed to disagree with this idea and gave another loud,
protesting growl. Unable to ignore the gnawing hunger, Harry threw his sheets from him and stood up from his bed. He
winced as he did so, for sudden and agonizing pain went shooting through his body, pounding against the forgotten aches
he hadn't allowed himself to feel before.

He rolled his shoulder slowly, experimenting to see where the pain was worse. Fortunately nothing appeared to be in too
bad of a condition, and he quickly acclimated to the soreness as his muscles loosened up.

He was just about to make his way over to the door when he glanced back over at Ron's bed. He was surprised to see that
Hermione was awake and watching him through half-open eyes. He flashed her a small smile, and she wearily returned it.

He motioned slightly towards Ron, raising an eyebrow and smirking mischievously. Hermione responded to Harry's gesture
with a simple roll of the eyes, but she couldn't quite hide the blush that had crept to her cheeks. Harry continued to
smirk, but, not wishing to cause her further embarrassment, he jerked his thumb towards the door and looked back at her
expectantly.

Without hesitation Hermione gave a small nod and proceeded to slowly extricate herself from Ron's arms so she wouldn't
wake him. He gave a particularly loud snore as she stood up, but then settled once more into his deep slumber. Once this
had been accomplished, Hermione made her way towards Harry, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. This minuscule
action apparently reminded Hermione of something, as she pointed apologetically towards the bathroom door. Harry
shrugged nonchalantly, and she scurried through the door, touching her hair distastefully.

This display suddenly reminded Harry of his own ragged appearance. He ran his hand through his shoulder-length hair, and
then rubbed the slight stubble covering his jaw. His clothing was similarly haggard: his T-shirt was ripped in numerous
locations, his jeans were considerably frayed, and both were covered with dirt and dust from the battle. He had almost
convinced himself to wash up as soon as Hermione had exited the bathroom but thought better of it as his stomach rumbled
yet again. The bath would have to wait…besides, a nice, long soak in the tub sounded vastly more satisfying than a
couple-minute shower. Instead he settled for a change of clothes, exchanging his filthy shirt and jeans for a clean set
from his trunk that had somehow managed to return to the foot of his bed.

He had just finished lacing up his ratty trainers (which had probably taken more of a beating than any of his other
attire) when Hermione exited the bathroom, her hair somewhat more tame than before. Harry stood up and gallantly offered
her his arm.

“Shall we, Miss Granger?” he said quietly, not wishing to disturb Ron's slumber.

“Why, Mr. Potter, it would be my honor,” Hermione replied in a whisper, and looped her arm through Harry's. They then
exited the dormitory, Ron's snoring becoming muffled as the door shut gently behind them.

They had only descended a few steps when the sound of voices reached them. To Hermione's surprise, Harry froze in his
tracks. After a moment Hermione knew why; despite how faint the voices were, the soft cries of Mrs. Weasley could be
discerned from what she assumed to be the whispered comforts of her husband. Hermione's glanced up at Harry, who met her
gaze with slightly panicked eyes.

“Harry—”

“Hermione, I don't think I can do this…” he said, swallowing. “Not right now.”

Hermione was about to object, but the look of dread in his eyes cut her off. She looked away, and after a moment blew a
breath upwards, causing her hair to flutter. She didn't appear exasperated, just relenting.

“Alright…” she sighed, defeated. “Go get your invisibility cloak—we can speak to them later.”

Harry nodded in relief and dashed back into his dormitory, returning within seconds with the cloak tucked under his arm.

*************

Harry pulled the cloak off of himself and Hermione once they had snuck from the common room. They had thankfully managed
to get through the portrait-hole without causing any interruption to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Hermione couldn't help but
feel a new awe for Harry's magical cloak now that she knew its origins and felt slightly bewildered when he stored it
behind a large statue in an alcove close to the portrait-hole.

“Harry, don't you think that you should…well…keep the cloak with you?” she asked.

“Why?” Harry laughed. “Just because we found out the cloak's pretty much an ancient wizarding artifact doesn't mean I'm
going to tote it around with me all the time. Besides, it's not like anyone's going to take it; from the looks of it,
everyone's already gone home.”

“It still makes me nervous,” she said, but nonetheless fell into step beside Harry as they made their way to the
staircase.

As they descended towards the ground floor, Harry glanced over at Hermione, looking rather ashamed. “Sorry about all
that back there,” he said. “Some Gryffindor, huh?”

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at this. “Harry, you just dueled and defeated Lord Voldemort - probably the most feared
wizard in all of history - and you're doubting your bravery now?”

“Mmm…didn't really think of it that way. I guess that does sound kind of ridiculous.”

They reached the large painting that concealed the kitchens, and Harry stopped once more, staring at the fruit as though
trying to see through it. “This is going to be kind of weird.”

“What will be?” Hermione asked, curious at his strange expression.

Harry turned his head to look at her with a small frown on his face. “Dobby's not going to be here.”

“Oh…” Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes at the mention of the friendly house-elf, but stopped them from flowing.
Now wasn't the time. “Harry, why don't you wait here?”

Before Harry could reply, Hermione had tickled the pear and entered the kitchen. Before Harry had the chance to follow
her she reappeared, holding a napkin laden with a stack of toast. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

************

A/N: Goblet of Fire throwback! Whoop whoop! Please let me know what you think! Oh, and if you're concerned about the
shortness of the chapters, don't be - they get much longer as the story progresses.

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2. Another Walk By The Lake

A/N: Hey everybody! Chapter two! Hope y'all like it! Please review! About anything, seriously. Are you liking the
chapter plots, the situations, how I'm portraying the characters, my writing, ANYTHING! And if you hadn't guessed
already, I don't own Harry Potter. Surprise!

Chapter 2: Another Walk By The Lake

Upon exiting the kitchens, Harry and Hermione made their way down to the Black Lake in silence. Harry noticed in
pleasure and slight surprise that the grounds were pristine and almost innocent-looking, a bold façade disguising the
blood that had been shed there.

Once they had begun their familiar trek around the lake's shore, Harry ravenously began to eat his way through the
toast. It was when he started his fifth piece that he noticed Hermione had stopped eating.

“Why aren't you still eating?” he asked before taking another large bite.

“What do you mean? I'm full,” she said. “People tend to stop eating once they've eaten their fill…unless you're Ron, of
course.”

Harry shook his head. “Yeah, I get that, but we ate barely anything yesterday. I'm starving. I get that girls don't eat
as much as guys, but you're making me fill like a gluttonous pig.”

Hermione eyed him curiously. “What do you mean yesterday? You were asleep all day yesterday, so I can understand why
you're hungry, but—”

“I slept all day yesterday?”

“Yeah…I thought you knew. We figured that you deserved to sleep, so we didn't wake you.”

“Ah…I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

Hermione offered Harry the last piece of toast, and laughed when he shook he head. “Aw, comes on!” she said. “Don't
refuse to take it on my account. If it makes you feel better, I ate like a pig yesterday.”

“Really?”

“Really. I could've given Ron a run for his money on one of his good days.”

Harry chuckled in amusement but again refused the toast. Hermione threw the bread into the lake and watched as it became
waterlogged and sank below the surface. The giant squid was obviously still a little nervous.

“So…” Harry said casually after a beat of silence. “Wanna explain why you were in the boys' dormitory?”

He watched Hermione turn a beet red that also would've given Ron a run for his money.

“Well— I, uh … well, the thing is -” Hermione stuttered, but then shot Harry a glare when he gave a snort of laughter.
“It's not nice to tease, you know.”

“It's fun, though.”

“For you.”

“Fine, fine, you won't hear another peep from me. However, I'd still like to know.”

Hermione's expression saddened slightly. “Well…yesterday was pretty tough. All the casualties were listed…the bodies
were taken away…it was our first real chance to see what had happened.” She sighed before continuing. “Once the main
`business' had been taken care of and the students had left the grounds, the Weasleys just sort of broke down…” she
trailed off and was quiet for a moment. “I'm glad you were asleep. I sort of wish I had been sleeping. I felt like I was
intruding on their grief.”

Harry was also rather happy he had been asleep as well, and almost felt ashamed for it. He glanced over at Hermione to
see that tears had formed in her eyes and were on the verge of spilling onto her cheeks. Harry could feel his own eyes
beginning to itch and his throat burned as he kept himself in control. Despite his and Hermione's attempted withdrawal
from the Weasleys' mourning, they had failed miserably. They may not be members of their family, but Fred had been their
friend, and his death was still raw on their hearts, as well as the deaths of Lupin, Tonks, and even Colin Creevey.

Harry remained silent, and Hermione brushed away her tears frustratingly before speaking again. “Anyway, I think Ron
just wanted a chance to talk to someone outside of his family, so I sat up and talked with him for a while. Obviously we
fell asleep.” She fell silent, but then brightened suddenly as they plopped (or in Harry's case, gingerly lowered)
themselves onto the grass in the shade of the beech tree bordering the lake. “We did get to take long baths, though!”
she exclaimed happily.

Harry raised an intrigued eyebrow. “I surely hope you mean separate baths.”

His comment was met by a prompt but light punch in the chest, and he was surprised when agonizing pain spread from where
her fist connected with his body.

“Ouch!!!” Harry yelped.

“Oh, you're being a baby,” Hermione said. “I barely hit you.”

“I know,” Harry mumbled, massaging his chest gently with a wince. “That's why I'm surprised it hurt so much.”

“That actually hurt?” Hermione asked, her tone switching immediately to concern. “Let me see; you could have a broken
rib or something.”

“Don't you think I'd feel if I had a broken rib?”

“I would think so, but you'd never know. You might not have felt it with all the adrenaline from battle, or it could be
an after-effect of a spell. Either way, let me see it.”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Harry said warily, unwilling to remove his shirt on a whim in front of his female
best friend.

“Fine. If you won't let me see it, we need to go to Madame Pomfrey.”

“I'd rather not.”

“Too bad,” Hermione stated sternly, rising swiftly to her feet. “We're going whether you want to or not. I'm sure you're
in more pain than just that anyway. I know I was. Madame Pomfrey will have you in and out in no time.”

“Can we come back here afterward?”

Hermione's expression softened slightly. “Sure, if that's what you want to do.”

“Fine, I'll come,” Harry said, as if he'd had a choice.

Hermione smiled down approvingly at him and started the walk back to the castle. She had only taken a few steps when she
heard her name called from behind her. Turning around, she saw that Harry remained in the same spot, grinning bashfully.

“Do you think you could help me up?”

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3. An Unexpected Injury

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter. Sucks to be me. And you. Since I'm pretty certain none of you are J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Here's another chapter - enjoy! Please please PLEASE review. About anything. Writing style, the way I portray the
characters, if something is just plain stupid. I can't make it better if I don't get critiques. I would definitely
appreciate it!

Chapter 3: An Unexpected Injury

Hermione sat impatiently outside the barrier that separated herself and Harry as Madam Pomfrey examined him. Despite the
nonchalant way she had scrutinized Harry's pain, she couldn't help but feel worried. If he had a broken rib, Madame
Pomfrey could heal it in an instant, but what if an unknown spell had hit him? What if Voldemort had done something that
couldn't be repaired?

Her fears were not abated by the sudden gasp that came from behind the curtain.

“Oh my…” Madame Pomfrey said.

Hermione leapt from her seat and launched herself around the thin cloth and jolted immediately to a stop at the sight
that met her.

Madame Pomfrey had apparently requested Harry remove his shirt, because he sat bare-chested upon the bed. Hermione could
easily see what had elicited a gasp from the Healer: by removing his shirt, Harry had uncovered a horrifying mark that
spread across his heart, intensely black and lacing outward in spidery tendrils so that it covered half his chest. The
only word that could somewhat describe it was a bruise, yet Hermione could clearly see that this is not what it was.

“Harry,” Hermione breathed, “what happened?”

“I'm not really sure,” Harry said, sounding like he was very sure. He sounded slightly bewildered, but not especially
concerned.

“I've never seen anything like it,” Madame Pomfrey said in a slightly nervous voice. Hermione had a feeling her tone had
less to do with the mark disfiguring Harry's chest as it had to do with the mark itself being an ailment she had never
crossed before.

“Surely you can get rid of it, though,” Hermione entreated.

This snapped Madame Pomfrey back to attention. “Of course I can!” she said in a somewhat haughty manner. She brandished
her wand and pointed it directly at the center of Harry's chest. “Episky!”

Hermione watched the mark closely, but nothing happened.

“Well,” Madame Pomfrey said tersely. “That didn't work.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Duh.

Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat and once again flourished her wand. “Cista Emendo!”

Hermione turned her attention to the mark for a second time, but, once again, nothing. She could plainly see that the
nurse was getting flustered. She could also plainly see that Harry was fairly amused.

“Curatio Arcamos!” A shower of mist sputtered out of Madame Pomfrey's wand and shrouded Harry's chest momentarily. She
watched the mist disintegrate expectantly, and let out a growl when she saw the mark hadn't budged.

“That's it,” she muttered to herself, rolling up her sleeves in determination. She was now pointing her wand at Harry as
if she were holding him at sword-point. After taking a deep breath, she began shouting spells ruthlessly in a continuous
stream. Even Hermione couldn't keep up with the string of enchantments.

After almost two minutes straight, Madame Pomfrey finally ceased speaking and waited as yet another cloud of mist began
to disperse from Harry's chest. She seemed more confident than she had been earlier, and Harry merely looked
shell-shocked from the barrage of spells. Hermione felt herself clutching the edge of the bed Harry sat on as she waited
in anticipation for the cloud to clear…only to be met with the sight of that same stubborn bruise. Madame Pomfrey
visibly slumped.

“I don't understand…I've tried everything there is…what could possibly…”

“That's alright, Madame Pomfrey,” Harry said while slipping from the bed. His attitude suggested he had held no high
hopes of her removing the mark. “I'm sure it's nothing serious.”

“If it was nothing serious, I would have been able to remove it,” she said rather bitingly.

“Not necessarily. Anyway, could you help with this soreness? That's really my only complaint right now.”

Begrudgingly, Madame Pomfrey whisked a potion vial from the bedside table and thrust it into Harry's hands. Without a
word, she retreated to her office.

“Someone's holding a grudge,” Harry said, uncorking the potion and taking a swallow. He was pleased to find out that it
had no particularly vile taste and was even more pleased at the relief that spread through his body. The sensation felt
like a warm wave flooding through to his fingertips, rinsing away his pains. He glanced at Hermione and could see she
was intensely irritated by his lack of emotion for his incurable injury.

After he had finished the potion, he set the bottle back on the night-table stand and promptly walked toward the door
with Hermione at his heels. He sensed her bristling like a goose behind him so he was not surprised when she gripped his
arm as soon as the door to the hospital wing shut closed behind them.

“Harry,” she hissed. “I have a feeling you have some major explaining to do.”

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4. The Meaning of Sacrifice

Chapter 4: The Meaning of Sacrifice

After Hermione had finished a small but relentless tirade of questions, Harry released a reluctant sigh. Feeling
slightly frustrated that Hermione had seen the mark on his chest, he gestured for her to follow him. He didn't
especially care to discuss his actions the day before yesterday, but his apprehension about lying to Hermione outweighed
the hesitation.

Hermione walked behind Harry in silence as he made his way back towards the Black Lake. She ached to know what had
caused Harry such a horrific disfigurement, but she knew better than to push him on the subject; if he told her he told
her, and if he didn't there was nothing she could do about it.

Harry burst through the doors of the entrance hall and they were immediately flooded with sunlight. He glanced over his
shoulder to make sure Hermione had followed him out, then turned and strode down the lawn in the direction of the lake.
Hermione couldn't help but notice that he seemed rather preoccupied, as if he were poring over what he should tell her.

They finally reached the beech tree and they promptly sat on the grass, both facing the lake. Hermione felt both eager
and frightened, as if she were about to be read a story she was anxiously awaiting, yet unsure of its contents.

Harry, however, did not speak immediately. He gazed across the lake in a thoughtful sort of way, and he seemed in no
hurry to put an end to Hermione's intense curiosity. He sat in this manner for several moments, ignoring his friend's
impatient squirming, but finally turned his head toward her.

“So what do you want to know first?”

“There's more than one thing to know?” Hermione asked.

Harry only nodded in response.

“Well, the only thing I know to ask about is the mark on your chest,” Hermione said. “So I guess that's the only place
to start. How did you get it?”

“Voldemort,” Harry said simply.

“I suspected that much,” Hermione said with a slight roll of her eyes. “When?”

“During the battle.”

“Are you being purposely redundant?” Hermione said, exasperated. She could sense that he was being very tentative in his
revelations, but she couldn't understand why. It wasn't as if she were forcing him to tell her. And she voiced this
exact thought to him.

“I know you're not forcing me,” Harry said. “It's just that I don't really know what to say. I wasn't really intending
to tell anyone about what happened in the forest until you saw my chest, but now that you're asking, I sort of want to
tell someone.” Harry ran a hand roughly through his shaggy hair and returned his gaze to Hermione's. “I really only want
to tell one person, and out of everyone I know, you'd be the person I would tell anyway. Might as well get it over with.
Get it off my chest, if you will,” he said as a weak attempt at humor.

Hermione couldn't help but be absurdly touched by this. “So you really want to tell me? You don't feel obligated to?”

“Yes, I do, and no, I don't feel an obligation to. At least not in the sense you're talking about. I feel I have a
responsibility to tell my best friend about this, not to satisfy someone's curiosity,” he said, facing the lake again.

“Well, okay then. So you said you were in the forest —“

“Can't get anything past you, can I?” Harry smirked.

“No. No you can't. Anyway, as I was saying, you were in the forest—” Hermione paused, furrowing her brow. She turned to
Harry inquisitively. “Why did you go into the forest anyway? You could have waited for Voldemort instead of going to
him.”

“Well, there was something I needed to do.”

“What on earth could've been so important that you left without telling anyone?”

With that Harry told her almost everything that had transpired after they had witnessed Snape's death. He told her of
going to Dumbledore's office and watching all of the memories he had acquired from Snape and what their contents
revealed: the potion master's long-time friendship with Lily Evans, and how his affection had turned to love; his
attempt to save Lily and her family, despite his contempt and rivalry with her husband; Dumbledore's agreement to
protect the Potters if Snape consented to turn into a spy for the Order and the anguish he had experienced upon news of
Lily's death. He told Hermione of the doe Patronus that had led him to the sword of Gryffindor and how it had belonged
to Snape; how Dumbledore had asked Snape to kill him when the time was right; and finally, of the revelation that Harry
himself became a Horcrux when Voldemort had attempted to murder him.

Harry released a deep breath at this point and looked over at Hermione as if to say, With me so far? She had remained
silent for the entirety of Harry's speech and seemed to be processing the information. She finally swallowed and
directed concerned eyes at Harry.

“You—you're a Horcrux?” she whispered anxiously.

“Was,” Harry corrected. “Obviously I can't be a Horcrux now or Voldemort would still be alive.”

“But…I don't understand…if you were a Horcrux, you would've had to…”

“Die?” Harry said.

“Well...yes,” Hermione said. “But obviously that's not the case, as you appear to be quite alive at the moment.”

“Yes, it does appear so,” Harry said with a smile.

“So you couldn't have been a Horcrux,” Hermione said conclusively.

“Not necessarily.”

Hermione seemed to wilt. Obviously the lack of logic in the situation was grinding on her nerves.

“That makes no sense. A Horcrux has to be destroyed, right?”

“Right,” Harry said.

“And all of the Horcruxes needed to be destroyed for it to be possible for you to kill Voldemort, correct?”

“Spot on.”

“So there you go! You didn't die and Voldemort did die. End of story.”

“Who ever said I didn't die?” Harry said evasively.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I think that kind of goes without saying.”

“Come on, Hermione, think about it. Voldemort came out of the forest parading my body. He obviously thought that he'd
killed me. And there's only one curse that can guarantee killing someone.”

“But…if you had been hit with the Killing Curse…” Hermione paused. “It's impossible.”

“Obviously not, because I was hit with the Killing Curse.”

Hermione did not speak immediately, as if she were waiting for Harry to deliver a punch-line. When he didn't, she felt
an overpowering sense of awe. Harry had survived the Killing Curse not once, but twice in the span of seventeen years.
Needless to say, those were pretty impressive statistics.

Despite the thoughts whirling madly through her brain, “How?” was all that Hermione managed to say.

Harry seemed relieved that they were finally on the correct path. “Well, do you remember how Voldemort used my blood
when he came back to human form?”

“Of course. He thought he could make himself stronger with your blood.”

“Right. But what he didn't know was that he was taking a small part of the enchantment that my mother gave me when she
died. Because of that, Voldemort tethered me to life while he lived. So when he tried to kill me - ”

“He separated the bit of his soul that was attached to you.”

“Exactly.”

“Wait…how do you know all this?”

Harry smiled elusively again. “Dumbledore,” he said, and left it at that.

After this, they fell into silence. Dozens of questions continued to buzz through Hermione's mind, but she knew better
than to ask. After a moment she sat up and maneuvered her body so that she was facing Harry. Harry did the same.

“Before you…killed Voldemort…you said that everyone was protected from him. I didn't really know what you meant until
now. You went into the forest to sacrifice yourself, didn't you?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said sheepishly.

“Why didn't you tell any of us?”

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. “Would you honestly have let me go?”

Hermione blushed. “No, I suppose not.”

“I thought it would be easier if I didn't tell anyone. I honestly wouldn't have needed too much persuasion to stop me.”

“I don't think I would've been able to do that,” Hermione said. “Sacrifice myself like that. That's not to say I
wouldn't, of course, but I think I would be too afraid to carry it out. It must have been horrible for you, thinking you
were about to lose something as precious as your life.”

Harry thought about this…the emotions he felt as he walked through the castle and grounds of Hogwarts for what he
thought to be the last time. He thought of how he felt at the thought of never seeing Hermione, Ron, or Ginny again, and
his need for support, resulting in his use of the Resurrection Stone. He doubted he would ever tell anyone of any of
this... yet he knew it was worth it. “It was hard,” Harry admitted, “but…I don't know…it was easier than a lot of people
would think.”

Hermione looked bewildered. “How so?”

“Well, I was giving my life hoping that I could save other people's lives. At times, when you sacrifice something
precious, you don't really lose it. You just…pass it on to someone else. Does that make sense?”

Hermione smiled in a watery sort of way, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around Harry, hugging him fiercely. “Yes,
that makes perfect sense.”

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5. Pride and Passwords

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter. Sucks to be me. And you. Since I'm pretty certain none of you are J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 5: Pride and Passwords

By the time Harry had finished his explanation, the sun had risen high in the sky, warming the air and causing both
Harry and Hermione to become drowsy. Despite the consistent and blissfully normal discussion that they were having, it
wasn't long before they both fell into a peaceful sleep, leaning against the tree with Hermione's head resting on
Harry's shoulder. It also wasn't long before they found themselves being shaken awake by their red-headed friend.

“Ron?” Harry said, jerking upright nervously and causing Hermione to wake abruptly. She lifted her head from his
shoulder and also seemed a bit apprehensive. “What's up?”

“Nothing,” Ron answered in a rather toneless voice. “Just woke up and saw you both weren't there. When I went down and
asked Mum if she knew where you two had gone, she said she hadn't seen you come down.” Ron was silent for a few moments,
and Harry felt a pang of guilt at the sadness in his best friend's eyes. “Mum's been wanting to see you properly since…
well, since there wasn't much opportunity before. So I came looking for you.” He turned his attention to Harry, a slight
frown on his face. “How're you feeling, mate?”

“Er - pretty good, I guess,” Harry answered. It only made him feel guiltier that Ron was asking about his well-being -
Ron was the one who deserved sympathy. “I went by Madam Pomfrey's earlier today.”

“That's good…” Ron trailed off distractedly before shaking his head and continuing. “So I figured we could go get some
lunch or something.”

“Yeah, that sounds - er - good,” Harry said, barely masking the slight surprise in his voice. He knew that at any other
time Ron would have been furiously jealous upon finding himself and Hermione in a situation such as this, but in the
wake of Fred's death it apparently seemed unimportant.

After Harry had pulled himself to his feet and pulled Hermione up with him, Ron turned and began the trek back to the
castle, his friends silently flanking both his sides.

Once they had reached the entrance hall, Ron turned and entered the Great Hall. Harry gulped nervously when he saw the
rest of the Weasleys sitting at a single table that was situated in the center of the Great Hall; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,
George, Bill, Percy, Charlie…and Ginny. Fleur sat next to her husband. Harry glanced over at Hermione to find her
looking at him out the corner of her eye, weighing his response. She gave him an encouraging smile and shrugged feebly.
`You had to do this sometime,' her expression seemed to say.

By this time they had reached the table, and Ron cleared his throat to announce their presence. “Hey, Mum.”

Everyone looked up from his or her mostly untouched food and Harry felt their gazes upon him. Mrs. Weasley immediately
stood up from the table and embraced Harry in a hug. “Oh, Harry, it's so nice to see you. How're you feeling?” she said,
pulling back and holding him at arm's length.

“I feel fine, Mrs. Weasley. I've already been to Madame Pomfrey and everything.” Harry couldn't help but notice the
signs of exhaustion etched on Mrs. Weasley's face.

“So thin, though,” she said, putting her hand on his cheek. “All three of you, really. And naturally you'll need to get
a haircut. It's gotten so long. Of course, Ron needs one as well.” She touched a lock of Harry's black hair
distastefully. “Anyhow, Harry, are you hungry? There's plenty of food.”

Harry knew he couldn't refuse. “Yeah, I guess I could eat a bit.”

“Wonderful. Just help yourself to anything you'd like.” Mrs. Weasley sat back down and Harry sat down in the empty spot
next to her. Hermione and Ron followed his example and sat down next to him and across from him, respectively, though
Ron seemed as though he would have preferred to sit next to Hermione.

Lunch was a silent affair, as Harry suspected it would be. He kept his eyes glued to his plate for the most part, though
occasionally sneaking peeks down to where Ginny sat at the other end of the table. The solemn mood throughout the table
was almost more than Harry could take. The Weasleys were never so silent; Mrs. Weasley should be fussing over Bill's
hair, Percy should be trying to engage Mr. Weasley in a boring conversation, Ginny and Hermione should be talking
animatedly, and Fred and George should be making jokes while secretly planning a prank to play on Ron. But he knew that
it could never be that way again.

Harry's hands began to shake at the thought of Fred, and Hermione reached up and placed her hand over his, soothing him
and causing the tremors to recede slightly. Before long Harry stood up from the table. “I think I'll go take a shower.”

“Oh, of course,” Mrs. Weasley said, rising with Harry. She sniffed faintly before enveloping him in yet another hug. “We
are so proud of you, dear,” she said softly.

Harry felt tears well up in his eyes and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

***************

Harry was still fighting his emotions as he climbed the staircase, heading back to the common room. He walked blindly,
allowing his feet to carry him along the familiar path. He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn't realize he had
arrived at the portrait hole until the Fat Lady cleared her throat loudly.

“Do you intend to come in or not?” she asked, though in a much warmer tone than she usually used when students loitered
outside of the tower.

Harry was about to say yes when he abruptly changed his mind; the prefects' bathroom appealed to him much more at the
moment than the showers in his dormitory.

“No thanks,” he said, then turned on heel before the Fat Lady could get a word in edgewise. He descended two of the
flights of stairs he had just climbed and entered the corridor on the fifth floor. Once here, he found the statue of
Boris the Bewildered and counted the doors to left of it, stopping in front of the fourth one. It was then that he
realized that he had no clue what the password was.

He stood dumbly in front of the doorway for several minutes, wishing that a portrait guarded the room instead of, well,
a door. He was sure a portrait would understand his dilemma and allow him to enter, but the door would be a different
matter entirely.

Harry racked his brain for a possible password, struggling to remember the phrase that Cedric had told him in fourth
year in hopes that, for some reason, it had not changed.

However, his efforts were fruitless. In a sudden burst of brilliance, he began reeling off the names of every chocolate,
fudge, licorice, cake, toffee, lollipop, and any other sweet he had ever encountered since he had come to Hogwarts.

“Er…Lemon Drop?”

He tried the handle tentatively; it wouldn't budge.

“Acid Pops? Drooble's? Sugar Quill?”

Harry tried the handle once more, but the door remained stubbornly closed. He let out a growl of frustration.

“Cockroach Clusters, Ice Mice, Jelly Slugs, Blood Pops, Bertie Bott's, Flossing Stringmints, Fizzing Wizzbees, Pumpkin
Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, Chocolate Frogs…”

This went on for some time until Harry's extensive knowledge of sweets came to an abrupt end. Now he was beginning to
feel immensely irritated.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, “What else would they use for a password? Uh… Fawkes. Owl. Phoenix. Hippogriff.
House Elf. Mandrake. Polyjuice. Threstrals. Honeyduke's. Oh for the love of Merlin OPEN UP YOU BLOODY PIECE OF—”

“Mr. Potter, I don't believe curses will be very effective in opening the door. A few hexes, perhaps a charm may do the
trick.”

Harry whirled around and came face to face with a smirking Professor McGonagall.

“Professor! I was just, er, trying to—”

“Get into the prefects' bathroom? No need to explain yourself, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall said, turning to the
door. “Pureblood Supremacy.” The door gave a distinctive click as it unlocked.

Harry gave her a strange look.

“I haven't had a chance to change the passwords yet,” McGonagall explained. “Though from what I heard of your little
tirade, our previous passwords seem to have lacked some originality.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

6. Second Fiddle

Chapter 6: Second Fiddle

Once McGonagall's cloak had swished around the corner, Harry entered the bathroom, aching to finally have a soak in the
warm, soapy water. Glancing around him, he was pleased to see that it had been completely unaffected by the war. The
only difference that he could tell was that the mermaid in the painting on the wall seemed much more perturbed than
usual.

Harry went immediately over to the tub and turned on the faucet, and after choosing a multitude of bubbles in varying
shapes, sizes, and colors, went over to the corner where the towels were kept. After selecting one, he turned around to
walk back to the tub, only to leap back as he came face-to-face with Moaning Myrtle.

“Myrtle!” Harry yelped in a not-so-manly voice. “What in the bloody hell!!!”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Harry,” Myrtle said with a sniff. “I didn't frighten you, did I?”

“No,” Harry said sarcastically. “I usually jump ten feet in the air and raise my voice about ten calibers when I greet
someone.”

“Well, there's no need to get snippy,” Myrtle huffed, crossing her ghostly arms. “I was only saying hello.”

“It's alright,” Harry grumbled. “I should have known you'd be here anyway. At least your timing was better. So where
have you been, anyway? I didn't see you at the battle.”

“Well, of course you didn't! A ghost wouldn't be of much use on the battlefield, now would they?”

“I suppose not. Er, Myrtle, if you hadn't noticed, I was sort of in the middle of -“

“Taking a bath?” Myrtle said knowledgeably.

“Yeah. So if you wouldn't mind, I'd sort of like to get on with that.”

“Fine! If you don't appreciate my company, I'll just leave!” Myrtle said, her voice choked with tears. She then spun
around and ran (or rather, floated quickly) through the wall of the bathroom, her face in her hands. Harry heard the
mermaid in the painting giggle.

Harry shook his head as he made his way to the tub. I spoke to her for less than a minute and she still left in a tizzy.
Harry paused. Tizzy? He shook his head and turned the multiple knobs he had started until the water and bubbles came to
a stop.

After glancing around the bathroom to make sure that Moaning Myrtle had indeed left the vicinity, Harry stripped off his
clothes and slipped into the soapy water. He moaned at the delightful feeling of the warm water on his body and sank
into the bath until the bubbles had reached his neck. Finally, Harry rested his head on the edge of the tub, allowing
himself to drift off into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

************

Harry woke up in a haze of darkness. Blinking wearily, he saw that a torch in each corner of the room was now burning
amiably, casting the walls and floor in a warm, comforting glow.

After he had become more alert, Harry washed off the grime that had accumulated on his body, which took a surprising
(and what he found rather disgusting) amount of time. After he had finished rinsing out his hair, he stepped out of the
tub and began rubbing the towel over his body, gratified by the feeling of his now clean skin.

After he had dressed, he left the bathroom and began walking slowly through the corridor, contemplating his next move.
The view he saw from a window along the hallway showed him that he had been in the bathroom for multiple hours; the sky
was already dark and filled with stars. His nap had apparently lasted much longer than he had anticipated.

Knowing he had nowhere else to go, Harry trudged back up to the common room, hoping that someone was still awake.

His hopes were rewarded as he entered the portrait hole (with no password, thankfully) and was met with the sight of
Hermione reading on the sofa, clad in periwinkle pajamas.

“Harry!” Hermione looked up when he plopped himself next to her. “What took you so long? It's nine o' clock!”

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. “I sort of fell asleep again.”

“Really?” Hermione laughed. “One nap wouldn't suffice?”

“Suppose not,” Harry grinned.

“Well, it's alright. Everyone's already gone to sleep, but I saved you something from dinner,” Hermione said, gesturing
towards the table behind her, where a plate of chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans sat, still steaming from what
could only be a heating charm.

“What, no treacle tart?” Harry said. Hermione shot him a dirty look. “I mean, `Gee Hermione, thanks. I don't know what I
would do without you'.” After nodding her approval, Hermione handed him the dish and a fork. He immediately began to
tear into the chicken.

“You didn't have to stay up,” Harry said after finishing off a few mouthfuls. “Though I do immensely appreciate the
food, I could've gotten some myself.”

“I wanted to,” Hermione insisted. “I didn't want you to be lonely.”

Harry cast his eyes over to where the rather large novel she had been reading was draped over the edge of the couch. He
glanced at Hermione with raised eyebrows.

“And?”

Hermione looked guiltily at the book beside her.

“And I haven't had the opportunity to read anything besides defense books and The Tales of Beedle and the Bard since we
started the Horcrux hunt.”

Harry found it amusing that she spoke with the air of a smoker finally getting a cigarette after a dreadfully long
weekend.

“So the truth comes out,” he said in a mock-hurt voice. “Second fiddle to a book, am I?”

“I'm afraid so,” Hermione replied sadly. “At least for tonight.”

“I guess I can deal with one night of being second fiddle.”

Harry noticed Hermione suppress a yawn. “You look sleepy. Is my playful, witty banter boring you?”

“Oh, don't be silly,” Hermione said. “You're banter is far from boring me. I am sort of tired, though.”

“Well, don't let me keep you up,” Harry said. “I'm almost finished eating anyway.”

“Really? You wouldn't mind?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, alright,” Hermione said rising and placing her book on the table from which she had retrieved Harry's plate. As
she passed behind him, she ran her hand lightly over his head and made her way to the staircase leading to the girls'
dormitory. Before she reached the top, she glanced behind her.

“Good night, Harry.”

“Night, Hermione.”

She had only climbed a few more steps when Harry spoke again.

“And I'd better not find a certain someone in my dormitory tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, shut up, you,” Hermione said, flustered, and ascended the last couple of stairs to her dormitory, entering it
before Harry could respond.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

7. Time In the Library

Chapter 7: Time in the Library

Harry awoke the next morning feeling rested… a rare token considering what he'd gone through for almost the entire
previous year. Before he swung out of bed, he glanced over at Ron's four-poster and found it empty - another rarity. He
glanced at the clock and saw that it was only 7:54 in the morning.

Curious as to where Ron would go at such a time, Harry stood up and entered the bathroom. He showered quickly and, upon
looking at the considerable amount of scruff covering his face, did a simple hair-removal spell. He would have rather
liked to have his hair cut (for once in his life), but decided against it, as he had no experience whatsoever in this
area. With his luck he'd end up butchering it.

After dressing in jeans and a T-shirt, Harry snatched up his wand and exited the dormitory. Upon entering the common
room, he saw that it was completely empty. Not that he was particularly surprised. He was sure that most of the Weasleys
were in no rush to get up, and if anyone had awoken, Harry assumed they would be down in the Great Hall having
breakfast.

Sadly, no one was in the Great Hall, either. Harry sat down at one of the ten place settings situated on the table and
was immediately rewarded with a bowl of oatmeal. In no way belligerent over the somewhat meager meal, Harry ate his
breakfast slowly, expecting that someone would eventually join him. When no one showed after twenty minutes, he dropped
his spoon into his bowl and left the table.

Harry came sullenly out of the Great Hall began to walk slowly up the stairs, hoping he'd eventually run into someone.
He then continued down a corridor, not paying any special attention to where he was going as he stared down at his feet.
When he finally did glance up, Harry found himself in front of the library, the doors closed. He found this in no way
peculiar, as he assumed Madam Pince would have left with the other teachers.

But as he turned around to walk back down the hallway, he heard a loud thump coming from within the library. Curious,
Harry slipped his wand from his pocket and pushed the door, which swung inward easily.

The library looked empty, and Harry felt a twinge of sadness. He had been in here alone before, but usually at night
when it was forbidden to be there and in full knowledge that it would be filled with students the next day. Now, with
the drapes drawn over the windows and no students milling around the bookcases, it felt abandoned. The only light source
came from the sunlit corridor he had just left, and the shafts of gold illuminated the dust particles floating through
the air.

Suddenly another thump sliced through the thick silence that surrounded him. Harry's eyes darted in the direction from
which he heard the noise and realized that there was another light permeating the darkness from behind a row of
bookcases. A much smaller, weaker light, which was most likely coming from a candle. Though he was not worried, Harry
still kept his wand drawn. Constant vigilance. This was a lesson from Mad-Eye that he would not soon forget.

Harry finally reached the final bookcase in the row and stepped around the corner... and saw no one. Puzzled, he took a
few steps forward and suddenly went tumbling to the ground.

Momentarily stunned but still holding his wand at the ready, Harry jerked his head from left to right, searching for his
attacker. Instead he saw Hermione in a heap on the floor, her lit wand beside her, looking just as dazed as he felt.

“Hermione?” Harry said, finally lowering his wand. “What are you doing here?”

“Harry, you do realize this is the library, right?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course I realize that. I meant what are you doing on the ground.”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, a smile spreading across her face and a gleam appearing in her eyes. “I was just picking up
some books I had dropped!” She motioned around her, where at least a dozen large books coated the floor.

“You seem pretty pleased with your clumsiness.”

“Not my clumsiness! Madam Pince isn't around! No one at all is around! Do you know what that means!?”

Harry did not respond, as he was sure Hermione would continue regardless of anything he did or didn't say.

“It means that I have the library to myself! No one looking over my shoulder, no students giggling at the tables.
Nothing at all! Just books!!” Hermione squealed enthusiastically.

“Er…that's great, I guess…” Harry trailed off, not knowing how to respond to her less than sane eagerness. He decided to
change the subject. “How did all of these books fall, anyway? Did you trip or something?”

Only now did Hermione blush slightly. “Well…I didn't exactly take the time to light any candles or anything.”

“You were that excited? You couldn't even get one candle?”

Hermione glared at him. “Let me put it in terms you would understand. How would you feel if, say, there was a speed
limit on how fast you could ride your broom? I'd bet you'd be pretty thrilled if you walked out to the Quidditch pitch
one day and no one was around to stop you from flying as fast as you wanted!”

“Okay, okay, I get it” Harry shrugged. “You're strange.”

Hermione snorted derisively. “Excuse me, you're the one that enjoys sitting on a stick at heights of at least fifty feet
with various balls and players rocketing at you from every direction. I don't believe I'm the strange one in this
situation.”

Harry had to accede to this fact. “Fine, how about we call it a truce? We're both strange,” he said, finally standing up
from the pile of books he had been sitting on.

“Deal,” she said, struggling to her own feet and dusting herself off. “Could you help me with these books?”

“Sure.” Harry and Hermione promptly knelt down and began collecting all of the books, piling them under their arms until
they had all been picked up. Hoisting her stack more securely in her arms, Hermione then led Harry to a small table
towards the middle of the library, where they immediately placed the large volumes.

“Why'd you pick out so many books?” Harry asked as Hermione scurried to a window. “It's not like you can read them all
right now. You can always come back.”

The room was suddenly flooded with light as Hermione drew back the heavy drapes. “Well, I didn't want to forget any of
the titles.” Hermione explained when she returned. “Plus, I might not care for some of the books.”

“Fat chance there.”

Hermione did not respond, instead choosing to seat herself at the table and slide the largest book toward her. “You
don't have to wait around. I know there are loads of other things you'd rather be doing.”

“Not really,” Harry said with a shrug. “No one's here. Where are the Weasleys, anyway?”

Hermione frowned sadly. “They…er…they sort of had to go make… well, arrangements for Fred.”

“Oh.” Harry felt the too familiar lump rise in his throat and chose not to press the subject. He didn't care to think
about funerals yet. He remained silent as Hermione opened her book tentatively and began to pore over its beginning
pages.

As he watched Hermione read, Harry's mind drifted to Ginny. He felt extremely guilty about not spending any time with
her since the battle had occurred. Since he had started the Horcrux hunt, really. However, he knew there wasn't much he
could do even if he did spend time with her. In the days after Sirius died, he had not felt any desire to speak to
anyone about it. He didn't mind having company, but he also wanted his space. Harry felt that Ginny would have similar
sentiments, at least at first.

Harry was also curious about where they stood in their relationship. Were they still boyfriend and girlfriend, at least
in a sense? They had sort of broken up, but did that mean that they wouldn't continue their relationship from where they
left it? Starting to feel a bit nervous, he asked Hermione just this.

Hermione appeared to contemplate this for a view moments, frowning, as she marked her place in her book. “Well,” she
said slowly as she shut the tome, “I would guess she hasn't dated anyone else. After all, the war started right after
you broke it off. She wouldn't have had any opportunity to date even if she'd wanted to.” When Harry looked slightly
stricken, she added hastily, “Which I'm sure she didn't. Anyway, I don't think Ginny had plans of being broken up for
good.” Hermione smirked slightly, and gave Harry a very un-Hermione-like wink. “Especially not after that kiss last
summer.”

Harry knew she was referring to the kiss he had received on his birthday and heat crept up his neck. “See, you're not
the only one who can tease.” Hermione opened her book once more and began to read. “Though I would get going on make
some sort of move before she gets mad,” she said without looking up. “If she isn't already livid.” Harry gulped as a
glimpse of something that looked eerily like a bat flashed across his mind. “Yeah, I probably should.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

8. Where We Left Off

A/N: I don't consider this chapter too much of a treat, mainly for purely H/Hr people, such as myself. You'll see why at
the end. Sorry, but I'm being realistic - it'll get better eventually! As always, please review! Don't make me beg,
because I'm not above it you know!

Chapter 8: Where We Left Off

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the morning in the library. Harry managed to find a book that held his attention
and spent a few hours reading it. He found it strangely relaxing. Hermione was thrilled by this, but as noon passed, she
reluctantly suggested they go get some lunch. Bringing their books along, they stood up from the table and exited the
library, heading in the direction of the kitchens.

Once they had acquired sandwiches from the kitchen, they headed straight for the common room, chewing on their lunch as
they went. This resulted in them being empty-handed by the time they stepped through the portrait hole.

Ron was walking down the dormitory steps as they entered, his trunk hovering behind him.

“There you are. I was about to come looking for you two.” Ron allowed his trunk to float to the floor. “Where have you
been?”

“In the library,” Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

Ron glanced at Harry. “What about you, then?”

Harry shrugged in a guilty manner. “Library. What's with the trunk?”

Ron chuckled in a weary sort of way at the fact that Harry had spent hours in the library without necessity and then
gestured towards his trunk. “We went and checked out the Burrow, you know… after. It wasn't too banged up, so we decided
that we might as well head back.” He picked up his trunk and set it on the sofa before turning back to them. “You going
to stay with us awhile?”

Harry had not thought of them leaving Hogwarts. Of course he was going to stay at the Burrow…he really had no other
place to go, at least not yet. “Yeah, I'll stay awhile.”

Hermione nodded in affirmation as well and then retreated to her dormitory without a word. Harry did the same, and Ron
trailed behind him. As Harry went about collecting the few items he had taken from his trunk, he kept stealing sidelong
glances at where his friend sat on his four-poster, taking in his appearance. Ron had a sort of empty look in his eyes,
he was sickly pale, and he looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days.

“So,” Harry said nervously, breaking the silence, “how are you holding up?”

Ron's head shot up in a sort of startled way, as if he hadn't been expecting to be spoken to. “What?”

“I asked how you were holding up.”

“Oh,” Ron said, settling back into his withdrawn demeanor. “As well as could be expected, I guess. What about you?”

“I guess about the same.” Harry was setting his remaining items (including the book from the library) in the trunk when
he heard Ron speak behind him.

“You're not coming back here next year.” It wasn't really a question.

Harry had not really thought of coming back to finish his remaining year at Hogwarts, but now that it had been brought
up, he knew that he wouldn't. The thought of returning here was somehow ridiculous to him. It was and would forever
remain his first home, but he had gained everything he needed from its halls.

“I guess not,” Harry said as he closed the lid of his trunk.

“Me neither.”

Harry turned to Ron curiously. “Why?”

Ron shrugged. “Don't see the point. I'm not going to waste a year of my life here.” He grinned awkwardly. “I know this
may sound a bit selfish, but I don't think I'll have too much trouble getting a job after being friends with you.”

Harry grinned back at him. “I don't think that's something to be selfish about. You deserve that after putting up with
everything that I've put you through.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Ron said with a joking smile.

“What do you think you'll do, then?”

“I don't know. I was thinking about helping George out a bit at first. I haven't figured past that.” The smile slid off
his face suddenly. “What do you think Hermione's going to do?”

Harry's grin slid off his face as well as he sat on his bed. “I hadn't thought about that.” He flicked his gaze toward
Ron. “I bet she'll come back to school.”

“Why would she do something crazy like that? She doesn't need to.”

“This is Hermione we're talking about, Ron. She's not going to skimp out on a year of school just because she can.”

Ron remained quiet for several minutes, staring at his lap. Harry also sat in silence.

“It's going to be weird, isn't it?” Ron finally said, lifting his head. “Not coming back here? Especially since Hermione
probably will.”

Harry nodded. It would indeed be strange. He, Hermione, and Ron had been an inseparable entity since they had come to
Hogwarts. The golden trio. Harry did not like the imagery of that being broken up, if only for a year. Even after that
it wouldn't be the same, though. Sure, they would still be friends - he had no doubt of that. But instead of the
figurative triangle that he associated with their friendship - each one of them a pinnacle, holding the shape together—
they would become more independent of each other; they would form their own shapes. More like interlocking rings, if you
will.

Harry's train of thought was disrupted by Ron speaking once more. “I guess we'd better go, then. Hermione's probably
already downstairs, and Mum'll be waiting for us.”

With that he hoisted himself from his four-poster and exited the dormitory. Harry also stood from his bed for the last
time. He supposed everything he had done over the past few days had been for the last time. His last time to visit the
kitchens; his last time to walk around the lake; his last time to wander through the corridors; his last time to see the
place that he had called home for the past seven years. Harry suddenly wished he had gone out to the Quidditch pitch.

With a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, Harry cast a quick spell to lift his trunk from the floor. He felt it
proper to leave Hogwarts with one of the first spells he had learned here. He could imagine that lesson clearly in his
head; still hear the cacophony of voices yelling Wingardim Leviosa in frustration as Hermione's feather floated
tauntingly over their heads. With this image pervading his thoughts, Harry took one last look at his dormitory. His
throat burned as he slowly closed the door, the click of the lock sounding formidable in its permanence.

Hastily wiping at his damp eyes, Harry walked downstairs to join his best friends as they began their short journey to
the gates of Hogwarts… a short walk that somehow seemed harder than all of the travels he had ever experienced.

**********

Upon arrival, Harry was pleased to see that the Burrow had been restored from whatever damages it had sustained from the
war. He was also pleased to smell the scent of shepherd's pie wafting from the kitchen. Once the trio had their trunks
levitating behind them again, they entered the yard and stepped into the house, walking in single file.

The Weasley children all sat around the table in the center of the kitchen, talking amongst themselves as they waited
for their mother to finish preparing lunch. Mr. Weasley also sat among them, choosing to listen to his children's
irrelevant chatter rather than contribute. Despite the sadness in his eyes, a content air also reigned over his
features.

Mrs. Weasley spun around as Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered, wielding a potato-covered spoon. “Ah! It's about time the
three of you got here. You can put your trunks in the usual rooms before you come down to eat. It'll be ready shortly.”
She said all of this rather quickly and then turned immediately and began to vigorously stir the contents of one of the
numerous pots on the stove.

Without a word they left the room, starting towards their respective rooms (Hermione to Ginny's and Harry to Ron's).
They placed their trunks at the foot of their beds and then returned to the kitchen immediately, preferring not to delay
their meal.

Dinner that night was a pleasant affair. After breaking open a bottle of firewhisky, laughter soon pervaded the
previously gloomy air. They drank carelessly (excluding Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny), allowing whatever words that
would fall from their mouths. As a result, the night soon became a tribute to Fred; they spent the evening sharing fond
recollections and toasting his memory. By the time midnight rolled around, many of the Weasleys were hiccupping loudly,
their eyes glazed and half-open. With a quick gesture, Mr. Weasley corralled his family towards the staircase (including
his wife, who had drunk more than any of them).

However, Ginny lagged behind and lingered near the door. Once she had Harry's attention, she gestured surreptitiously
with her hand and exited the house. Taking the hint, Harry followed after her. Once he had reached her, Ginny slid her
hand in Harry's and they walked slowly through the garden, reveling in each other's company.

As they walked, Harry was unsure how much time had passed since they had left the kitchen. Was it minutes? Hours? He
couldn't say that he cared tremendously.

They finally came to a stop before a bench surrounded by bushes. The bushes had grown haphazardly from the Weasleys'
absence, but the blooming flowers that covered it made up for that fact ten-fold. Sitting next to each other, Ginny laid
her head on Harry's shoulder, but they still did not say a word.

Finally, Ginny whispered, “Can we start from where we left off?”

The tone of her voice nearly melted Harry's heart. The doubt was more than he could handle.

Instead of answering her with words, Harry lifted Ginny's face to his own and kissed her softly. As Ginny sank into his
embrace, Harry knew that it was answer enough.

********

A/N: Like I said, sorry! That's about as mushy as it gets between the two though, so don't worry that this is going to
be a frequent occurrence!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

9. A Lit Fuse

Chapter 9: A Lit Fuse

Harry remained at the Burrow for multiple weeks, and attended several funerals during that time. Nevertheless, he
enjoyed his time with the Weasleys immensely; Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking, the company of Ron and Hermione - all
the moments in general spent with the family he considered his own. Not to mention his frequent rendezvous with Ginny.
But as the end of May crept nearer, Harry felt that his time at the Burrow was drawing to an end. That's not to say the
Weasleys wouldn't let him stay as long as necessary, but he began to feel the need to strike out on his own. That
combined with the fact that it was slightly awkward to be living with your girlfriend and her family. He could
practically hear the wedding bells trilling through Mrs. Weasley's mind as she watched him and Ginny together. Needless
to say this made him very uncomfortable.

All of this was running through Harry's mind as he walked with Ron and Hermione down a trail off the edge of Ottery St.
Catchpole on a lazy Monday afternoon. Tired of the relentless lack of privacy, they had decided to escape for a while.
Ginny had reluctantly stayed behind at the request of her mother.

Hermione interrupted his train of thought.

“So what do you think, Harry?”

Harry glanced up guiltily, running a hand through his recently cut hair. “Er…about what?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, the two of you have the attention span of a tablespoon.”

“Not a teaspoon?” Ron asked, almost hopefully.

“I was referring to your cumulative attention span. Anyway, I was asking what you thought about having the opportunity
to go back to school.” Hermione said.

Harry stumbled slightly at the realization that he and Ron were about to be required to reveal their intentions about
school. Hermione didn't seem to notice their stricken expressions as she continued at a brisk pace, not waiting for
Harry's answer as she jabbered on.

“I'm personally extremely happy that we get to go back to school. I was worried that we wouldn't get to have our seventh
year, for obvious reasons, and now that we can—”

Harry looked pleadingly at Ron from the other side of Hermione, trying to communicate without speaking. What do we do?!
Harry mouthed.

I have no idea! Ron mouthed back, shrugging helplessly.

“—might be sort of sad without our other classmates, but Ginny and Luna and plenty of others will still be there and—”

Harry was wringing his hands desperately. We have to do something!

Then come up with something! Ron mouthed, jabbing a finger towards Harry.

“—should be pleased we're going back to school after all of that. I'm not sure how it'll work going back beyond your
class, but certainly it'll not be much different than—”

She's going to KILL us! Harry threw his hands up in a gesture of defeat.

Ron mimicked he motion with a succumbing shake of his head.

“—thinking about taking Advanced Ancient Runes, considering how much I enjoyed it, and I'm seriously reconsidering being
a Auror, so I have no idea—”

“Hermione, we're not going back to Hogwarts,” Harry and Ron said simultaneously.

Hermione stopped in her path so abruptly that her friends had to backtrack a few steps after realizing it. She was
smiling and laughed lightly.

“I'm sorry, I think I heard wrong. It sounded like the two of you just said you weren't going back to Hogwarts.”

Harry saw Ron gulp as he responded in a small voice. “We're not?” He made it sound like a question, as if Hermione was
going to answer it for him. Harry suddenly had the imagery of a fuse being lit.

It took longer than he would have suspected for Hermione to detonate. She glared at the ground for several moments,
flexing her fingers, her movements twitchy as she attempted to subdue her anger. However, her attempts were futile, as
an instant later Hermione exploded in a frenzy of rage. “WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU ABSOLUTE
IDIOTS!! YOU HAVE TO FINISH SCHOOL!! Oh my GOD, what's going to happen if you morons quit school?!?!”

“Well -” Ron began.

“I'LL TELL YOU WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN IF YOU QUIT SCHOOL!! YOU TWO MORONS WILL BECOME—BECOME LAZY, GOOD-FOR-NOTHING SAPS
THAT BED A DIFFERENT GIRL EVERY OTHER NIGHT!!! THEN YOU'LL TURN INTO CRIMINALS AND GET CAUGHT AND YOUR ARSES WILL BE
SENT TO AZKABAN AND YOU BETTER NOT COME WHINING TO ME TO BAIL YOU OUT!!! THE ONLY HANDOUTS I'LL BE GIVING WILL BE BIG
DOSES OF `I TOLD YOU SO!!'

Hermione drew in a deep breath and Harry and Ron cringed, wondering if she was renewing herself for another tirade. But
thankfully she only sighed in defeat.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Well, I was thinking about—” Ron said.

“I planned to—” Harry said.

“SHUT UP!” Hermione rubbed her temples in frustration at their simultaneous outbursts. She nodded in Ron's direction.
“You first.”

Ron gulped. “Well, I was sort of planning to stay at home a bit longer and help George at the shop…you know… when he
decides to open again.”

Hermione nodded. “And then?”

“Er…I hadn't really thought that far ahead.”

“I'd guessed as much,” Hermione muttered, a bit harshly. “Nothing more to add?”

Ron shook his head, his face downcast in shame.

“Harry?” Hermione said.

“Well, I'm probably going to…er…go to the Ministry in about a month to see about training.”

“Training?” Hermione said. “Training for what?”

Harry shrugged. “To become an Auror, I suppose.”

“I suppose you do realize that in normal cases that would require N.E.W.T.s?”

Harry gave her a half-smile. “I'm not exactly a normal case, am I?”

Hermione grunted in acknowledgement and then continued down the path at a brisk walk. Harry and Ron jogged to catch up.
Once they had fallen into pace beside her, the two wizards remained silent. They knew better than to interrupt their
friend's train of thought.

After about ten minutes of this, Hermione finally spoke.

“I still think you two are idiots for doing this.”

“Noted and accepted,” Ron said.

Hermione sniffled slightly. “I'm going to miss you both terribly.”

“What do you mean?” Ron asked.

“What do you think? I'm still going to get my N.E.W.T.s. I'm still going to Hogwarts. And both of you aren't.” She wiped
at her eyes, which had welled up with tears.

“Well, think of the bright side,” Ron said. “At least you won't have to nag us to do our homework.”

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Hermione then burst into sobs.

Ron looked at Harry with an expression that clearly stated, `What'd I say?'

Rolling his eyes, Harry slipped his arm over Hermione's shoulders, rubbing them soothingly. “It's okay, Hermione. It's
not like we're not going to see you at all this year. We'll still see you at holidays, Hogsmeade weekends…anytime you
want to see us.”

“That's not true,” Hermione whispered, shaking her head. “If I could see you anytime I wanted to I'd see you everyday.
But I can't see you everyday.”

Harry didn't respond. He didn't know how to.

Hermione pulled herself away from Harry, laughing slightly. “You're right, though. It's not the end of the world. We'll
get through this. We always do.”

“You got that right,” Ron said.

They continued walking and were in sight of the Burrow within minutes.

Harry gazed at it with a twinge of sadness.

“I don't think I'll be staying here much longer.”

Ron and Hermione gazed in confusion at Harry.

“Where will you go?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “Grimmauld Place, I suppose.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Do you know if you'll be able to go back there after, well, the little incident that
occurred last year?”

“I'm sure I'll be able to. If not now, pretty soon. Since Kingsley became Minister, I'm sure he could pull a few strings
to get the proper wards and papers asserted to make it safe again.”

“When do you think you'll leave?”

“Probably within the next few days,” Harry admitted.

Ron and Hermione nodded. As the trio made their way through the Burrow's gates, each of them felt a knot in their
throats. They were fully aware of the imminent changes awaiting them in the near future and felt a strange exhilaration
at how normal these changes were; they were not on the brink of impending peril, at any rate, and they were willing to
meet these changes head on.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

10. Tuesdays With Molly

I know you guys LOVE the title. Admit it. Sorry about the ridiculous length - definitely the shortest chapter of the
entire story.

Chapter 10: Tuesday With Molly

The next day Harry set about packing his things. He was not in any particular rush to leave the Burrow, but he felt it
necessary to begin collecting all of his possessions that had spread themselves across the Burrow. Hermione and Ginny
had gone into town to shop (Hermione for books, Ginny for everything but books), Ron and George had gone to see the
condition of the shop (which Lee Jordan had been running since Fred's death), and Mr. Weasley had gone to work. The only
people remaining in the house were himself and Mrs. Weasley.

Harry was just beginning to place his clothes into the trunk when said witch came walking into Ron's room. Mrs. Weasley
took one glance at Harry's poor excuse of a packing job and tutted softly. “You have about as much skill as Ron when it
comes to packing your things together.” She then promptly brandished her wand and with a quick twirl set Harry's
belongings to remove themselves from his trunk and then fall back into place neatly.

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“No trouble at all,” Mrs. Weasley replied, and then looked at the posters adorning the vibrant orange walls. “You know,
he's had those posters since he was seven. I don't believe he'll ever get rid of them. His wife will probably have to
deal with them.” She proceeded to walk around the perimeter of the room, acknowledging the disorder with a smile. She
picked up a pair of socks from the floor and placed them gently in Ron's dresser with a sniffle.

“I'm always telling him to clean up his things, but he never listens. I don't know why I even bother anymore. None of
them had any sort of sense of neatness. Except for Ginny, of course. Even Percy's room stayed in a state of chaos. And
Fred and George's room, well, you can't even imagine…”

Mrs. Weasley trailed off at the mention of Fred, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said quietly.

Mrs. Weasley dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief that materialized out of nowhere. “There's no need for you to feel
sorry, dear. None of this is your fault.” She stepped towards him and cupped his face in her hands. “We're all so proud
of you, Harry. You're as much a part of this family as I am, and as long as this old house is standing, there will
always be a place for you here.”

Harry nodded, feeling a pressure building in his throat, and looked down at his feet without responding. He only raised
his head when he heard the faint click of his trunk snapping shut. Mrs. Weasley released him, and then turned to leave.

“Mrs. Weasley?” Harry said, and she stopped at the doorway, turning to face him. “I just…well, I just wanted to say
thank you. For everything.”

Mrs. Weasley's smiled brilliantly at Harry, her eyes shining, and wrapped him in a gentle hug. “You're welcome, Harry.
You're so very welcome.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

11. Struck

A/N: I had fun with this chapter. I co-wrote it with my sister, and we were pretty giggily, and the chapter shows it.
Enjoy! As always, please review!

Chapter 11: Struck

Harry, Ron, and Hermione trudged up the winding staircase of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, each laden with numerous boxes
and packages filled with the various knick-knacks needed to make the house more livable. “You know, Ron, your mum didn't
need to give me all this stuff,” Harry called over his shoulder. “I could get on fine by myself.”

“You know how she is, Harry. She's already got her knickers in a knot over you moving here in the first place. The least
she can do is completely furnish every room in your mansion and stock your humungous fridge with delicious food that
took her days to make,” Ron replied, sounding muffled behind what appeared to be a stack of linens.

Harry and Hermione laughed. “Yes, I do suppose Molly went a bit overboard. But she's only doing it because she cares
about you, Harry,” Hermione said, flashing him a quick smile.

“Well, either way I'm going to insist that I pay her back for all of this,” Harry said.

“You know Mum would never take your money, mate.”

“I'll find a way to do it. I'll slip it in her sock drawer or something,” Harry mused.

“You're going to slip dozens of Galleons into her sock drawer?” Hermione asked.

“Think she'll notice?” Harry said.

The trio now reached Sirius' old room, which was now going to be Harry's. Ron dropped his burdens unceremoniously on the
floor, threw himself onto the bed, and crossed his arms behind his head.

“So now that the men's work is done—” he began, and then received a blow across the head with an overstuffed pillow,
courtesy of Hermione.

“Hey! What was that for?!” Ron exclaimed, rubbing his head sourly.

“You know exactly what that was for, you chauvinistic pig! Get your lazy arse off that bed and finish helping us bring
all this stuff up here! At this rate, we'll be doing this for hours!” Hermione yelled.

A thought suddenly occurred to Harry. “It just struck me,” he pondered. “Why didn't we just use our wands? We've been at
this for a good hour or so…”

Hermione's face suddenly became expressionless. She turned her gaze to Harry.

“I don't… know,” she said slowly.

“Seems like the sensible thing to do, doesn't it? It would only take a few seconds.”

Hermione was quiet for a few moments. “And this only just struck you?” she said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah. Yeah, it did.” Harry said, seeming rather proud of himself.

“Well let me know if anything else strikes you,” Hermione said, picking up a small but heavy-looking bust from the
bedside table and raising it above her head.

“Hermione,” Harry said mock-seriously, “you don't want to do this. Put the bust down, and step away from the table.”

“Boy, oh boy, Harry. I just don't know,” Hermione said in a funny accent, one Harry suspected to be from some movie he
had never seen.

They continued this banter for several more seconds, before Ron, who had remained sitting on the bed, interjected.

“Hey Hermione, can I see your bust?”

Hermione swung her head towards Ron, a reproachful look on her face. Harry took the opportunity to tackle her to the
bed, and promptly began to tickle her ferociously.

“No, no, stop, stop!” Hermione cried between giggles, but Harry was relentless. “Geroffme, geroffme!”

“Hey, that's my line!” Ron exclaimed.

“Stop, stop, geroffme, geroffme!” Hermione laughed once more, and Harry ended his assault. She sat up immediately and
proceeded to straighten her clothes in a businesslike manner. “Yes, Ronald, I did steal your `line,' and it's rather
ridiculous, don't you think?”

Ron got a shocked look on face, before shaking his head and turning to Harry. “Harry, we've tolerated this problem for
seven years. Seven!  I think it's time we deal with this little `problem' once and for all.” And with that Ron stood,
walked up to Hermione (who was looking at him with a suspicious glare), and lugged her over his shoulder. He looked back
over at Harry, who gave a solemn nod of approval, and began to approach the balcony outside of the bedroom.

Hermione got a panicked look on her face as she realized where Ron was walking and began thrashing around, pounding her
fists on his back furiously. “Let me go, you git! This isn't funny, you know I hate heights! Let me go! LET ME GO!” she
squealed at the top of her lungs.

“Never could get this one quiet,” Ron yelled over Hermione's screams.

“Harry, Harry, you have to help me, please! This bloody lunatic is going to end up dropping me over this damn balcony,
and when I die, I swear to Merlin that I'll come back as a ghost and haunt the living daylights out of both of you for
eternity! Get me down!”

“Wait!” Harry suddenly exclaimed, his arms stretched out dramatically to Hermione.

Ron turned back to Harry (knocking Hermione's head against the doorway as he did so) with a rather annoyed and bored
look on his face. “Yes?” he said politely.

“You can't do this to Hermione. Not now!” he cried. Hermione was beaming, tears shining in her eyes.

“Oh Harry, I knew you'd help me!” Hermione said.

“Of course I would, Hermione. You know I need something from you.”

Hermione looked confused. “And what would that be? Loyalty? Friendship? Wisdom?”

“No. Not any of that junk. What I do need is that book I loaned you last week.”

Hermione's face fell. “You're saving me for a book?” she whispered, seeming rather proud and upset at the same time.

“No, no, of course not! Who said I was saving you? I'm just… halting the inevitable,” Harry said. “Anyway, the book is
sort of part of a set that I received from someone very near and dear to my heart, and I'd hate to lose it.”

“I gave you that set!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Oh. I must have been thinking of a different set. Never mind,” Harry said, and with a flick of his wrist waved for Ron
to continue.

Ron nodded, and Hermione commenced her screaming once more. As he neared the edge, Harry called out again. “Wait! Ron…
do you really think this is necessary? She has been useful these past few years.”

“That's exactly it, Harry. Has been useful. You-Know-Who is dead. We don't need her anymore.”

Harry got a thoughtful look on his face and stroked his chin as Hermione glared at him furiously. “Well… when you put it
that way. Carry on.”

Ron nodded one last time at Harry, and winked conspicuously. Harry responded with an evil grin of his own. Ron raised
Hermione higher as he stepped outside.

Hermione was really starting to look panicked now.

“Ron, what are you—”

And with that he promptly tossed her over the edge. As Hermione hurtled to the ground, Harry turned on the spot, and
appeared on the balcony below her. He reached out over the balcony's edge, and Hermione immediately fell into his arms.
He pulled her towards him, and she clutched his neck, shaking and whimpering.

“Oh-thank-god-oh-thank-god-oh-thank-god,” Hermione squeaked, tremors racking her body.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked.

“I think so,” Hermione said shakily after a moment as she was set on her feet, but her grip on him was still strong. She
took a few more shaky breaths, and then looked up at Harry, her eyes shining with gratitude.

“Harry, I—I—I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!” she screamed and then planted her fist into his gut. Harry keeled over as Hermione
walked swiftly past him and into the house. Hermione stopped at the doorway, and turned around, a smug look on her face.

“I guess something did strike you, didn't it?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

12. The Early Bird Doesn't Get The Worm

Hope you enjoy this one. I must say I really enjoyed writing Ginny. I may not think she and Harry are supposed to be
together and that Harry must've been on a frickin' love potion for him to go head-over-heels so quickly, but I still
like Ginny's character. Though I might've exaggerated her a tiny bit :) Also, I'd really appreciate some more reviews
please. According to the site, there have been like over 7000 hits, and I've gotten 7 reviews (lovely reviews, by the
way…thanks again!). So…pretty please?

Chapter 12: The Early Bird Doesn't Get The Worm

Hermione awoke to an incessant rapping on her bedroom door. She groaned softly to herself, rubbing her eyes and staring
blearily at the clock on the bedside table. She let out another groan as she noted the time: 6:45.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and curled herself into a ball, grimacing as the knocking returned to the door, more
persistent than before.

“Hermione, dear, breakfast is ready! Time to get up!” she heard Mrs. Weasley call from outside the door.

Hermione reluctantly unfurled herself and released a muffled growl.

“I'm coming, Mrs. Weasley! I'll be down in a bit!” she called back, straining to keep politeness in her tone.

“Well hurry up, dear! If you're not down in a few moments the boys will have eaten everything!” Hermione listened in
relief as she heard the sound of Mrs. Weasley's retreating footsteps.

Hermione fell back into the pillows as soon as Mrs. Weasley was out of earshot, a loud sigh escaping her. “Oh Merlin,
here we go again,” she muttered to herself. She then swung her legs over the side of the bed, shivering at the rush of
cold air, and made her way to Ginny's small private bathroom, one of the few privileges of being the only girl in a
family of boys. Just as Hermione placed her hand on the doorknob, the door to Ginny's actual bedroom swung open,
revealing the occupant herself, in all her energetic glory.

“Speak of the devil,” Hermione mumbled to herself, before turning slowly to see the younger, fiery-haired girl bounding
towards her like a caffeinated golden retriever.

“Good morning!” Ginny said in a sing-song voice, her radiant smile flashing from ear to ear. “And how are we this
morning?”

Hermione managed a small smile. “Good morning, Ginny. Just delightful, thanks.”

Ginny nodded appreciatively, and then noticed Hermione's obvious intent to enter her bathroom. “And where do you think
you're going?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows, gesturing toward the bathroom. “I was just going to get cleaned up and ---”

“There's no time for that!” Ginny exclaimed, grabbing Hermione's wrist in a vice-like grip and dragging her towards the
door with surprising strength.

“Obviously, you had time for that,” Hermione said irritably, observing Ginny's immaculate makeup and perfectly groomed
hair.

“Well I've been up for over an hour!” Ginny said cheerfully. “Now stop wasting my time and come on!”

Ginny continued to drag her down the stairs and thrust her unceremoniously into the crowded kitchen. Hermione stumbled
slightly as she fell through the door, freezing suddenly with bated breath. She ventured glance around the room, and was
immensely relieved to see that no one had taken any notice of her graceless entrance. She let out a sigh of relief. Now
all she had to do was quietly make her way to the seat across from Ron, and --

“We have arrived!” Ginny sang out as she burst loudly through the door behind Hermione, which drew everyone's notice to
the pair. Hermione blushed slightly, and quickly made her way over to her seat. Ron grinned widely at her as she began
scooping scrambled eggs onto her plate.

“Quite an entrance you two made, eh?”

Hermione glared at Ron. “I am going to kill your sister,” she muttered darkly.

Ron nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, that is getting kind of old, isn't it?”

Ginny suddenly passed behind Hermione, ruffling her bushy hair fondly. “Aw, don't be sore, Hermione! I'm just joking
around!” Ginny's ruffling made Hermione's already bushy hair stand more on end than usual, and only reminded her of her
undoubtedly disheveled appearance. Biting back the retort she would've liked to make, Hermione began to eat.

Breakfast continued in a generally uneventful manner once it had begun, disregarding a minor spat between Ron and
Hermione concerning passing a platter of bacon.

As soon as breakfast ended, Hermione made a hasty retreat back to Ginny's bedroom and quickly freshened herself up. As
soon as she found herself in a presentable state, she exited the bedroom and made her way back downstairs. However, upon
reaching the kitchen door, she felt the sudden urge to take a walk around Ottery St. Catchpole. Hermione adored the
Weasleys, but living with them for so long in such close proximity was beginning to grind on her nerves - a walk by
herself was just what she needed right now.

She slid through the front door as silently as possible, hoping to not draw attention to her departure. Once the Burrow
was out of sight, she sighed in relief and followed the same path she, Harry, and Ron had walked the previous week. She
walked slowly, relishing the silence and privacy.

Hermione knew that she would be leaving the Weasley's very shortly. Almost a month had passed since the Final Battle,
and she knew that her time at the Burrow was coming to a close. Not that the Weasleys didn't want her there, of course,
but seeing the Weasleys together was a constant reminder of her own family. Now that the initial turmoil of the Battle
was over, she ached to release the spell on her parents and retrieve them from Australia.

She walked for a while, lost in thought, before she realized she was almost back at the Burrow. She grimaced slightly
when she saw Ron standing in near the front gate, his arms crossed in a patronizing manner. Hermione could have sworn
that she could see his ears from here, blazing red in what could only have been anger. She slowed her pace as she neared
him.

“So where have you been?” Ron glowered angrily.

Hermione scowled back. “Where do you think I've been? I went for a walk, obviously.”

This didn't seem to appease Ron's anger. “Why didn't you tell me you were leaving? I would have gone with you. Instead
you left me here, worried sick!”

Hermione rolled her eyes in annoyance. “I was only gone for half an hour, Ronald.”

“That doesn't matter,” Ron fumed. “Who knows who could have been out there? Just because You-Know-Who is dead doesn't
mean there aren't Death Eaters still around!”

“Oh, come off it, Ron! I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

Ron looked incredulous. “Oh, can you now?”

Hermione could hardly hide the shock and anger that must have been apparent in her face. “Yes, I can! It seems I did
just fine taking care of myself when you ditched Harry and me in the middle of nowhere!”

Ron looked as if she had just slapped him in the face. “I already—well I just—completely—”

“I don't even want to hear your excuses right now, Ron! Just leave me alone!”

And with that Hermione stormed past Ron and into the Burrow, immediately stomping up the stairs and into Ginny's
bedroom. Ginny lay on her stomach on the bed, her ankles crossed in the air, reading a magazine. She glanced up
innocently as Hermione barged into the room and began throwing her possessions haphazardly into her trunk.

“Hermione, what's wrong?” Ginny asked, mock-confused.

Hermione turned on the spot, shooting daggers at Ginny before continuing with her packing. “Cut the act, Ginny! I know
you heard every word that Ron and I exchanged downstairs!”

Ginny shrugged, not even bothering to have the grace to look even slightly ashamed. “You're right. And since we've
skipped all the pointless pleasantries, do you mind if I give you some advice?”

Hermione shut her trunk harshly, and turned once again towards Ginny, teeth gritted. “Not at all. Do you mind if I roll
my eyes, sigh deeply, and dismiss your advice as if it came from the village idiot?”

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “I might mind.”

Hermione gave her a bitter smile. “Well then, let me give you some advice—”

“Just give it up, Hermione! Sit down, cool off, and you and Ron will be back to your normal cuddly, kissy-wissy selves
by dinner, like always.”

Hermione mouth dropped open in astonishment. “When have Ron and I ever—cuddly—how could you even—you know what?! I don't
even care! I can't deal with any of this right now!”

Then Hermione grasped the handle of her trunk and disappeared with a crack.

*********

Hermione had barely registered where she going when she had Apparated, and was not surprised at where she had ended up -
though she was surprised at the immediate drenching she received upon her arrival.

After trudging slowly and sullenly through the torrential downpour to the door of Grimmauld Place, she knocked heavily
and waited for her friend to answer.

A moment later the door swung open, revealing a rather surprised looking Harry, clutching a piece of toast in one hand.

Now this is my kind of time to eat breakfast, Hermione couldn't help but think bitterly.

“Hermione, what are you doing here so early?” Harry asked, concern etched in his voice.

Hermione smiled abashedly, making no attempt to move out of the rain.

“Do you think you could go with me to get my parents?”

************

A/N: I know that the Weasleys have an anti-Apparition ward, but Hermione Apparating out is so much more dramatic, right?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

13. Off To The Outback!

I hope you enjoy this chapter. It actually took a little research. Even the fountain Harry and Hermione go through is
actually in Australia. So thanks to the people who have reviewed, and PLEASE leave some more!

Chapter 13: Off to the Outback!

“Do you think you could go with me to get my parents?”

Only a few seconds lapsed between her request and Harry's reply.

“Sure,” he said, opening the door a little wider to permit her entrance. “But I suggest you step out of the rain first.”

Hermione quickly entered Grimmauld Place and placed her trunk by the staircase as Harry closed the door behind her.
Without further comment, he turned and led Hermione to the kitchen, taking bites of his toast as he went.

“Take whatever you want,” Harry said as he plopped down before a rather heavily laden table. “There's plenty to go
around, as you can see.”

“I've already eaten breakfast,” Hermione said, but nevertheless chose a delicious looking scone from a pile of various
pastries as she sat down across from Harry.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Harry spoke.

“So I take it you and Ron got into a bit of a row,” he stated.

Hermione tore off the corner of her scone, biting her lip and avoiding his gaze. Finally she looked up, her brow
furrowed. “Is it that obvious?”

Harry raised his eyebrow. “No, not at all. I would never have guessed it from your pissed-off expression, appearance by
yourself in the pouring rain, and the way you've been ripping and stabbing at your poor defenseless blueberry pastry.”

“Okay, so maybe it was obvious.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “So what'd you do this time?”

Hermione's eyes narrowed to slits. “You've got ten seconds to rephrase that before I weaponize this scone.”

Harry's eyes widened before turning quizzical. “What could you possibly do with a scone?”

“There are no limitations to the array of painful possibilities that one could utilize with a pastry, my ignorant
friend.”

Harry laughed. “So that's what they taught you in those advanced classes at school. But back to the subject, what did
actually happen?”

Hermione responded by launching into a long-winded rant, detailing exactly what had happened to her over the last few
days.

“… and that damned girlfriend of yours embarrassed the bloody hell out of me every few minutes! And I'm not exaggerating
- every few minutes! Harry, for Merlin's sake, you've stayed with the Weasleys alone for long periods of time, you've
tolerated - I mean dated - Ginny… You could have warned me!”

Harry smiled pleasantly. “That's not how experience works.”

A scone flew across the room and hit Harry square in the face.

Harry stared at Hermione, a look of utter shock on his face. “Hermione… I can't

believe you'd keep ruining all these delicious scones that Kreacher slaved over all morning!”

Hermione opened her mouth to retort when a loud CRACK resounded through the kitchen.

“Did someone call Kreacher's name, Master Harry?”

Harry grinned at Hermione's befuddled expression before turning to the elf. “Why yes, Kreacher, I did. I was just
telling our houseguest here about all the hard work you put into this wonderful breakfast when one of said breakfast
items - namely, a blueberry scone - came out of nowhere and smacked me in the face. And as Hermione was the only person
present in the room, I assumed said scone came flying from none other than Miss Granger's hand.”

An appalled Kreacher turned his great pale eyes to Hermione while an appalled Hermione turned her furious glare at
Harry.

“Is this true, Missus Granger? Is you throwing Kreacher's scones at Master Harry?”

Hermione threw Harry one last dark look before turning to Kreacher. “Yes, Kreacher, this is true. And I know throwing
your scone was wrong. However, in my defense, Master Harry was being an extremely insensitive prat. A lesson had to be
learned.”

Kreacher thought for a moment before turning to Harry. “Did you learn your lesson, Master Harry?”

“Yes, Kreacher, I believe I did.”

“Then Kreacher's scone was not thrown in vain,” the elf croaked. “But Kreacher is cleaning now, so if there is nothing
else…?”

“Actually, Kreacher, Hermione and I are about to leave for a day or two - if anyone stops by, tell them we'll be back
soon, okay?”

Kreacher bowed until his long nose brushed the ground. “Yes, Master. Kreacher will be happy to inform any visitors of
your absence.”

“Thanks, Kreacher.”

“Master is welcome.” Kreacher straightened and with another CRACK exited the room.

Harry turned his attention back to Hermione. “So now that that's been handled… shall we go then?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I don't appreciate the change of subject, but I suppose the sooner we leave the better. I'll
Apparate you, as you have no idea where we're going.”

Harry nodded in consent. “I'll grab some clothes and we'll go, then.”

“Oh, I already packed you a change of clothes,” Hermione replied, exiting the room for a moment and returning with a
tote bag, which she promptly shrunk and placed in her handbag. “You left a few things at the Burrow.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “How were you so sure that I would come with you?”

Hermione reached out and clasped Harry's hand tightly in hers.

“You always do,” she said with a smile.

Then she turned on the spot and the duo disappeared, accompanied by a soft pop.

*************

When Harry opened his eyes, his jaw almost dropped at the sight that met his eyes.

He and Hermione stood on an expansive beach. Starlight glistened on the ocean's surface like thousands of flawless
diamonds, dancing as the tide rolled gently upon the silver shore. The water drifted forward to barely touch the tip of
his shoes before retreating.

Hermione's laughter broke through Harry's reverie; she was clearly amused by her friend's awestruck expression. “This is
Manly Beach,” she said. “My parents and I vacationed here a time or two.”

“It's amazing.”

Hermione nodded in agreement.

As Harry continued to gaze over the ocean, he noted what he had been too mesmerized to detect before. He turned his eyes
towards Hermione.

“Wasn't it morning when we left?”

She nodded once more, this time in rather bashful manner. “Yes, it was - about ten o' clock, I imagine. I forgot to
consider the time change.”

Hermione paused for a moment as she recalled the time difference between London and Sydney.

“I believe it's about eight o' clock here.”

“So what do we do now?” Harry asked.

“I'm not sure. I think it would be rather impractical to go to my parents' house now. They're probably about to go to
sleep. I suppose we could go back to Grimmauld Place until later tonight…”

“Are you serious?” Harry said incredulously. “I'd rather stay here for the night. You've already brought clothes and
everything, so why not stick around here until morning?”

Hermione looked unconvinced, but at Harry's continued pleading finally gave in.

“Fine! We can stay. I don't know what on earth will be open at this time, but I'm sure we could find something to do.”

“That's the spirit!” Harry said cheerfully, now turning around and examining the area behind him with renewed interest.
“Let's go!”

He then started to walk confidently towards the beckoning lights of Manly's nightlife. Hermione scurried along in his
wake, shaking her head amusedly at his enthusiasm.

************

Apparently there was less to do than they had imagined. Though they occupied themselves happily for numerous hours by
merely looking at the numerous attractions lining Manly's plaza, the Corso, Harry and Hermione quickly realized that
none of them were open. Eating was pretty much out of the question, as they had just eaten breakfast before they
Apparated, and very few respectable-looking restaurants were serving at that hour anyway. And as Harry's repeated
supplications to sneak into the city's aquarium were met with continual and steadfast refusals, they eventually found
themselves at a loss as to how to spend their remaining time. When Hermione spotted a bench over-looking the ocean, she
and Harry sat down in resignation.

“This is bloody brilliant!” Harry said in frustration, placing his head in his hands. “We're spending the night in an
exotic foreign country and we can't find a single thing to do!”

“It's the middle of the night, Harry,” Hermione replied. “What would you expect? The only places open at this time would
be primarily nightclubs and bars.”

“And just a few weeks until I turn eighteen. Once again, bloody brilliant.”

As soon as the words had left his lips, Harry's head shot up.

“Wait a minute. You're eighteen.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “And that would matter why?”

A mischievous grin appeared on Harry's face.

“Because you can go into nightclubs and bars.”

Hermione's head was turning from side to side before Harry could finish his sentence.

“Absolutely not. I am not getting us into a club.”

“Come on, Hermione. Just a small bar. Not even to drink. Just to kill some time. I mean, what time is it? One in the
morning? We can't just sit out here for the rest of the night.”

“Au contraire, Mr. Potter…”

“Just for a few hours.”

Harry watched the range of emotions that crossed Hermione's face in quick succession: outrage, hesitation,
thoughtfulness, more outrage, annoyance. He smiled broadly as grudging acceptance finally graced her features.

“Fine,” Hermione said coolly. “And I know just where we're going.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

14. A Night Down Under

Located directly below this author's note is an Australian lingo dictionary, which I know you will all need. Unless
you're actually Australian. And if that's the case, please don't be offended by the lingo overkill. Also, the drinks are
all named for fireworks and a Manticore is a creature with a human head, the body of a lion, and the tail of a scorpion.
For those of you that don't know.

As always, please review! I appreciate those of you who have already!

AUSTRALIAN LINGO

Pom/Pommy: someone from England. Aka a Brit

Stickybeak: a nosy person

Sheila: girl

Ace: Excellent

Bunyip: an Australian mythical creature

Off my face: drunk

Pig's arse: I don't agree

Wowser: spoil sport

Ripper: Great

Not worth a Zack: not worth anything

Cadbury: cheap drunk

Chapter 14: A Night Down Under

Harry followed Hermione as she walked briskly through the darkened streets. Though he was quite pleased that his friend
had consented to his plan, he was also immensely curious as to where she was leading him.

They had already passed at least half a dozen bars, but Hermione continued to stride assuredly past them. Harry's
perplexed expression grew when she finally stopped before a small fountain.

The circular fountain was extremely simple. Small jets of water shot upwards from the sides, creating a dome as they met
at their peak to cascade back into the pool. No markings or symbols adorned its base.

Hermione smiled at the tiny display. “I knew I would find it eventually,” she said triumphantly.

“Hermione, when I said I wanted a drink, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind.”

Hermione shot him a dark look. “For one, I am not buying you a drink, and for another, just shut up for a minute while I
try to remember how to go about this.”

Harry laughed. “Since when do you need silence to think? You would've ditched me and Ron years ago.”

It looked as though Hermione was about to retort, but then she shrugged. “I suppose I can give you that one.”

But Harry decided to keep his mouth closed as Hermione thought.

It didn't take her long.

“That's it!” she exclaimed, pulling her wand from the waistband of her jeans. She then proceeded to circle the perimeter
of the fountain, allowing the tip of her wand to graze each spout of water has she went. It appeared to Harry that the
water began to emit a soft glow.

When Hermione was once again standing by Harry, she tucked her wand back into her jeans and without warning stepped into
the dome of water, disappearing in a wave of shimmering light.

Shaking his head at his friend's lack of explanation, Harry followed her immediately. As he ducked beneath the water, he
was met by a sensation that he imagined would be similar to walking through an Invisibility Cloak. When he emerged onto
the other side, Hermione was waiting for him, grinning slightly.

“So, ready to hit that bar?”

Harry was amused by the light manner in which his pragmatic best friend spoke about going to a pub. “As soon as you
inform where we are.”

“Oh, this is Avalon Square. Basically the Diagon Alley of Sydney. I came here to replenish some supplies when my parents
and I vacationed here.”

While he puzzled over the idea of needing to replenish wizarding supplies during a vacation, Harry surveyed the area
that surrounded him. He and Hermione were standing at the base of a fountain, a fountain much grander than what they had
walked through in the Corso. Even with the small amount of people milling throughout the square, Harry could see that
they were standing at the heart of the plaza, with shops and restaurants spanning out from where he stood. Harry also
noted that there was a broad alley leading away from the square in each cardinal direction - north, south, east, and
west.

“So, which direction shall we go?” Hermione asked, seeming to read Harry's thoughts. Harry shrugged, but nevertheless
began to lead the way down the east alley.

He and Hermione strolled casually down the cobbled street, glancing vaguely at the signs of the numerous shops they
passed: Dak's Strides (a strange shop which sold only peculiar varieties of pants), a tiny store called Inkblot that
carried every type of quill imaginable, a rather exotic looking coffee shop known as Merlin's Muse, and Excalibur, a
medieval-looking wand shop that seemed to have a desire to keep up with the alley's namesake. Before long they came
across a small bar wedged between two large shops whose rickety sign proudly proclaimed itself as The Manticore.

“This should do it,” Harry said pleasantly, gallantly stepping forward and opening the door for Hermione.

“Of course you'd pick a bar named after one of the most deadly creatures in known history,” Hermione grumbled. “I can't
wait to see what kind of lovely atmosphere this place has.”

It seemed that she was beginning to lose some of that nonchalant confidence as she was faced with the reality of
actually stepping foot in a place that served solely alcohol. With slight hesitation Hermione walked timidly through the
door before snatching up Harry's hand to lead him to a secluded corner of the nearly empty bar.

A scruffy bartender approached them as they sat down on the bar-stools, wiping the inside of a glass with a rag.

“G'day! What can I get ya?” he said in an extremely thick Australian accent. The man seemed quite pleasant despite the
time of night.

Harry spoke up immediately. “Well, I'll have a -”

“He'll have a butterbeer,” Hermione replied.

The bartender spoke before Harry could protest. “Well, it looks like we got us a couple of pommys here! Haven't had a
pom come in here since we heard about You-Know-Who kickin' the bucket. How are things up there?”

Though it appeared that Harry was about to fall out of his seat, Hermione kept her cool. “Oh, things are about as you'd
expect them to be. We're still mourning our losses, but everything's slowly returning to normal.”

The burly man nodded wisely. “Too right. Well, I'll stop being such a stickybeak and get on with my job. Have you
decided what you want?”

Hermione smiled sweetly. “What would you suggest Mr. …?”

“Paul,” the man said. “Just Paul. Well, for a young Sheila such as yourself, I might suggest a Diadem or a Cherry Bomb.
The Diadem's a little stronger, but it's got more flavor to it than the Cherry.”

“I suppose I'll try the Diadem, then,” said Hermione.

“Ace!” Paul then pulled his wand his pocket and with a quick flick set Hermione's drink preparing itself. “And how about
you?”

He turned expectantly to Harry and then cocked his head curiously. “You look mighty familiar to me, mate. Have you been
in here before?”

Harry sighed, agitated that he'd be recognized so far away from home.

“No, I haven't.”

“No? I know I've seen you before, or I'll be a wild bunyip! Were you in that vegemite-eatin' contest back in `95?” Harry
shook his head, barely suppressing a grin. Paul looked as if he was beginning to get frustrated with himself. “Maybe a
name will spark something. What's your name?”

Harry saw no point in trying to deceive the bartender.

“Harry Potter,” he said.

A laugh of bewilderment left Paul. “Well, I'll be stuffed! I've been standin' here flappin' my gums and didn't notice
the bloke sittin' in front of me was Harry Potter! I must be off my face!”

Hermione interjected quickly. “I don't mean any disrespect, sir, but would you mind keeping it down? We're on a bit of a
holiday, and it would be nice to not draw any undo attention.”

Paul quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, glancing furtively around him to see if any of this undo attention had been
drawn to them. Luckily, the few people sitting throughout the bar appeared not to have noticed the bartender's sudden
outburst.

“Oh, no worries!” Paul said in an enthusiastic whisper. “Whatever you want.”

Hermione then gestured to her drink, which had been sitting fully prepared behind the bar for multiple minutes.

“Right! Here ya are. So what will you have?” he said, turning once more to Harry with contained excitement.

“Whatever's good,” Harry said, relieved to have escaped notice.

“Whatever's good that doesn't contain alcohol,” Hermione corrected. “His birthday's not for another month,” she
explained to the bartender.

Paul waved his hands dismissively. “Oh, pig's arse! Don't be such a wowser.”

“Yeah, Hermione, don't be such a wowser,” Harry said cheekily.

“You said you're on a sort of a holiday, didn't you? So loosen up a bit. Consider it a early birthday present,” Paul
said.

The two wizards both waited expectantly for Hermione's reply. She crossed her arms stubbornly as she surveyed their
eager expressions, but eventually she sighed in defeat. “Fine. I suppose he is about to be of age.”

“Ripper! And don't worry your little head off, Sheila. I'll give the bloke something real weak. A Firecracker, maybe.
He'd have to be quite a cadbury to get drunk off of that.”

Harry grimaced at the idea of drinking a beverage called a Firecracker, but decided it'd be better to not push his luck
by requesting something else.

Once Harry's drink was prepared, Paul looked expectantly upon the pair, waiting for them to take sips of his creations.

Hermione now took up her previously-ignored glass and gingerly brought it to her lips, allowing a small amount of the
cool amber liquid. She was delighted to discover that it was extremely refreshing. It had a peculiar taste; the flavors
of mango, strawberry, and apple swirled delectably over her tongue, simultaneously sweet and slightly sour.

“Wow,” Hermione said, taking a larger sip of her drink. She noticed that Harry was also smacking his lips
appreciatively. “How did you come up with this?”

Paul smiled bashfully. “Just tampering around, you know. Blending together this and that whenever it met my fancy. Trust
me, most of the recipes I tried weren't worth a zack.”

“Well, you hit the jackpot with this one,” Harry said.

Hermione nodded in agreement. “By the way, why is this place called the Manticore? It's a rather…well, sinister name for
a place like this.”

“Well, think about it, Sheila. People come in here like normal blokes, and after a couple of drinks they'll feel strong
as a lion, but before long they'll end up gettin' stung in the ass!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

15. Threats

A/N: Hey everybody. This chapter's somewhat worth the wait. Get this - actual emotional progression! This is the first
chapter that's hinting towards more than platonic feelings between Harry and Hermione. It's not that large of a section,
but it'll be popping up more and more frequently now that the seed has been planted. PLEASE read and review! I've gotten
like 12,000 hits, so I know you're out there! I'm not going to set a review goal or anything (hate when authors do
that), but it does push me to get the next chapter done in a more timely fashion. I really love feedback.

AUSTRALIAN LINGO

Good onya: well done

Iffy: dodgy

Spunky: good looking, hot, sexy

Malley bull: very fit and strong

Tinnie: lucky

Chapter 15: Threats

Hermione was extremely surprised when she and Harry stepped out of the Manticore and was greeted by the light of
morning. She and Harry had been in the bar longer than she had anticipated. A quick glance at her watch revealed that it
was six in the morning.

“Do you think you're parents would be up at this time?” Harry asked as she glanced back up.

Hermione scrunched her nose thoughtfully as she gazed up at the sky. “Well, if it was a weekday they might be up, but as
it's Saturday it might be best to wait a little while longer.”

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. “So what do you propose we do in the meantime?” he said, slightly disgruntled.

Hermione cast her eyes in the general area around her before pointing to a small pet shop across the alley called
Bitzer's Best Beast Shop. “I guess we could go there - I'd like to get Crookshanks some treats for when I see him. It
wouldn't hurt to pick some up while we're waiting.”

“I guess not,” Harry said. “It looks like they're open already. For some strange reason. Who opens shop at six in the
bloody morning?”

“They do, apparently.”

Harry shot Hermione a dark look.

“Okay, shall we go in then?” Hermione asked, clearly noting that Harry was a bit fed up with waiting. Without pausing
for his reply, she opened the door and entered the shop.

A glance around quickly revealed a vast array of animals significantly different from those at home. While owls, cats,
rats, and toads made up the major portion of pets in Britain, Bitzer's Best Beast Shop contained these as well as
snakes, lizards, tortoises, tropical fish, jellyfish, tarantulas, parrots, and even a wallaby that hopped jovially
throughout the room.

“Wow,” Hermione said, walking over and tapping one of the large fish tanks.

“Yeah,” Harry responded, leaping back as the wallaby bounced energetically past him. “I didn't know half of these
animals could even be sold as pets. Legally, at least.”

He paused thoughtfully. “I think a pet wallaby would do Ginny some good.”

Hermione laughed. “Yes, good for Ginny. I don't think the poor thing would be able to keep up with her.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile.

“Fiddlestick.”

Hermione turned swiftly in the direction of the counter, where a dark-haired, blue-eyed, and rather busty woman suddenly
appeared, looking bored.

“Pardon me?” Hermione asked.

“Fiddlestick. The wallaby's name is Fiddlestick. And he is not for sale,” the woman said tonelessly, her eyes following
Harry as he bounded after the tiny kangaroo.

“Harry, stop chasing Fiddlestick!” Hermione hissed, embarassed.

“But that little bugger stole my wallet!” he said, outraged, before his look of anger was exchanged for a lopsided grin.
“Wow. He's more like Ginny than I thought.”

“Yes. Well,” the woman interrupted, her eyes moving slowly from Harry back to Hermione. “May I help you?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, somewhat put off by the woman's lack of expression. She subtly glanced down at her name tag:
Amber.

“Er… Yes, I really just need some cat treats.”

“Delightful,” Amber said in a monotone, gesturing to the wall behind her, which was covered by a vast array of pet
supplies. “Please, take your time to note our wide selection of delicious and healthy treats for animals of any kind or
size. Your pet is our prerogative here at Bitzer's.”

Hermione's brow furrowed slightly. “Yes, well, thank you, but all I need are - ”

“Hermione, I can't talk to this snake!”

Hermione's eyes widened as she turned to look at Harry, who was bent over a tank and looking intensely at the large
snake inside.

“Good onya, mate. That must be reassuring for ya,” came the unchanging emotionless voice of Amber.

Hermione turned back toward her, a fake smile plastered on her face. “Don't mind him. He's never been here before, and
tends to get a little excited about new things.”

Amber raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow, turning her deep blue eyes to look at Harry once again. “He does seem a bit
iffy, don't he? Well I guess blokes as spunky as him can't all be sane.”

Hermione's plastered smile melted instantly. She glanced promptly over at Harry who was bent over and mouthing words to
the agitated snake. “Well… I suppose he is rather…um, good-looking.”

“`Rather good-looking'?” Amber replied, amusement coming into her tone for the first time. “That's bit of an
understatement, Sheila. He looks like someone straight off the telly and he's as fit as a Malley Bull! You sure are
tinnie to have landed that one!”

Hermione opened her mouth to object, and was therefore immensely surprised when she found herself smiling slightly and
uttering a hurried thanks instead. She quickly paid for the cat treats and dashed towards Harry, not caring to be
questioned any farther by the shop-girl. She noticed that Harry was now tapping continuously on the snake's glass tank,
looking annoyed.

“What are you doing?” Hermione said distractedly, still confused and feeling slightly guilty over her lack of denial to
Amber's question. I mean, she hadn't exactly affirmed it, had she? All she'd said was that she was lucky she'd landed
him - that didn't necessarily have to mean anything more than gaining his friendship.

“Well, if you hadn't guessed, I'm trying to figure out why in the bloody hell this snake won't talk to me!”

Hermione thought for a moment, turning to examine the curled up reptile.

“Well…” she said slowly, “If I remember correctly, didn't you get your Parseltongue ability from your connection to
Voldemort? Since Voldemort's dead, it obviously would make sense that you would lose that particular… gift.”

“I suppose that would make sense,” Harry finally said, tearing his eyes away from the tank and turning towards the
numerous cages of owls along another wall. “Just seems strange, though.”

Hermione examined him silently for a moment, watching as he gazed wistfully at the variety of owls.

“Are you interested in buying one?” she said.

“I'm not really sure,” Harry answered, touching the cage of a beautiful snowy owl. “It's not like I don't need one.
Only…I sort of feel like I'd be betraying Hedwig, you know?” He smiled rather bashfully. “Sounds kind of silly, right?
Betraying an animal. But she was still my friend - the first real friend I ever had, actually.”

Hermione reached for Harry's hand and squeezed gently. “That's not silly. I know I'd be pretty upset if something
happened to Crookshanks. And I know you loved Hedwig.”

Harry laughed softly, swiping quickly at his eyes with his free hand. “Well, what about you? I'd think that after about,
oh, seven years in the wizarding world you'd finally get an owl.”

“I've managed for this long, haven't I?” Hermione said. “I don't think waiting a bit longer would kill me.”

“If you insist,” Harry said, a suspicious glint in his eye. “I guess if you're done we can go then.”

****************

Harry was slightly astonished as he and Hermione strode through the neighborhood where Mr. and Mrs. Granger had taken
residence since the start of the Horcrux hunt. Though Harry had by no means expected that Hermione had placed her
parents in some two-bit ramshackle apartment, he was surprised by the beautiful (and large) homes that lined the street
they were on. The pristine houses, immaculate lawns, spectacular view, and overall lovely ambiance of the suburb clued
Harry in to the fact that the Grangers were in quite pleasurable circumstances.

“Geez, Hermione,” he said in awe, “you sure set your parents up.”

She nodded. “Well, I didn't know how long it would be until I came back…or if I was going to come back at all,” she said
quietly. “I wanted to make sure they were comfortable.”

“I'd say mission accomplished, then,” Harry said, feeling guilty for everything she'd sacrificed for his sake. “How
could you afford this, though?”

Hermione smiled. “Harry, my parents are both dentists. Finances aren't a real problem for them.”

“But didn't you keep your old house as well? I know dentists make quite a bit, but I'd imagine that two mortgages might
put a dent in their bank accounts.”

“Not exactly,” Hermione said, grinning guiltily. “My home in Britain is paid for, and let's just say I…negotiated a good
price for this place.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Been Confunding anyone lately?”

“Er, yes. I imagined that it would be too much trouble for my parents to set up another practice here, so I knew they
wouldn't have the greatest influx of cash. You see, Wendell and Monica Wilkins are an accountant and a yoga instructor,
respectively, and they believe that they purchased this house with an inheritance received from Wendell's great-uncle
Landon.”

“Great-uncle Landon must've been loaded,” Harry stated. “May he rest in peace.”

“Very funny,” Hermione said. “Now if you'd take the time to shut your trap, you might notice that we're here.”

They now stood before a lovely two-story home that was on a smaller-scale compared to some of the houses in the
neighborhood. The house was a pale blue with white shutters, and boasted one of the more beautiful gardens in the area
with flowers of every shape and size. Harry and Hermione followed the scattered stepping stone walkway that led to the
front door.

“Nice taste,” Harry observed as they stopped before the door.

“Thanks,” Hermione said. “Now be on your best behavior. I know my parents have met you before, but you were barely
introduced then. And you were twelve,” she added thoughtfully.

“As I recall, I was quite the little charmer when I was twelve,” Harry said.

“The key word there being twelve,” Hermione said.

“Are you saying that I'm no longer charming now that I'm seventeen?” Harry replied defensively.

“To my father, yes, that would be the case,” she said. “What was once a cute little boy with over-sized glasses is now,
at least to my father, a six-foot threat to my well-being.”

“Well, I suppose I am rather intimidating,” Harry said thoughtfully. Then he turned a quizzical look at Hermione. “Wait,
you thought I was cute when I was twelve?”

“Oh, shut up,” she murmured, and pressed her finger to the doorbell.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

16. Reunion

A/N: Hey guys! Here's another update to finish Harry and Hermione's time in Australia! Also, in answer to a question I
received, this story will most likely be between 55-60 chapters when completed, and surpass Goblet of Fire in length,
maybe even Deathly Hallows. Also, thanks to those of you who reviewed! And please continue to do so!

Chapter 16: Reunion

Within seconds the door was opened by a small woman with shoulder-length wavy brown hair who was wearing, Hermione noted
with a pang of amusement, denim overalls. Hermione almost snickered -- her all-too-fashionable mother would never have
been caught dead in such an outfit. Her mother smiled brightly, and Hermione had to control the urge to envelop her in a
bone-crushing hug.

“Why hello!” Hermione's mother said cheerfully, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Can I help you with something?”

Hermione bit her lip, suddenly aware that she had planned nothing beyond this point. How was she going to convince her
parents to let two strangers into their home?

Harry was quick with this realization, however, and promptly stepped forward, his hand outstretched in greeting. “Good
morning, ma'am! Mrs. Wilkins, isn't it? What a beautiful home you have!”

Mrs. Granger smiled all the more brightly, turning her attention to Harry. “Why thank you, young man! It's quite
pleasant to have your hard work appreciated. Now, if you don't mind my asking, what is it that you want?”

Harry flashed his most brilliant smile. “I sure can't get anything past you, ma'am! The two of us were just wondering if
you'd like to learn something about a new line of sweets we're trying to put on the market.”

Mrs. Granger narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What sort of sweets?”

“Sugar-free, of course.” Harry replied without hesitation.

Her demeanor didn't change. “Aren't you two a little old to be selling candy? And too young to be opening a company?”

“What can we say?” Harry said, placing his hand on a bewildered Hermione's shoulder. “We're ambitious.”

A sparkle set into Mrs. Granger's brown eyes, and an ecstatic smile graced her features. “Well I should say so! I
suppose it wouldn't hurt to hear a bit of what you have to say.” She opened the door a bit wider to allow their entry as
she yelled for her husband.

“A sugar-free candy company?” Hermione said incredulously as she and Harry were led to a small sitting room.

“She bought it, didn't she?” Harry replied smugly. “I suppose it's the dentist in her.”

Hermione's only response was a roll of her eyes. She fought to hold back a smile but failed miserably. Damn his charm.

As soon as Mrs. Granger had settled them onto a soft red sofa, what could only be Mr. Granger entered the room. He was
wearing a pair of thin wire glasses low on his nose, and familiar brown eyes peered over them to gaze irritably at his
wife. Hermione noted with a shock that in addition to his short-cropped brown hair, he had apparently decided to grow a
beard.

“Can't you ever let me read the paper in peace?” he said, waving a newspaper in the direction of his wife. Hermione
couldn't help but smile. Same old dad. “I thought you were going out to tend the garden.”

“I was, but these two intercepted me at the door. They have a business proposition to discuss with us.”

Mr. Granger raised his brows. “Oh, really? Let's hear it then,” he said, taking a seat next to his wife across from
Harry and Hermione.

Before either could respond, Crookshanks suddenly slunk into the room. Hermione had to suppress a cry of glee as the cat
turned its yellow eyes to her. Then the cat, in an unusual show of excitement, dashed to his owner and leapt onto her
lap, mewing furiously and rubbing his head delightedly against Hermione's arm.

Mrs. Granger looked a bit surprised as Hermione began stroking the cat, a huge smile on her face at her reunion with her
pet.

“That's strange - he never seems to take to people like that.”

Hermione slowed in her petting, and glanced up nervously. “I suppose I'm just good with animals,” she said, removing
Crookshanks regretfully from her lap.

“I guess so,” said Mrs. Granger as the cat jumped lightly onto her own lap. “Anyway, what about this business
proposition?”

The couple looked expectantly at the teenagers, and Hermione let out a deep sigh. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins, the truth
is…” Hermione quickly drew her wand and pointed it at the astonished couple. “You aren't really Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins!”

“Real subtle, Hermione,” Harry murmured.

Hermione's parents stood in surprise (causing Crookshanks to zoom from the room), but before they could do anything she
had cast the counter-spell, the force of it pushing them back into their seats. The pupils of their eyes flashed white
for the briefest second before returning to their natural shade. Hermione watched her parents anxiously as they shook
their heads in a disoriented manner, casting their eyes confusedly about the room.

“What's going on?” Mrs. Granger said, looking with perplexed expression at her own attire. “And what on God's earth am I
wearing?”

Hermione grinned in triumph; this was her mother, all right.

“And what's on my face?” Mr. Granger said, looking as puzzled as his wife as he stroked his newly discovered beard. He
glanced at his daughter suspiciously. “Perhaps Hermione would like to fill us in?”

“Gladly,” Hermione said, and for the first time in over a year she walked over and hugged her parents fiercely.

She spent the next hour informing Mr. and Mrs. Granger of all that had occurred in the last year. Or most of it, at
least. Hermione had always had limitations on what she told her parents about magic, and this was no exception. She told
her parents that she had placed them under an identity-changing spell to protect them (“Not from fashion, obviously,”
Mrs. Granger had said sullenly. “I would never be caught dead in this outfit.”) and a brief outline of the adventures
she and Harry and Ron had had. Mrs. Granger particularly seemed to enjoy the snippet about the dragon (“A real dragon?
Right under London? And to think I've been worried about the neighbor's dog getting loose in the street.”).

However, Mr. Granger did not seem quite as thrilled with these adventures as his spouse was. Hermione guessed it might
have something to do with the fact that she had shared a tent with two boys for almost a year. She watched
apprehensively as her father looked Harry up and down, glaring slightly. Harry didn't exactly look comfortable either.

“So, Harry, is it? Is this all that happened on this little adventure of yours?” Mr. Granger said affably, standing up
and placing a large hand on Harry's shoulder. Hermione noticed that her father was at least a good four inches shorter
than Harry's six-foot-one. Maybe five inches.

“Yes, sir, I believe Hermione pretty much covered everything,” Harry answered, fidgeting nervously.

“Are you positive about that, Harvey?” Mr. Granger said.

“Benjamin, stop interrogating the boy,” Mrs. Granger said in exasperation. “And you know good and well that his name is
Harry. Hermione talks about him enough after all.”

Hermione bowed her head slightly in hopes of hiding the blush that had spread to her cheeks.

“What are you talking about?” Mr. Granger said, releasing his grip from Harry's arm and turning to his wife. “We were
just having a friendly conversation.”

“Sure you were, darling,” Mrs. Granger said. “And if you were any friendlier you would probably be arrested for assault.
Now come sit down and let them finish their story.”

Mr. Granger submitted to his wife's request and returned to his seat, mumbling slightly under his breath. Hermione was
amused by this newfound side of her father. The usually quiet tempered, thoughtful, scholarly man rarely confronted
people in such a rude manner. It appeared that teenage hormones brought out the worst in adults as well.

“Well, I don't think there's much else to tell,” Hermione said, turning her eyes to her mother as Harry also settled
himself back into his original seat. “After the war ended, I spent a few weeks at the Burrow with Ron's family, helping
with post-war repairs and what not. And this morning I went over to Harry's home and asked him to accompany me to come
here and bring you both back to England.”

“So soon?” Mrs. Granger sighed, casting her eyes longingly out of the living room window. “But we've just arrived!”

“Obviously not, Katherine,” Mr. Granger said. “From what Hermione tells us, we've been in Australia for over a year. I
think we've been away quite long enough.”

Mrs. Granger sighed exaggeratingly once more. “I suppose you're right,” she said, standing up abruptly and smoothing out
the wrinkles in her overalls. “Well, let's get to it, then. No point in dilly-dallying. I imagine my house-plants are
dead-as-a-doornail by now.”

“No offense, mother,” said Hermione, “but they probably would have been dead whether or not you were actually at home to
water them. I really don't know how you managed to keep that front garden in such good shape.”

“I have a garden?” Mrs. Granger said dubiously, ignoring her daughter's first comment. She scampered over to the window
and looked into her front yard. “Huh. Well what do you know! Mrs. Wilkins apparently had quite the green thumb.” She
turned excitedly. “Maybe it rubbed off on me!”

“I doubt it,” Mr. Granger said.

“And why would that be?” Mrs. Granger asked, her hands on her hips.

“You've never been able to keep a plant alive for more than a few weeks before. I just don't think a few months with
another person's psyche would change that.”

“I think it might.”

“Honey, you've killed plastic plants before,” Mr. Granger said soothingly.

Mrs. Granger's shoulders slumped in defeat.

**********

Harry spent the next few hours helping the Grangers pack up their belongings. The procedure went by much more quickly
than it would have the Muggle way. Harry and Hermione would levitate the objects Mr. and Mrs. Granger would set aside
into their respective boxes, shrink the boxes, and then place the shrunken boxes into another box. By the time noon
rolled around, the house was almost bare and it would appear to any passerby that the Grangers only had a box of
belongings to their names.

“The little boxes are so cute!” Mrs. Granger said happily, holding one of sugar-cube sized boxes up to the light. “And
to think that my entire shoe wardrobe fits in there!”

“Yes, I would never have guessed it myself,” Mr. Granger said as he placed dinner plates delicately in a padded box (he
didn't trust Harry's magic with the fragile china and Hermione was busy with her shrinking charms). “Though, frankly,
I'm still flabbergasted that they can fit in the city of London.”

Mrs. Granger sneered slightly at her husband as she replaced the little box. Her daughter quickly added a few more of
the little boxes and then sealed the larger box with a final flourish of her wand.

“Well,” Hermione said, “I think that's everything.”

“It appears so,” Mrs. Granger said, surveying the empty room they were in. “That didn't take long at all. We would have
been here for hours if it hadn't been for you two.”

“Technically, we wouldn't be here it all if it hadn't been for those two,” Mr. Granger said, and was met with a quick
elbow in the gut, courtesy of Mrs. Granger. “I was only kidding!” he groaned, rubbing his stomach slightly.

“We really do appreciate it,” Mrs. Granger said sweetly, patting her husband on the back. “Don't we, Ben?”

“Yes, we do,” Mr. Granger grumbled, and retrieved his wallet from his back pocket as he turned to Harry. “I suppose I
should give you a little something for your troubles,” he said, flipping the wallet open and ruffling through some
bills.

“Oh, no sir, that won't be -” Harry froze mid-sentence, and swiftly smacked his fist into his forehead.

“Damn it!” he exclaimed. “Fiddlesticks still has my wallet!”

Mr. Granger looked at the boy oddly. “Excuse me?”

“Dad, Fiddlesticks is a wallaby,” Hermione explained, giggling at Harry's dilemma.

Hermione's father shook his head. “You do realize that clarifies absolutely nothing for me, right?”

“Sorry, Hermione,” Harry said, stepping slightly away from Mr. Granger. “I'd help unpack at your parents' house, but I
really need to go take care of this.”

Hermione laughed. “Yeah, I bet Fiddlesticks is maxing out your credit card as we speak.”

“First of all, you know I don't have a credit card, and secondly, the little bugger probably would be if I actually did
have one,” Harry said. “How about I meet you there in a bit?”

“Sure, that's fine,” Hermione said. “But you don't have to come over there if you have other things to do.”

“No, I want to,” Harry said. “This shouldn't take too long.” And with a pop he Apparated out of sight.

Mrs. Granger clapped her hands together in delight. “That's amazing! And that's so sweet of him to come and help us
unpack.”

“Yes, that is rather sweet of him,” Hermione said, a pink tinge coming to her cheeks.

“And how are we getting back?” Mr. Granger said.

“Do you have your stuff?” Hermione replied.

Mr. Granger simply held up the box in response.

“We're leaving the same way he just did,” Hermione said. “Can one of you pick up Crookshanks?”

Mrs. Granger lifted the cat into her arms, and then went nervously to Hermione's side. Hermione then gripped both of her
parent's tightly by the arm and disappeared from the house, feeling that a new life, a life truly free from war, could
finally begin.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

17. Sincere

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! Enjoy!

Chapter 17: Sincere

“So…you seem rather fond of Harry,” Mrs. Granger said casually, replacing glasses in the kitchen cabinets of her old
home.

Hermione felt her cheeks redden slightly, and she quickly began rifling through another box on the counter to disguise
this from her mother. “Of course I am,” she answered, attempting to sound casual. “Why wouldn't I be fond of him? He's
my best friend.”

“Of course he is, sweetie. It just seems like you're fondness extends a bit beyond that level. Have the two of you ever
dated before?”

“Mother!” Hermione squealed, spinning to face Mrs. Granger with her hands on her hips.

“Oh, Hermione, don't get your knickers in a knot. I was just curious. You two just seem quite close. I won't discuss it
if it makes you uncomfortable.” Mrs. Granger began to return to her task as a look of relief passed over Hermione's
face.

Katherine suddenly spun back to face her daughter again. “So you haven't dated?”

Hermione sighed, quite aware that her mother would continue on the subject until her curiosity was abated. “No, Mother,
Harry and I have never dated.”

“Really? Not even one date?” Mrs. Granger said, an incredulous expression on her face.

“No, Mother, not even one date,” Hermione replied in exasperation.

Katherine pursed her lips slightly and finally turned her back on Hermione. “That's surprising.”

Hermione examined Mrs. Granger inquisitively, willing herself to let the conversation drop, but she couldn't resist.
“Why is that so surprising?” Hermione asked, strangely agitated that she was actually interested in what her mother had
to say on the subject.

“Oh, it's just a hunch,” Mrs. Granger said indifferently. “As I said, you seem to like him quite a lot, and it seems to
me that he likes you quite a lot as well.”

“What makes you say that?” Hermione asked, intensely wishing her curiosity would abate.

“I don't know…just something about the way he looks at you. It's so…” Mrs. Granger paused, lowering her hands to the
counter as she pondered the word she was looking for. “Sincere.”

“What does sincerity have to do with anything?” Hermione asked, furrowing her brow.

Katherine turned to her daughter with an expression of disbelief. “What does…Hermione, sincerity has to do with
everything. Sincerity is what sets people apart— the posers from the genuine.” Katherine gripped the glass she was
holding with both hands, staring at her daughter with a dreamy look in her eyes. “It separates flings and mere
infatuation from true love. You can't really be in a head-over-heels, fairytale sort of true love unless you're sincere
about it.”

Hermione practically gaped at her mother's rather romantic interpretation, and Katherine responded with a rather
indignant look of her own. “Well, what did you expect? I do actually like your father if you can believe it.”

Hermione laughed. “It's not that. It's just that your explanations tend to be a bit more blunt and straightforward than
that. Not so dressed up.”

“Some things need to be embellished. Do you mind finishing this up for me? All this romantic talk makes me want to check
up on your father.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. “You're not going to kiss him, are you?”

“Oh yeah,” Katherine said, amused. “I'm gonna plant a big one on him.” She started to walk towards the door as her
daughter resumed replacing the china.

“Mom?” Hermione suddenly blurted.

Katherine turned to face her as she reached the door. “Yes?”

Hermione turned from the cabinet and looked at her mother with an intensely hopeful look in her eyes.

“Do you really think he likes me? Like really likes me?”

Katherine smiled at her daughter softly. “I have no doubt in my mind.”

And then she left the kitchen, leaving her daughter standing alone and thoughtful in the kitchen.

***************

Hermione walked sullenly through her house, replacing random knick-knacks throughout the rooms as best she could by
memory. A picture frame there, a vase here, books on the mantle, a clock on a particular shelf…

She was paying little attention to her actions, hoping her eyes and hands would accomplish the task while her mind
wandered. She was extremely annoyed with herself for giving homage to her mother's suggestions, but she just couldn't
help herself. She hated to admit it, but there were some aspects concerning Harry that revealed a certain vulnerability
within her.

Hell, most things concerning Harry revealed vulnerabilities within her.

Such as this, Hermione thought to herself as she observed that she had propped books up throughout her living room as if
they were picture frames. She probably wouldn't have even noticed had she not attempted to hang a dog-eared copy of The
Scarlet Letter on a nail above the fireplace. With a huff she went around the room once more, replacing the items back
in the box from which she had retrieved them and abandoning the box next to the sofa; her mother would get to it
eventually.

She trudged lethargically up the steps, massaging her brow and desiring nothing more than to collapse into her old bed.
She pushed open the door and glanced around happily. Hermione had not needed to move her own possessions to the house in
Australia, and so her room looked more or less exactly as she had left it: pale lavender walls, white furniture, a
built-in bookcase that took up an entire wall. She knew the only difference would be within the closet, where she had
not yet been able to replace the clothing she had packed a year previously.

After her precursory observations, she promptly fell back onto her bed. She sighed blissfully as her head sank into her
pillows, and her eyes drifted shut…

“I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted.”

Hermione's eyes shot open and she bolted upright, an involuntary shriek escaping her lips. Technically she had realized
it was Harry the moment he had spoken, but her fatigue caused her to realize this about two milliseconds too late. She
heard her mother call from downstairs:

“Hermione, what's wrong? Are you okay?”

“It's nothing, Mum,” Hermione called back. “There's only a boy in my room.”

There was a short pause before her mother's reply. “That's lovely, dear. Don't worry, I won't tell you father!”

Harry snickered slightly from the doorway. Hermione wrinkled her nose at him in response. “I'm glad you made it back,
and all, but you're a bit too late - all the work's been done.”

“Pity,” Harry said, coming over and sitting next to Hermione on her bed. A shiver raced up her spine as she felt his arm
brush hers. Why did her mother insist on digging up emotions that were buried for a reason?

“What took you so long, anyway?” she said, forcing herself to be calm.

“I got caught up in something,” Harry said, giving her a sly grin. Hermione's eyes widened as he stood up and walked
back towards her door.

“And what might that be?” she said apprehensively, thinking of the shop girl back in Avalon Square.

Harry stood in the hallway, still beaming, and stooped sideways beyond her view. When he stood up, he had a cage in each
hand, from which two owls stared happily.

Hermione sighed in relief, laughter escaping her.

“Oh my gosh, Harry, you didn't just buy me an Australian owl.”

Harry held up the cage of one of the birds, a handsome mottled gray-brown owl with dark russet eyes. “Actually, he's
American.”

Hermione observed that the other bird was a snowy owl with yellow eyes. “So you bought me an American owl?”

A bashful grin crossed Harry's face. “The snowy one is for you, actually.”

Hermione cocked her head inquisitively.

Harry shrugged. “I just don't feel right getting another snowy owl. But even if I don't have one, I felt that you
should.”

Hermione was strangely touched by this confession, and hesitated only slightly before crossing the room to hug Harry
fiercely. He returned the hug as best he could, seeing as he was still clutching two rather large cages.

“Thank you, Harry,” she murmured into his chest. She then leaned back to look him in the face. “But this means that you
can't get me anything on my birthday.”

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. “But if you think about it, this wasn't really a gift. It was a necessity.”

Hermione mimicked his eye roll. “I've gotten by without an owl for seven years - it's not a necessity.”

“How do you know? I have it on good information that the wizarding community was about ready to excommunicate you. I'd
say the prevention of that is quite necessary.”

Hermione giggled. “I suppose that's true.” She pulled away from him and Harry handed over her respective owl.

“Plus, it's about time Crookshanks got a fellow animal pal.”

Hermione smiled slightly. “Actually, I'm probably going to leave Crookshanks here with my parents.”

“Really?” Harry said, surprised.

“Yes…first of all, I don't even have a place of my own to keep him, and I probably won't have near enough time to give
him the attention he deserves. But the main reason is mum - she won't admit it, but I think she's gotten extremely
attached to him. And besides, he's already been with them for over a year…why change things?”

“I guess that's true,” Harry said. “I'm sure your mum will appreciate it.”

“She will. What type of owl is yours anyway?” she asked, changing the subject as she stroked soft white feathers through
the cage. The owl closed its eyes contently.

“It's called a barred owl.”

“Hmm. I've never heard of it.” She settled down on her bed once more, and allowed her owl to come out of its cage, which
it did obligingly. Harry released his owl as well, and they both flew to settle on Hermione's desk. He sat next to
Hermione again.

“Do they have names?” Hermione asked.

“Nope.”

“Well, let's think of something then. I think I'd like to name mine after something literary -”

“Really?” Harry said, mock-confused. “I had no idea you liked books.”

“Shut up. As I was saying, I'd like to name her after something literary… Shakespearean maybe. Like Ophelia or
Rosaline…maybe Bianca since she's white -”

“But I have a feeling all the other boy birds would make fun of him.”

“Oh. You could have told me.”

“I just did.”

Hermione paused, pondering names once more. “Well, in that case…there are more male names to go through...Oberon, maybe.
Or Lysander. Maybe a Hamlet character, like Laertes or Marcellus -”

“What was that last one?” Harry asked, interrupting her suddenly.

“Laertes?”

“No, the other one,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“Marcellus?”

“Yeah, Marcellus. I think I like that one.”

Hermione looked appraisingly at her owl. “I suppose he does look like a Marcellus.”

“Okay, how about my owl, then?” Harry said, lying back against Hermione's pillows. “Maybe something non-Shakespearean,
though.”

“Something literary still?”

Harry nodded. “Sure. He looks pretty well-read.”

Hermione turned to observe her large array of books, scanning the titles for some inspiration. She paused on her
collection of Jane Austen novels, and glanced at Harry's owl, who was moving over slightly to allow Marcellus a bit more
room. Quite gentlemanly.

Her eyes lit upon Pride and Prejudice.

“Fitzwilliam,” she said immediately. “Definitely Fitzwilliam.”

Harry glanced at her strangely. “Fitzwilliam.”

“Yes. As in Mr. Darcy. You could call him Fitz for short.”

Harry laughed. “Okay, Fitz then. Either way, it's a hell of a lot better than Pigwidgeon.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

18. Scrutiny

A/N: Another update! Hopefully you guys are enjoying it, because I haven't heard from too many of you guys. Thanks to
you guys who have, especially AStatine and EmmaRadcliffe for reviewing regularly. I really do appreciate them. Also, in
case I haven't mentioned already, I have a large arsenal of chapters saved up, so these frequent updates will be regular
for a while. However, it did take me a while to save up such a large amount, so I'll give you a warning when the updates
will slow.

Anyway, please enjoy and tell me what you think. Next chapter, Hermione gives Harry a special gift for his birthday. An
entirely innocent gift, mind you. Just in case some of you, like my dirty-minded beta, jump to some other conclusion.

Chapter 18: Scrutiny

Harry sat restlessly, fidgeting nervously with the sleeves of his robes. He glanced about at the other young wizards
sitting around the room in the Auror office. A thin mousy wizard paced constantly around the room, silently talking to
himself in a very concentrated fashion. Another stout dark-haired man sat rigidly in his seat, patting his hand against
his leg. One other wizard sat across the room from Harry, though he appeared more-or-less at ease. He seemed to be about
the same height as Harry, but a bit more sturdy in build and with thick blond hair slicked back over his head.

Harry attempted to flatten his own hair, against his better judgment - he knew it was a losing battle.

All four men's eyes shot towards the door as a petite brunette witch opened it. She smiled warmly at the wizards before
consulting a clip board she held against her chest.

“Hmm. Jeffrey Hannigan?”

The dark-haired wizard stood up quickly and crossed the room in large strides, as if he were worried the young
receptionist would slam the door in his face if he didn't get to her in time. She closed the door and the mousy guy
continued his pacing with renewed vigor.

Harry sank back into his chair a bit more comfortably and took a breath. He then noticed the blonde man staring at him,
his brow furrowed. Harry picked up a magazine sitting on a table next to him and perused it with faux interest, hoping
the man would look away.

Of course, instead the man stood up, crossed the room and sank into the chair next to Harry's.

“John Mitchell,” he said, proffering his hand to Harry. “I usually go by Mitch, though.”

“How's it going?” Harry replied, clasping Mitch's hand. He was reluctant to give out his name to potential competition.
However, he also noted that Mitch appeared to have an American accent - maybe he wouldn't recognize the name anyway.

Mitch smiled, sensing the unwillingness, and withdrew his hand. “I'm assuming you're here to get into training?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. You too?”

“Yep. I just hate all of this interview bullshit. They'd be better off throwing us together and letting us duke it out.
Being able to spout off credentials and spells and other crap won't get you anywhere if you can't really use them in
tough situations.”

Harry could practically feel the glare from the pacing wizard boring into the side of his head. So that's why he'd been
talking to himself.

“I guess I have to agree with you a bit there,” Harry said. “It's just going to get a lot of people killed if you freeze
under pressure.”

“Right.”

“So you think you'll get in?” Harry asked.

“Pretty sure. My dad was Head Auror for the American Agency,” Mitch said.

“What brings you over here?”

“I wanted to make my mark somewhere else, and Britain seemed to be a pretty good place to do some dark-wizard-catching.”
He then flashed Harry a somewhat bashful grin. “And the fact that my girlfriend lives here was a bit of a plus as well.”

“So the truth comes out,” Harry said jokingly, grinning as well.

The young receptionist suddenly entered the room once more. Jeffrey Hannigan stepped out and immediately began his trek
to the Atrium, a look of pure relief on his face. The witch checked her clipboard, and Harry watched as her eyes widened
a little. She composed her face as well as she could as she spoke his name:

“H-Harry Potter?”

Harry stood up and brushed his way past the thin wizard who now stood rooted to the spot and looked rather angry at the
loss of an impartial competition. No doubt the conqueror of the wizarding world's greatest threat would get the job.

“How are you doing, Mr. Potter?” said the brunette witch with forced calmness as she shut the door. She was positively
shaking as she observed Harry with a wide smile.

Harry responded in a similarly polite manner. “I'm doing fine, Ms….?”

The woman smiled even wider, though Harry had not thought this possible. “Oh! Melanie! You can call me Melanie!” she
said excitedly.

Harry's reply was smothered by a loud voice coming from the room down the hallway. “Melanie! I don't pay you to stand
around all day! Do I have another interview or not?!” the voice barked.

Melanie jumped slightly and scurried down the hallway, pushing Harry along as she went.

“Yes, Mr. Wahler!” she called ahead of her. Just before Harry was shoved through the door, she halted him abruptly and
opened the door rather timidly. He walked in slowly behind her and stood by the threshold as she placed a few papers on
an already cluttered desk before a slender man with iron-gray hair.

Melanie quickly retreated as soon as the papers had left her grasp and left the room. “Good luck!” she whispered, and
the door shut with a rather ominous click.

Harry stepped forward nervously as Mr. Wahler perused what he could only assume was his application. He perched himself
stiffly upon the edge of the chair in front of Wahler's desk and glanced around.

The room was rather blandly decorated - a single picture adorned the neutral toned walls and the only furniture
consisted of the chairs and desk he and the Head Auror occupied. The only part of the room that was crowded was a
bookcase near the door that was overflowing with all sorts of textbooks - Defense, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration -
really anything that could aid a dark wizard catcher in any manner. Harry also noted a name card sitting among the
disarray of reports and cases which revealed that Wahler's first name was Alec.

Wahler suddenly made a small, slightly interested noise as he observed Harry's résumé. Dark eyes flashed upwards to
study the young wizard.

“Mr.…Potter,” the man said slowly. Harry noted the gravelly tone of his voice and was suddenly drawn to an ugly scar
that stretched across his neck.

Harry offered his hand just as Mitch had done to him. “Mr. Wahler,” he intoned back as Alec gripped his hand in a strong
handshake. He couldn't help but feel slightly inept before this obvious veteran.

Something about Wahler intrigued him. Harry hadn't been in the room for three minutes and he already held a complete
respect for the man. Alec wasn't the biggest or strongest out there, but his demeanor suggested he was an exceptionally
tough and competent Auror. Kingsley had obviously picked an excellent candidate to replace him as the head of the
department.

Wahler gave Harry a thin-lipped smile as he withdrew his hand. “I can't say I'm too surprised to see you here, Mr.
Potter.”

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. Survived the Killing Curse as an infant, exceptionally talented in Defense Against the
Dark Arts, and vanquisher of the darkest wizard ever known. Of course Wahler wasn't surprised to see Harry in an Auror's
office.

Wahler stood up suddenly and walked around his desk. He gave Harry a hard look before passing him to stand in front of
the bookcase. Their backs were to each other, and Harry fought the urge to turn, instead choosing to stare blankly at
the chair Wahler had just occupied.

Silence reigned in the room for several minutes, the only sound coming from Harry's watch. Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic… The quiet
was unnerving, but Harry refused to let the tactic faze him. Or at least Harry refused to let Wahler know it fazed him.

Finally, Harry heard movement from behind him; it sounded as though Wahler had begun pacing. Alec's next words came as
slowly and deliberately as the rate he walked.

“What are you doing here, Potter?”

Harry furrowed his brow, still facing the empty chair. “I'm here to interview for a job, sir.”

A hollow laugh met this response.

“Do you honestly think I have any other choice but to hire you?”

Harry suddenly felt cold, and he stood up from his chair to face Wahler.

“I don't know what to think, Mr. Wahler,” Harry said. “I came here for just the reason I told you - to interview for a
job. I didn't come here expecting handouts because of who I am or what I've done.”

“Well, that isn't possible,” Wahler replied gruffly. “You can't change your identity or your past, and sometimes
handouts are given even if they're unwanted.”

Harry took a few moments to reply.

“I expect to be treated the same as any other wizard or witch that has applied for this position. And if you're not
willing to do that, I'll just find a different job.”

The young wizard and veteran stood facing each other, glaring into one another's faces. Harry imagined he was about to
be thrown out of the office when a cold smile suddenly appeared on Wahler's face. The wizard circled back around and sat
in his chair with an air of satisfaction.

“That'll be all, Potter.”

Harry's heart sank, but he nodded resolutely nonetheless and gripped the brass door handle to exit the room, all hopes
of his dream career gone in a matter of minutes.

“You start on Monday.”

Harry paused, his hand still on the doorknob, and turned his head to look at Wahler, who still wore a small smirk.

“Sir?” Harry said, unsure if he had heard him right.

“Monday. Eight o'clock. Be here,” Wahler said.

“Really?”

“As I said, I really don't have any choice but to hire you, even if I didn't want to,” Wahler said. “Which I do. I know
you'll make a damn good Auror. Hell, you're a damn good Auror already.” There was that smile again. “But, as you said,
you expect to be treated like everyone else, and I am more than happy to comply. That's why you need to be here on
Monday. That's when training begins.”

Harry felt light-headed with relief. “Yes, sir. I'll definitely be here.”

***************

When Harry arrived back at Grimmauld Place, he noted without surprise that Hermione's jacket was hanging from the coat
rack within the entrance hall. He immediately began walking upstairs, where he was fairly certain he would find her in
the library.

Hermione had been living with her parents for the past few weeks, but she often divided her time between Harry's and the
Burrow. In the meantime she had grown quite fond of the expansive, well-stocked, and now clean ancestral library of
Sirius' family.

He was not disappointed, of course. Hermione lay curled up in one of the chairs within the reading room, skimming
through the print of a large history book. When she heard Harry enter, she promptly shut her book and straightened
within her chair.

“So? How'd it go?” Hermione asked.

Harry smiled, and came to sit on the arm of Hermione's chair. “Well, technically I found it one of the most
nerve-racking experiences of my life. But I got the job if that's what you're asking.”

“That's fantastic, Harry!” Hermione said, hugging him the best she could from their positions on the chair. “When do you
start?”

“Training starts Monday.”

“Really? That soon? Well, I know you'll do great,” Hermione said, rubbing Harry's arm.

“Thanks. Let's hope so.”

“There's really nothing to hope for. You did defeat Voldemort, after all. If anything, you're probably over-qualified,”
Hermione laughed.

Harry rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Being a good duelist is different from being a good Auror. I would never
have gotten close to defeating Voldemort if it hadn't been for you.”

Hermione blushed. “Don't be so modest. I know you could've done it on your own.”

“Yeah, maybe in about fifty or so years.”

“I really don't think you give yourself enough credit,” Hermione admonished.

“I could say the same to you,” Harry replied.

“Hardly.”

“Come on!” Harry said. “You're absolutely brilliant and you don't even own up to it.”

“It's hard to own up to something that you don't own,” Hermione stated with an embarrassed air. “As you said, being a
good duelist is different from being a good Auror; well, being good at schoolwork doesn't constitute brilliance.”

“Well, you are brilliant.”

“And I think you're a good Auror.”

“Fine,” Harry conceded, putting his hands up in defeat. “Let's just say we're both amazingly fantastic and call it a
day.”

Hermione placed her chin between her thumb and forefinger in pretend thought. “I suppose that could work,” she said with
a smile.

“It's settled then,” Harry said, smiling back. They held each other's gaze for a moment, then the doorbell suddenly rang
from downstairs. Hermione shook her head and Harry rose from the chair.

When he had stepped into the hallway, Ginny's voice immediately wafted from the entrance hall. “Harry? Are you here?”

“Up here, Gin,” Harry called back. He waited a few moments for Ginny to ascend the flight of stairs.

Ginny gave him a quick peck on the cheek before flouncing into the library. She paused when she saw Hermione.

“Oh, hey Hermione,” Ginny said. “What brings you here?” The red-head's ice-tinged tone hinted at the slight animosity
she still felt towards Hermione over the two-day disappearing act with her boyfriend.

“I just came by to pick up a book,” Hermione lied, holding up the history book as proof. “Then I remembered Harry's
interview was today, so I waited around for a little while until he got back.” All true technically—just in reverse
order. The real reason was Harry; the real excuse was the book.

Ginny didn't quite appear to buy this statement, but she dismissed it nonetheless, to Hermione's relief. However, she
thought it best to make a hasty retreat in case Ginny rethought her original judgment.

“I was about to leave, anyway.” She quickly stooped and picked up her bag, slinging it across her shoulder as she
avoided Harry's questioning gaze. “Congratulations, Harry,” she said as she brushed between him and Ginny, and left the
room at a brisk walk, only slowing her pace when she had distanced herself from the stifling house.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

19. Happy Birthday

A/N: Hope you enjoy this update! Thanks as usual to those of you who've reviewed! Just to clear a few things up, this
story goes all the way to the epilogue and then a little past it, as I mentioned in the summary. In other words, the
epilogue IS going to happen. However, I've just changed the circumstances leading up to and surrounding it to make in
H/Hr compatible. So everything is canon, but the purpose of the story is to show that H/Hr is still possible even with
the epilogue. :)

Okay, so enjoy! Next chapter, it's Hermione's turn to get a surprise for her birthday. That's right, Hermione's birthday
is finally getting some acknowledgment for once!

Chapter 19: Happy Birthday

Hermione stared blankly out of the window in Ron's room, observing the wilted plants that told of the intense July heat.
She wiped her brow languidly, wishing she had thought to wear shorts.

Ron seemed equally lethargic (unsurprisingly) and lay face down on his bed, mumbling incoherently. She chose to ignore
him, unsure if he had fallen asleep or was simply muttering to himself.

It was only when silence ensued several minutes later that she glanced toward the bed, where Ron was looking at her
expectantly. She assumed his last mumble had been the start of a conversation.

“Sorry, I didn't catch that,” Hermione said apologetically. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you'd given more thought to what classes you're going to take at Hogwarts.”

“Um, not really. I figure I'll just take the same courses I would have if I'd gone to school last year.” When she had
informed the Headmistress that she intended to come back to Hogwarts to complete her seventh year, McGonagall had
generously told Hermione that she could take as few classes as she desired, depending on her choice of career.
Considering the fact that she had absolutely no idea what she career she wanted, she imagined she would simply cover her
bases by taking all of the basic courses.

“What about you, Ron?” Hermione asked as nonchalantly as possible. Ron had so far shown no indication whatsoever of
taking a step towards finding a job, a fact that was beginning to aggravate her. He hadn't given so much as a hint of
what he wanted to do. She had refrained from mentioning it to him to avoid seeming insensitive, but now that Harry had
taken the initiative to get work, Ron really had no excuse. In fact, she had been immensely surprised when Ron had not
signed up to interview with Harry.

“What do you mean?” he said, flipping onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

She furrowed her brow, trying to breach the subject gently. “Well, I'm going to finish my seventh year at Hogwarts. What
are you going to do in terms of, you know, finding a career?”

Ron frowned. “I'm not sure yet.”

“You're not going to elaborate on that?”

“There's not much else to say,” Ron shrugged.

Hermione sighed. “Surely you have some idea.”

“Actually…there is something I've been thinking about,” Ron admitted.

“That's great! What is it?”

“I don't know…” Ron hesitated, not meeting Hermione's eye.

“Just tell me,” Hermione said. “Surely it can't be that bad.”

“Well…I've been thinking about partnering up with George at the joke shop.”

Or maybe it could be that bad.

Hermione didn't respond for a few moments, gathering her thoughts before she replied. “That sounds, er, interesting.”

Ron rolled his eyes at her less than enthusiastic response. “I knew you'd react like that,” he muttered.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “React like what, exactly?”

“All patronizing and stuff. Just dismissing my idea like I'm five or something.”

“Well, considering you wanted to be an Auror the last time I checked, your downsizing to a clerk at a joke shop isn't
exactly the most admirable move in the world.”

Ron finally sat up, glaring at Hermione. “But it's my move to make, so you don't have much say in it.”

“Oh, but of course,” Hermione fumed. “Only your mother has any sway in your life, after all.”

Ron turned blood-red, sputtering furiously.

Hermione stood up abruptly, sick of the conversation, and stalked across the small room. “I'll see you tonight at
Harry's party,” she spat, and promptly slammed the door as hard as she could.

**************

Harry sipped reflectively on his butterbeer as he observed the crowd in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place. The showing
was a bit stronger than usual, due no doubt to his defeat of Voldemort.

The majority of the surviving Order occupied the room, including Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge, and Hestia Jones, who
were chatting amiably among themselves. Kingsley Shacklebolt towered over Mr. Weasley and Bill as they attempted to pick
up a particular station on the Wizarding Wireless Network. Hagrid, of course, also stood apart and was engaged in an
animated conversation with Charlie (no doubt about dragons), while Seamus and Dean stood mesmerized before Fleur, who
was trying unsuccessfully to engage them in an intelligent conversation. Even Professor McGonagall attended, though she
was being bombarded with ridiculous chatter courtesy of Xenophilius Lovegood. Percy was the only Weasley who couldn't
attend, and had sent his profuse apologies to Harry.

He had slipped away briefly from Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and, to Harry's great surprise, Hannah Abbott, who had
accompanied Neville to the party, to seek some reprieve from the attention. He was also curious as to where Hermione
was. The party had been going on for at least half an hour, and there was still no sign of her. Hermione was never late
for anything, let alone her best friend's eighteenth birthday party. Harry had questioned Ron upon his arrival about her
whereabouts, but he had simply shrugged and pushed past him to reach the food.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts by a sharp rap on the back of the head and he turned to see George Weasley
grinning back at him.

“Happy birthday, Harry!” he said.

“Thanks, George,” Harry replied, rubbing his head. “How's it going?”

George shrugged. “Can't really complain.”

“Business been good?”

“Oh, yeah, business is great! I'm actually working on a couple of new products. Not really too inspired, but the show
must go on!” he said halfheartedly.

“I'm sure it'll be great,” Harry said. “I heard Ron might be coming to work for you.”

George gave a snort of amusement. “Apparently. He is my little brother. I had to toss the little moocher some sort of a
bone.”

“I hope he chokes on it, too,” came a familiar voice from behind him.

Harry laughed as he turned to see Hermione standing behind him with a slight smile on her face.

“I take it you and Ronniekins had a row?” George said lightly.

“No, of course not,” Hermione said as she helped herself to some punch. “What would make you go and presume something
like that?”

“Wow,” George chuckled. “Ron sure brings out the nastiness in you.”

“Unfortunately,” she muttered into her drink as George walked away. She then hugged Harry fiercely and said, “Happy
birthday, Harry. I'm so sorry I'm late.”

“It's alright,” he said. “I was just wondering where you were.”

She frowned in Ron's direction. “I didn't really go anywhere. I pretty much just walked around for awhile and lost track
of the time.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said. “Who needs emotional upheaval anyway?”

Hermione pursed her lips, suppressing a smile. “Vastly overrated.”

“It's not like talking about your feelings ever helps anybody anyway,” Harry continued dryly. “Bottling your feelings up
is way more effective.”

At that statement, Hermione finally allowed the smile she had been holding back to burst forth, but it faded almost
immediately. “It's not like there's much to talk about anyway. It's really just the usual nonsense he pulls.”

“If it was just the usual stuff, you probably wouldn't have been late,” Harry countered.

Hermione tugged slightly at the sleeve of her shirt, shrugging. “I guess it just bothered me more than it normally
does.”

“Why?”

Hermione thought about it. “I'm not really sure,” she admitted.

Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Hermione turned away slightly, eager to move on to a different subject.

“Anyway, I brought something for you,” she said, picking up a gift from the table that Harry hadn't noticed.

“You didn't set it down when you came in?” Harry asked, referring to the gift table at the entrance of the drawing room.

Hermione bit her lip. “Actually, I wanted to give this one to you in private.”

“Really? Right now?”

“If you wouldn't mind.”

Harry set down his drink. “Of course not. Let's go.”

He immediately grasped her hand and weaved through the crowd to exit the drawing room. Once they reached the hallway,
Harry quickly led Hermione into the nearest bedroom, where the booming from the party was much more subdued. Hermione
immediately sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her gift nervously in her lap. Harry took a seat next to her.

“Ok,” she said, moving to hand Harry his gift, “keep in mind that this isn't just from me. I just put it together.”

Harry accepted the present, and proceeded to unwrap the dark blue paper that covered it. A sleek, mahogany-colored
leather album sat on his lap, not unlike the book he had received from Hagrid in his first year. However, when he opened
it, photos were not brought into view - instead, the pages were filled with writing.

He looked at Hermione questioningly.

“It's from before the war,” she answered. “Before we left to look for Horcruxes.”

She left it at that.

Turning his gaze toward the first letter, he began to read:Dear Harry,

I cannot express just how very proud I am of you. It has been such a wonderful honor to watch you become the brilliant
young man you are today. I do hope I'm not out of line in saying that I consider you one of my own children - and I know
I am not alone in that sentiment. You have no idea how thankful I am that Ronald sat in the same compartment as you on
the train in your first year - he could not have asked for a better friend, and I could not have asked for a lovelier
blessing on our family.

Very sincerely, Mrs. Weasley

Harry smiled softly at the note. There was no replacement for the mother he had never gotten to know, but he knew that
if anyone could possibly come close, it was Mrs. Weasley.

The letter immediately following was from Ginny.Dear Harry,

When I sat down to write this, there was only one thing flashing through my mind, and it was this: I can't believe
you're about to leave. I always hoped there would be more time for us to spend together without worrying about all this
You-Know-Who rubbish. But, as our Hermione would probably put it, the sands of time have slipped through the hourglass,
and our precious time of love and youth is nearly up (I never much understood that Muggle poetry, either).

I really, really, REALLY (hint, hint) wish I could go with you, but I also understand that this is something you need to
do on your own. I will be missing you and thinking of you every moment you're gone. Oh, and don't worry about that whole
defeating-the-Dark-Lord thing. Whenever the time comes, you're going to tear him apart! YOU CAN DO IT!

XOXOXO (Muggle-code for “hugs and kisses.” Cool, right?)

Love forever and always, Ginny

Harry shook his head, grinning, as he turned the page. Leave it to Ginny to make her letter a pep talk.

The next notes he read through were from other Hogwarts students (primarily Gryffindors). Neville, Dean, and Seamus had
all written short letters, as well as Luna, who had included an extensive list of edible plants and insects, most if
which Harry was sure didn't exist.

He thought that he had read through every letter until he turned to the final page, where he was met by Hermione's
unmistakable and pristine writing. Intensely curious, he bent to read once more:Dear Harry,

You have always been such an important person in my life. And I suppose that is precisely why the thought of you no
longer being a part of it terrifies me so much. A short (or maybe not so short) seven years ago, I never would have
dreamed of having a friend like you. I never would have dreamed when I read about you in all those history and defense
books that I would ever meet you, never dreamed that the scrawny (sorry) little boy in that train compartment would be -
and continue to grow up to be - the greatest man, wizard, and friend that I've ever known.

All these years we've been together and you've always been there for me, always been there to rescue me (I'll concede
that I never complain when your “saving-people-thing” is benefitting me) from the biggest or smallest of dangers. I can
always laugh or cry with you, and can always be myself around you. I'll never be able to fully and accurately put into
words how much our friendship - all the times we had at Hogwarts - means to me. I can only hope that my friendship and
presence in your life has been worth half of what yours has been to me.

I'll try to leave all my anxieties and fears about your future on this page, so that I won't be the blubbering mess I am
right now - so I can be strong for you (and me) on this “mission” we soon leave for. I refuse to write down my principal
fear - I refuse to give it the kind of credibility that the written word provides for such absurd thoughts as that. I'll
just leave you with this one last comment. This is a short poem from my readings that won't seem to leave my mind until
I write it down now: “To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it
against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.”

I'm afraid that if this is what is truly required to live in this world, then I fully relinquish my hold on it. The
first two requirements have come to me frighteningly easy, Harry; but this last duty is not one I am prepared to
fulfill. So it is with confidence that I have decided I will not give these letters to you tomorrow as I had intended,
but will instead give them to you when all of this is finally done and over with, when all of us come through on the
other side unharmed and happy, and, most importantly, side by side.

Love always, Hermione

Harry glanced over towards the window, where Hermione stood with her arms crossed. Her foot was tapping nervously,
probably in anticipation of when he read her letter. He stood up from the bed and crossed to her, and she turned toward
him when he had neared.

"Did you finish it?" she asked.

Without answering, Harry enveloped her in his arms, and she melted into his embrace, resting her head against his chest.
“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair. Hermione didn't answer, only squeezing him harder and burying her head deeper.
They stood that way for some time, and eventually returned to the party, where Harry received numerous other gifts:
candy from Ron, Muggle clothes from Ginny, a penknife from Hagrid, a collection of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products
from George specifically intended for Harry's Auror career (Decoy Detonators, Instant Darkness Powder, Extendable Ears
and the sort), and even a Quidditch set from the rest of the Weasleys.

But despite all these gifts, none of them came close to the small album of notes Hermione had given him, heartfelt
messages alluding to a more innocent time not so long ago and the friendships that persisted through it.

And though the party lasted long into the night, for reasons Harry could not understand, the lone memory that persisted
clearly in his mind was the small moment he had shared with Hermione, holding his best friend in his arms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

20. Happy Birthday, Part II

A/N: Is anyone besides me a little peeved that Hermione never got any of her birthdays acknowledged in any of the books?
Well, Hermione's finally going to get a little recognition. Thanks to AStatine and Meli for reviewing!

Chapter 20: Happy Birthday, Part II

Hermione sat solemnly in the Gryffindor common room, staring blankly out onto the grounds with Crookshanks on her lap,
whom she had decided to bring along to provide some temporary company before being returned to her mother. The orange
cat purred rapturously, stretching as Hermione mindlessly trailed her fingers up and down his back.

Hermione had just completed her third week of her “seventh” year of Hogwarts, and they were probably the longest three
weeks she had ever spent at Hogwarts. Without Harry and Ron to break up the monotony of her days, her days were just
that - monotonous. She woke up, washed, dressed, and was out of the dormitory before Ginny and her other roommates
stirred. She then went down to breakfast, where Ginny would eventually join her on most days, and classes filled up the
rest of her afternoon. After this, dinner was followed by homework and bed.

She had initially made a small effort to befriend her other roommates besides Ginny, but she had quickly abandoned that
attempt. She was Hermione Granger, after all, best friend of Harry Potter (whose fame had increased ten-fold since
Voldemort's defeat, especially in the eyes of Hogwarts students), and this was pretty much the only topic spoken of when
Hermione joined the conversation.

Ginny also received a large brunt of these questions, but she seemed to thrive on the attention. Hermione, however,
found the continuous barrage frustrating, annoying, and in many cases inappropriate. To her intense surprise, many of
the older students remembered and still believed the rumors that Rita Skeeter had published in her fourth year. Without
Harry's presence, students apparently had a bit more courage to approach her on the subject, and Hermione eventually
just avoided these little chats altogether.

She missed Harry and Ron terribly, but today she was feeling particularly depressed. It was a beautiful day - cloudless
sky of the brightest blue, a pleasant breeze blowing through the trees, the Black Lake calm except for the small
movements made by the giant squid drifting below the surface. And to top it all off, it was Saturday as well.

Hermione would have normally been in at least a decently good mood, happy and energized by the brilliance of the day,
but today it was impossible. Because it wasn't just Saturday. It was Saturday, September 19. Her nineteenth birthday.

Ginny had greeted her in the Great Hall that morning and presented her with a blouse and skirt from the same Muggle
store she had purchased Harry's gift from two months earlier. Marcellus had dropped off gifts and letters from her
parents, George, and Hagrid, as well as a large cake from Molly delivered by Errol. Ron had sent his gift (perfume) and
a short note along with George's. But no word yet from Harry.

She sighed softly, sinking back further into her chair.

“Why the long face, birthday girl?”

Hermione sat up swiftly, knocking Crookshanks from her lap in the process. She turned her head in every direction to
detect where the voice had come from. A dozen or so Gryffindors milled around the common room, but none were paying her
any particular attention due to her inconspicuous seating choice near the wall.

She furrowed her brow.

“Did I startle you?” came the voice again, and Harry's head suddenly became visible next to her chair.

“Harry!?” she hissed, glancing around the room once more to ensure that no students had noticed his entrance. “What are
you doing here?”

“I'm here for your birthday. Why else?”

“I would hope so,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. “I mean what are you doing here. In the Gryffindor common
room.”

“I had to get you out of here somehow,” Harry answered.

“You could've sent a note with Fitz or something.”

“I wanted to surprise you. And the way you bolted from your chair seems to tell me that I succeeded.” He covered his
head with his invisibility cloak and disappeared from view. “You walk out of the portrait hole, and I'll follow you.”

“Fine,” she muttered, standing up. “You better be right behind me, though.”

She strode briskly across the room and firmly pushed the portrait, allowing it to swing open a bit wider than usual. She
felt Harry brush against her arm and then shut the portrait hole.

Before she could speak, Harry had flipped the cloak over her, enveloping them both in its folds.

“Happy birthday,” he said, grinning at her through the darkness of the cloak.

She smiled back. “I've missed you so much,” she said, barely having to move at all to hug him. “It's not really Hogwarts
without you and Ron here.”

“I've missed you too,” Harry said, breaking away from her and then leading her down the corridor. “I'm sorry I've not
written you that much. Training's been kind of intense.”

“I understand,” Hermione said. “It's not like you have to write everyday.”

“I feel like I should. I'm used to seeing you almost every day, so letters are about as close as I can get to that.
McGonagall won't let me visit too often, though. She's making an exception for today.”

“She is taking her headmistress duties pretty seriously,” Hermione conceded.

Harry nodded as they made their way across the courtyard. “Doesn't surprise me. She's got some big shoes to fill.”

“Yes - it would be pretty difficult to compare to Dumbledore.”

“Anyway,” said Harry, changing the subject, “have you heard from Ron today?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “He sent me a bottle of perfume and a note earlier.”

“Perfume? Again?” Harry said. “He needs to get a little more creative.”

“Well, it smells better than it usually does. That's a plus.”

“True,” Harry said with a smile. “Did he say anything newsworthy? I haven't spoken to him for a few days.”

“Just wished me a happy birthday,” Hermione said, walking quickly to keep up with Harry's longer strides. “He didn't
mention anything about himself.”

“He started work at the joke shop earlier this week. Has he told you that?”

“No,” Hermione said, a bit snidely. “It doesn't surprise me though. I think he's still a little sore that I don't
support his choice.”

“He'll get over it eventually,” Harry said.

Hermione didn't respond for a few moments. “When can we take the cloak off?” she asked, changing the subject as Harry
had. “It's a little stuffy.”

“As soon as we get past the gates,” Harry answered.

When they had reached this location, he lifted the cloak from them and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Hogsmeade, m'lady?” he asked politely. “Just outside the village?”

“Sounds perfect,” Hermione said.

“All right then. See you when you get there.” He Apparated away, and Hermione followed immediately.

*************

They spent the rest of the day in the village, shopping in any store that met Hermione's fancy. Harry insisted on paying
for her expenses, to Hermione's agitation, and he was soon laden down with bags.

After a few hours, Harry suggested they stop in to the Three Broomsticks. Hermione agreed, and they pressed their way
into the crowded pub. Harry pushed his way toward the back, where he placed Hermione's purchases below a small table.
After Hermione had sat down, he pushed his way back towards the bar, returning moments later with two butterbeers.
Hermione took a few sips before speaking.

“So you said earlier that Auror training has been tough?” she said, setting down her bottle.

“Oh, yeah. It's absolutely exhausting. I've finished the Defensive program, which wasn't terribly difficult - protective
spells, countercharms. Really just a little more advanced than what we've already learned. Some basics like Expelliarmus
and more advanced spells like the Patronus charm.”

“You must've breezed through that,” Hermione said.

“More or less. But we've started the Concealment section, and it's a lot more difficult. We were never taught that much
in Hogwarts about disguising spells, so a lot of it's new to me. I was actually thinking about…” Harry paused.

“About what?” Hermione prompted.

Harry drank a swig of his butterbeer. “Becoming an Animagus.”

Hermione's eyes widened. “Really?”

Harry shrugged. “Well, yeah. My dad and Sirius seemed to get pretty good use out of it. And Animagi are considered
pretty valuable in the Auror Department. If I need to learn to conceal myself, I might as well do it right, you know?”

“Of course!” Hermione said. “I think it's a brilliant idea.”

“You do?” Harry asked.

“Absolutely. Who knows, maybe your father being one may give you some kind of advantage. Maybe some kind of hereditary
predisposition.”

“Hopefully,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair where it was balanced on two legs. “This'll probably be the most
difficult thing I do in training. Merlin knows I'm going to need all the help I can get.”

An idea suddenly sprang to Hermione's mind.

“Well, I could help you.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. “Like walk me through the process?”

“Not exactly. I was actually thinking that I would become an Animagus with you.”

Harry's chair fell back to all fours with a loud clatter. “You want to become an Animagus.”

It wasn't really a question, but Hermione answered anyway. “Sure, why not? It sounds like it would be pretty
interesting. Plus, it would be a lot easier to help you if I'm learning with you and know what you're going through.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Leave it to you to decide to learn one of the most difficult forms of
magic because it sounds `pretty interesting.' You just want a challenge, don't you?”

Hermione blushed. She gave a barely perceptible shrug, looking at Harry guiltily with a small smile. “And you don't?”

Harry laughed. “Fair enough. So you really want to become an Animagus with me?”

“I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't want to.”

“Alright then,” Harry said. “You're on. When we get back to the school, I'll ask McGonagall about using the Room of
Requirement a few days a week.”

“And I'll start reading up about it. Maybe McGonagall would have a book concerning the process.”

Harry chuckled once more at Hermione's enthusiasm.

“It's a date, then,” he said, and Hermione was forced to rein in the beam that spread over her face.

************

Harry ascended the steps toward the headmaster's office. He had just left Hermione at the portrait hole of the Fat Lady,
and he figured that he might as well ask McGonagall about the Animagus sessions sooner rather than later.

Harry knocked on the door.

“Come in,” he heard called from within.

Harry pushed open the door and took a precursory glance around the office. To his slight surprise, McGonagall had
imposed little of her personal taste in the room. He was also surprised to see Severus Snape staring distastefully down
his hooked nose from a portrait behind the desk in which Professor McGonagall was sitting.

She glanced up from the parchment she was writing on, and immediately dipped her head downwards once more.

“Mr. Potter. I trust your day has been pleasant?” she said, scribbling away.

“Yes, very. Thank you, Professor.”

“Well, you know where the Floo powder is. Help yourself.”

“Actually, Professor, I needed to ask you something.”

“All right,” McGonagall said. “Go ahead.”

“I was wondering if I could come here a couple of times a week to study with Hermione.”

McGonagall pursed her lips, but continued writing. “What exactly are you studying that requires Ms. Granger's
assistance?”

Harry caught McGonagall's implications, but chose to ignore them.

“Animagi magic.”

That got her attention. She placed her quill in an inkwell and stared at Harry.

“I assume this is for Auror training.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“And I would also assume you know the difficulty of that particular form of magic?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“And you still wish to continue with it?

“Yes, Professor.”

“Why?” she stated bluntly. “There are many other simpler spells that will be sufficient to become an Auror.”

“Well, Professor, to be perfectly honest, your skills in that form of magic have always inspired me,” said Harry
charismatically.

McGonagall smiled. “Mr. Potter, I hope you don't attempt to lie - I mean charm - your employer so blatantly. But, yes,
you may come on Saturdays so Ms. Granger may assist you. And Tuesdays if necessary. You will definitely need the help.
And I will also insist upon you continuing to use that cloak of yours to make your way around the castle.”

“Thank you. I'll get out of your hair now, Professor,” Harry said, grabbing a fistful of Floo powder from a tin on her
desk.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said as he moved towards the fireplace, “since I am no longer your teacher, you do realize you
don't need to refer to me as `Professor' anymore?”

Harry threw the powder into the fire. “Professor,” he said, “since I am no longer your student, you do realize you don't
need to refer to me as `Mr. Potter' anymore?”

McGonagall gave him another small smile, shaking her head as she picked up her quill. She glanced up, a Dumbledore-like
twinkle in her eyes. “Have a good night, Mr. Potter.”

“You too, Professor McGonagall,” Harry said with a grin, and then stepped into the emerald flames, stated his
destination, and disappeared in a flash of green.

**********

A/N: Next chapter, Harry and Hermione start preparing to become Animagi! :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

21. The Iumentum Elixir

A/N: Hey guys! Yet another update for y'all! I think most of you should quite enjoy this one. Please let me know what
you think of it, including the process I came up with for their transformations. Just so you know, their actual
transformations take place in the next chapter…this is their prep for it.

Thanks to Happy, Bexis, justduck, and EmmaRadcliffe for your reviews!

Chapter 21: The Iumentum Elixir

Harry stepped gratefully into the cool corridor on the seventh floor, feeling intensely high-strung as he made his way
down the deserted hall. Almost a full month had passed since he and Hermione had started their plans to become Animagi,
and he was quite anxious to begin the actual process.

When Harry had greeted Hermione in the Room of Requirement a week after her birthday, he had not expected the news she
had told him: to become an Animagus, a potion was required that was similar in composition to the Polyjuice Potion - but
even more difficult to create.

According to Hermione, the potion, known as the Iumentum Elixir, would essentially alter their chemical makeup in a more
permanent and drastic way than the Polyjuice Potion, enabling them to transform. She had spent the three weeks since
then brewing the complicated mixture, and, to Harry's pleasure, it would be ready tonight.

He quickly paced the familiar tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, thinking of the desired room, and the highly polished door
sprang into view. When he entered the room, he saw Hermione sitting cross-legged before two bubbling cauldrons, dressed
in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans (similar to his own attire).

“How's it going?” he said without preamble, sitting down next to her as she added a fistful of fluxweed to each
cauldron.

“Only a few more ingredients,” she murmured, brow furrowed as she measured out essence of belladonna. She carefully
added equal doses to each potion.

“Could you pass me those vials next to you?” she said, stirring in the belladonna in a counter-clockwise rotation.

“Sure,” Harry replied, picking up two small crystal bottles sitting on a table beside him. One looked as though it
contained a clear sparkly fluid; the other was filled with blood.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the vials. “Diluted unicorn horn and dragon's blood. They're only used in the most powerful
potions.” She held both vials over one of the cauldrons and tipped them over carefully, allowing one drop from each to
fall simultaneously into the elixir. She repeated the step with the second cauldron and then dusted her hands off
satisfactorily.

“Done,” she said. “Well, at least as much as I can do. The rest of the steps are personalized.”

“Okay. What do we do?”

“There's a three step process to complete the potion,” Hermione said knowledgeably. “Each step requires a part of the
person who will drink the potion and an incantation. After each step, the potion will change to a shade that
characterizes a certain aspect of the person's personality and a moonstone of that particular shade should be added.”
She paused, gesturing to a small pile of smooth stones in a large variety of shades on the floor behind her. “Moonstones
are used for emotional balance, so I presume they ensure that we keep our human emotions when we transform.”

Harry scratched the back of his head. “That's not complicated at all,” he said sarcastically.

“Piece of cake,” Hermione said, smiling. She pulled a large tome onto her lap and flipped it open to a marked page.
“Okay,” she said, trailing her finger down the page. “The first step requires…” Her eyes searched the book. `“The hair
of the future Animagus.'”

“Easy enough,” Harry replied, reaching over and plucking a strand from Hermione's head.

“Ow!” she yelped, and promptly snatched a hair from Harry's head as well, resulting in a similar bark of pain. Smiling
gratifyingly, she dropped Harry's hair into the cauldron nearest him; Harry did the same with Hermione's. She then
produced her wand and pointed it at her own potion.

“Amitto Humanus!” she said, and immediately repeated the spell over Harry's potion. The mixtures emitted a soft glow,
and then proceeded to change colors: Hermione's to a soft sky blue, Harry's to the purest gold.

“Pretty,” Harry noted dryly.

Hermione giggled, bending over her book once more.

“Alright, let's see,” she said. “Blue…blue…it's says here that this shade of blue indicates `peacefulness, clarity and
communication, truthfulness, and intuitiveness.'”

“I'd say that's accurate,” Harry said. “Well, maybe not the peaceful part.” Hermione slapped him in the arm.

“You're just proving my point, you know,” he said, grinning as he rubbed his arm. “Anyway, what's the gold mean?”

A small pause. “Gold… `the color of enlightenment and divine protection. When seen within the aura, it says that the
person is being guided by their highest good.'”

Harry scowled. “That's just great. Even my potions fawn over me.”

“You know it's right, though,” she said, searching the moonstones for the appropriate colors. When she found them, she
tossed them into the potions, causing them to pop loudly.

She referred to the book once more. “It says the next part requires blood.”

“How much?” Harry said warily, his mind flashing back to the use of his blood for Voldmort's return.

“Just a drop,” she said. “We need a knife, though.”

“Right next to you,” Harry said, amused by the mysterious powers of the room.

Hermione picked up the small dagger and gave her index finger the smallest prick. Harry followed suit, watching as a
small amount of blood beaded over the cut. They held their hands over the cauldrons, and after a few moments a single
drop thumped heavily into the potions.

Pinching her bleeding finger, Hermione once again pointed her wand to each cauldron.

“Novo Bestia!”

The colors began to shift. After a moment, the sky blue had become bright yellow and the gold had turned into a clear
red.

“Gryffindor through and through,” Harry said proudly.

“We'll see about that,” Hermione said, poring over the book. “The Sorting Hat may have been having an off-day. Red's
characteristics are… `powerful, energetic, competitive -'”

She stopped abruptly, cheeks reddening slightly before speaking again. “…sexual, and passionate.”

Harry laughed after a moment. “Spot on if you ask me!” he said cheekily.

But Hermione had already turned to her book, still blushing.

“Yellow,” she said distractedly. “Um, creative…intelligent…detail-oriented and a perfectionist. Obvious, really.”

She told Harry to find the appropriate moonstones as she flipped back a few pages to read the next step. When he had
found them, he tossed them into their respective potions.

“Consciousness is the last bit,” she said as the elixirs popped again. “A piece of your mind. The book says it's the
most important part of the potion.”

“How do we put a piece of our consciousness in there?” Harry asked, intrigued.

Hermione laid the book aside a twisted herself slightly to face Harry. “It's just like a Pensieve, really. Except you're
not picking a specific memory. Instead of bringing a memory to the front of your mind, you have to clear it.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Harry mused. “You or me first?”

“Close your eyes,” Hermione said. “I'll go next.”

Harry acquiesced, allowing his eyelids to droop over his eyes. He breathed deeply through his nose, and released them
through his mouth. He willed himself to think of nothing, and his mind soon became an empty void. His Occlumency
training, though predominantly unsuccessful, had at least given Harry a small amount of efficiency in clearing his
thoughts.

He barely felt the tip of Hermione's wand being pressed gently into his skull or acknowledged the sensation as a piece
of his consciousness was separated from his mind.

“You can open your eyes now.”

His eyes flitted open in time to see Hermione deposit the silvery strands into his potion. The red became deeper,
darker.

“Now you get my thoughts,” Hermione said. “It's easier to keep your mind clear when you don't have to get them
yourself.”

“Alright,” Harry said. Hermione shut her eyes. He watched, amused, as her forehead wrinkled in concentration. She bit
her lip, her eyes scrunching more tightly. He waited a few moments, watching her face curiously, wondering what she was
working so hard to banish from her mind. Eventually her face began to relax, though. Her face was soon smooth and
content, and Harry placed his wand gently near her hairline. When he pulled his wand away, wispy strands of
consciousness clung to its tip.

“Done,” Harry said, and she opened her eyes. He tapped his wand against the edge of her cauldron and her consciousness
floated gently into the sunny brew. As expected, a soft glow emanated from the potion, and then it shifted colors and
became green. A bright, emerald green.

Harry glanced over at Hermione, who suddenly looked rather nervous for some reason and didn't meet his eyes. He assumed
she was becoming anxious about the accuracy of the potions.

“What do these colors mean?” he said, hoping to distract her from her apprehension as he searched for the correctly
colored moonstones.

“Oh, right,” she said. “Deep red means that you are -- grounded, realistic, active, ambitious and strong-willed. The
green… it says greens are `extremely bright, efficient, and strong-willed. They love to set goals and are determined to
achieve them. Green represents growth and balance and most of all...something that leads to change.'”

Harry dropped the final moonstones into the cauldrons. Hermione had an unreadable expression on her face.

“What do you reckon that last bit means?” he asked.

“I'm not sure,” Hermione said, still not looking at him. “Guess I wouldn't know until it happened.” She snapped the book
shut.

“There's only one other spell,” she said. “But it's supposed to be directed at the Animagus after he drinks the potion.
The spell activates it. And I think it would be best if we took it one at a time. The book doesn't detail the immediate
effects of the potion, and if something goes wrong one of us needs to be able to deal with it.”

Harry nodded. “I'll go first, then.”

Hermione seemed uncertain about this. “Are you sure? After all, if something goes wrong it'll be my fault.”

“Doesn't matter. If something wrong does happen, at least it's not going to happen to you,” Harry said. “Plus, you're
the one who made the potions - there's absolutely no way there could be anything wrong with them.”

Hermione couldn't suppress the smile that crossed her face. But she still didn't look at him. At least directly. She
seemed to be focusing on a fixed point just beyond his shoulder anytime she faced him.

“Well,” he said, filling a tumbler with the dark red liquid. “Bottoms up.”

He pressed the glass to his lips and tipped it upwards, feeling the elixir slide down his throat, warm and surprisingly
tasteless. He set down the glass and stood up.

Hermione stood up as well. They walked a few paces from the cauldron and then stood facing each other. She raised her
wand and pointed it to his chest, looking extremely focused.

“Tandum Coadunatio!” she cried, and a white light shot towards his chest. As it collided with his body, Harry realized
he hadn't been at all prepared for the sensation that was flooding through him.

The sheer amount of pain was almost unbearable.

The moment Hermione's spell had connected, his skin began burning furiously. The blood pumping through his veins was
like liquid fire. He couldn't think or process his surroundings at all - his head was pounding too fiercely against his
skull. He barely acknowledged that he had clawed at his shirt in a desperate attempt to escape the heat, causing the
buttons to pop away from him, barely felt himself fall hard to his knees, bent double and clutching his head as if it
were about to explode.

And all he could do was wait until the terrible fire inside him stopped.

**************

Hermione watched helplessly as Harry fell, the pain evident by his contorted expression. She gripped her hands tightly,
forcing herself to stay still as he ground his teeth together, eyes shut tightly.

When he had been ripping frenziedly at his shirt, she had been on the verge of running to him and shoving a bezoar down
his throat in hopes of canceling the potion's effects, but was stopped when she saw that his chest still bore the
disfiguring, bruise-like mark that she had first seen so many months ago. The mark, though it seemed slightly smaller
than before, was just as dark and permanent as ever. She ached with curiosity and concern as he thrashed around, and she
felt tears well in her eyes as his convulsions became worse.

But just as his shaking reached an all-time high, his body seemed to almost collapse into itself in exhaustion. His face
relaxed, and his shoulders slumped.

Then he stood up.

Feeling deeply relieved, she began to approach him, glad that the potion's effects had lasted such a short time
(chronically, at least - emotionally it had felt much longer). But something about his stance made her freeze.

His breaths came rapidly, deep and calculated. A thin film of sweat coated his face and chest, the shirt he had torn off
laying forgotten on the floor. He began to walk toward her slowly, his expression unreadable. Just before he reached
her, her eyes finally met his, expecting to see the eyes she had tried to avoid, those eyes of the exact emerald green
as her potion.

However, nothing of his emerald irises could be seen just now. His pupils were dilated to the point that all Hermione
could see was black; his eyes were unusually bright and undeniably…feral. Her instincts were telling her to move, but
something in his gaze held her in position. She felt her breath catch as he stared intensely into her eyes, her heart
beating more rapidly with each step he took towards her.

And suddenly, his lips were pressed forcefully upon hers.

Hermione felt herself go rigid, too startled to do anything as Harry kissed her. `What in the world is he doing!?' she
thought to herself frantically, uncomfortably aware of his bare chest pressed against her. She had thought of him
kissing her countless times, but this wasn't quite what she had in mind.

He pushed her roughly against the nearest wall, snapping her out of her initial shock and proceeded to attack her neck
hungrily. A moan fell unwarranted from Hermione's lips, but was cut off as Harry recaptured her mouth once more.

Still bewildered (and very reluctant), Hermione finally managed to tear her face from his. She quickly ducked below
Harry's arm and dashed across the room, but before she could glance over her shoulder he had overtaken her once more.
They fell to the floor together, and Harry pinned her to the ground, beginning to kiss her with renewed vigor.

His hands slid up her arms, until one was behind her neck, holding her face closer to his. His other hand remained on
her shoulder, and she gave a squeak of surprise as she felt the collar of her shirt rip.

“Harry!” she squealed, muffled by his lips. “What are you doing!?”

But Harry was far too gone to hear her. His most primal instincts were at the forefront of his mind, and no human
hesitations slowed him down.

Pulling her arm free from Harry's weight, she felt around madly around the floor for her wand, which had fallen from her
hand as she had been knocked down. Thankfully, her hand connected with the smooth wooden handle after a moment and she
yanked it towards her. She jabbed it forcefully into Harry's side, causing him to jerk away from her slightly.

“Repello!” she yelled frantically.

Harry was blasted across the room by the force of the spell, where he slammed into the wall before landing in a heap on
the floor. Unfazed, he immediately sprang up, but Hermione was too quick for him.

“Incarcerous!”

Ropes sprang towards him, and swiftly wrapped their way around his body. With his legs strapped together, he fell to the
ground once more. He began to struggle the instant he collided with the stone floor, his arms flexed and tense as he
strained to remove them from his sides.

After he had struggled fruitlessly for a few moments, growling in frustration at his predicament, he fixed Hermione with
another intense stare as he continued to fight viciously against his restraints. Veins stood out in his neck from his
savage thrashing, and his hair was damp with sweat.

Hermione sat down shakily and leaned against the wall opposite from Harry, staring down at her lap as she waited for his
struggles to cease. Ten minutes passed before she noticed his movements growing weaker and weaker, and he eventually lay
quite still.

Still shivering from Harry's advances, she approached his prone form cautiously, stopping when she was a few feet from
him.

“Harry?” she said, twiddling her wand in her hand. “Are you okay?”

Harry turned his head towards her, and Hermione was relieved to see that his eyes had returned to their beautiful
emerald state. He was still breathing deeply, but more from fatigue than anything else.

“Are you okay?” Harry questioned back weakly.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked as she released the binding spell, hoping against hope that he didn't realize the
effects of the potion.

“Hermione, don't play innocent with me. I know something just happened. I don't know the exact details, but I know
something happened.”

“What exactly do you remember?” Hermione said, skirting around the issue.

“I remember burning. I felt like I was on fire, and then it went all fuzzy. And then I come to, tied up and rather sore
on the ground clear across the room from you - who I must say looks pretty damn flustered.”

Hermione remained silent, and Harry surveyed her closely. His eyes fell on her ripped shirt.

“Wait a second - what happened to your clothes?” Harry asked, startled. “Did I - did I attack you?”

Hermione turned her face so Harry wouldn't see her smiling at the irony in his statement.

“Something like that,” she said.

“What do you mean `something like that'?” Harry asked. “Either I attacked you or I didn't. Tell me.”

Hermione sighed, resigning herself, and began speaking in a rush.

“Well,
first-you-collapsed-on-the-floor-and-you-seemed-to-be-in-a-lot-of-pain-then-you-tore-off-your-shirt-and-after-a-few-minu
tes-you-stopped-struggling-and-kissed-me-and-then-you—”

“WOAH, wait a second!” Harry sputtered as he pulled himself into a sitting position, looking aghast. If he had been
sitting in a chair Hermione was sure he would have fallen out of it. “I kissed you!?”

Hermione gave a curt nod.

Harry's eyes were wide. “I… I…I never…I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't…”

“It's okay,” Hermione said quickly, cutting him off. “You couldn't control yourself -- you didn't realize what you were
doing.”

Harry slumped against the wall, stricken. “No wonder you blasted me across the room.”

Hermione smiled at his distress, but the smile faded as her eyes fell once more to his blemished chest.

“Harry…” she said, “why didn't you tell me that that mark wasn't going away?”

Harry seemed confused for a moment, and then glanced at his bare torso.

“Oh,” he said. He looked up at her. “Well, it has been going away.”

Hermione glared at him.

“Okay,” he conceded, “so maybe it hasn't been healing at quite the rate I was expecting.”

“You think?” she said sarcastically, finally sitting down on the floor in front of him. “It looks almost the same way it
did a few months ago.” Her eyes flicked down to the mark again, and she paused, confused. “Actually…it does seems to
have gotten smaller…”

“I told you,” Harry said. “It's just taking a while.”

“No,” Hermione replied. “It looks smaller than it did when you first ripped off your shirt -- half an hour ago.”

He shook his head. “That's impossible.”

Hermione seemed unsure. “Maybe...”

“Do you have my shirt?” Harry said, ignoring her uncertainty. Hermione flicked her wand and the shirt flew across the
room. She caught it and held it out to him.

Harry frowned as he observed the tattered article of clothing. He allowed his head to flop back against the wall.
“Shame, really. I ruined two shirts within the span of an hour. Nice shirts, too.”

Hermione fingered the seam of her ripped blouse, her thoughts turning unwillingly to the second phase of Harry's potion.
`Very red, indeed,' she thought to herself, her cheeks reddening furiously for what felt like the hundredth time that
night.

***********

A/N: Next chapter, Hermione takes her own elixir, and their Animagus forms are revealed!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

22. Animagus

Chapter 22: Animagus

After Harry's little “incident” with the Iumentum Elixir, Hermione thought it would be best if she took her own potion
in private.

Harry silently agreed, though he did not speak his apprehensions out loud. It was one thing to have kissed Hermione and
not been aware of it; it was quite another to be on the receiving end of such behavior.

Though he had brushed off his earlier actions as nonchalantly as possible in Hermione's presence, he was secretly
reeling from the thought. He had kissed his best friend - and clearly not in the mildest of manners.

Hermione appeared generally normal aside from that initial shock he had registered on her face when he'd first woken up,
but Harry couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed of himself. After all, he wasn't really an animal, even if the potion
had made him behave like one.

Hermione now ladled her emerald concoction into another tumbler.

“I suppose you should leave now,” she said, swirling her glass around and eying its contents nervously.

“You don't need me to perform the spell?” Harry said.

“No,” Hermione said. “It would be simpler that way, but I don't know if the effects of the potion will have the same
timing as yours.”

“I don't know…” he said uncertainly, remembering the intense pain from the elixir. “Maybe I should stay until the first
bit stops…”

“No,” Hermione said, more firmly this time. “I know if you're in here at the beginning you'll want to try to spare me
some of the pain. Which you can't.” She paused at the continued look of worry on Harry's face. “Perhaps the pain won't
be as bad for me, anyway. I doubt the symptoms will be completely the same.”

Harry knew she was saying this more for his benefit than anything, but he nodded mutely.

“Alright, then. You'll just wait outside in the corridor until the elixir subsides. Yours lasted less than half an hour,
so mine shouldn't vary too much,” Hermione explained. “I won't be able to get out. And under no circumstances will you
open this door until that half hour is up. Understand?”

Harry nodded once more, curious at the adamancy in her tone, and reluctantly left the room. He saw Hermione raise the
potion to her lips just before the door snapped shut, trapping her inside the room.

He noted the time on his watch, and sat down to wait, pressing his back against the wall opposite the Room of
Requirement.

However, a moment later a terrible, drawn-out scream erupted from within the room. Harry restrained himself from leaping
up and running into the room as the scream echoed in his ears, making his blood run cold. Unwillingly, Harry's thoughts
jumped to that dreadful night in Malfoy Manor, as Hermione was tortured…her cries were frighteningly similar and still
cut through him like physical pain.

Hermione screamed again, and Harry buried his face in his hands, trying to drown out the noise. But quickly the yells
subsided.

He did, however, hear a soft voice calling his name from within the room. Relieved, Harry stood up and placed his hand
on the doorknob.

“Harry.”

He paused, hand frozen in place, as he heard his name again. Inexplicably, Harry felt the urge to check his watch. Less
than fifteen minutes in. But surely the process was finished?

“Harry.”

Harry pressed his ear against the door, hearing Hermione's voice just beyond it. She must have been next to the door as
well, because he heard her words quite clearly.

“Harry,” came Hermione's voice softly once more. “Please open the door.”

Hermione's voice had an oddly silky quality to it, a sweet tone that fell on Harry's ears like music. He suddenly found
it very difficult to concentrate.

“You said to wait half an hour,” he said blankly. “It's hasn't even been fifteen minutes.”

“That doesn't matter,” Hermione purred. “I told you that the timing would vary, didn't I?”

“Yes,” Harry admitted, “but you also said -”

“Forget about that. Obviously it's done - I'm speaking to you coherently, aren't I? You can let me out.”

Harry stubbornly leaned against the door, suddenly forgetting why he couldn't let her out but feeling that it was of
some importance.

“I can't let you out,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

“Oh,” came Hermione's sad reply, “I understand. You're only doing what I said, after all.” She sounded close to tears.
Harry felt intensely sorry for her.

There was silence for a moment. But then she spoke again, this time sounding pleasantly surprised.

“Oh! I've just thought of something!” she said brightly. Harry could practically see her beaming in the other room.
“Since you can't let me out, why don't you come in here?”

Now there was an idea! Harry felt quite enthusiastic about this plan, because he did desperately want to get inside the
Room of Requirement. Why hadn't he thought of this?

“It must be awfully chilly out there in the corridor,” added Hermione silkily. “It's really quite pleasant in here. So
warm and cozy…”

Harry suddenly felt very cold despite the thick sweater the Room had provided him. Since when had the corridors become
so drafty? Surely it would be warmer in there. Hermione had told him so, after all.

But something still held Harry back.

“I don't know…” he said uncertainly.

Hermione's voice came tenderly through the door, making Harry shiver as if she were breathing the words into his ear
instead of through four inches of wood.

“I do wish you would come in here.”

Harry's fingers itched on the handle, which hadn't budged since Hermione had begun to speak to him. He turned the knob
slowly, his eyes feeling rather heavy-lidded. Such an enchanting voice…

Suddenly Hermione's voice, the real Hermione's voice, came blaring back into Harry's mind: “And under no circumstances
will you open this door until that half hour is up. Understand?”

Harry's jerked back his hand from the doorknob as though it had burned him.

“No!” he said rather loudly. “I won't let you out!

Hermione gave a shout of anger from the next room. “Fine!” she growled furiously. “See if I ever help you again, you
infuriating son of a-”

But exactly what Harry was a son of, he never found out, because she suddenly gave a strangled cry and a small thud
sounded from the room.

Harry, knowing that Hermione's side effects were finally over, quickly entered the Room of Requirement.

However, he didn't see her anywhere when he opened the door. He glanced around, bewildered, and turned just in time to
see Hermione darting out of the door.

“Damnit!” Harry muttered to himself, and sprinted after her. “Hermione, COME BACK!”

But Hermione didn't spare a single glance over her shoulder as she flew along the corridor. Harry, however, was too
quick for her, and overtook her just as she was about to hurtle down the stairs to the next floor. He had the oddest
feeling that she was headed for the Forbidden Forest.

He slammed into her, feeling a sense of déjà vu for some reason as he pinned her against the wall.

But Hermione didn't answer as she thrashed about, her dark eyes flitting every which way as she tried to escape him.

“Hermione!” Harry shouted, struggling against her furious efforts. “Hermione, will you just CALM DOWN!?”

She finally stood still at his tone, and fixed her eyes on him. She licked her lips, almost imperceptibly, and Harry
found himself drawn to her mouth. Before he could pull himself together, she lunged at Harry, planting a kiss on his
very surprised lips.

`Oh, Merlin!' Harry thought, mentally kicking himself for opening the door. In an effort that took a surprising amount
of strength, he pushed himself away from her and quickly ran back towards the Room of Requirement. Glancing behind him,
Harry was relieved to see that Hermione was following him eagerly.

She launched herself at him again when he slid to a stop next to the room, but had barely managed to attach her lips to
his before he had shoved her rather forcibly through the door. He slammed it shut and leaned against the wood, breathing
deeply.

He checked his watch yet again. Twenty-five minutes. Only five minutes more and all this would be over.

A loud crash suddenly came from the room, as though Hermione had just chucked their cauldrons into the wall.

`On second thought, better make that ten,' Harry thought nervously.

********

To say the least, Hermione wasn't too pleased to hear that Harry had opened the door during her Iumentum trance; she was
even less pleased to hear that she was a seductive, flighty tramp while in said trance. Harry relayed all the details as
soon as she had recovered, now rather amused by Hermione's irrational desire to be freed from the room (when rationally
she should have realized that she was only required to be there for half an hour).

Whenever the entire Iumentum process was over, it was well past midnight. Harry and Hermione, both extremely exhausted,
quickly reviewed the remaining steps for Animagus transformation and agreed to continue to meet on Saturdays until they
transformed.

The entirety of the remaining stage, to Hermione's surprise, had very little to do with magic at all. Rigorous
meditation was required to first accomplish the transformation, and the two soon found out that this was not nearly as
simple as it sounded.

To become Animagi, they needed to focus their minds on all of their energies, and allow themselves to be taken over by
this animal being that now resided within each of them. Harry and Hermione both spent every spare moment of privacy in
deep concentration, but the Christmas holidays had come and gone before they began to make even the slightest progress
on becoming animals.

While in meditation, both began to get the oddest sensations: Harry had unmistakably heard Hermione muttering to herself
about a Charms essay - while she had been climbing the stairs two corridors away - and he had also been astonished to
have smelt her strawberry-scented shampoo from this distance as well.

Hermione, in turn, claimed that she was staying up unusually late, and found herself sneaking down to the kitchens for a
midnight snack with increasing frequency.

By the time March rolled around, Harry was intensely agitated that neither he nor Hermione had made a breakthrough. He
was aware that it had taken his father and godfather three years to complete the transformation, but surely it wouldn't
take he and Hermione so long. After all, James and Sirius had been practicing illegally and with limited help and
resources, not to mention the fact that they had begun at the age of thirteen.

Harry and Hermione, being eighteen and nineteen respectively, quite magically adept, and following the process legally,
felt that it could certainly not take nearly so much time.

He stormed into the Room of Requirement with just these thoughts zipping through his head and found Hermione in much the
same state he had greeted her in for almost half a year's worth of Saturdays. She sat cross-legged on a rich purple
pillow, her eyes closed and hands entwined in her lap.

Harry stomped across the room, agitated, and flopped himself as noisily as possible on another pillow near her. One of
Hermione's eyes opened narrowly and fixed him with an equally irritated glare.

“This really is difficult enough without you stomping around in here.”

Harry didn't answer, fidgeting to become more comfortable.

Hermione's eye closed once more. “Have you spoken to Ron this week?” she asked calmly.

“Yes,” Harry replied, now shutting his own eyes. “I sent him his birthday present earlier this week.” He peeked over at
her. “I still don't understand why you don't want to tell him about these lessons.”

“I just don't think he'd be too pleased by the fact that he wasn't included in this,” Hermione said indifferently. “It's
nothing against him - I'd just rather not tell him until after we manage to transform. And it's not like you've told
Ginny.”

“That's different! If I told Ginny that I've been coming into the castle every Saturday -”

“She'd be just as peeved as Ron.”

Harry couldn't argue against that.

“Well, I think Ron's getting suspicious about where I go every Saturday night. Probably thinks I'm falling into a bad
crowd, drinking constantly, doing drugs and the sort. Or that I'm hanging out with Mitch.”

Hermione smirked, thinking of Ron's newfound jealousy of Harry's Auror friend. “I think he'd prefer the first option.”

“Better for me to be corrupted by a gang of shady warlocks than thinking he's been replaced by an American bloke.”

Hermione giggled, and then silence fell over them as it usually did.

Harry inhaled deeply, trying to make his breathing as regular as possible. He let the silence wash over him, calming his
emotions, stilling his thoughts. The minutes slid by.

He felt his heart beat sluggishly in his chest.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The sound became louder and louder in his ears, and soon drowned out his breaths.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Gradually, his heart rate began to climb, so gradually that Harry didn't notice until it beat against his chest like a
drum.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

Harry became suddenly and acutely aware of a tingling against his skin, a tingling that soon permeated his muscles and
sank into his very bones. He felt as if vibrations were coming from his very core.

The tremors gave way to a horrible pain in his shoulders and hips as he felt the joints realign themselves - his fingers
and toes suddenly felt numb - he felt as if someone was molding his face like clay, and then a warmth spread through him
that seemed to radiate from everywhere -

Harry's eyes shot open, and he was startled as he gazed around the room, which had somehow become rather color
distorted. He shook his head, confused, before his gaze fell on Hermione, who stood watching him in astonishment. She
bent down slightly, and her face broke out in a huge grin as she surveyed him.

“You've done it, Harry! You've done it!” she said happily, and her voice was strangely magnified as they reached his
ears.

Now feeling rather astonished himself, Harry trotted up to a large mirror that had appeared on the nearest wall. He
reared back in surprise as he came into its view.

A large grey wolf was looking back at him from the mirror, bewilderment evident in its features.

***********

Hermione stood behind Harry-the-wolf as he surveyed himself in the mirror. She was quite amused as he sat down, peering
at himself closely and cocking his head from side to side.

Eventually Harry glanced over at her, an undeniably smug look on his wolfish face.

“Oh, don't gloat!” Hermione told him. “Come over here. I want a better look at you.”

Harry obediently stood up and turned towards her, standing at attention so she could examine him.

Hermione walked slowly around him, taking in Harry's beautiful coat, varying in shades of grey, silver, tan, and the
familiar jet-black of Harry's real hair. She ran her hand gently along the soft fur, studying the triangular pointed
ears and elegantly shaped head.

She traced a finger along the wolf's forehead, where the faintest darkening of fur in the shape of a lightning bolt was
the only indication of Harry's scar. She doubted she would have even noticed it if she hadn't been looking for it. And
then she reached his eyes.

Harry's emerald green eyes stared at her, and Hermione blinked several times as she took in the sight. She was quite
used to seeing Harry with such brilliant irises, but it was another matter entirely to see them in the eyes of a wolf.

She knelt in front of Harry and scratched him behind the ears. His tail began to wag wildly. He whimpered pathetically
when she removed her hand.

“Don't be such a baby, Harry,” she said as the wolf's tail drooped sadly. “You've done really well. I'm so proud of
you!”

His ears pricked up happily, and he placed a large paw on her knee. The gesture clearly stated, Couldn't have done it
without you, though.

Hermione smiled and gave Harry a final pat on the head before standing up. “Okay, now transform back. It should be much
easier now.”

Wolf-Harry gave a nod, and was about to mutate back when Hermione gave an alarmed squeak.

“Wait!” she said hurriedly, and pointed quickly toward a sofa. “Behind there.”

The wolf obeyed immediately and loped behind the couch. Within moments a fully-grown human Harry stood up, looking down
at his bare torso.

“Ah,” he said thoughtfully. “I forgot about the whole clothes issue.”

Hermione nodded somewhat bashfully. “Me too. I just so happened to notice your shirt and jeans right before you turned.
I'm pretty sure there's a charm that allows you to transform with your clothes.” She bent and picked up said articles of
clothes and tossed them towards Harry.

She averted her eyes as Harry slipped on his clothes. She really had seen Harry's chest with far too much frequency
recently, and was quite frustrated by the fact that she didn't mind in the slightest.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

23. Moving On

A/N: Hey, guys! Got another chapter for y'all! Just to warn you, this chapter marks the end of the sort of
"post-Voldemort" section. The next chapter will take place about two years from this one. Anyway, enjoy, and please
review!

Also, for those of you who are wondering why I chose a wolf as Harry's form:

A, wolves are cool. B, I thought since Sirius played such a big, though brief, role in Harry's life, it would be fitting
that he would transform into a similar animal. C, the whole lone wolf vs. pack mentality, both of Harry exercises in my
opinion. D, a wolf is an excellent animal for an Auror to become. Not only are they less conspicuous than other animals,
but they are also born hunters and have little trouble defending themselves if need be. And E, wolves apparently choose
one mate for life, which I thought was also fitting. Also, his form technically coincides slightly with Hermione's form,
as you will see in this chapter, which is a plus. Quite close species wise and habitat wise.

Chapter 23: Moving On

The following weeks welcomed abundantly good weather, and Harry was quite sore about the fact that his Auror training
prevented him from enjoying it - and the fact that his Auror training still made him sore in general.

His training had increased in such frequency and difficulty that Hermione had insisted he no longer attend her Animagus
sessions, claiming his snores were more distracting than his presence was helpful.

He stretched his aching legs languidly in front of him, lounging in the library of Grimmauld place. A patch of sunlight
bathed his chair, and his stomach was satisfyingly full after having eaten a large breakfast provided by Kreacher; it
was extremely comfortable, and he was exhausted after a full week of training…

He jerked from his doze at the sound of a loud rapping. Turning his head toward the window, he noticed a beautiful snowy
owl waiting expectantly on the ledge. The owl gave the glass another sharp tap when he saw that Harry was looking.

Yawning, Harry proceeded to the window and opened it. The owl hopped in and immediately stretched out his leg, to which
a small scroll was tied.

“Thanks, Marcellus,” Harry said, stroking the owl's head. He slit open the letter and read it through quickly:

Harry,

It's the last day of classes. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sinistra, Sprout, Slughorn, and Hagrid send their best
wishes to you and Ron, and they've said we're welcome at anytime. You actually might want to write Hagrid - he cried
quite a lot when I went down to visit him. I expect he feels like we're abandoning him or something. My last class is
Arithmancy (which I'm about to go to now) and Professor McGonagall's given me permission to leave afterward. Do you want
to meet in Hogsmeade for lunch? Maybe the Three Broomsticks at one? Send your answer back with Marcellus.

Love from, Hermione

As he finished reading, Harry was a bit surprised by her brisk attitude about leaving Hogwarts. After all, this was the
place that had been a home to both of them for six years (seven in her case); the place where they had fought trolls,
been reprimanded by Professor McGonagall, sat ear-muffed in Herbology as they repotted screaming Mandrakes, flown over
the grounds on the back of a hippogriff to save his godfather, sent Professor Flitwick tumbling from his stack of books
(on numerous occasions), practiced charms within empty classrooms to prepare for the Triwizard Tournament, formed a
secret society to undermine the Ministry's interference, pored over countless books to discover the mysteries they
encountered everyday within the castle - in short, where they had experienced the best part of their lives.

Surely she would be thinking of all this and much more, because he himself had had these very thoughts as he had walked
through the doors he had first entered more than seven years ago as a frightened eleven-year-old…an eleven-year-old who
could have never fathomed the journey he was embarking on.

However, he stopped wondering at her neutral tone when he noticed a few stray tear-stains dotting the lower edge of the
scroll.

Smiling ruefully, Harry jotted down a quick acceptance to the lunch invitation and tied it onto Marcellus's leg.

“I'm sure Fitz is out there somewhere if you wanna say hello before you head back to Hermione,” Harry said lightly.
Marcellus peered at him for a moment, and then took off through the window, mostly likely in search of Harry's barred
owl.

Harry checked his watch - just past eleven. With another yawn, he returned to his chair, looking forward to sleeping for
another hour.

***********

When Harry woke at half-past twelve, he Apparated almost immediately to the outskirts of Hogsmeade. He strolled slowly
through the town, looking through the windows of the shops in order to kill a few minutes before he had to meet
Hermione. He reached the Three Broomsticks just after one o'clock and proceeded into the crowded bar.

A precursory glance over the heads of the customers did not reveal Hermione's bushy brown hair, so he pushed his way
from table to table, searching for his friend as he went while simultaneously ignoring the excited stares from everyone
else. He frowned as he arrived back where he'd started - it was very unlike Hermione to be late for anything.

He gave the room one last sweeping look and pushed his way back outside.

He settled himself on a bench outside to wait for Hermione's arrival, and leaned his head against the wall behind him.
He closed his eyes, but before long he felt two small, very light points of pressure on his chest. His eyes flicked
open, and he was suddenly staring into a pair of familiar chocolate brown eyes. However, very little else was familiar
to him.

A small fox stood next to him on the bench, reared on its hinds legs. The small points of pressure came from the tiny
paws placed on his chest. The fox cocked its head as it observed him. It then sat down and very primly began to groom
its russet colored fur before staring very pointedly at Harry.

A large grin erupted on Harry's face as he looked down at the furry creature. “Oh, you invited me to lunch just so you
could show off, eh Hermione?”

The fox stood looking at him through wide brown eyes. She had a very pleased expression on her face. She then jumped
down from the bench and began walking quickly along the path, glancing over her shoulder to ensure that Harry was
following her.

Getting the hint, Harry jogged along to keep along with Hermione's quick trot. She led him to the very outskirts of the
village, and Harry recognized it as the same path Sirius had led them along in fourth year. As they reached the wild
countryside, Hermione promptly began to trek up the rocky mountain boulders.

Harry tripped and stumbled up the steep slope for five minutes before he clapped a hand to his forehead.

“Oy, Hermione, wait up!” he yelled after the fox, and immediately transformed into a large wolf. Aided by his four legs,
he quickly caught up to the fox. Together, they climbed the steep path, but Hermione eventually veered off into a
different direction that led away from the cave his godfather had inhabited during the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry had to be quite careful as he followed Hermione, as she was much smaller than he was and therefore had much
shorter legs. Her quick scampers were no match for his long strides, and she soon began weaving in and out of his legs
in order to trip him up and gain a few yards' advantage. Harry couldn't help but notice when Hermione surged ahead that
her tail was bushier than that of the average fox.

Hermione finally came to a rest in a rather level section of the mountain and sat down upon a large blue blanket that
she had clearly placed there previously. She began to morph, and a moment later the real Hermione sat cross-legged on
the blanket.

She patted the spot beside her, and he walked over and sat beside her. She trailed her hand idly down his back.

Wolf-Harry looked at her reproachfully, and Hermione glared right back.

“Don't give me that look!” she said. “Your fur's really soft!”

He shook his head, and then changed back into his human form. Harry stretched out his legs before him and used his arms
to support himself as he leaned back.

“Doesn't give you the right to touch it all the time,” he said mock-sniffily. “You might muss it up.”

“Oh, as if I would ever dream of messing up your hair,” she replied sarcastically. “It's always so neat, after all.”

She stretched out her hand and ran it through Harry's shock of jet-black hair. She noted that it was quite as soft as it
was in his Animagus form. She jerked her hand back as the thought entered her mind. Harry didn't appear to notice.

“It's about time you managed to transform,” he said. “I haven't even bothered registering with the Improper Use of Magic
Office yet because I've been waiting for you to do it.”

“Well, maybe some of us have a bit more sophisticated mindset than others,” Hermione replied, waving her wand and making
a basket appear in front of her.

“Nah, I don't think so,” Harry said as he watched her pull sandwiches and a jug of pumpkin juice from the basket.

Hermione threw a sandwich to him rather forcefully.

“Either way, we can go register tomorrow now that we can both do it,” she said, annoyance tingeing her voice.

“Have you told Ron about it?” Harry asked.

“No. Have you told Ginny?”

“Nope.”

“When do you intend to tell her?”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually?” Hermione said incredulously. “Are you waiting for me to tell them or something?”

“Well, I wasn't,” Harry said, “but now that you mention it, that sounds like a pretty good idea.”

“And what if I don't tell them?”

“Of course you'll tell them,” Harry said, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

“I'm not,” Harry replied. “I'm pretty sure of yourself. It's easy to not mention something over letters, but in person
it's a whole other matter entirely.”

“And you think I'll crack.”

“Yes,” Harry said blatantly.

“Well, I won't!” Hermione said furiously. “I'll wait until you tell them!”

“Ten Galleons says you fess up first.”

“You're on!” Hermione said, taking a large swig of juice and choking on it.

The rest of lunch passed by with Hermione giving Harry a fretful play-by-play of the N.E.W.T. examinations she had taken
last week. Harry assured her that, just as with their O.W.L.s, she would achieve `Outstanding' in almost every single
subject, but Hermione would hear nothing of it.

When Hermione's self-induced panic wore off slightly, Harry told her of some of the tasks that had come up recently in
his training and revealed that, if all went well, he could officially be an Auror within four weeks.

“Ohmygosh, Harry! Why didn't you say something sooner! You've let me blab on about schoolwork this whole time -”

“Considering this should be the last time you have the chance to `blab' about schoolwork, it was my pleasure to hear
your nonsensical ramblings,” Harry said.

“But you're finishing, what, two years early?” Hermione asked. “That's absolutely amazing!”

“It's not really that impressive,” Harry said sheepishly. “The courses are spread out so much that you don't really need
that long if you know your stuff. And they're probably doing me a favor by letting me take the test this early at all.”

“That doesn't make it any less amazing!” Hermione said, banishing the basket and blanket with quick wave of her wand.

Harry shrugged noncommittally, and Hermione shook her head at his modesty.

“I suppose I'll see you tonight at the Burrow?” Hermione asked.

Harry perked up at this. “Of course! I need to be there to see you confess everything to Ron and Ginny. And collect my
ten Galleons, of course.”

“As if,” Hermione muttered. “Though I'm not looking forward to telling Ron about it. Or I should say you telling Ron
about it. I imagine he'll be furious.”

“Of course not!” Harry argued. “He couldn't be mad at you! You're a downright fox!”

Hermione smiled once she had rolled her eyes heavily at this quip.

“Your optimism is cute,” she said, standing up to brush herself off.

“Thanks,” Harry replied, standing up as well. “You're pretty fuzzy yourself.”

************

Hermione arrived at the Burrow later that evening and was displeased to see that Harry was already there, seated
comfortably in the living room with the Weasleys. He grinned cheekily.

“Hermione, looking foxy today!” he greeted her unabashedly; Ginny looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. Ron looked
similarly disgruntled.

“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione replied through gritted teeth, moving to sit next to Ron. Before she could sit down, however,
Mrs. Weasley had thrown open the door leading to the kitchen.

“Supper's ready!” she announced happily, stirring the contents of a large bowl she held in her arms. Harry, Hermione,
Ron, Ginny, George, and Mr. Weasley immediately filed into the kitchen and took seats around the food-laden table.
Hermione took care to sit as far away from Harry as possible.

Luckily for Hermione, the conversation was soon dominated by Ron and George (whom she noticed were both wearing the
magenta robes indigenous to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes).

“…yeah, business has really skyrocketed over the last month,” George was saying to his father as he added a liberal
amount of gravy to his potatoes. “Can barely keep up with the demand these days.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, “and damn right little buggers they can be when something's not in stock.”

“Now, now, Ronald!” Mrs. Weasley said disapprovingly. “You'll do well to treat anyone who comes into that shop with
respect.”

“Absolutely,” George said, “especially since they're my customers. You know, `always right,' and all that. Plus, you're
just miffed that I'm not giving you special treatment.”

“Oh, yes you are!” Ron said indignantly. “You're giving me all the grunt-work!”

“Well, maybe you should try to develop a good attitude about it,” George said.

“Right, as if I'm going to have a good attitude about tedious busywork.”

“Oh, speaking of busywork, I need you to relabel and reorganize the Muggle tricks,” George said.

“Woo-hoo!” Ron said, throwing his arms up in mock-celebration.

“That's the spirit!” Mrs. Weasley said, clapping Ron on the back. “And since you seem to be so enthused with work, I'll
let you clean up after everyone finishes eating.”

“What?!” Ron yelped. “Why're you making me do it?!”

“Don't be so dramatic!” Mrs. Weasley said as she spooned out another helping of peas onto her husband's plate. “It's
just a few dishes - don't look at me like that, Ronald, there are plenty of people in the world much less fortunate than
you are, chores included!”

“Oh yeah?” Ron said grumpily, crossing his arms. “Who's less fortunate than me?”

“Anyone you date,” Ginny answered. “No offense,” she added to a slightly affronted Hermione.

“And yet I'm still offended - imagine that,” she said crossly.

“So you're still selling Muggle magic tricks?” Harry interrupted, diverting their attention back to George.

“Yep. We've actually expanded beyond card and rope tricks - mostly illusions - and they're selling better than usual as
well.”

“Illusions, you say?” Mr. Weasley said interestedly. “What exactly are they?”

“Just Muggle tricks to make something look real when it isn't,” George said.

“Fascinating!” Mr. Weasley said. “I must see those!”

George immediately waved his wand, and suddenly saws appeared cut into his and Ron's heads.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gave yelps of surprise. Even Ginny looked mildly shocked. “My goodness!” Mrs. Weasley said,
clutching her heart.

George grinned as he lifted the contraption from his hair, revealing the two sides of the saw that fit snuggly on each
side of his head. “My personal favorite from the Muggle section.”

“That's barbaric!” Mrs. Weasley said.

“I think they're brilliant,” Ginny said, taking the “saw” from George and observing it closely. An exuberant Mr. Weasley
bent over to inspect it as well.

“I have half a mind to agree,” Ron said seriously, flicking the edge of the saw still attached to his head.

“Surely you've been working on other things, though,” Harry said.

“Absolutely! I've actually just perfected a new product - simple, but effective.” George flourished his wand once more,
and a wooden box roughly the size of a large jewelry box appeared on his now empty plate. The others bent forward
curiously.

“Be prepared to be astounded,” George said, and he flipped the lid of the box open without further ado.

At first Hermione thought that the box was broken. And then an absolutely putrid scent reached her nostrils.

“Eeewwww!” Ginny said, tugging the collar of her shirt up to her eyes.

Hermione pinched her nose tightly, holding her breath and attempting not to gag.

“And what exactly is so astounding about that!” Mrs. Weasley said angrily from behind the dish towel pressed to her
face.

“Nothing, really,” said George pleasantly, seeming rather unfazed by the smell. “Just a gag. (“Gag indeed,” Ginny
muttered, gagging) Tell your friends to fetch something from the box and watch as they turn five different shades of
green. Or vomit. Whichever comes first.”

“And what exactly do you call this brilliant little device?” Hermione said in as scathing a voice she could manage with
a pinched nose.

“Actually haven't come up with a name yet.”

“What do you call something that just occupies space and smells bad?” Ginny said thoughtfully from behind her shirt.
After a moment she turned to Ron, her brow furrowed. “What was your name again?”

“Very funny!” Ron said, glaring at Ginny as everyone but Mrs. Weasley chortled. “And will you shut that box already?!”

“No need to get snappy with me,” said George. He closed the box, and the air immediately became odor-free.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Ginny said, lowering her shirt. “Great idea, George. Really, just top-notch.”

“And you wonder why people don't take you seriously,” Mrs. Weasley said crossly. “What with those sort of products and
those outrageous uniforms -”

“Hey, Angelina likes them! And I've stopped wearing it to Muggle business meetings!” George said indignantly.
“Apparently I'm not credible in violently magenta robes.” He crossed his arms moodily. “I don't think it's fair that
they judge me by my clothes.”

“Angelina?” Hermione said.

“Yeah, didn't Ron tell you? I'm dating her.”

Harry thumped Ginny on the back as she choked on a roll.

“You're dating Angelina? Angelina Johnson?” she wheezed. “Good news, Hermione; I've found someone even less fortunate
than you!”

After second helpings of rhubarb crumble, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny retreated to the living room, talking of their
individual plans now that they were all officially finished with Hogwarts; George had returned to the joke shop, and Mr.
and Mrs. Weasley had remained chatting in the kitchen.

“I've actually already talked with Gwenog Jones,” Ginny said. “She said that this might be her last year as captain, but
she sounds very interested to see me play - wants some new blood on the team.”

“That's great, Ginny!” Ron said happily.

“Thanks, Ron. You know, I really thought that you'd get greedy about this, but I can see that I-”

“So can you get me tickets?” Ron said eagerly, clearly having ignored Ginny speaking.

“—was completely right,” Ginny sighed in aggravation. “And I'm not on the team yet. She only agreed to let me try-out.”

“You know you're a shoe-in,” Harry said dismissively. “You're one of the best Chasers I've ever seen.”

Ginny beamed, patting her boyfriend approvingly on the shoulder, before turning to Hermione.

“What about you? Still thinking about being an Auror?”

“Not especially,” Hermione said. “I do have an interview at the Ministry, though.”

“Which department?” Ginny inquired.

“Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

“Don't tell me you're still on about that spew stuff!” Ron said. “That's absolutely mad!”

“Mad?” Harry said innocently. “What do you mean?”

Ron looked confused. “You know, it's…it's mental, er - it's ridiculous… it's crazy -”

“Crazy like a fox!” Harry said triumphantly.

Hermione buried her face in her hands. “Should've seen that one coming,” she muttered to herself. Harry seemed quite
keen to break her into confessing about their Animagus lessons. Well, two could play at that game.

“Why Harry,” Hermione said, “what big ears you have!”

“Why Hermione,” Harry replied without missing a beat, “what big teeth you had!”

Hermione's mouth dropped open. That one she certainly hadn't seen coming.

“Harry!” she spluttered. “Why - how could - not even - not even remotely—”

Harry chuckled as Ginny and Ron roared with laughter.

“That was a low blow,” Hermione whispered mutinously.

“Just working with what you give me,” Harry whispered back, shrugging. “And I'll have you know that I'm very sensitive
about my ear size.”

Hermione simply continued to glare as Ron and Ginny regained control of themselves.

“So, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Ginny said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.
“Are you really going to join that department because you want to continue spew?”

“S.P.E.W.! And that's not the complete reason, but yes, I wouldn't mind furthering it,” Hermione said defensively. “I
really want to do a lot more with the whole Department - mainly the Beings division. Did you know that they still have
werewolves under the Beasts section? They do have a subdivision in the Beings section as well, but I've heard that it's
ridiculously small and mismanaged. Centaurs are under the Beasts division as well, and they're more intelligent than a
lot of wizards. And it's not as though goblins and house-elves are treated right even though they are under the Beings
category—”

She cut off suddenly, looking slightly embarrassed.

Harry grinned at Hermione's passionate speech. “You're such a little vixen when you get riled up.”

Hermione groaned as both Ron and Ginny frowned at Harry's choice of words.

“What's up with all these comments about Hermione?” Ron said, a hint of anger in his voice.

Unfazed by Ron and Ginny's accusatory stares, Harry shrugged again. “What can I say? Hermione's a fox.”

“Damn it, Harry!” Hermione finally shouted as Ginny and Ron leapt to their feet. “Are you trying to make trouble!?”
Harry smiled innocuously, raising his hand and rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

She turned aggravatingly to look at Ron and Ginny.

“We're Animagi,” she said, crossing her arms in agitation.

“What does that have to do with anything?!” Ron said furiously, disregarding this statement in light of Harry's
behavior.

Ginny, however, laughed in relief. “Ron, you dolt, Harry's been dropping hints about their Animagus forms! I take it
you're a fox, Hermione?”

“Yes,” said Hermione grudgingly. “And I'm also short ten Galleons.”

Comprehension dawned on Ron's face after a moment, and was soon replaced with a look of awe.

“Really? You're both Animagi?” he said, mouth agape. “That's absolutely bloody brilliant!”

“When did you both have time for that?” Ginny asked.

Harry had the grace to look apologetic. “I've been practicing with Hermione at Hogwarts in the Room of Requirement.”

As expected, Ginny flared up almost instantly.

“I've barely seen you in months and you're telling me that you've been going to Hogwarts on a regular basis and didn't
even bother dropping in to see me?!” she said furiously.

Harry held up his hands. “I'm sorry, Gin, but Professor McGonagall made me swear not to interrupt your studying.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow - McGonagall had made him swear no such thing.

Ginny seemed to wilt slightly at this news, but she still looked resentful. “You could've snuck to see me,” she
muttered.

“And you could've told me,” Ron said, also sounding a bit resentful. “I might've wanted to become an Animagus.”

Thankfully, Ron continued speaking before Harry or Hermione could spout off apologetic excuses.

“So, what're you Harry?” Ron asked, now sounding excited.

“Wolf,” Harry replied simply.

“Brilliant!” Ron said again. “Can you show us?”

“Right now?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah! Why not?”

“Alright,” Hermione said slowly. “I suppose we might want to go out—”

But Harry had already transformed into the large wolf. Ginny leapt back in alarm as she noticed this too, for Harry was
sitting next to her on the sofa. He licked her cheek swiftly.

“Oh, get a room,” Hermione said, amused and annoyed, and changed into her fox form. She was astonished to see how tall
Ron appeared.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said as he looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione. “Way to over-achieve, guys. Geez.”

With that, Harry and Hermione both mutated back into their original selves, smirks on their faces.

“To be fair, Animagus transformation is a useful tool for Aurors,” Harry said. “So, really, Hermione's the only
over-achiever in this equation.”

“Yeah, but Hermione's been an over-achiever since, like, birth. She was probably trying to beat the other babies in the
hospital out of the birth canal. You, on the other hand, have no excuses. I know full well that there are other ways to
disguise yourself.” Ron fixed him with an aggrieved look. “You've sunk to her level!”

“Thanks, Ron,” Hermione said.

“No problem,” Ron said, missing the sarcasm in her voice and placing an arm around her shoulder. “Anytime.”

“How long have you been practicing to become Animagi, anyway?” Ginny asked.

“About a half a year,” Harry said vaguely.

“How do you do it?”

“Well, there's a really complicated potion that you have to make, which takes about a month, and then you drink the
potion -” Hermione said.

“—and then you have to do some really intense meditation,” Harry said hastily.

“What's the potion do?” Ginny asked.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other furtively.

“Nothing,” they said together.

“Just makes you able to transform,” Hermione said nervously.

“And nothing else at all,” Harry said firmly.

Ginny, not being especially dimwitted, looked at them suspiciously, but, apparently fathoming nothing to inquire about,
kept silent. At least for a moment. She turned her attention to her boyfriend.

“So. Harry. Now that I'm finished with Hogwarts, I figured I should move in with you.”

Hermione was suddenly glad that none of them had brought drinks into the living room with them, because she was quite
sure that the majority of both Ron's and Harry's would have been spewed over the room.

“What?!” spluttered Harry.

“You. Me. Living together,” Ginny repeated, nonplussed.

Ron leapt from the sofa for the second time. “WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!” he bellowed. “YOU GRADUATED
THIS BLOODY MORNING!!”

“Exactly,” Ginny said seriously. “No time like the present.”

“THERE'S NO WAY YOU'RE GOING TO MOVE IN WITH HARRY!!”

“That's not your decision,” Ginny said. “It's Harry's.”

She looked expectantly at Harry, who looked very much like he was about to face a Hungarian Horntail with his arms tied
behind his back.

He shot a terrified look at Hermione, who shrugged. Nothing could help him now.

“So?” Ginny said.

“Er,” Harry said. He swallowed uneasily.

“Well?” Ginny said, the beginnings of rage evident in her fiery expression.

“Er,” Harry began again. He shot a helpless look at Ron. “I suppose, er, if that's what you, uh, want -”

All traces of fury disappeared from Ginny's face so rapidly that Hermione wondered if she had been angry at all.

“Excellent!” she said happily. “Let's go tell Mum.” And with that she pulled a bewildered and horrified Harry up by the
arm and frog-marched him into the kitchen.

“Let's take a walk, shall we?” Ron said, staring uneasily after them.

“Yes, let's,” Hermione said quickly, hearing Ginny's cheerful voice beginning to speak.

They hadn't even made it outside before Mrs. Weasley's yells echoed through the house.

“YOU WANT TO WHAT?!”

Ron and Hermione sped up, and soon left the noise behind.

They walked in silence for a while, Ron's hands deep in his pockets and Hermione's arms crossed, both deep in thought.
Hermione stared at the ground, chewing her lip, her stomach strangely clenched and uncomfortable. Finally Ron spoke.

“So… Harry and Ginny.”

His tone was surprisingly light, considering his previous anger at the idea of his little sister living in the mansion
of his best male friend. Even the brevity and vagueness of the sentence suggested that he was testing the waters with
Hermione, broaching the subject carefully in the hopes of coaxing out her opinion.

“Yeah,” Hermione said, her voice cracking slightly as she struggled to keep her anger in check. Ron was glancing
sideways at her, his eyebrows raised and his gaze searching, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't he spoke,
rather impatiently.

“Well? What do you think?”

Hermione continued to stare stubbornly at the path ahead of her, taking a deep breath and speaking through slightly
clenched teeth. Her voice, however, was quite calm.

“What's there to think of it? It's their decision after all. And even though it might seem a little … rash… they are
both of age. And despite Ginny's, er, eccentricities, I'd be lying if I didn't believe them both capably mature enough
to handle this kind of commitment; especially considering everything they've endured over the last few years.”

Hermione stopped talking abruptly and, still gazing hard and unseeingly ahead of her, quickened her pace markedly. Ron
lengthened his stride and caught up quickly, falling in step beside her again. He didn't speak immediately, and seemed
to be steeling himself for something. Eventually he cleared his throat loudly.

“You know, Harry and Ginny moving in together has got me thinking -”

“How could it have gotten you thinking?” she said disbelievingly. “They discussed it less than five minutes ago, and
there's the fact that there's a good chance it won't happen. At least if Mrs. Weasley has anything to say about it,” she
added under her breath. She could scarcely remember ever wishing the Weasley matron a victory so fiercely.

Her interruption seemed to have cost Ron the little nerve he had scrounged up to speak in the first place, and she
slowed her pace slightly.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Go on. What's Harry and Ginny caused you to think about?”

“Well…about us really.”

Hermione slowed her pace once more, almost coming to a halt.

“About…us.”

“Uh…” Ron suddenly found a spot on his shirt very interesting. “Yeah.”

“What about us, exactly?” Hermione asked, a sense of foreboding welling up inside her.

Ron seemed to be regretting broaching the subject at all, but knew he'd gone too far to stop now.

“About us…” - his voice lowered significantly until he was mumbling - “moving in with each other.”

This time Hermione really did come to a halt. She fixed Ron with a blank stare, and he averted his eyes quickly,
choosing instead to stare at his shoes.

“You think that we should move in with each other,” Hermione stated rather neutrally.

Ron nodded at his shoes.

“You think that you - an eighteen-year-old wizard who works at a joke-shop - and I - an unemployed nineteen-year-old
witch - should rent or buy a flat when we've only been seriously dating for less than six months,” she said, the
neutrality quickly leaning towards negativity.

Ron once again gave affirmation to his feet.

“Are you mental?” she said. Definitely some bitterness there now.

This statement caused Ron to lift his head.

“It's not mental!” he said furiously, turning to face her more fully. “Ginny and Harry are both younger than us, and
they don't seem to find anything wrong with it!”

“For one, Harry and Ginny have been dating about a year longer than we have. Secondly, if you were paying Harry even the
slightest bit of attention, you'd have noticed that he didn't seem particularly enthused about the idea - and that's
putting it lightly. And thirdly, since when do all relationships have to be identical?! Just because Harry and Ginny are
doing something, doesn't mean we have to! This isn't some competition!”

Hermione could barely see Ron's face due to the darkness around them, but she could see enough to know that these
statements, particularly the last bit concerning Harry as competition, had struck a cord. Ron once again resumed his
staring at the ground, looking thoroughly dejected.

Mollified somewhat, Hermione softened her tone considerably.

“Look, Ron,” she said, putting a comforting hand on his arm, “it's not as if I'm not serious about us. Because I am. But
if you would be honest with yourself, you would know that neither of us is ready for this kind of commitment - at least
not yet,” she added when Ron continued to look crestfallen. “This isn't a rejection. More of a…rain-check.”

Ron sighed heavily. “You're right,” he said quietly. “It's too much. Maybe in a few months…”

Hermione was quite skeptical of even this time-frame, but decided to leave it alone for the time being.

“I'm sorry,” he continued glumly. “I shouldn't have—”

“It's okay, Ron,” she said, and, feeling it was the appropriate thing to do, stepped closer to envelop him in a hug,
which he returned gratefully. As they walked back to the house, Hermione was overwhelmed by a deep sense of change for
the second time that day, the first having occurred during her final minutes of her last Arithmancy class. She had left
Hogwarts, and she and the rest of her friends were rapidly on their way to acquiring careers and lives astronomically
different from anything they had ever known.

And, with a sense of sadness and excitement, she acknowledged that the changes would only be coming more and more
swiftly in the days to come.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

24. Regret

A/N: In the last chapter, I think I said it would be two years later, but I meant three. My bad. Also, I apologize in
advance for the next few chapters. As I mentioned, this is epilogue compliant, so the next bit of chapters will be
progressing things towards the epilogue, especially in the relationship department. However, there will still of course
be plenty of H/Hr stuff as well, but it's going to be a lot of angst for a while. Please stick with me through it! :)

Thanks to EmmaRadcliffe, h/hr4ever11, Meli, and auror_lumos09. VioletE, kinikeens, and any Anonymous reviewers for the
reviews! Please leave some more!

Chapter 24: Regret

THREE YEARS LATER - June 2002

Hermione Granger pulled yet another file wearily towards her.

She had been perusing the numerous cases piled haphazardly upon her desk since early that morning, and though it was now
past noon, she felt as if she had made no progress whatsoever.

Connor Hemming - Werewolf -- registered as of 5/28/02

She spared a glance at the date and suspected Source of the bite before jotting down instructions for the newly created
Wolfsbane Dispersal Office to place Hemming under their clientele. She placed the parchment in its appropriate stack
before looking at the next one.

Mitzi - House-elf -relocation due to owner's passing (no known relatives)

Hermione pushed this one to the side with about five other house-elf relocation cases, agitated that whoever had sent
these wasn't competent enough to send them to the appropriate section of the department.

She powered through cases concerning an altercation with a pair of hags, a claimed sighting of a giant, and a greatly
amusing complaint from a middle-aged wizard asserting he had been seduced by a gold-digging veela before coming across
another werewolf registration.

She once more glanced at the Source of the bite and received a jolt - Fenrir Greyback. Frowning, she wrote down the same
instructions she had for Hemming and proceeded to duplicate the document with a wave of her wand. With another wave the
page had folded itself and flapped its way from her office, headed towards Alec Wahler's desk. Greyback had been one of
the few Death Eaters who had evaded capture after the war, and Hermione knew the possibility of a hint of his
whereabouts would interest the Auror office greatly.

Now in an even greater state of irritation, Hermione rifled through the endless stack of parchment with increasing speed
until she came across an entry that caught her eye.

Donovan Gethin - Known to have employed the use of the Cruciatus Curse upon Muggles and suspected in the murders of
Muggle-borns Stephen and Jacqueline Williams

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion: this had nothing to do with the Department for the Regulation and Control of
Magical Creatures in the slightest. Her eyes fell upon the next report.

Jezebel Rajani - Suspected to be recruiting werewolves to attack Muggles and Muggle-borns. *Likely in contact with
Fenrir Greyback

Another unrelated case followed:

Blake Sullivan - Pureblood supremacist, several witnesses have verified his use of the Imperius Curse on
Muggle/Muggle-born-sympathetic Ministry officials

Hermione leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips as she continued to flip through the files.

Desdemona Rodriguez - Potion-maker guilty of illegal experimentation and testing on unsuspecting Muggle-borns

Malloren Thomas - Suspected in the murders of at least three Muggle families

Damien Marshall - Guilty of the use of the Imperius and Cruciatus Curses to attempt to embezzle Gringotts

With a scream of frustration, Hermione stormed out of her office. Ignoring the greetings of her fellow employees, she
strode purposefully to the golden lift and, once inside, began hammering the button that would take her to the second
floor. She waited impatiently as the lift stopped and a pair of wizards stepped out into the Department of Magical
Accidents and Catastrophes. Finally, the cool female voice stated her destination: The Department of Magical Law
Enforcement, which housed the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, the Improper Use of Magic Office, the Wizengamot, and,
most importantly, the Auror Office.

She walked briskly down the corridor and through the heavy oak doors and emerged in a cluttered, open area divided into
cubicles. Familiar faces once more shouted greetings to her and once more she ignored them as she made her way down to
the very last cubicle.

“Harry James Potter!” she yelled furiously as she rounded the corner. She slammed down the reports she had carried down
with her onto an infuriatingly clear desk, staring daggers at the cubicle's dark-haired and grinning occupant.

“Hermione!” Harry said jovially, his arms spread wide in greeting. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“You know very damn well why I'm here!” she spat, tapping the stack of parchment rapidly. “This has got to stop!”

Harry's eyes widened dramatically as he looked innocently up at her.

“But… Hermione, we've been friends for years! I can change, just say the word and I'll -”

“Don't play stupid with me, I'm not in the mood! I swear to Merlin, Harry, if you don't stop sending all of your cases
to me I'll report you to Wahler! It's almost as if you have no respect for me!”

“Yeah, almost. And you won't report me.”

Hermione frowned. “Well, no, but Harry -”

“Come on, Hermione, lighten up! It's just like Hogwarts! Did you finish all my conclusions?”

“There aren't any conclusions to write!” she said angrily. “All it does is waste my time when I have to walk all the way
up here to give them back to you!”

“Maybe that was my intention,” he said charmingly. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

“I eat lunch with you almost every single day! I don't need to make all these detours for your childish pleasure!” she
said, then added, “And besides, I don't have time to do your workload in addition to my own. I'm swamped downstairs.”

“Oh, those are already done,” Harry said. “All in Azkaban. But that's not the reason I sent those to you. In addition to
my entirely well-intentioned desire to mingle with my best friend, I also wanted to put you on the alert - there's a lot
of lunatics out there.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, curling her lip distastefully. “I did notice that most of them involved Muggle-borns.”

“Yep. As much as I know you enjoy our little reminiscences of our Hogwarts' days, I'm not always going to be able to
watch your back,” Harry said seriously. “But, while I can, I decided to catch `em all and throw them in Azkaban. Just
for you, babe.” Harry winked and flashed her a cheeky grin.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort.

“Oi, Granger! Shut up!”

She turned her head sharply and saw a blonde-haired man's head poking over the next cubicle.

“Mitch,” she said dangerously. “You had better -”

“Hey,” Mitch interrupted. “Did you get the report I sent you on the werewolf that attacked that kid up north?”

Hermione glared at him.

“Yes, I did, and it's a confused jumble of useless information with a wino's spittle of unsupported conclusions.”

Mitch furrowed his brow.

“Wino's spittle?”

“You heard me,” Hermione said scathingly. “Look it up.”

This interaction was interrupted, however, by a tough-looking wizard who stepped into Harry's cubicle.

“Potter,” the man said, “I need those reports by - Oh! Miss Granger!”

Alec Wahler positively beamed at the sight of Hermione: ever since he'd met her three years ago, Wahler had been
especially fond of the young witch.

He put a hand on her shoulder in a fatherly sort of way, his eyes traveling suspiciously from Harry to Mitch. He looked
down at Hermione.

“They bothering you, Granger?” he said in his raspy voice. “Because I can fire both of them.”

She smiled sweetly up at Mitch's terrified expression.

“Oh not at all, Mr. Wahler. I was just wondering why Mitchell here was trying to carry on a conversation with me when he
should be working.”

“I was just wondering that myself,” Wahler said, his face suddenly cold. The glare he fixed in Mitch's direction was
wasted, however, as Mitch had already ducked quickly back into his own cubicle.

“So what brings you here?” Wahler said.

Hermione shrugged. She really had no intentions of telling Harry's boss about the paperwork, so instead she replied, “I
was just on my break and thought I'd pay a visit.”

“Well, don't let me keep you!” Wahler said. He forced Hermione down into the chair opposite Harry. “Just remember I need
those reports before you leave, Potter!”

“Yes, sir.”

Wahler strode from the room, leaving Hermione and Harry by themselves. Hermione knew that she should be getting back to
work, but the unintended break really was doing her some good.

“So are George and Angelina coming over to your place tonight?” she asked.

“As far as I know,” Harry said. “Molly and Arthur as well. I'm not sure about Percy's lot.”

Hermione noted that Harry was starting to look uncomfortable.

“Is Ginny alright?” she asked casually.

“Ginny…? Oh, right, she's good, really great,” Harry said, not meeting her eyes.

Hermione peered into his anxious face.

“What's wrong?” she said abruptly.

Harry shook his head and waved his hand in an unconvincingly indifferent manner. “Nothing's wrong. What would make you
think that?”

“You're not looking at me.”

“Just have a lot on my mind,” Harry replied, making a show of rifling through his desk drawers. “Gotta get those reports
done—”

“Harry.”

He finally looked up at her.

“I know that's not what's bothering you,” Hermione said. “You may have a lot on your mind but it's not unfinished
reports.”

Harry frowned slightly and turned away from her once more. “Look, Hermione, it's nothing,” he said a bit harshly. “Just
drop it.”

Hermione frowned as well. “I might be more willing to drop it if you could do me the courtesy of saying it to my face
instead of your desk.” He continued to rifle through his files. “Harry,” she said sharply.

He met her gaze once more. They stared at each other for a moment.

“Hermione,” he finally said, his voice softened considerably. “Really. It's nothing. Nothing bad at least.” He pulled a
few parchments closer towards him and dipped his quill in ink. He attempted a reassuring smile that fell somewhat flat.
“I'll see you tonight, okay?”

Recognizing the dismissal, Hermione stood up and left without a word. She looked back at Harry just before she stepped
into the corridor to see him staring after her with an odd look on his face - regret?

She crossed her arms as she waited for the lift to take her back to the fourth floor.

He would tell her what was on his mind eventually. He always did.

***********

“I think Hermione knows something.”

Harry sat nervously in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place as he observed Ginny darting around in the act of preparing an
elaborate meal for her family.

“What do you mean?” she said sharply, slamming yet another pot on the stove.

“Just what I said - she knows something.”

“The first time you said you think she knows something.”

“Well, that was a lie. I know she knows something.”

“How could she possibly know? Because you, of course, would never have said anything without asking my permission first
- and I already blatantly told you not to.”

Ginny set a set of knives to work chopping vegetables and rounded on Harry.

“You didn't tell her, right?”

“No!” Harry said hastily. “Of course not!”

“Then she can't possibly know.”

“But she does! I don't think she's aware of exactly what's going on, but she definitely suspects something.”

“Then stop worrying. She might not suspect anything - you're probably just being paranoid. Grate that cheese, will you?”

Harry pulled the large chunk of cheddar and a grater towards him and began grating it by hand, finding the repetitive
task soothing to his nerves.

“I don't think so. She specifically asked what was wrong with me.”

“Apart from being an obvious prat who can't lie worth a damn? Kreacher!” she said abruptly.

The house-elf appeared with a crack - though he worked at Hogwarts most of the time, he frequently came to Grimmauld
Place to assist with more extravagant meals or intense cleaning.

“Yes, Mistress Ginny?” Kreacher said.

“Is the dining table set?”

“Yes, miss.”

“The library and drawing room dusted?”

“Yes, miss.”

“The floors swept?”

“Kreacher was just finishing when Mistress Ginny called.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Kreacher.”

Kreacher bowed low, and disappeared with another crack.

“I can lie just fine, thanks!” Harry said indignantly. Just not to her, he added silently.

“Obviously not, or she would never have suspected anything.” She swept the vegetables from the cutting board into the
simmering pot.

“Hermione's just abnormally perceptive. You didn't seem to suspect anything when I said your stew last night was
delicious.”

Ginny threw a wooden spoon quite forcefully at his head, but he caught it before it made contact.

“This isn't the time for jokes! Everyone will be here soon!” She spared a glance to look him up and down, then frowned a
bit distastefully. “You'll probably want to go change before they arrive.”

Harry glanced down at himself. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Ginny, in contrast, looked as though she had stepped
out of a fashion magazine.

“Alright,” he said, and proceeded up to their bedroom. After a few moments of looking through his closet, he selected a
deep blue button-up he hadn't had the chance to wear yet. He then chose a pair of black trousers, made a vain attempt at
combing his hair (as usual), and walked back to the kitchen.

Ginny looked up from the roast chicken she was adding garnishes to and nodded her approval.

“Much better. Though you might've opted for a tie.”

“What for?” Harry said. “I think I surpassed the whole `making a good impression stage' about ten years ago.”

“Fine,” Ginny said irritably. “At least your dressed. And just in time, too,” she said as the doorbell rang.

Harry made his way to the door and opened it to let in Molly and Arthur. Therefore, he was quite surprised when he saw
Ron and Hermione.

“Oh - hey, guys,” he said.

“Hey,” Ron replied, grinning.

Hermione said nothing, but gazed at him with penetrating eyes.

“Er,” said Harry, staring very pointedly at Ron. “Ginny's in the kitchen…” He trailed off, turned abruptly and led them
through the house.

“Hey, Ron - Hermione!” Ginny said brightly when they entered the room. “You two are the first ones here! I've made
chicken for dinner!”

Harry could still feel Hermione's eyes on the back of his head as Ron expressed the extent of his hunger to his sister,
and leapt to his feet the instant the doorbell rang again.

“I'll get it!” he said and quickly raced to the door. Molly and Arthur were now at the door, accompanied by Andromeda
Tonks and the four-year-old Teddy Lupin.

“HARRY!” the small boy yelled, wrenching his hand away from his grandmother to dart forward and leap to Harry.

He caught Teddy and hugged him tightly; as Teddy's godfather, Harry had taken a very active role in seeing his godson --
a role that Sirius had only begun to fulfill for Harry before he died. Teddy adored him, being as Harry was the only
constant male figure in his life.

Harry smiled at Andromeda as he set Teddy down. “I didn't think you could make it!”

“Freed up my schedule at the last minute,” she replied. “And Teddy was quite anxious to see you, so here we are!”

“Has anyone else arrived?” Mrs. Weasley asked as everyone stepped into the house.

“Ron and Hermione are here, but George and Angelina haven't arrived yet.”

“I would've thought they would be here by now,” Mrs. Weasley said as Harry led this second group to the dining area,
where Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sat.

“Mum, Dad!” Ginny said, standing up to hug her parents. Harry distracted himself by settling Teddy into a chair while
Hermione greeted Andromeda and the Weasleys.

“Teddy! Nice hair, buddy!” Ron exclaimed, referring to Teddy's fiery red fringe.

Teddy stared placidly up at Ron for a moment, and with a pop his hair changed into a vibrant lime green.

Harry laughed. “I think you've gone and upset him,” he said, ruffling the lime green locks. Teddy laughed as well,
pleased that his godfather had liked his transformation.

The doorbell rang for a third time, and Ginny went to answer it this time, returning with George and Angelina in tow.

“Sorry we're a bit late,” Angelina said. “We were just dropping off Fred with Bill and Fleur.”

Fred Weasley II had been born less than a year previously and George had immediately dubbed the child after his late
brother. Since George had been adamant of naming the child Fred from the moment he'd learned of his wife's pregnancy,
Angelina had been quite relieved when she had given birth to a healthy baby boy.

“Don't think Bill was too pleased,” George added pleasantly. “Victoire and Dominique are giving him a run for his money
as it is. Can't imagine why he'd be displeased with three toddlers rampaging through his house.”

Everyone settled themselves at the table as George spoke, which was now loaded with Ginny's meal, and proceeded to dig
in. Harry seated himself next to Teddy, not only because of the boy's insistence, but because Hermione was sitting at
the opposite end of the table.

He entertained Teddy throughout the meal, levitating his utensils and causing the wine in his glass to swirl into
various shapes and colors. Harry was quite pleased that Andromeda had brought Teddy, as it provided him the perfect
excuse to not meet Hermione's eyes. He couldn't technically be positive that she was looking his way at all, but if he
knew Hermione at all she would almost certainly be shooting him fairly frequent glares along the table. It would be over
soon, at least…

He barely paid any attention to the conversation until dinner was almost complete, when Ginny finally nudged him
slightly and fixed him with a meaningful look. Harry swallowed and nodded.

“Everyone,” Ginny said, drawing the group's attention to her and Harry. “We have something we want to tell you.”

Harry almost felt like cringing at the traditional-ness of this scene, but felt that a grimace might be construed the
wrong way.

Ginny beamed around the table, making sure to look at each member of her family.

“Harry and I are getting married!”

There was the briefest pause of silence before an exclamation of glee erupted from the center of the table.

“This is absolutely wonderful!” Mrs. Weasley cried, leaping to her feet. Noise then exploded from every which direction
as everyone else stood up as well.

“Congratulations!” Angelina enthused to Ginny and Harry.

“Yeah! It's about time you came into the family officially, Harry!” George said.

Mr. Weasley simply grinned in a dazed sort of way.

Ron clapped Harry happily on the back and Mrs. Weasley kissed his cheek.

However, Harry immediately noted the absence of one person's voice in particular.

He glanced up the table and saw that Hermione had left the room.

***********

Hermione leaned heavily against the staircase, taking deep, calculated breaths.

So this is what Harry had been hiding all day - he had proposed to Ginny.

She retreated farther into the depths of the house as she thought about what he had told her earlier, the complete lie
he had fed her: It's nothing. Nothing bad at least.

This situation was the complete opposite of his statement - this was without a doubt something, and it was something
very bad at that.

Ginny's announcement had landed in her stomach like a physical blow, and each subsequent thought reiterated in her
abdomen like follow-up punches:

Harry proposed to Ginny.

Harry didn't bother telling me he'd proposed to Ginny.

Harry is going to marry Ginny.

Hermione blinked back tears as she swallowed back the sob that threatened to escape her.

She had known this was going to happen eventually - Harry and Ginny had been together for almost five years, after all.

But why did it still surprise her?

Because you always had hope that he'd come to his senses, said a small voice at the back of her mind.

Hermione shook her head, trying to rid her head of these painful thoughts.

No… I just want him to be happy, she told herself firmly.

But you wanted him to be happy with you.

Hermione buried her face in her hands as she felt hot tears slide down her cheeks.

************

Hermione found the group in the drawing room. She walked in rather surreptitiously, but there was really no need for
caution - everyone was still talking aimlessly about Harry and Ginny's engagement.

“I'm assuming Harry proposed?” Angelina asked as Hermione sat herself quietly next to Ron.

“Of course!” Ginny said, seeming slightly affronted.

“Just a question. You can't really blame me for asking…you are rather assertive.” Angelina smiled as she turned to
George. “Would you have married me if I had asked you?”

George looked confused. “You did ask me!”

“I did not!”

“Yes, you did. You said, `Are we ever going to get married?'”

“That's not a proposal!” Angelina said, scandalized.

George threw up his hands in exasperation. “Now she tells me! After we've had kids no less! We obviously have to stay
together for the children's sake now.”

Angelina scowled at George as everyone else laughed.

“Oh, I can't wait to begin the arrangements!” Mrs. Weasley said excitedly. “There's so much to do…there's the venue of
course…”

“Mum…” Ginny said.

“We'll have to begin considering your dress as well, Ginny - the cake, the decorations, music -”

“Mum,” Ginny said more insistently.

“— invitations will be a major priority as well, hundreds I expect, and the food required to feed the lot -”

“MUM!”

Mrs. Weasley looked at Ginny in confusion. “There's really no need to shout, dear.”

“Mum, we don't want a big wedding,” Ginny said quickly.

Mrs. Weasley looked still more confused. “What…? Why wouldn't…?”

“Harry - Harry and I - we would prefer a small wedding,” Ginny said, though the tone of disappointment in her voice
hinted that her desires were quite contrary.

“We just feel that a quieter wedding would be better,” Harry said, placing his hand lightly on Ginny's knee. Hermione
quickly averted her eyes to her lap. “I'd rather not give the press a field day during an event that's supposed to be
special,” he continued.

“Of - of course,” Mrs. Weasley said, clearly caught a bit off guard. “I hadn't considered that. Whatever you two want -”

She was cut off as Ron gave a start of surprise.

“Perce!” he yelled, staring at the fireplace.

Hermione turned to see Percy Weasley's head floating in the flames, looking very pale.

“What is it, dear?” Mrs. Weasley said.

“It's Audrey,” Percy said. “She's gone into labor.”

Squeals of excitement came from Mrs. Weasley, Angelina, and Ginny.

Percy continued hurriedly, silencing the giggly women. “Do you think you could come pick up Little Molly?” he asked his
mother.

“Of course!” Mrs. Weasley said, and Percy's head disappeared instantly. Mrs. Weasley then clapped her hands together
happily as she stood up.

“Another grandchild and an engagement, all in one night!” she said in delight. “Could it get any better?”

Hermione gripped the edge of the sofa tightly to prevent her hand from shaking.

She stood up with Andromeda and the Weasleys and followed them as they made their way quickly to the door in
anticipation of the newest addition to the family.

Before she had stepped over the threshold, however, she felt a strong grip on her wrist. Harry stared at her intently as
he held her back.

Hermione wrenched her hand away before he had even begun to speak.

“Congratulations, Harry - I'm happy for you,” she said with the best attempt at gladness she could manage. She turned
and walked from the house, forcing herself to not look back. She said a quick goodbye to Ron as she reached the street
and finally Apparated to the quiet solitude of her flat.

Barely thinking, she dropped herself immediately into the chair at her desk and wrote a letter to her mother:

Mum,

How are you? I'm sorry I haven't been to visit for a few weeks - work has been hectic. I was made head of the Being
subdivision of my department. The work can get a bit tedious at times, but I'm glad to be in a better position where I
can help others.

Ron is fine - he's still working with George at the joke shop. The babies (all four of them) are getting so big, and a
fifth should be added to the mix within hours. Audrey (Percy's wife) went into labor not even an hour ago. Mrs. Weasley
is ecstatic, of course. Harry and Ginny are engaged as well.

Give Dad my love. Hope to see you soon.

Love, Hermione

Hermione sealed the letter without bothering to read through it and attached the letter to Marcellus, who had thankfully
returned from hunting early.

“It's to Mum,” Hermione murmured, petting the snowy owl. The owl gave her an affectionate nip on the finger and soared
from the window.

Hermione watched the owl until he had been swallowed by the darkness, and then sank onto her bed. Her stomach still
ached painfully. She lay back onto her pillows and shut her eyes tightly, hoping to dispel any more unbidden thoughts
from rising to her mind, and eventually drifted into a restless sleep.

*********

Hermione opened her eyes blearily as the first pinpricks of morning light flickered through the open window. She rubbed
her face groggily before she became aware that Marcellus had already returned. He hooted a greeting to her.

Not even bothering to gather the will-power to stand up, Hermione beckoned the owl over. Once she had removed the letter
from his leg, Marcellus fluttered back over to his cage, clearly intent on taking a nap of his own.

Hermione ripped open the note and saw four words of her mother's handwriting. A fresh wave of tears came to her eyes as
she read the response to only one line of her letter:

I'm so sorry, Hermione.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

25. Reaction

A/N: Okay, so don't necessarily think that this chapter will introduce a back-up mystery plot. A little bit of one will
eventually emerge, but this isn't it. This was just me having a little fun with one of Harry's Auror assignments, and an
opportunity to up the tension between Harry and Hermione. Some inspiration for the concept came from Smallville,
specifically the red-K effects if you have any idea what I'm referring to.

Thanks so much Meli, UKwildcat820, and you Anonymous reviewers for the feedback!

Please tell me what you think!

Chapter 25: Reaction

“Haven't seen much of Granger lately,” Mitch said in a low voice as he and Harry walked towards a decrepit old house at
the outskirts of the village of Losking. They were both dressed in sweaters and jeans and leaned casually against the
gate of the nearest house, taking care to not gaze towards the ancient home that neither should've been able to see.

“She's been in a weird mood for a while now,” Harry replied back, pretending to peruse a map of the town. He cast his
eyes around, taking in the heavily wooded area beyond the house and the occupants of the street: an elderly couple were
the only visible people in the area, tending to the flowers within their tiny garden. Harry glanced at his watch, hoping
that the couple would go inside without any magical persuasion.

He looked back at the now brown-haired and blue-eyed Mitch, knowing that he himself had very similar features. Harry's
own hair was also lengthened slightly in order to ensure that his scar remained unseen. To any passersby, they would
simply appear to be two brothers considering possible routes to hike in the forest.

“Why do you think that is?” Mitch said. “Something happen?”

“Dunno,” Harry said. “She's been sort of…distant ever since Ginny and I announced our engagement.”

Actually, Harry thought to himself, perhaps “distant” wasn't the appropriate word for it. After her strange behavior
that night, Hermione had been perfectly friendly. Granted, she'd stopped eating lunch with him almost altogether, but
Harry knew how strenuous a new position could be at the Ministry. For this same reason, Harry suspected, Hermione's
visits had also become fewer and farther apart, and completely business-related as well.

It was really Hermione's increased work ethic that resulted in Harry and Mitch standing here now, outside of Fenrir
Greyback's hideout. She had thrown herself into the case quite ferociously, and her continual investigations had
discovered the hints that enabled the Aurors to track down the Secret Keeper to this ramshackle building.

“She's probably just caught up with her relationship with Ron,” Harry said. “Wondering where it's going. Maybe she'll be
a bit better at the engagement party tonight.” He saw the elderly woman help her husband rise from the flowerbeds and
they both tottered into their small home, perhaps for a glass of water and a well-deserved break. Harry watched them
closely.

“Let's go,” he said as soon as the door had snapped shut. They stole quickly across the road and slid through the iron
gates. The dead grass poking through the cracked stone walk crunched softly under their feet.

As they ascended the steps leading to the porch, Harry raised his wand.

“Alohomora,” he murmured softly, and the door swung open.

Harry gestured for Mitch to follow him, and together they crept into the dusty hall. A staircase lined the right wall,
and two doors stood ajar on the other.

After a moment of deliberation, he jerked his head toward the first door and Mitch nodded, moving silently towards it.
Harry himself strode to the second door. He held his breath for a moment, listening intently. No noise rustled within
the room. Taking a chance, he cast Muffliato, and then kicked open the door.

No one was there.

Harry glanced around the small sitting area, taking in the faded couch and the brick fireplace almost black with soot.

“Homenum revelio,” he said, and just as he suspected it would, nothing happened.

He stepped once more into the hallway, and Mitch came out of the first room before shrugging and shaking his head.

Harry nodded and led the way up the stairs, thankful that he had cast Muffliato as they creaked loudly.

Dust lay much thicker on the second level, but this only made the footprints lining the floor stand out more vividly.

Apprehension filled Harry as he observed the doorways lining both sides of this hall. However, the footsteps led to only
one door.

He glanced over at Mitch, who rolled the shoulder of his wand arm with an eager look in his eyes. Harry gripped his wand
more tightly and stood poised. He and Mitch stared at each other as Harry held up three fingers.

Three.

He lowered one finger.

Two.

He held up a single index finger.

One.

Harry blasted the door open and the Aurors charged into the room, ready for any spells that came their way. Somewhat
anticlimactically, they found the room empty except for numerous stacks of boxes.

He walked across the room, and stared out of the lone window. He turned back towards Mitch, feeling rather confused.

“What d'you reck -”

Before he realized what had happened, a jet of black light zoomed towards him and collided with his chest. The force of
the spell sent him flying backwards and he crashed through the window. Shards of glass fell with him as he hurtled
towards the earth and he opened his mouth to utter a spell -

THUD.

Harry hit the ground with resounding force, knocking the wind out of him. He struggled for breath, gasping great
mouthfuls of air, but before he had even stood up another body came flying from the broken window.

Harry leapt to his feet as the smell of blood and sweat came to his nostrils. Hot fury laced through his own blood, but
he felt oddly calm as he raised his wand and pointed at the back of the retreating Fenrir Greyback.

“SECTUMSEPMRA!” Harry bellowed.

Blood spurted from the numerous gashes that appeared on the werewolf. He howled with rage and pain, and spun towards the
Auror.

Without warning, Greyback launched himself at Harry, his teeth bared and a crazed look in his eye -

“REPELLO!”

Greyback was blasted away from him and slammed into a tree. He collapsed into in a heap but immediately went to stand up
again, more angry than ever.

Harry swept across the leaf-strewn ground in three bounds and grabbed the werewolf's neck. His fingers tightened around
Greyback's throat and Harry forced him upward, slamming his back into the tree once more.

Greyback's filthy hands scrambled over Harry's, trying to pry them away from his throat, but the loss of blood was
finally starting to weaken him.

“Crucio,” Harry hissed almost casually, and relished the werewolf's renewed thrashing.

He relinquished the spell after a moment, but kept his hand closed tightly around the werewolf's windpipe, smiling
savagely as Greyback's face began to turn blue and eyes glaze over, rolling into the back of his head…

“HARRY! What the hell are you doing!?”

“Giving this bastard what he deserves,” Harry said to Mitch as his partner ran towards him.

“That's not our choice to make!” Mitch yelled. “Let him go!”

“No,” Harry replied evenly. Greyback was beginning to slide back down the tree.

“You can't fucking do this!” Mitch bellowed. “REPELLO!”

Just as it had done to Greyback, the spell blasted Harry into the nearest tree. The werewolf collapsed onto the ground,
unconscious.

Grunting, Harry picked himself up from the ground and glared at Mitch.

“Fine,” he said snidely. “I trust you can take him in from here?”

Then he turned and vanished, leaving a thoroughly bewildered Mitch behind to incarcerate the werewolf.

**********

Harry strode rather lazily into the Ministry three hours later. He walked the length of the Atrium, up the lift, and
across the second floor to the Auror Office without paying the slightest attention to the people greeting him.

The instant he stepped into the Office, however, he was instantly bombarded by Alec Wahler.

“POTTER!” he roared as Harry made to pass him.

“You know, I really have some place to be,” Harry said, making an exaggerated show of checking his watch. “Urgent
business, must attend to it.”

He attempted to walk past Wahler once more, but the toughened wizard stepped in his way again.

“I'm not in the mood for cockiness, Potter!” Wahler said, his face red.

“Of course you're not. Why would a tight-ass like you appreciate humor?”

Wahler looked at Harry with a rather blank expression, seeming to wonder if he had heard him right, and if he had,
whether he was joking or not.

“Are you trying to be funny or are you just damn stupid?”

“Probably the latter - is there any other explanation for working under you?”

Wahler's spluttered incoherently, aghast that a subordinate would have such audacity.

“So what's the problem today?” Harry said in a bored voice.

“You know what the bloody hell is wrong!” Wahler yelled, outraged. Harry was amused to see veins standing out on his
forehead. “You almost killed your target!”

“Hell of a loss that would have been.”

“That's not the point! Aurors don't kill unless there is no other alternative. It's damn wrong, and not to mention how
many other assholes we can lock up using his information!” Wahler now lowered his voice so only Harry could hear him.
“And Greyback tells me you used the Cruciatus Curse on him as well.”

“You're going to believe the word of a former Death Eater over one of your top Aurors?” Harry said, mock-hurt. “I
would've expected more from you, Alec.”

Wahler was getting madder by the second.

“I could send you to Azkaban for something like that, Potter!” he roared.

By this point, Harry and Wahler had gathered the attention of every individual in the vicinity.

Harry fixed Wahler with a cool stare and sneered into his face.

“I'd like to see you try,” he said in a menacing undertone.

Wahler's nostrils flared and his jaw twitched with suppressed anger. He stared at Harry for a moment more before turning
and storming towards his office, bellowing at the other Aurors to get back to work.

He slammed his office door behind him with a resounding crash, and then all was quiet.

Everyone now turned his or her attention to Harry, who had stayed in his original position. He glanced around at their
curious gazes, and then proceeded towards his cubicle without a word.

When he reached his desk, he proceeded to rifle through some papers he really had no intention of working on, but he had
hardly started before Wahler's petite brunette receptionist came sidling into view.

“Mr. Potter…?” she said timidly when he noticed her.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Melanie,” Harry said, “it's Harry.”

He flashed her a charming smile, and Melanie blushed furiously, as she always did when spoken to directly by him.

She's definitely smitten by me, Harry thought as he observed the girl fidgeting nervously in the doorway. Young…around
his own age, perhaps twenty, maybe twenty-one…quite pretty too…

His smile widened slightly as he gestured for Melanie to come closer.

**********

Hermione stood shell-shocked in the door of Harry's cubicle, quite uncertain and disturbed by what she was seeing.

Harry and a brown-haired girl she recognized as Wahler's secretary sat quite close together (so close that Hermione was
contemplating the possibility that she was sitting in Harry's lap) and they seemed to be talking intimately together in
low voices. His hand grazed the girl's thigh and he whispered something apparently amusing into her ear, because she
suddenly giggled into her hand.

Hermione bit the inside of her mouth hard. Mitch had just been up to her office, looking rather distressed about
something, and proceeded to tell her that something had happened on an assignment. She had heard nothing else about the
details because she had immediately raced to the Auror office to see for herself if Harry was okay.

There was definitely no question of that now.

Both occupants of the cubicle had clearly taken no notice of Hermione's entrance, because they still sat with their
faces less than six inches apart.

Hermione shook her head quickly and finally cleared her throat loudly.

The girl's head shot up and Harry looked around with an unfazed expression. He in fact looked as if he was rather bored.

“Am I interrupting something?” she said nastily.

“Yes, actually,” Harry replied.

The girl (Amanda? Melissa?) cast a terrified look from Hermione to Harry and leapt from Harry's desk, immediately
scurrying from the room. Hermione cast her a withering glare as she passed. She opted for the same look as she faced
Harry again.

“You and what's-her-face seem to be making fast friends,” she said viciously.

“Oh, you're speaking to me now, are you? And her name's Melanie.”

“I don't care what her name is! I care that there was nothing business-like about what I just walked in on!”

“Just trying to spread some inter-office cheer,” he said, stretching his legs out on his desk.

Hermione stared at him in disbelief.

“What about Ginny?”

“Ginny who?” Harry said, yawning.

“Ginny Weasley!” Hermione screamed. “You know, red hair, brown eyes, engaged to be your wife! Ring any bells?!”

“Right, right,” Harry said dismissively, standing and approaching Hermione. “All the more reason to enjoy the present.”

“Enjoy the - Harry, are you even listening to yourself talk?! You…you love Ginny. Why are you doing this?”

“Why do you care?” Harry countered back.

Hermione blinked.

“I - Ginny's my friend - ”

“And I am too, last time I checked.” He stepped even closer to her and placed his hand on her arm. Goosebumps erupted
over her skin.

“Come on, Hermione,” he said softly. “Melanie's just a friend…let's just forget about it. Let's take the day off - go
dancing or something.”

Hermione gazed at him, astonished.

“You - are you asking me on a date?”

Harry grinned. “I'm asking you to have some fun with me. Whatever you want to call it is your choice.”

Hermione stepped back more easily than what she would have thought possible, given what Harry had said to her.

“What's wrong with you?” she asked forcefully. “You're not acting like yourself.”

Harry frowned. “How would you know? Maybe I'm just letting a side of myself out that you've never seen before.”

Indignation flared in Hermione's voice. “Because I've known you since you were eleven years old, Harry Potter! Don't you
dare try to suggest that there is a single part of you I wouldn't recognize!”

Hermione clapped her mouth shut as Harry furrowed his brow and examined her thoughtfully.

“You're right,” he finally said, turning and picking up his jacket from the desk. “If anyone would recognize this side
of me, it'd be you.”

He shrugged the jacket on over his t-shirt and turned back to Hermione.

“So maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do.”

And Harry strode from the room without another word.

***********

“MITCH!” Hermione yelled, rounding the corner briskly. She had searched her own floor, returned to and looked over the
entire the second floor, and even made her way to the Minister's office in hopes of finding Harry's partner there as
well. She was now on the third floor, and had lost her patience about three floors ago.

She zoomed through the Obliviator Headquarters, past the small room housing the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, and was
just proceeding down the corridor for the Invisibility Task Force when Mitch stepped through a door midway down the
hall.

“MITCH!” Hermione shouted again. He turned in Hermione's direction, blanched, and swiveled to walk back the way he had
come.

Hermione picked up speed and caught the back of Mitch's robes.

“What—happened—to—Harry!” she breathed dangerously.

“Geez, Granger,” Mitch said desperately, struggling to walk as Hermione continued to grip his clothes and dig her heels
into the ground. “Let up, will you!?”

“TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED TO HARRY!”

“That's what I was trying to tell you before you ran out on me earlier!” he said. “I've been talking with the Accidental
Magic Reversal Squad,” he continued, jerking his thumb at the door behind him. “They've got absolutely no clue what
could be up with him.”

“Well, you've got my attention now,” Hermione said, disgruntled. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

So Mitch gave Hermione a play-by-play account of his and Harry's mission, detailing how they had kept watch as they
waited to get into the house, their search of the lower floor, being ambushed when the had stepped into the upper room,
and finally how Greyback had blasted Harry through the window.

“And when I got down to them, Harry had Greyback pinned against a tree and was strangling him,” Mitch finished. He
shivered slightly. “He didn't even look angry. Just…really calm.”

Hermione shook slightly as well. “I don't…he was acting perfectly ordinary when you were searching the house?”

“Definitely. It had to have happened while they were fighting. It couldn't've been an enchantment on the house, cause I
would've been affected too…”

Hermione thought through the story. “What was the spell he was initially hit with?”

Mitch shrugged. “Not entirely sure. Some sort of blasting charm. Sent Harry flying.”

“But you're not positive.”

Mitch shook his head. “He didn't speak the spell out loud.”

“What did it look like?”

“Dunno…” He thought for a moment. “It looked like a ray of light. Black, I think.”

Hermione skimmed through her knowledge of spells, and could think of very few that released black jets of light. The few
that she did know had no effect similar to the symptoms Harry was showing.

And if the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad had no idea either…

“Mitch, where's Greyback now?”

“Hell, by now he might already be in Azkaban. He gave an immediate confession - didn't want a trial either.”

Hermione took another fistful of Mitch's robes, though in the front this time.

“You have to find out what spell he used.”

“What?! Is that even necessary? We could bring him up here and let the Squad examine him - ”

“Firstly, I'm pretty sure Harry's not going to come here very willingly and I know he could beat you in a duel if it
came down to it,” she said, ignoring Mitch's look of indignation as she continued.

“Secondly, you know as well as I do that it could take a ridiculously long time to figure out what could be wrong,
especially if it's rare - for all we know, Greyback could've made it up himself.”

“This isn't our department, Granger! I've already told the right people, and they're searching for an answer - ”

“MITCH!” Hermione said loudly. “I don't care! We need to figure this out by TONIGHT! I want you to find out from the
source! Not the Reversal Squad!”

Mitch winced at the authority in Hermione's voice, but finally nodded.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I'll see what I can find out.”

**********

Harry slid his hands over the slightly-repaired motorbike in the Weasleys' shed. Mr. Weasley stood next to him, glancing
apprehensively through the window as if Mrs. Weasley would pop her head into view at the slightest moment.

“You haven't done much with it,” Harry said, cool disappointment in his voice.

“Only been working on it for a few months,” Mr. Weasley replied. “Odd weekends and what not. I've taken it completely
apart and cleaned up the pieces, but I haven't gotten much done in the way of actually putting it back together.”

Harry turned his back on the wrecked bike.

“I've been thinking that I'd actually like to have it back.”

Mr. Weasley raised his eyebrows. “Really? I've never noticed you having any particular interest in this sort of thing.”

Harry shrugged. “I don't. But it was Sirius's… I'm just feeling a bit more fond of it all of the sudden.”

“Understandable,” Mr. Weasley said, and then cracked a smile. “Though if I didn't know you better I'd say you were
experiencing a pre-wedding crisis.”

“Good thing you know me better, then,” Harry replied. “When can it be finished?”

“I don't know, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said a bit uncomfortably. “I can probably have it reassembled in a few weeks…but have
you even had any experience with this kind of thing?”

“Have you?” Harry asked, impatience evident in his voice. “Look, I'll be careful with it. After all, who's more
responsible than Harry Potter?”

Mr. Weasley nodded. “Yes… yes, I trust you Harry. I'll have it finished as soon as possible.”

Harry clapped him on the back. “Thanks, Arthur.”

Mr. Weasley nodded absently, and Harry followed him out into the yard. Before they had walked five paces, however,
Hermione had appeared out of nowhere.

“Harry! There you are, I've been looking everywhere!”

“Looks like you found me.”

Mr. Weasley looked curiously between the two. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

Hermione felt relief that Mr. Weasley had not noticed Harry's dramatic change in character, and immediately racked her
brains for some plausible excuse as to why she had made such an anxious appearance.

“Er…I just needed to check if Harry's finished a report I left for him,” she said lamely. “Did you finish it, Harry?”

Harry shrugged carelessly at Hermione's inquiry. “Nah. I kept waiting for it to become more important that my personal
problems, but it just never happened.”

“How about you come with me and finish it now?” Hermione said through gritted teeth, grabbing Harry's forearm and
attempting to pull him from Mr. Weasley.

Harry suddenly keeled over, clutching his side theatrically. “Ouch! I think that's my appendix!”

“Such a kidder, eh, Mr. Weasley?” Hermione said, now tugging at Harry's shirt insistently. She stopped pulling after a
moment.

“Is this silk?” she said, her mouth falling open as she felt the button-up shirt's material.

“Finest around,” Harry replied smugly, using the distraction to remove himself from her grasp.

“Mr. Weasley, would you mind if I had a few words with Harry?” Hermione asked, trying to sound calm.

“Of course,” he replied, an eyebrow raised. “I'll just go inside, shall I?”

“Thanks, Mr. Weasley,” she said sweetly, and whirled on Harry when the door to the Burrow had shut. “Harry, you need to
come with me right now!”

“Why?” Harry said. “Did you reconsider my earlier offer? Because I know a great place - ”

“NO!” Hermione said angrily. “Something's wrong with you! I need to get you back to the Ministry!”

“Nothing's wrong with me, Hermione. I've never felt better!”

“Greyback did something to you, Harry!”

“I'm not going back to the Ministry,” Harry said firmly. “You're just being paranoid.”

“No, Harry, I'm not!” she said furiously. “You almost killed someone, insulted your boss, and almost cheated on Ginny! I
am far from being paranoid!”

“You know, your nose crinkles up when you get all angry,” Harry said. “It's pretty cute.”

Hermione blushed furiously and rubbed at her nose as she glared at Harry. “This is exactly what I mean! You're not
acting like yourself!”

“Which isn't all that troubling, to tell you the truth. I like the way this feels. Very…liberating.”

“Oh, very liberating indeed,” Hermione said sarcastically. “ You're on the verge of being liberated from your job, your
fiancé - ”

Harry shook his head, for the first time looking vaguely annoyed. “I really don't have time for this,” he said, turning
away from her.

Hermione lunged forward, but her fist closed on thin air: he had already Apparated away.

************

Harry reappeared at Charing Cross Road and crossed the street to enter the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was considerably
crowded, full of wizards and witches intent on having a drink to loosen up after a rough day's work. The moment he
walked through the door, silence spread throughout the pub. By the time he had sat down at the bar, however, noise had
erupted once more, and he quickly found himself bombarded with multiple flagons of mead.

He grinned appreciatively around and helped himself to one of the drinks. After a few gulps, he glanced to his left: two
young blonde witches had sidled along the bar, eyeing him hopefully. He glanced to his right: a pretty brunette witch
had done the same.

After a moment of contemplation, Harry angled his chair slightly toward the brunette. He heard two huffs of indignation
behind him, but ignored them. He smiled indulgently at the brunette.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

The woman looked pleasantly flabbergasted at being spoken to. “Sure,” she said breathlessly. Harry signaled to Tom the
bartender to serve them two glasses of firewhiskey and then turned back to the witch.

“What's your name?” he asked.

“Lianna,” she replied, her finger tapping nervously on the bar.

“That's pretty,” he said. Tom came forward at this point and deposited the two firewhiskies in front of them. Harry
pushed one to Lianna and brought the other glass to his lips.

The sky beyond the windows darkened as Harry purchased drink after drink for Lianna. She hiccupped happily as he did so,
and was soon chattering rather enthusiastically to a continuously disinterested Harry. He himself had stopped after his
second firewhiskey and the conversation had degenerated accordingly.

“My last boyfriend never took me out,” Lianna said seriously, taking another copious swallow of alcohol. “Hardly ever at
all. All my girlfriends told me to dump him, but I just didn't listen.”

“Uh huh,” Harry said for what felt like the twentieth time that night.

“I thought he'd get better, but he just didn't. He barely ever talked to me -”

“Probably because you did enough talking for the both of you,” Harry muttered into the remains of his butterbeer.

“What was that?” Lianna said, smacking her lips vaguely as she drained the remains of her glass.

“Nothing,” he said dryly.

Lianna looked at him, smiling serenely as she twirled her empty glass. She eventually extended her hand and placed it
over Harry's. She fixed him with an expression that Harry suspected was meant to be seductive; it looked more confused
than anything.

“How about you take me home?”

“Aah, if only you'd asked me before my hands were full,” he said, picking up two of Lianna's empty glasses. “Otherwise
I'd be so there.”

“Come on,” she said, clearly too drunk to recognize his sarcasm. She pouted as she placed a hand on his chest. “Let's
get out of here. We could always go to your place if you'd prefer that - ”

She suddenly paused, looking curiously at his chest. “What's that?”

Harry glanced downward and saw the topmost edge of the black mark poking through the collar of his shirt. “It's
nothing,” he said. “Bruise.”

“It looks like a pretty bad bruise…” she said, extending her hand towards it.

Harry lashed out, taking her wrist in a vice-like grip.

“Don't. Touch,” he snarled.

Lianna gave an indignant whimper of pain and wrenched her hand away from him. She stood up and swayed on the spot.
“Asshole!” she said furiously, and staggered away from him.

Harry watched her until she had exited the bar, then reached into his money bag to withdraw a few coins to pay for the
wasted drinks. As he fumbled in his pocket, however, his hand brushed over a slip of paper. He withdrew it curiously,
but recognized it immediately: a rumpled invitation to his own engagement party.

He stared at it in the dim light of the bar and then stuffed it into his pocket. He tossed a Galleon onto the bar as he
left, drawing his cloak around his shoulders and smiling grimly.

He shouldn't be too late, after all.

**********

Shell Cottage was decorated beautifully for Ginny and Harry's party: Fleur had spent most of the day draping white and
gold streamers throughout the house and garden, and golden orbs of light sparkled enchantingly in the starlight. Mrs.
Weasley had assisted Fleur in the preparations as well by stuffing every available surface with food and drinks.

Ginny wandered aimlessly throughout the house as guests began to arrive. Her floaty white dress made it appear as though
she were part of the decorations. Hermione watched as the guests approached her, offering their congratulations and
inquiring where Harry was. Ginny smiled away these questions, though Hermione knew her insides must be reeling if she
felt a fraction of what she herself felt.

Unlike Ginny, however, Hermione had very little hope that Harry would show up at all. She had pleaded with Ginny to
postpone the party, but, as Hermione was quite unwilling to disclose any information, it had continued as originally
planned.

“Where the hell is Harry?” Ron said from behind her, voicing the same thought that was echoing through Hermione's mind.

She didn't respond, instead taking a sip of wine from the glass she held.

“Everyone's starting to get antsy,” Ron continued, staring over the crowd. “Surely he didn't forget?”

“How could I forget something like this?”

Hermione whirled around; Harry smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Looks like everyone's having a grand old time,” he said.

“As good of a time as possible without you here, mate!” Ron said. “You better have a good excuse for being late, though;
Ginny's been going up the wall - ”

“She's the one that wanted this thing - she's lucky I bothered to show up.”

Hermione groaned: she had been hoping that perhaps the effects of the spell had worn off, but obviously not. If
anything, it had gotten worse.

Ron laughed uncomfortably. “Good one, Harry.”

Harry ignored the comment as he observed the guests with distaste. “Half these people wouldn't even be here if I hadn't
saved their sorry - ”

“HARRY!” Hermione said.

“You know it's true,” he said bitterly. “Treating this like a publicity stunt...”

Hermione made to grab his arm. “We need to go, Harry. Right now.”

Harry stepped back.

“You know, Hermione, I'm actually a bit surprised to see you here. I'd've thought you would've made some excuse not to
come.”

“Why wouldn't she have come?” Ron replied, an edge to his voice.

“Because she resents the fact that I'm with Ginny,” he said, circling behind Hermione. “After all, if Ginny wasn't in
the picture, all those years of unrequited pining might actually pay off.”

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach at his words. He was behind her now, and he leaned in close to Hermione
and spoke in a low voice only she could hear:

“And I can't say I haven't thought about it.”

Hermione shivered as his warm breath grazed her ear even though she knew it held nothing but a lie.

Ron's ears were beet-red.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” he roared, advancing on Harry.

Quiet fell over the party.

“Be quiet, Ron!” Hermione hissed, pushing Ron away. “He doesn't know what he's saying!”

“I know exactly what I'm saying,” Harry replied smugly.

“You're not helping, Harry!” she fumed. She saw Ginny beginning to approach from the opposite side of the room.
Panicking, she spun and pushed at Harry's chest. He finally consented to move into the garden, and Ron was right at
their heels.

Harry laughed once the door had been shut, blocking out the rising noise from the party.

“He's just pissed because he's jealous of our relationship.”

“Why would I be jealous of your relationship?!” Ron spat angrily. “She's my girlfriend!”

“Will you both just SHUT UP!” Hermione yelled. “I'm not a competition!”

“You are to Ron.” Harry sneered at him. “He's always been jealous of everything I've ever had - fame, fortune, talent -
and the only thing he's ever accomplished over me is dating you. Hell, he didn't even make Keeper on his own! You had to
Confund McLaggen to give him a fighting chance!”

Oh no he didn't just say that. Hermione paled as she looked at Ron. He stared at her like he'd never seen her before.

“Ron, I can explain - ”

But Harry wasn't done yet.

“He works in a bloody joke shop, for Merlin's sake! No wonder you won't get a place with him, Hermione! Not like he
could help with the rent much. Probably doesn't help his confidence much either. He's already paranoid that if I gave
you the slightest attention you'd leave him faster than he left us during the Horcrux hunt.”

Hermione felt sick to her stomach.

Ron was positively shaking with anger, though his face was uncharacteristically ashen.

“You're just a trophy to him,” Hermione heard Harry say as though from far away. “And he's nothing but your consolation
prize.”

Ron suddenly launched himself at Harry with a roar of rage, but Harry was too quick: Ron was blasted backward by the
force of his spell.

“You really don't want to touch me,” Harry said.

Hermione scurried over and knelt to help Ron to his feet, but he tore himself away from her hands. He glared at her more
furiously than she would have thought imaginable.

He forced himself up and twisted without sparing them another glance and Harry's crack of Apparition followed seconds
later.

Still kneeling on the ground, Hermione stared blankly across the garden and out to the sea. Bowing her head, she
listened sadly as the waves crashed against the cliff.

*******

Harry Apparated to Grimmauld Place and entered the hallway, feeling the blood rush through his head.

He felt no remorse whatsoever about what he had just said to his two best friends. They knew it was the truth - why else
would they have been so distressed about it?

He tossed his traveling cloak to the side and scanned the house, relishing in the adrenaline rushing through his veins.
He had no idea why Hermione would be so angry at his fun.

“Being ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.

He glanced around once more, but this time his eyes narrowed. Something wasn't right. He couldn't tell what, exactly,
but his instincts told him everything wasn't as it seemed.

Withdrawing his wand quietly, he walked up the stairs, his ears alert for the slightest noise.

Creak.

Harry whirled and bellowed, “STUPEFY!”

Mitch threw himself out of the way as the spell zoomed past him. “What the hell, Harry!”

He didn't lower his wand.

“How did you get in here?”

“Granger told me,” Mitch said. “She wanted me to, er, drop something off.”

Harry snorted. “Right. You've never been much of a liar, Mitch.”

“Well, it's true,” Mitch said. He fidgeted uncomfortably. “I was just dropping it off in the kitchen.”

“Great,” Harry said. “Now you can get out.”

Mitch's hand twitched at his pocket.

“STUPEFY!” Harry yelled again. Mitch dodged the spell once more and pointed his wand at Harry.

Harry cast a Shield Charm as Mitch's spell rocketed towards him, but to his immense surprise, it passed right through
it.

He fell back against the stairs, feeling as though his insides had been doused with icy water.

Mitch hurried towards him.

“Are you alright, man?”

Harry shook his head like a dog, trying to focus on Mitch as his emotions righted themselves. Then his eyes widened.

“Shit,” he moaned, pressing his face into his hands.

“You can say that again,” Mitch said, clapping Harry on the back.

“Shit,” he said again.

“Thank Merlin you're back to normal,” Mitch said.

“What did Greyback do to me?”

“It's a curse that he and a few of his rampant Death Eater pals came up with. It's actually pretty brilliant once you
get past the pissed-off factor. They formulated it as a sort of interrogation method. Veritaserum is hard to come by
when you're wanted in four countries. Plus the fact that a lot of accomplished wizards can stop its effects if they have
their wits about them - ”

“I get the point,” Harry growled.

“Right. Well, the spell basically takes away any self-control you have. You don't have any desire to keep secrets.
Unfortunately, they didn't foresee the fact that you would lose any possible mercy either.”

“I still don't really understand,” Harry said. “I wasn't just spewing out secrets.”

“Think of it this way,” Mitch said. “You know that sort of metaphor about having an angel on one shoulder and a devil on
the other? It's like the devil bound and gagged the little angel.”

Harry raised his eyebrows but accepted the explanation without comment.

“But that doesn't explain why Greyback used it on me.”

“I think he was counting on having some backup to capture you once he blasted you out the window,” Mitch said. “You
know, to find out anything you could tell them about how you defeated You-Know-Who.”

“Good thing I wasn't captured,” Harry said sarcastically. “Instead I almost killed someone, cussed out my boss,
practically cheated on my fiancé, and pissed off my two best friends possibly beyond repair.”

“Rough day,” Mitch said sympathetically.

Harry paused as he considered everyone he needed to apologize to. Something didn't add up though…

“That spell…it must have done something besides remove my inhibitions…” Harry said slowly. “I said stuff that I didn't
mean…the curse must have put words in my mouth…”

“No,” Mitch said. “It didn't. I have no idea what you said, but those ideas had to have come from somewhere.”

***********

Harry spent the next day apologizing profusely to anyone he had insulted. He talked lengthily with Wahler about his
disobedience and he also spoke with Melanie about leading her on inappropriately. They both accepted his apologies quite
easily once he had explained the circumstances.

However, Ginny was much less forgiving.

She had stared stonily at Harry as he explained why he had shown up late to their engagement party, and still sat
cross-armed when he went to find Ron and Hermione. Even the box of Honeydukes chocolates and bouquet of red roses Harry
had given her did little to lighten her mood.

He had purposely saved Ron and Hermione for last, considering they were the individuals he was most nervous to talk to.

He knocked disconsolately on the door of Hermione's flat. After a moment, the door cracked open and Hermione peered out
through red-rimmed eyes.

“Oh. Harry.”

Harry fidgeted under her emotionless stare.

“Can I come in?”

Hermione glanced behind her, but then nodded and stood back to permit his entrance.

Ron sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea clutched in his hand. He also stared rather blankly at Harry, but at least
jerked his head in a sort of greeting. Hermione passed Harry and sat down at the table as well.

“You can sit down, you know,” Hermione said when Harry remained standing in the doorway.

Harry took a few steps closer, but didn't sit. Instead, he pulled a single red rose and a box of Sugar Quills from
within his coat and held them up to Hermione.

Hermione took them as wordlessly as Harry had given them.

Ron broke the silence. “You think that you can give her flowers and candy and she'll pretend nothing happened?”

“No,” Harry said. “I don't. I just came to apologize. Those things I said…that wasn't me."

Hermione stared silently into her full cup of tea for several moments. But Ron finally sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“I know it wasn't your fault, mate…I just…some of the stuff you said…”

“I didn't mean anything I said -” Harry began.

“Doesn't mean some of it wasn't true,” Ron said. “That's why I've got an interview at the Auror Office.”

“What…? Ron, if this is because of what I said - ”

“It's time for me to step up,” Ron replied, cutting him off. “It's just something I feel like I need to do.”

Harry smiled. “Then that's great, Ron! You'll be a shoe-in!”

Ron grinned back. “Thanks, mate.”

Hermione finally looked up from her cup.

“You said the spell made you say things you didn't mean?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. It did,” he lied.

They stared at each other for a moment, and it was plain to Harry what was going through her mind.

She looked down again, but instead focused her attention on the rose.

“Good,” she said quietly, and began to lightly caress the flower's soft petals without another word.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

26. Hard to Believe

A/N: I want to thank those of you who reviewed the last chapter, including UKwildcat820, EmmaRadcliffe, Meli, and
auror_lumos09, as well as an Anonymous reviewer. Your consistent reviews make my day! :)

Anyway, about this chapter…the events that occur within this chapter may not be to your liking, but I hope you enjoy the
angst surrounding it! It's obviously a necessary factor as we make our way to the Epilogue. Please tell me what you
think!

Chapter 26: Hard to Believe

Hermione stared blankly at her lap, where her hands were folded as though in prayer. She was presently accompanying
Ginny as she flitted over last minute wedding details, which she had been doing for the last two weeks. Not much to
Hermione's surprise, she had seen little of Harry despite her involvement in his wedding.

After he had apologized to her and Ron almost a month previously, he had avoided her like the plague - much like she had
avoided him in the aftermath of his engagement. However, unlike Harry's response to her evasion, Hermione was content to
allow Harry to steer clear of her. Though she knew Harry had not been in his right mind, she was still finding it
difficult to completely disregard his words.

She resents the fact that I'm with Ginny…After all, if Ginny wasn't in the picture, all those years of unrequited pining
might actually pay off.

Hermione alone knew that this statement was true, but she still resented Harry for speaking them aloud, for verbalizing
her most secret feelings in a manner that was practically mockery. She despised feeling weak, and Harry had made her
feel like a weak, stupid, love-sick teenager.

The tension Harry had made between her and Ron was also infuriating. Ron had been exceedingly polite to her since the
incident, but this was always an indication that he still held a grudge.

Luckily, both Harry and Ron had been busy with Auror preparations and what Ron liked to call “bachelor time” since the
engagement party, and Hermione was more than happy to escape the tension for a while. This was partially why she had
thrown herself so willingly into Ginny's service, running errands and the like.

“Hermione? HELLO, earth to Hermione!”

Unfortunately, it seemed to be doing a poor job of keeping her mind off the matter.

“What? What is it?”

Ginny stood in front of her, holding her wedding dress. One hand was on her hip and she wore an exasperated expression
Hermione had become quite familiar with over the past few days.

“I was just blabbing on for the past ten minutes on how much I love this dress and you've been sitting there like a
zombie! Did you hear a word I said?”

“Um…”

“Geez, Hermione, you're my maid of honor! You're supposed to dote on me on my last day as a free woman!”

Hermione sighed. “I'm sorry, Ginny, I know I'm not being the most exciting company at the moment.”

Ginny snorted. “No offense, but you've never been `exciting' company.”

“Thanks, Ginny.”

Ginny waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, you know what I mean. I would only consider someone `exciting company' if they
were ridiculously unpredictable - like scary unpredictable.”

Hermione gave a snort similar to Ginny's. “Like you, for example?”

Ginny thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess so. Why do we hang out again?”

“If you think about it, together we average out to normal.”

Ginny laughed. “That's brilliant! Our personalities cancel each other out! But spit it out -- you are acting pretty glum
about something.”

“It's nothing,” Hermione said.

“Yes, it is.” Ginny peered closely at Hermione. “You're having love drama, aren't you?”

Hermione swallowed. “What - what do you mean?”

“It's so obvious. I don't know why I didn't realize it before…With all of this marriage stuff going on, you've been
wondering about your own relationship.”

“Um…right,” Hermione lied. “That's it.”

“Are you having doubts?”

“Of - of course not! I really like Ron -”

“Ah, I see what the problem is,” said Ginny sagely. She held her hand in front of Hermione's face. “How many fingers am
I holding up? Do you get a lot of headaches?”

Hermione forced out a smile.

“There you go!” Ginny said happily. “Cheer up! This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, after all!”

*********

“Harry! Come on, mate, focus!” Ron said, snapping his fingers in Harry's face.

Harry blinked and stared at Ron.

“You're completely out of it, mate!” Ron said. “You're supposed to get bloody crazy on your last night out and you're
sitting there like a bump on a log! Have you even finished one drink?”

Harry looked down at his almost full tankard of beer.

“Nope.”

“This Muggle stuff is awesome!” Seamus said loudly over the noise of the bar. “Drink up!”

“Yeah, everyone's having a great time!” Neville shouted, taking a large gulp from his own tankard.

“Most definitely!” George said, banging his glass into Bill's. “Even Percy's enjoying himself!”

“You would be too if you were escaping from baby-duty!” Percy said. “Lucy's almost a year old and quite a handful. And
I'm surprised Bill's here with Fleur being pregnant and all.”

“Right,” George said. “I lose track of these things. Which number is this, Bill? Twenty-seven?”

“Three, thank you very much,” Bill said.

“You're gonna be totally outnumbered, man,” Ron said. “You'll have four little ladies running around the house.”

“Probably. So far the Weasley clan's having quite the girl-streak,” Bill replied.

“I don't know what Mum's deal was,” George said, shaking his head.

“Poor little Fred stands alone,” Ron said.

“He's a trooper,” George replied fondly. “Just like his namesake. He'll probably enjoy having ladies around all the
time.”

Harry tuned out of the conversation as he reverted back to his original musings. It had been almost a month since his
“episode” and he still couldn't put it behind him.

What had made him say those things? He had never spoken to Hermione like that before - had never even thought of
Hermione like that before.

At least this is what Harry continued to tell himself, but he knew that this wasn't entirely true. It would most likely
be more accurate to say that he had never thought extensively of Hermione like that before. After all, she'd been his
best friend for the better part of twelve years…it was practically impossible to not have even considered it as a
possibility at one point or another. She was absolutely brilliant, kind-hearted, and, yes, even attractive.

But Hermione had always been interested in Ron, not him. And Harry had been attracted to Cho, then Ginny… and here he
was. Hours away from getting married. He had absolutely no reason to be dwelling on things he'd said when he was cursed.

Even worse was the fact that he was lingering on Hermione's reactions as well. He knew that she must have been
completely thrown off by his advances, but this wasn't what troubled him.

What troubled him was the look on her face when he told her that he hadn't meant anything he'd said. She'd
seemed…disappointed.

Harry shook his head and drank from his tankard. Ridiculous…he was reading too much into it. The curse had just
exaggerated his companionable love into something that it wasn't. He didn't have any subconscious feelings for Hermione,
and Hermione felt nothing but friendship for him.

He drank more deeply from his glass and then slammed it down, intent on enjoying the rest of his night.

This was made quite easy when he noticed Ron talking quite suavely to the leggy Muggle bartender. Harry was completely
unperturbed by it - after all, he knew Ron was just enjoying some harmless flirting. However, he must have said
something she didn't approve of, because a moment later she poured a full pitcher of beer over Ron's head.

Ron sputtered as the barmaid stalked away.

“I think I debunked the theory that the customer is always right,” he growled, pushing away the hair that was plastered
to his forehead.

***********

Hermione was beginning to feel increasingly agitated as the hours before the wedding went by with alarming speed. She
had been shaken awake early that morning by an uncharacteristically flustered Ginny and had spent the time since making
herself and the fidgety bride presentable. Now it was nearing nine-thirty- only half an hour remained before the
ceremony.

“I can't believe this is happening,” Ginny said breathlessly, spinning to observe herself in a mirror resting against
the wall of her old bedroom. She had been doing this every five minutes since she had put on the dress, but Hermione
could hardly blame her… The flowing white dress was positively stunning on her, after all. The floor-length, intricately
beaded, halter-top style accentuated, well, everything really. Her slender waist, her complexion, her hair-style…she
looked positively beautiful. However, Hermione thought that this beauty was greatly contributed to by the radiant smile
that refused to leave Ginny's face.

“I've been waiting for this practically since I was ten years old.”

“And you're going to end up missing it if you keep twirling like that,” Hermione said in a falsely cheery voice. “You're
still not ready.”

Ginny obliged to stay still for a few moments, enabling Hermione to clasp a string of pearls around her neck and place
the same goblin-made tiara used by Fleur onto her hair. They both stood back to admire the accessories' effects.

“You look amazing, Ginny,” Hermione said.

Ginny turned towards her, tears sparkling in her eyes, and hugged Hermione fiercely.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what, exactly?” Hermione said, taken aback.

“For…well, for Harry, really.”

Hermione pulled away from Ginny, her brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

Ginny smiled. “You're the one who told me to get on with my life…to date other people and relax more around Harry,
remember? You said he'd take more notice of me if I acted more myself. And he did, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Hermione choked out. She had almost forgotten she'd given such advice.

“I mean, I probably would've relaxed a bit eventually, but he'd have probably been taken by then.” Ginny turned to the
mirror once more and beamed at her reflection. “And now I'm marrying him!”

Hermione's throat was quite dry as she opened her mouth to speak, but she was thankfully saved the trouble by Mrs.
Weasley bursting into the room.

Mrs. Weasley gave a watery smile as she beheld her only daughter and covered her mouth with both her hands.

“Oh, Ginny,” she said, and then bustled forward to embrace her child. A small sob escaped her lips.

“I can't b-believe my baby girl's getting m-m-married!” she wailed.

Ginny patted her mother's back.

“I've been moved out for awhile, Mum. It's not going to be any different, really.”

“You say that until you've got a baby of your own getting married!” Mrs. Weasley said with a shake of her head.

“Don't worry, Mum,” Ginny said. “I would never allow such a thing. Babies are much too young to get married.”

Mrs. Weasley hiccupped and hugged Ginny again, laughing slightly.

“Where's Dad?” Ginny said, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, he doesn't want to see you until it's absolutely necessary. He's probably going to blubber worse than me!” Mrs.
Weasley looked at the clock on Ginny's wall. “Actually, we need get started shortly. Hermione, dear, would you mind
going to fetch Arthur?”

“Of course,” Hermione said. She hastened from the room, and then leaned against the banister once she was out of sight.
She breathed deeply, praying for composure, before walking down the remaining steps. She knew Harry would already be
standing in position at the end of the aisle, and was therefore pleased to find Mr. Weasley in the kitchen instead of
the garden.

“Mrs. Weasley asked me to get you,” she said, an apologetic tone to her voice. Mr. Weasley looked quite pale.

“Really? That time already?” he said nervously.

She nodded tersely.

Mr. Weasley gave a sigh, apparently steeling himself, and proceeded up the rickety staircase.

Hermione stayed behind, deciding not to intrude on this private moment between parents and daughter, the final moment in
which their child was still truly theirs. She stood quietly, her long repetitive breaths soothing the heaviness that had
settled in her stomach.

Far too soon, Mrs. Weasley came bustling down the stairs, closely followed by Mr. Weasley and Ginny. Mrs. Weasley's eyes
glistened as she swept by to enter the garden. A moment later, Luna Lovegood and Gabrielle Delacour, both clothed in
lavender dresses to match Hermione's, entered the house. After smiling widely at Ginny, they lined themselves up in
front of Hermione.

And then the music began to play.

**********

Harry stood nervously within the lavishly decorated garden. White and pale lavender silk were trailed elegantly along
the aisle between the rows of seats, and white roses blossomed over the trellis that Harry stood under.

The scent of the roses was almost over-powering and Harry was beginning to feel quite light-headed as he surveyed the
guests seated in front of him.

Just as Mrs. Weasley had promised, there were not an extravagant number of people there. Approximately fifty witches and
wizards sat before him. On one side sat numerous Weasley relatives (almost all with flaming red hair, of course), and on
the other sat a good number of Harry's friends. Seamus, Dean, Neville, Hannah, Mitch and his wife, Alec Wahler,
Kingsley, Andromeda Tonks, Katie Bell, Lavender Brown, Lee Jordan, Ernie Macmillan, Parvati and Padma Patil, Alicia
Spinnet, and Hagrid, as well as Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Slughorn all sat on the groom's side,
beaming at the young man that had been formed from the small, bespectacled, knobbly-kneed child they had first
encountered eleven years ago.

Harry glanced sideways at Ron, who was wincing slightly in the bright sunlight; he had indeed enjoyed Muggle beer. The
red-head gave him a feeble thumbs-up.

Harry felt as if lead had replaced the contents of his stomach.

However, before he could give any further thought to this, the wedding guests all stood up as one, facing the entrance
of the garden.

And then the music began to play.

*********

The soft music seemed to instantly dispel Hermione of all thought. The notes wafted calmly through the air and became
the central thing of which she was aware - that and the lump in her throat that she couldn't manage to get rid of. She
went through the motions of the other bridesmaids, smiling brightly and lining herself along the trellis, but it was if
she was on autopilot.

She was dimly aware of Teddy Lupin darting up the aisle with the rings and standing next to Harry, the gasps of
appreciation as Ginny made her entrance, and then Ginny leaving Mr. Weasley's side to join Harry's. Or perhaps she was
only aware of this because she had already known what would happen. It was all quite generic, really.

The ceremony itself passed in even more of a blur. The words were gibberish as they fell from the presiding wizard's
lips, the faces of the crowd hazy. Only one moment of painful clarity came, and Hermione turned her head away as the
newlyweds kissed.

********

Hermione did not regain a semblance of consciousness until half an hour later when she felt a tap on her shoulder. The
reception was now in full swing as a lively tune blared around the Burrow, prompting the majority of guests to their
feet. She was sitting quietly at one the tables farthest away from the dance floor and was therefore slightly bewildered
by the hand on her arm.

“Hermione?”

She glanced behind her and saw that the groom himself had approached her. She acknowledged his dark jacket and trousers,
the black tie to match, and the crisp white shirt, mentally cursing him for having opted for Muggle attire.

“Oh! Harry!” she said, trying to smile brightly. “Shouldn't you be with your - with Ginny?” She had attempted to say
wife but the word had caught in her throat.

“Ginny's dancing with her dad,” Harry said, jerking his head back towards the mass of wedding guests. Hermione caught a
glimpse of Arthur twirling his daughter before they were hidden by other dancers. “And I thought I'd take the
opportunity to dance with my best friend.”

He extended his hand toward Hermione. She hesitated for only the briefest moment before placing her hand in his. This
was his day, after all, and despite her internal struggles Hermione didn't want to deny Harry even the slightest of his
desires.

She had never been especially good at refusing him, anyway.

Smiling broadly, Harry led her back to the dance floor as a slower song began to play.

Of course, Hermione thought bitterly. She had had enough emotional turmoil today without being forced into such close
proximity with the source of her unrest.

Harry seemed to falter slightly as well by the time they reached the dance floor. Hermione was suddenly vividly aware
that he still held one of her hands in his. However, he finally let go and placed both of his hands on her waist. His
hands felt very warm against the thin fabric of her dress.

She placed her own arms around his neck, fighting the furious fluttering in her stomach.

Harry grinned a bit sheepishly at her as he took the initiative and pulled her closer, beginning to step in time to the
music.

“I wanted to thank you for…for helping Ginny with all of this.”

“It was nothing,” Hermione sighed. “I'm the maid of honor. I was supposed to help.”

“Even so,” Harry said. “It doesn't make us any less grateful.”

Us. Hermione felt slightly sickened that he was already speaking on behalf of his wife.

“Can you believe this is actually happening?” Harry continued.

“What do you mean?” Hermione said. Her voice was a bit raspy due to her throat being so dry. “That you and Ginny have
gotten married?”

“Technically. But I was thinking more in the broad sense. Can you believe that we're both standing here…that we've lived
to be twenty-three years old, that we're in meaningful relationships, have successful careers…that we don't have the
fate of the world resting on our shoulders any more?”

Hermione was once again thrown off by Harry's pronoun usage.

We.

He considered her an integral part of his life, so integral that he had merged the boundary where his destiny and her
assistance had separated. Somehow this made Hermione feel stronger, more solidly connected to this moment, and she
gripped her laced fingers more tightly.

She gazed thoughtfully at Harry -- The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One. So many different responsibilities and
expectations had come with these titles. And finally they could be forgotten. Sure, the majority of the Wizarding world
would still think of him through these names, but Harry himself could disregard them. These names had fulfilled their
purpose and were now firmly in the past where they belonged. Harry was simply Harry now, a man who deserved more
happiness in his future than anyone else she knew.

These thoughts above all else gave Hermione the strength to smile back at Harry. If this was what would make Harry happy
- if Ginny was what made Harry happy - then she had absolutely no right to resent him for that. No matter how badly her
heart ached, no matter how much she wanted to simply sit down and cry, no matter how strongly she wished she was wearing
white at that moment, she wouldn't give in to her selfishness.

So she would smile, no matter how much it hurt.

“I can believe it,” she said, ignoring the intense burning in her throat and eyes. “There was never a doubt in my mind
that you wouldn't make it to this day. I'm so glad for you.”

Harry gazed at her for a few moments, almost curiously, before a small smile crossed his face. He pulled her closer.

“Thanks, Hermione.”

Hermione nodded into his chest, suddenly desperately wishing to be alone. Though she was not paying the slightest
attention to the music anymore, she pulled away from him the instant she heard the final beats of the song end.

“I bet Ginny's ready to dance with her groom again,” she said, and made a hasty retreat to the opposite side of the
dance-floor. Harry made a move as though to follow her but was immediately intercepted by Ginny, who was indeed ready to
dance with Harry again. Hermione located an empty table and sat down.

However, before she had the slightest chance to brood, Mitch plopped down unsteadily at the table beside her.

“Well, hic, hey there good lookin',” he drawled.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Mitch, are you drunk?”

“Which one of you ladies wants to know?”

Hermione surveyed his face for a moment before smirking. “Never mind, I retract my question. You're not drunk.”

Mitch stared at her drunkenly and then sat up in his chair, taking the time to straighten his tie.

“How'd you know?” he asked.

“A, you don't smell like firewhiskey, B, you're eyes aren't dilated, and C, I know for a fact that Becca would never let
you act like such an ass.”

“Cheers to that,” Mitch said, taking a drink from his wine glass as he observed his wife chatting with Katie, Alicia,
and Parvati.

Hermione sought out Ron in the crowd of people, feeling a bit guilty that she hadn't even spoken to him. However, he
seemed to be having a grand time, positively roaring with laughter at something Seamus had just said, so her guilt was
rather unfounded.

She turned her attention back to Mitch, who in turn had turned his attention to Harry.

“Thank Merlin he's not acting crazy today,” he said.

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Yes, it certainly wouldn't do for him to be insulting everyone on his wedding day.”

“Yeah,” Mitch chuckled. “Everyone would certainly be getting an earful of what Harry really thinks about them.”

Hermione paused as she went to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. What Harry really thinks about them?

She sat silently, wondering how to go about this.

“Speaking of that spell…”

“What about it?” Mitch said, refilling his glass with a touch of his wand.

“Harry didn't give that many details about it…he was quite embarrassed, obviously,” Hermione said slowly. “I know what
the effects are, but he didn't say exactly what it stemmed from.”

“Well, it really just makes him lose his inhibitions,” Mitch said, seeming to appreciate being asked for his expertise
on the subject. “Like he doesn't have a filter between his brain and his mouth.”

Hermione was careful not to show any surprise on her face as she pressed him further.

“What's the point of it?”

“Death Eater interrogation tool. Makes the victim lose any sense of commitment, responsibility, tact -”

“ - common human decency…”

“Pretty much,” he said, chuckling. “I think a lot of the crap he said was mostly either his subconscious or exaggerated
plays on what he knew would hurt others, but it was all there on some level.”

Hermione nodded. She could not tell if this information pleased her or not.

According to Mitch, Harry had meant everything he had said to her… asking her on a date, acknowledging her feelings for
him, expressing his own feelings for her…

The question was, had his words been the product of long-kept secrets, or had they simply been a strategy to cause her
pain? And if it were the former, was there anything she could really do about it?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

27. Try

A/N: Okay, do me a favor and power through the two following this chapter. They are somewhat similar to the last one in
terms of progressing the canon events, but they are still heavily H/Hr-centric given the mindset of the characters. As
for this one…I feel a little bad in writing this one because the events that occur are almost solely for a very simple
purpose, which is revealed in the next chapter I think. I'm not all that pleased with it, but I hope you enjoy it
nonetheless. But again, please stick through the next two!

Thanks to justduck, kinikeens, auror_lumos09, UKwildcat820, and anyone else who reviewed!

Chapter 27: Try

In the weeks that followed, Hermione made a strong effort to appear as happy as possible. She interacted cheerfully with
Ron and her friends, behaved pleasantly when she visited her parents, and was positively chipper at work.

It was good practice, after all. Harry and Ginny had been in France on their honeymoon for multiple weeks now, so she
hoped that by the time they returned she would be able to pull off a believable façade.

Maybe she would even start to believe it after a while.

But it did get exhausting after a time, which is why Hermione had elected to bring home the office reports she had to
write. She really had no desire to deal with her coworkers today.

When she arrived back at her apartment, she plopped the fairly thick stack of parchments on her desk and sat down. She
pulled one report towards her, glanced at it, then pushed it back with distaste less than five seconds later. She
apparently had no desire to deal with reports, either.

She thought for a moment of seeing what Ron was up to, but dismissed the idea immediately: Ron was still intensely
involved with his Auror training almost everyday, so disturbing him wasn't an option.

Even when she picked up a novel she had been intending to read she put it back down without even completing the first
page. She felt unusually restless, and had no idea why.

Just as this thought was running through her mind, she heard a ringing from the living room. Hermione had purchased a
cell phone quite recently to make correspondence with her parents easier. She still wrote letters to them regularly, but
it was usually quite a hindrance for her mother or father to contact her without an owl of their own.

She picked up the phone from the table next to the doorway and flipped it open.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hermione?”

Her mother had only spoken four syllables but Hermione knew instantly that something was wrong.

“Mum, what is it?” she said, her voice perhaps sharper than she had intended in her anxiousness.

Hermione heard her mother sob and felt a part of her already mangled heart break.

“Is Daddy okay?” she asked, her voice taking on an almost childlike quaver. It felt like an eternity before her mother
choked out a reply.

“No, sweetheart, he's not.”

**********

Harry threw himself down on a towel next to his wife. He was sopping wet from swimming in the ocean, while Ginny had
mostly remained on the sand getting a tan. As he had become accustomed to doing, Harry had magically disguised the mark
on his chest, which still had not improved significantly.

He lay there for a few seconds, catching his breath, before turning on his side and looking at Ginny, whose eyes were
closed.

Harry crept forward slightly and used the edge of his towel to brush at her stomach.

“The archaeologist removes a thin layer of sediment from the form,” he said, putting on a strong Australian accent. “Oh
my, would you look at how well this fossil is preserved. It must have been here for centuries, lying completely and
utterly dormant as life around it moves on -”

“How would you like an ancient curse, pal?” Ginny said, not bothering to open her eyes.

“Come on, Gin, don't be a spoilsport! You should go swimming with me.”

“Tempting, but I'd really like to get a tan for once in my life.”

“You can get a tan just as easily out in the water,” Harry replied. “Or just get a sunburn like you usually do.”

Ginny cracked open one eye and sneered at him. “Is that a crack at my skin-tone?”

Harry nodded apologetically. “Fair skin and sun just don't mix. You've been burned to a crisp multiple times already and
you're not all that much darker.”

Ginny sat up slightly, wincing as she did so. “Curse my genetics. At least I got the looks in the family. I don't know
what happened with Ron.”

Harry chuckled. “You don't give him a break, do you?”

“I never got a break, and it just so happens that he's the easiest target. Fred and George always had Percy covered.”

“True,” Harry said.

“So when d'you think Ron and Hermione will tie the knot?” Ginny said, propping herself on her elbow.

“Er…” Harry said, feeling uncomfortable.

“I mean, it's really just a matter of time now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because we got married,” Ginny said pointedly. “Ickle Ronikins isn't one to let himself be shown up. Especially by
you.”

“That's ridiculous,” Harry said. “It's not like if I jumped off a bridge Ron would too.”

Ginny didn't immediately reply, instead getting a dreamy far-off look.

“Well?” Harry said after several moments.

Ginny shook her head and refocused on Harry. “Sorry, I was just visualizing Ron jumping off a bridge.”

Harry laughed again, but refused to be led off topic.

“So you really think that he's going to propose just because we got married?”

“Of course he's not going to propose because of it, but I would bet a good many Galleons that he's going to speed up the
process as a result.”

Harry tried to sound neutral. “How soon do you think?”

“Months. A year max,” Ginny said. She smiled brightly at the thought. “I can't wait for Hermione to join the family!
She's smarter than Ron…she's nicer than Ron…she's more talented than Ron… wow, Ron's kind of pathetic.”

Harry remained silent as Ginny abused her brother good-naturedly, and then spoke after a moment.

“Has Hermione talked to you about any of this?”

“Um, not really,” Ginny said, settling back again in the sand. “She was helping me a lot with the wedding, after all.
She was acting a bit odd the closer we got to it, though. I think she's been thinking a lot about her relationship with
him.”

“That makes sense,” he said, nodding jerkily.

“What about you?” Ginny asked. “Has Ron talked to you about anything?”

“Nothing,” Harry said, staring out at the water. “Like you said, we've all been busy with the wedding…and the fact that
he's started Auror training doesn't help matters. There's not really a lot of room for conversation when you're blasting
spells at each other.”

All of this was true, but Harry rather doubted if Ron would tell him even if he were planning to propose. After all the
trouble with Greyback's spell, Ron seemed to have little desire to discuss Hermione with him at all…not that Harry could
blame him, really.

Harry's reveries were cut short, however, as something small hit him hard in the back of his head. Swearing and rubbing
his head, he turned around and was met with the tiny form of Pigwidgeon.

Harry pulled back slightly to distance himself from the owl's wildly fluttering wings and then snatched him out of the
air.

“What are you doing here, Pig?” he asked.

The owl hooted importantly.

“I see,” said Ginny, who had sat up to stroke the little bird's head. “He says Ron wants to be an obnoxious prat and
disrupt our blissfully peaceful honeymoon.” She took the bird into her own grip. “Pigwidgeon Weasley, you should be
ashamed of yourself for participating in such a ruse.”

Pigwidgeon cocked his head confusedly at Ginny.

“Geez, you've been around Ron too long,” she said sadly.

Harry pulled off the small scroll attached to Pig's leg and unrolled it. Ron's handwriting seemed particularly sloppy
today:

Harry and Ginny,

I'm sorry for putting a damper on your honeymoon, but I figured I should tell you before you got back. Hermione's dad
passed away yesterday. She's upset, of course, but she's getting through. She's staying with her mum for a while.

I hope you're having a great time in France.

Ron

“What is it?” Ginny said, seeing the distraught look cross Harry's face. She released Pigwidgeon, who hopped a few paces
away and observed the bikini-clad women dispersed along the shore.

Harry swallowed loudly and then wordlessly handed the note to her.

She gasped softly as she finished it. “Oh no,” she murmured, putting a hand across her mouth. “Poor Hermione…she must be
hurting so much right now.”

Harry stood up almost unconsciously and began to pull on his shirt.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Ginny said, furrowing her brow.

He didn't reply until he had finished clasping the last button in place. “I need to go check on her,” he said, as if
this were the most obvious thing in the world.

Ginny frowned, staring at him with an unreadable gaze, and then finally turned away.

“Give Hermione my love for me, will you?”

“I will,” he said, and without bothering to pick up any of his other possessions he Apparated from the beach, leaving
Ginny to glance around nervously to see if any other beachgoers had noticed his disappearance.

************

The next few hours passed in a daze.

Hermione felt as if she were in a state of paralysis, although logically she knew that this wasn't the case. Almost as
if from a third-person perspective, she watched herself jot down a note to Ron, explaining what had happened and that
she was going to her mother's, and attach the note to Marcellus' leg. She also observed herself as she methodically
packed a suitcase with about a week's worth of clothing, contacted the appropriate people about taking a few days off of
work, and finally as she had Apparated from the apartment.

Why was she always like this? She felt as though something similar had occurred to her at Harry's wedding. When her
heart was in greatest pain, screaming at her to sit down and cry before she bled to death from the pain of it, her brain
took over, manipulating her motions and ensuring no such thing happened.

Her mother had greeted her at the door, her face swollen from crying, and embraced her daughter desperately, sobbing
into the shoulder of the only person who could possibly understand a fragment of her grief.

Hermione fought back the majority of her own tears, hugging her mother back just as desperately. After several minutes,
Katherine had relinquished her hold on her and directed Hermione into the kitchen, where she set about fussing over tea.
Hermione had quietly pushed her mother into a chair and made the drinks herself. Crookshanks had then leapt into
Katherine's lap - it seemed as though the cat hadn't left her side at all that day.

Once Hermione had placed a steaming cup of tea in front of herself and her mother, Katherine had told her wearily of
what had happened to her father.

Benjamin Granger had died of an aneurysm earlier that morning. When Katherine had wakened him to go to work, he had
complained of a fierce headache. Katherine, thinking little of it, had simply given him an aspirin and kissed him
lightly on the forehead before going to the office herself.

When she had returned to her house at around noon to check on him, she had found him collapsed in the middle of their
bedroom.

Hermione's cup rattled loudly in its saucer as her hands shook furiously. Neither she nor or her mother had taken a
single sip. They had sat silently like this for a long time, before Katherine had suggested they both go to bed.
Hermione had retreated to her own bedroom, which was kept mostly the same, and she knew that her mother had gone to the
guest bedroom.

She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, feeling emotionally drained, and awoke early the next
morning. When she walked once more down to the kitchen, she found her mother sitting silently at the table; her eyes
were dark-rimmed from lack of sleep.

Close relatives began to arrive as the day wore on, expressing their condolences and leaving a vast arrangement of
casseroles, pies, and other dishes. Hermione really didn't understand why this was such a customary tradition. Oh,
you're father died?

Here's a mince pie to make it better. She knew that she had no appetite whatsoever, and if her observations were
correct, neither did her mother.

The relatives generally stayed for about half an hour, assured Katherine that they would be attending the funeral the
next day, and left. Hermione was always relieved when they left, but the feeling of loneliness permeated the house the
instant the door shut.

Without the presence of the familiar brown-haired, bespectacled man, the house felt abandoned. Hermione kept expecting
to see him in every room she entered: drinking coffee at the kitchen table, reading his newspaper in his favorite chair,
exiting the back door to tinker in his wood shop. But the fact remained that he would never grace these locations again,
and each time she thought of this her stomach ached.

She sat with her so-uncharacteristically-silent mother as the afternoon wore on. No one else had indicated that they
would be coming over, so they had escaped the stifling house to the less-stifling porch. His presence lingered here as
well (perhaps even more so), but somehow it felt easier here.

Hermione examined the porch passively, focusing on minute details. The swirls of knot-holes in the wooden planks, the
creak of the porch swing, the rattle of the screen door in the wind…

“Hermione?”

The voice that came from the yard was very soft, but Hermione recognized it instantly and she turned her head to look at
their visitor.

Harry stood on the stairs with a concerned expression on his face. He wore a button-up shirt over a pair of long shorts.
Hermione noticed that he had tanned considerably and that his hair was wet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sadness in his tone.

She barely registered her mother stand up from the swing and enter the house.

She was only acutely aware that Harry was here.

Harry's question hung in the air, and Hermione felt herself break down.

“No,” she said shakily, finally feeling her resolve crumble. “I don't think I am.”

Harry crossed the last few feet to her and hugged her to him as the tears came in torrents. She sobbed into his shoulder
uncontrollably, and he caressed her hair tenderly, every now and then planting a soft kiss on her head. She did not know
how long they sat like that - minutes, hours…?

Even after her tears began to subside, he still held her. She noticed that his skin and hair smelled salty, and could
feel that his hair had dried.

Finally she pulled away from him, knowing that he would not do so. She felt as if she should apologize for disrupting
his honeymoon, for causing him to abandon his wife on some beach in France, but she didn't want to. She didn't want to
discuss that at all.

Harry remained quiet. He spoke not a single word of condolence and Hermione hoped he knew that they were unnecessary.

Impulsively, she reached out and placed her hand gently on the side of his face. If he was at all shocked, he didn't
show it.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He reached up and placed his hand over hers. He took her free hand in his and kissed it.

The moment felt intensely...intimate (there was no other way to describe it), and Hermione loathed to see it end. But
she finally stood up, and Harry followed suit.

“You should go back,” Hermione said.

Harry nodded, but made no move to leave.

“Ginny's waiting for you,” she murmured, her eyes downcast.

Reluctantly it seemed, Harry pulled Hermione into one last hug, and planted one last kiss on the top of her head.

“I'll be back soon,” he said.

Then he released her, stepped through the house to offer his sympathies to Katherine, and Apparated back to Ginny.

Hermione remained on the porch after Harry had gone. After fifteen minutes or so, Katherine joined her once more on the
swing.

After a period of silence, her mother finally spoke: “Hermione, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, though the note of coolness she used suggested that she knew exactly what her mother
meant.

“Harry,” Katherine stated simply. “What are you doing?”

“I'm not doing anything, Mum.”

“Which is exactly my point! You've been consistently depressed for almost a year now - ever since Harry got engaged.”

“I have not!” Hermione protested.

“Yes, you have. Sure, you've gone through the motions of being happy, but I can tell you're not. And it's not fair.”

“To whom?” Hermione said in a polite voice dripping with venom.

“To everyone!” Katherine said, her voice rising. “It's not fair to Ginny, to Harry, to Ron, or to yourself!”

Hermione suddenly felt very angry. She stood up abruptly and faced her mother.

“I can't do anything about that!” she said furiously.

“You haven't tried!”

“How do you know I haven't tried? I've tried harder than you can possibly imagine!”

Katherine gazed up at her daughter in sadness. “Hermione, it's over. He's married. And as long as he is, there's no
point in dwelling on it. It's only going to cause you more pain.”

Hermione felt hot tears spill onto her cheeks. She didn't bother to brush them away.

“What about you, Mum? Do you ever wish you'd never loved Daddy just so you didn't feel this pain now?”

Katherine looked as if Hermione had physically struck her. She raised a shaky hand to cover her eyes.

“No,” she said finally. “Not for a second.”

“Then you can understand that it's not that easy to simply stop loving someone.” Hermione turned away to gaze at the
spot where Harry had appeared earlier. “I can't even bring myself to wish for that.”

Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder.

“I understand that there will most likely always be a part of you that cares for Harry that way,” Katherine said softly.
“But you have a relationship of your own - a life of your own. Don't neglect it because of Harry - I know he wouldn't
want you to.” She paused. “I know your father wouldn't want you to.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

28. A Less Than Modest Proposal

A/N: Back again! As I mentioned, this is one of two chapters which may not have the best content for some readers. I
still hope you find them enjoyable, though. We have one more wedding to power through, and from there Ron and Ginny
won't be so prominent in the story romance-wise. Some of you may love where I'm taking this from chapter 30 and up, and
some of you may hate it. If you enjoy it, let me know. If you hate it, keep it to yourself, or at least let me know
politely. I've managed to thankfully avoid flames so far, so let's keep it that way, shall we?

Thanks to auror_lumos09, justduck, kinikeens, Meli, eagle219406, and everyone else who reviewed!

Chapter 28: A Less Than Modest Proposal

Hermione scribbled away on the latest report that had been dropped on her desk. It had been over a month since her
father had passed, and despite her vehement opposition to the choice words her mother had spoken to her on the porch,
she had taken them to heart.

As soon as she had returned home after the funeral, she had suggested that Ron move into her apartment. And so far the
arrangement was going relatively smoothly. There had been minimal arguments, but she supposed that was to be expected
when you were getting accustomed to living with another individual. Especially a male. She refused to let herself wonder
if the fact that Ron was rarely in the flat due to his Auror training perhaps contributed to the lack of confrontation.

Truthfully, Hermione did feel as if she'd made some progress over the past few weeks. She thought she felt happier. She
was trying very hard to be friendly with Ron, and he was also being extra polite. She had also made determined steps to
regain a semblance of normalcy in her relationship with Harry once he and Ginny had returned from their honeymoon - and
succeeded, for the most part. They had resumed their almost daily lunches and Hermione felt that it was getting easier
and easier to be around him. At least it was much easier than trying to stay away from him; she wondered if perhaps this
avoidance had contributed to her depressed state of mind. He was married to Ginny— for better or worse — and it felt
better to be around him than to hide herself away.

However, Hermione had found an enormous amount of work waiting for her when she returned to the office after her
extended absence. Work that she just couldn't seem to catch up on. And, unfortunately, she was finding that her breaking
point was about to reached.

She jabbed furiously as she dotted the i of her signature, then proceeded to almost rip a piece of parchment in half as
she yanked it towards her. She had just pulled out her wand to mend it when a recently hired wizard from another
department poked his head into her office.

“Can I help you?” Hermione said in as polite a voice as she could manage. She rapped the parchment she was holding with
a bit more force than necessary.

“Got a case of a goblin claiming he was bitten by a werewolf. Wants some reimbursement. Which department does it need to
go to?”

Hermione sighed. “Is the werewolf registered?” she asked.

The wizard nodded.

“Is he set up with the Wolfsbane program?”

Another mute nod.

“Then send it to Law Enforcement!” she snapped in agitation. “This is the Department of the REGULATION and CONTROL of
Magical Creatures. There's nothing to regulate or control! It already happened. And goblins aren't even affected by
werewolf bites! Let the Wizengamot deal with it!”

“Er, right away,” the wizard said, and dashed out of sight.

Hermione ran a hand over her face and moved to dip her quill in her inkwell.

“Ms. Granger - ”

Hermione twitched so badly that she knocked the ink all over the parchment.

“What?!” she said angrily, turning her head sharply to the door.

“I'm sorry, Ms. Granger! I apologize for interrupting you, but there's an issue with suppliers for the Wolfsbane
ingredients - ”

“Which would be?”

The witch looked startled. “Well, um, apparently they want an increased price for the salamander blood --”

“You tell them that we're going to pay the same price we've paid for the past three years!” Hermione said angrily.

The witch hesitated in the doorway.

“GO!” Hermione spat, and the witch's indecision ended as she darted away.

With a wave of her wand the ink was removed from the parchment. Hermione placed her quill on the paper.

“Could you look at this -”

The quill stabbed straight through the report.

“NO, I CAN'T LOOK AT WHATEVER THE BLOODY HELL IT IS YOU'RE HOLDING RIGHT NOW!” She pounded her wand on the parchment,
and instead of repairing the hole it burst into flames.

“DAMN IT!” Hermione yelled, dropping the paper on the ground and stomping on it. Muggle methods felt much simpler at the
moment.

When there was only a small stream of smoke emitting from the ruined report, Hermione glanced up and was pleased to see
that her fit had scared away whatever unfortunate soul had stepped into her office. She laid her head on her desk and
sighed deeply.

And then she abruptly stood up, picked up a few belongings from her desk, and strode to the Atrium. Surely her employees
were competent enough to solve a few problems themselves. It was almost closing time anyway.

On impulse she decided to Floo home, and stepped into a line of three witches and wizards waiting on a fireplace. When
it was her turn, she shouted her destination and was immediately taken to her and Ron's apartment.

Suddenly feeling dead-tired, she dropped her things on the coffee table and went immediately to her bedroom.

And broke a heel as she stumbled on the threshold.

This led to her kicking said heels off in particular vehemence, which in turn led to one of her shoes smashing into a
vase, which immediately crashed to the floor.

Her unlucky streak was going so smoothly that Hermione was quite unsurprised when she stepped on one of the shards.

Typical.

Cursing mentally (and a few times out loud), she limped to her bed and collapsed onto it, ignoring the chaos she had
left in her wake.

She was asleep within moments.

**********

Though he didn't have quite the rough day Hermione had, Harry was also immensely frustrated with work.

After coming home from his honeymoon, he had been swamped with a large amount of difficult and tedious missions that
rarely seemed to go his way. They were still successful for the most part, but he was severely short-handed due to an
influx of injured Aurors. Physically and mentally exhausted, he had also turned in early.

When he awoke the next morning, he decided spur of the moment to take the day off. Fitz had been more than happy to
deliver the note to Wahler, and Harry had no intention of being around for the harsh reply - Wahler was quite adamant on
having notices at least a week in advance.

Unperturbed by what his boss would say the next day, Harry treated himself to a large breakfast. Ginny had already left
for an early Quidditch practice.

Sipping on his coffee, Harry mused on what he could possibly do over the course of the day. Unfortunately, nothing came
to mind that he would want to do alone. Ginny was at practice, Ron was busy with field-work training, and Hermione was
also at work.

While he was cleaning his dishes, he determined that Hermione was his best bet. He knew that she was similarly loaded
down with work and figured she could use a break as well.

He went to the fireplace and threw in a handful of Floo Powder. Kneeling, he thrust his head into the flames.

“Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” he said clearly.

His head spun temporarily and then came to a halt, though he was still immersed in the emerald flames.

“State your name,” said the cool female voice from the Ministry lift.

“Harry Potter, Auror Department,” Harry said.

“Thank you,” said the female voice, and then his head spun through one more rotation and came to a halt in the fireplace
of the Head of Hermione's Department, Cecilia Vintreem.

“Good morning, Cecilia,” Harry said politely.

“Good morning to you as well, Mr. Potter,” Cecilia replied. She was a somewhat matronly witch with graying blonde hair.
She smiled fondly at Harry. “What can I help you with?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could fetch Hermione for me,” he said. “I've got a question about a case she sent
down.”

“Oh, Hermione didn't come in today,” Cecilia said. She seemed amused. “Apparently she frightened a number of employees
yesterday and left in quite the temper.”

“That's not good,” Harry said, though he chuckled to himself as well. “I'll see if I can contact her.”

“Alright,” she said. “Have a pleasant day!”

“You too, Cecilia,” he said with a smile before pulling his head back through the fireplace.

“Tsk, tsk,” Harry muttered to himself as he pulled a dark blue long-sleeved shirt over his white tee. “Always a step
ahead of me, that girl.”

*********

Harry stepped gingerly over the wreckage of the smashed vase. He saw one heel lying among the shards and detected the
other on the dresser halfway across the room. A set of robes lay crumpled next to the night-table stand.

Hermione still lay asleep, fully dressed in work attire and tangled in the sheets. She looked quite peaceful despite the
turmoil of her room.

Harry knelt next to her bed and gingerly brushed the disheveled hair from her eyes.

“Hermione…” he murmured softly, continuing to caress her hair. “Rise and shine…”

She moved her head slightly, stretching as she slowly began to wake up. Her eyes finally fluttered open and she looked
at Harry uncomprehendingly for a moment before furrowing her brow.

“What're you doing here?” she asked, her voice raspy with sleep.

“What are you still doing in bed?” Harry countered. “It's almost ten.”

Hermione turned over and set her head down again on the pillow. “I've decided to stay in my bed forever and sleep my
life away.”

“Why would you do that?” Harry asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Because everything traumatic that has ever happened to me has happened after I got out of bed in the morning.”

Harry thought about this for a second, and then nudged Hermione aside before lying on the bed next to her. “Don't mind
me,” he said, nestling himself into the pillow Hermione had just been using. It smelled very faintly of strawberries.

He heard Hermione giggle next to him and he smiled as well.

“So,” he said after a moment, enjoying the feel of her arm pressed into his, “planning to go to that Weasley shindig
tonight?”

Hermione laughed. “As if there was an option.”

Harry turned on his side to face her, and she did the same.

“Do I want to know what happened in here last night?”

“No,” Hermione replied, and sighed deeply. “Why does it seem as if most of the decisions in my department are made by
drunken apes?”

Harry shrugged the shoulder that wasn't leaning into the mattress. “Decisions are made by people who have time, not
people who have talent.”

Hermione grinned. “Then why are talented people so busy?”

“They're fixing the problems made by the people who have time, of course,” Harry said seriously.

She laughed again, and then turned her head to observe the mess she had been too tired to pay attention to yesterday.

“Whoops,” she said.

“Whoops indeed,” Harry said. He sent the vase flying back together with a wave of his wand.

“Thanks,” Hermione said.

Harry glanced back at the now clear floor and noted a few small smears of blood leading to the bed.

“Did you cut your foot?”

Hermione seemed confused at first before her expression cleared. “Oh!” she said, and sat up so she could pull her foot
towards herself for examination. A small, clean cut ran across the sole of her foot.

“You didn't even bother healing yourself before you went to sleep?” he asked, placing the tip of his wand on the cut.

“I was really, really tired,” she said, watching as her skin knit itself together.

Harry chuckled, and then stood up from the bed. He pulled Hermione up with him.

“Next time try to be a bit more careful.”

She rolled her eyes. “I've said the same thing to you for about thirteen years.”

“And I'm still alive, aren't I?”

“Barely.” She glanced at the clock on her wall. Past ten now.

“Going back to my first question, what're you doing here?” Hermione said. “You should be at work.”

“As should you be,” Harry said.

“Touché.”

“I decided that we both deserved a break. So we're taking a hooky day. Starting now. I'll make you some breakfast while
you get changed.”

Before Hermione could protest, Harry had exited the room, closing the door behind him.

**********

After Hermione had eaten multiple slices of delicious French toast, Harry had immediately plucked her up and led her
downstairs, where Sirius' recently repaired motorbike sat gleaming in the sun. She stopped in her tracks, staring at the
bike with wide eyes.

“No way, Harry. Absolutely no way.”

“Come on, it won't bite you,” Harry said, swinging his leg over the bike. He already seemed extremely fond of it.

“Can't we just Apparate?” Hermione asked.

“Nope. Get on.” He extended a small light-blue helmet towards her.

“Seriously?” Hermione said, taking it from his grip with a grimace as she imagined what it would do to her barely tamed
hair.

“Safety first,” Harry said, reaching over and tightening the strap under her chin. “See, you look adorable.”

She blushed faintly as she sat behind him, but luckily Harry was already preoccupied putting on his own dark-blue
helmet. She hesitantly placed her arms around his waist, but she quickly tightened them once the bike roared to life and
sped down the road.

Much to Hermione's relief, Harry opted to drive the bike Muggle-style to their destination, not once making it take
flight. They zipped along through traffic, the wind whipping against their faces, and before long Hermione even began to
enjoy herself.

They eventually stopped in front of the Leaky Cauldron and Harry removed his helmet. He grinned widely at her when he
took hers.

“What are you smiling at?” she said, smoothing her clothes primly.

He continued to grin.

“What?” she said, trying to look aggravated.

“You loved it,” he said.

“No, I didn't.”

“Don't try to pull that!” Harry said. “You were smiling ear to ear the entire time.”

She stared back at him defiantly, and then wilted.

“Yes, I enjoyed it!” she admitted, glaring at him. “And I therefore need to punch the daylights out of you until we both
forget it.”

“Spare the glasses,” he said, putting his hands up in defense.

“I could fix them,” she said, raising her fists up threateningly. “No big deal.”

“Right, of course!” He paused. “What was that spell again?”

Hermione smacked him on the arm, but the ear-to-ear smile had returned to her face.

“So what did you have in mind for today, Potter?”

“Well, Granger, I thought we might do a bit of shopping somewhere at some point, get some lunch someplace eventually,
and do whatever the heck else we want to do for the rest of the day.”

“Awesome, great plan,” Hermione said, nodding her approval. “Very precise.”

“I thought so. Where d'you want to go first?”

Hermione opened her mouth, but was cut off.

“Wait, what am I thinking?” Harry said, flipping out the kick-stand on the bike. “To Flourish and Blotts it is.”

Hermione closed her mouth and smiled impishly.

“If you insist.”

“I do,” Harry said. “Let's go.”

*********

They left Flourish and Blotts approximately two hours later, Harry clutching a large bag of books. Hermione grinned like
a child at Christmas-time.

Since Hermione had had a late breakfast, Harry suggested they get an ice cream from the newly opened Fortescue's Ice
Cream Parlor instead of lunch. A wizard had purchased the property and had respectfully allowed it to keep its original
name in honor of its late owner.

Harry deposited their purchases at a table outside the shop and asked what Hermione would like.

“I don't know,” Hermione said. “Maybe just a scoop of vanilla or something.”

Harry raised his eyebrows but made no comment. He entered the shop and returned a minute later with a huge sundae heaped
with chocolate sauce, chocolate chips, sprinkles, caramel, whipped cream, and cherries.

It was Hermione's turn to raise her eyebrow.

“That certainly doesn't look like a scoop of vanilla.”

“It is, though,” Harry said. “It's just disguised by all the chocolate and whipped cream.”

She took the proffered spoon, shaking her head pointlessly.

“So,” Harry said, taking the first bite out of the sundae. “I've been thinking about something.”

“Which would be?” Hermione asked, getting a spoonful for herself.

Harry smiled somewhat mischievously.

“We never came up with Animagus names.”

Hermione ate one of the cherries from the top of the ice cream.

“That's really random,” she said. “We've been able to transform for years.”

“Exactly my point. We've been nameless for far too long.”

Hermione sighed. “Is it really that necessary?”

“It's of vital necessity,” Harry said. “My father and Sirius would be ashamed that I've gone so long without one.”

Hermione took one more bite and set her spoon down. “Fine,” she said, “what did you have in mind?”

Harry grinned happily. “Firstly, I think we should name each other.”

“Why?”

“Because it'd be too pompous to name ourselves,” he said. “Just because I'm amazing doesn't mean I should be allowed to
name myself as such.”

“I see your point,” Hermione replied with a roll of her eyes. She then observed him thoughtfully, trying to picture his
wolf form clearly in her mind. “Well, if your father and Sirius are to be our examples, we need to be named after some
attribute of our forms.”

“Right,” Harry said, nodding. “And nothing that'd be a rip-off of Sirius' name.”

“So no `pad' or `foot' involved. Got it,” Hermione said, continuing to think.

“What about something like Whitefang or something?” Harry suggested, baring his teeth as evidence.

“Already taken,” Hermione said. She shook her head in disappointment. “You're severely lacking in knowledge of Muggle
classics.”

Harry shrugged. “No skin off my back.”

“What about Cain?” Hermione asked. “As in Canis lupis.”

“Way too logical.”

“Maybe something involving your coat… Greyfur? Greycoat?”

“Silver bullet!”

“No, that's ridiculous,” Hermione said distractedly. “But the speed's not a bad idea…” After all, one of Harry's
favorite pastimes was flying - he clearly loved speed…

“What about Swiftpaw?” she said after a moment of deliberation.

Harry considered this for a moment. He finally nodded.

“I like it. Your turn now. I say Bushytail.”

“Do you really want me to despise you forever?”

Harry waved her off. “I'm just kidding. Hmmm. Vixen?”

Hermione thought about this and then shook her head. “I don't consider the alternative definition altogether
flattering.”

He nodded and then sank into thoughtful silence, gazing at her broodingly. Hermione had almost completed her half of the
sundae when he snapped his fingers.

“Got it.” He picked up his spoon and extended it towards her like a scepter.

“I dub thee…” he said seriously, performing the motions of bequeathing knighthood. “Copper,” he finished, and dabbed a
dollop of whip cream on her nose.

“Just Copper?” she said, covering her own finger in whip cream and tapping his nose.

“Just Copper,” he said, filling up his spoon and aiming it threateningly at Hermione.

Hermione waved her napkin in truce. “Any particular reason?” she asked, brushing at her nose.

“It just fits. Your fur and your mind…copper is a bright reddish brown, and your mind is `bright' as well, like the
metal.”

Hermione nodded approvingly at his train of thought, pleased that he would've put so much thought into it.

“Shall we test out these new names with our forms, Swiftpaw?”

“I believe we shall, Copper,” Harry said. He shrunk their bags and tucked them into his pocket. Then they abandoned the
small remainder of their sundae and Apparated to a beautiful wooded area where they could spend the rest of the day.

**********

When Hermione was dropped off at her apartment early that evening, she felt immensely elated. She could honestly say
that today had been the best day she had had in a long time. She had been reluctant to let her and Harry's outing end so
early, but they knew that Molly would have their necks if they were late for dinner.

Which is why Hermione went straight to the shower, cleaned herself up, dressed, and left immediately for the Burrow.

By the noise emitting from the house, Hermione could tell that most of the clan had already gathered. She smiled as she
passed Victoire, little Molly, and little Fred playing happily in the yard and entered the house, almost running smack
into Ron in the process.

“Woah!” he said, backing up slightly to admit his girlfriend. “I was just about to come get you.”

“Why?” she said. “Is Harry not here yet? He knew I still had to get ready.”

“No, he's here,” Ron said. “But it was getting a bit late…”

Hermione noted that Ron seemed quite fidgety.

“Well, I'm here now,” she said, brushing past him into the kitchen. “Is dinner almost ready?”

“Er, just about.”

Hermione led the way into the crowded living room and embraced most of the Weasleys, giving special attention to Fleur
and Angelina, who both held infants in their arms.

“Louis is getting so big!” she said to Fleur, whose son smiled at her with chubby cheeks as he was bounced on his
mother's knee.

“And you!” Hermione lifted Roxanne from Angelina's extended hands. “I haven't seen you for ages!”

“Weeks isn't exactly `ages,'” Angelina said, smiling.

“It is when you're only weeks old,” Hermione said, smiling serenely at the tiny baby. Percy's youngest, Lucy, tottered
over on shaky legs to observe the newest Weasley.

“Very curious, zis one,” Fleur said, nodding towards Lucy.

“She's simply making sure Hermione's going about things right,” George said. “She is Percy's daughter, after all.”

“And Hermione is an immense trouble-maker,” Harry added. “Someone needs to keep an eye on her.”

“Too true,” Ginny said. “She could do something really horrible…like try to teach the baby Ancient Runes.”

“Ancient Runes is a fascinating subject!” Hermione insisted, looking exasperated.

“Would you look at that. Roxy's already asleep,” George said.

Hermione sneered at George quite maturely and gently handed Roxanne back to her mother.

“Thanks goodness one of her parents has some brains,” she said, giving a grateful nod to Angelina.

“I'll toast to that!” George said, raising his drink in salute.

Bill poked his head into the room as everyone laughed.

“Mum says dinner's almost ready. Audrey's setting the table now.”

“Excellent, I'm starving,” Harry said, standing up and stretching.

As George went to wrangle up the remainder of the Weasley grandchildren, the group moved outside. The table was laden
down, as per usual, and everyone dug in appreciatively.

“Way to wait up, guys,” George said when he returned, depositing little Molly and Fred in their seats. As if trying to
make a point of her superior age, Victoire walked confidently ahead of her uncle and seated herself primly between her
mother and Harry.

From across the table, Hermione observed Harry quite obviously placing a napkin in his lap. Victoire mimicked him
eagerly, flapping a napkin as she covered her own knees. Hermione noted with amusement that Victoire was trying very
hard to make sure that Harry didn't catch her looking.

This game lasted most of the evening. When Harry took a drink, Victoire chugged from her own glass; when he dabbed at
his mouth with another napkin, Victoire wiped her face.

“Could you pass me a roll, miss?” he eventually asked her. She seemed thrilled to have been asked such an adult request
and hastened to reach her short little arms out to grab the roll basket. Hermione noted that it sidled closer to her and
knew that Harry was levitating it from beneath the table.

When it was close enough, Victoire seized it and offered it to him.

“Thank you very much,” he said charmingly, causing the little girl to blush furiously.

Hermione kicked him from underneath the table, smirking.

Harry smirked right back and promptly kicked at her shin as well.

As neither was willing to let the other have the last word, they were soon engaged in a full-out but entirely silent
foot war. They fought to keep straight faces as they listened to other topics of conversation along the table, and they
only stopped when dinner had been completed and Hermione had dug her heel quite forcefully into his foot as they were
about to stand up.

Harry winced and waved his napkin in truce. Hermione smiled sweetly in reply.

Caught up as she was in this war, she didn't really register that Ron hadn't said a solitary word the entire meal. She
only realized this when she noticed that he looked exceedingly pale as they reentered the living room.

She leaned towards him to ask what was the matter just as he stood up, looking as though he were about to be sick. She
hadn't seen him in such a state since he'd joined the Quidditch team in fifth year.

With a forced deliberation he tapped his glass, drawing everyone's attention to him.

“Er, I, um, I have something I need to say,” he said in a voice a few octaves above his normal tone.

Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide.

Oh no.

Ron turned towards her and her fears were confirmed.

He lowered himself to one knee.

Oh Merlin's pants.

He took her hand, met her somewhat horrified gaze determinedly, and took a deep breath.

“Hermione, I've wanted to ask you something for a long time now -”

“Ron -”

“—but I felt that I needed to pull my life together - ”

“Ron, I -” Hermione tried again, but he was not to be interrupted. He plunged on relentlessly.

“I've loved you practically since I met you -”

Hermione couldn't help recalling that Halloween so many years ago as she cried miserably in the girls' bathroom.
Practically indeed.

“—and we've been together through so much -”

Minus a few exceedingly difficult weeks during the Horcrux search.

“I would never ever want to hurt you or see you sad -”

Which is why you snogged Lavender Brown senseless whenever I was in the room. Was she purposely trying to be so
negative?

“—and I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy…”

The hand that was not clutched in Ron's was clenched tightly as she anticipated the next four words. She could feel her
nails cutting into her palm.

“Will you marry me?”

Hermione didn't answer immediately as a million thoughts were zooming in quick succession through her head.

I can't get married…I'm only…twenty-four…okay, well we're both not ready for this kind of commitment…wait, we both have
careers…and a place to live…but we've only been dating for…wow, six years, long time…

She was quickly running out of excuses and felt the eyes of all the Weasleys on her.

It all really dwindled down to one legitimate question.

Will he make me happy?

Hermione's eyes flickered over to Harry, whose eyes were boring into her, as if trying to read her thoughts. She noted
that he looked almost as pale as Ron. Then her eyes took in Ginny, who held fast to Harry's arm.

She returned her gaze to Ron.

“Yes,” she said in as confident a voice as she could manage. “Of course I'll marry you.”

The entire family roared with cheers as Ron stood up and embraced her happily, laughing in relief. He kissed her and
hugged her again before everyone crowded around them joyfully.

Hermione knew that Harry was still watching her even though she couldn't see him. She could feel his gaze on her
movements.

It wasn't until half an hour later that she was finally able to escape the crowd of Weasleys. As the celebrations
continued, she slipped into the kitchen and out into the yard, enjoying the fresh breeze that played across her face.

“Wasn't expecting that one.”

Hermione turned around to face Harry.

“Definitely not,” she agreed.

He smiled as he handed her a glass of wine. “You looked like a deer caught in the headlights.”

“What do you expect?” Hermione sighed. “How would you have reacted in front of the entire family?” She shook her head.
“Certainly not his brightest idea.”

Harry made no reply, but leaned against the fence, swirling his own wine glass as he stared into the distance.

“Are you happy about it?” he asked.

“I suppose I am,” Hermione answered.

“'Suppose'?” he questioned, glancing sideways at her.

“I guess it's one of those things that you're not completely sure about until it happens.”

Harry again made no reply as he returned his gaze to night sky, instead choosing to speak moments later.

“Did you ever think that this would be us?” he finally said, glancing over at her again.

Hermione was extremely taken back by this question. She was also grateful that the darkness masked her flushed cheeks.
But given the serious nature of the question, Hermione decided to answer truthfully.

“I'd be lying if I said no.” She paused as she cast him a nervous look. “Why?”

Harry gave a small shrug. “Just curious, I guess. I've always thought we've had a.... special relationship, I guess.”

Hermione noted that he gave no further explanation for himself, but decided that tonight was not the night to ask such
questions.

“Harry, what you and I have I will never share with anyone else,” she said. “You're my best friend. Which is why…” she
hesitated.

“Which is why what?” he asked, turning to her curiously.

“Which is why, when Ron and I get married, I was hoping you would give me away at the altar.”

She finished off her sentence rather quietly, and when she looked up Harry was smiling at her brilliantly.

“Absolutely,” he said, hugging her. “I would be honored.”

Hermione hugged him back more tightly, feeling that she couldn't have asked for a better person to walk her down the
aisle. And she had a strong feeling that her dad would approve as well.

*********

A/N: Yes, I killed off Hermione's poor innocent father for the cheap thrill of Harry walking Hermione down the aisle.
I'm a horrible person. Please let me know what you think!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

29. Letting Go

A/N: Again, I beg for your patience, readers. I just wanted to remind everyone that Harry and Hermione are indeed
getting together in this fic…it's not one of those where Harry and Hermione get married to Ginny and Ron and spend their
lives in regret that they never revealed their feelings for each other. It's going to be a happy ending, trust me. We
just have to wade through some more angst to get there. And remember, no flames, please!

Thanks to Charlotte, EmmaRadcliffe, justduck, Meli, Christy, noorelisa, and the Anonymous folks for your wonderful
reviews!

Chapter 29: Letting Go

Harry dodged behind a tree as a red jet of light zoomed through the air. He felt the gust of wind made by the spell
rustle his hair, but it collided harmlessly into the area behind him.

“You're gonna have to do better than that if you want any hope of hitting me, ickle Ronnikins!” he taunted loudly.

“That one almost hit you!” he heard Ron protest from across the clearing, where he had previously sought refuge from
Harry's cascade of spells.

“Almost doesn't count for shit when you're face to face with a Death Eater!” Harry responded, peeking out from his
hiding spot.

“Yeah, but you're not a Death Eater, are you?” Ron said. Harry could tell that he was hidden behind a boulder that was
northwest of the tree he was standing behind.

“And besides,” Ron continued, “I'm getting married tomorrow! Can't you give a bloke some sympathy? You've already beat
me up enough!”

Harry shook his head even though he knew Ron couldn't see him. “Fine, I'm sorry your face looks like that.”

“Nothing's happened to my face!”

“Well, excuse me for being thorough,” Harry replied, then stepped out from behind the tree and whipped his wand in the
direction of the boulder. “REDUCTO!”

The boulder exploded, sending rubble flying in every which direction and leaving a very exposed and very dazed-looking
Ron sprawled in its place.

“Levicorpus!” Harry said.

Ron was instantly yanked up by his ankle by some invisible force and levitated in front of Harry.

“Merlin, I bloody hate when you do that!”

“You shouldn't make it so easy, then,” Harry replied.

“Why d'you make me spar with you, anyway?” Ron said glumly, his face slowly turning red. “You know I'd be better off
against one of the other guys. I can actually beat them!”

“There's no point in that,” Harry said. “It's not a challenge. And the only reason you can beat them is because you've
been practicing with me.” He left out the fact that he wanted to release some of the frustration that had been building
up for the last few weeks.

“I guess,” Ron said sourly. “But like I said, I'm getting married tomorrow!”

Harry frowned. “I recall. What's your point?”

“You're gonna be sending Hermione a black-and-blue groom if you keep pounding me like this!”

“I'm not too worried,” Harry replied. “Hermione likes blue.”

Ron glared at him.

“Besides,” Harry said, “you're Auror test's in two weeks. If you expect to pass you need to be ready.”

“Geez, you're so uptight about this stuff,” Ron said. “You're even worse today! And would you mind letting me down?!”

Harry waved his wand and Ron crumpled into a heap on the ground.

“Thanks,” he muttered, rubbing his limbs resentfully.

“No problem.” Harry watched as Ron pulled himself up and dusted off his clothes.

“I think that's enough training for today, don't you think?” he said in a voice that clearly indicated that he had no
intention what-so-ever of participating in another spar with Harry.

“Whatever you say,” Harry said. They walked together toward the edge of the clearing and stepped through a door back
into the Auror office. Another young trainee approached immediately.

“Are you done using the Simulator Room, Mr. Potter?” the trainee asked.

“Yes,” Harry stated wearily, in too foul a mood to insist the teenager call him by his first name. “It's all yours.” He
then strode back in the direction of his office with Ron at his heels.

“You finished up for the day?” Ron asked.

“More or less,” Harry said stiffly.

“Great, because you have no excuse to show up late tonight at the pub. And by the pissed-off mood you've been in today,
it seems to me that you're in severe need of a pint.”

“I'm not pissed-off!” Harry growled unconvincingly.

“Right,” Ron said with a smirk. “Either way, we need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow. Can't have an angry
git walking my wife down the aisle.”

This was doing nothing to improve Harry's mood.

“I'll meet you and the guys at the pub later,” Harry said shortly. “I've still got to get a few things done.”

Ron recognized the dismissal and left promptly, wondering what had gotten his best man into such a foul mood.

*************

Ginny zoomed across the Holyhead Harpies stadium, tossing the Quaffle back and forth among her fellow Chasers. Samantha
and Keri had joined the team shortly before Ginny, but as they were multiple years her senior they had taken the young
Weasley under their wings.

“Come on, Gin, keep up the pace!” Keri yelled, somersaulting in the air as she caught the ball Samantha had passed. She
threw it has hard as she could at the right hoop of the goal and their Keeper, Jessie, caught it easily.

“Nice one, Jess!” Samantha yelled.

Ginny nodded her agreement and Jessie gave her the thumbs up. Jessie was the youngest and newest member on the team and
the Harpies were pleased at their prospects in the upcoming season.

Jessie tossed the ball to Ginny, who was closest, but just before the Quaffle reached her she experienced a sudden wave
of dizziness. The ball crashed into her arm and bounced outwards, but she lunged forward and pulled it towards her at
the last second.

“Not-so-nice one, Butterfingers!” Samantha said good-naturedly.

“My bad,” Ginny said, rubbing at her eyes. “Just got dizzy there for a second.”

“You just need to get some more blood pumping,” said one of the team Beaters, Gwyneth, who also happened to be the new
captain of the team. “Run through that last tactic again!”

Ginny nodded as all three Chasers took off to the other end of the pitch, tossing the Quaffle leisurely between them.
Once they reached the other end, they spun around and flew full speed towards Jessie once more.

Halfway down the pitch, however, the lightheadedness returned to Ginny once more, combined with an overwhelming feeling
of nausea. The Quaffle zoomed right past her head without her making the slightest move for it.

Allyson, the team's Seeker, happened to be near the ground searching for the Snitch and caught the Quaffle before it hit
the ground.

“Geez, Gin, what's up with you today?” Keri said. “You'd usually be on that pass like scales on a dragon. Heck, we were
even thinking of changing that phrase just because of your mad skills. We were gonna start saying `like Ginny on a
Quaffle.' What d'you think?”

Ginny responded by vomiting over the side of her broom.

“Okay, I know it's a bad line, but it's not that bad!” Keri said anxiously as the team zoomed in to hold Ginny steady on
her broom.

“'S alright,” she muttered as she wiped her mouth. “Must've eaten something bad at breakfast…”

“You should go home either way,” Gwyneth said forcefully. “Samantha, would you make sure she gets there alright?”

“Of course,” Samantha replied, and clutched Ginny's arm firmly as they drifted to the ground.

“I dunno what's wrong with me,” Ginny said weakly. “I felt perfectly fine last night.”

“You probably just caught a bug. A good day or two's rest should fix it.”

“Yeah,” Ginny replied. “You're probably right.”

********

Hermione stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror.

She stood in her old room in her mother's house, clothed in a beautiful white dress. Her hair was pinned up in an
intricate bun and one of her mother's necklaces was clasped around her neck. Her family - both Weasley and Granger -
were all gathered outside, happily enjoying the celebration of her marriage with Ron.

Apparently she was the only one who wasn't.

She in fact felt rather miserable. And the fact that she felt miserable on her wedding day only served to make her feel,
if possible, even more miserable.

Surely she was doing something wrong - it must be illegal to feel this downtrodden on your wedding day. She thought back
to Ginny's radiant smile on her wedding day, the way she had twirled throughout the room and seemed to float rather than
walk.

But Hermione felt no urge to twirl, and when she attempted it she simply felt silly. When she walked about the room, she
felt if anything more solidly connected to the floor than ever before. Her smile was so completely fake she was sure
others would see immediately through it. In other words, there was nothing radiant about her whatsoever.

Ginny had seemed like a diamond at her wedding - Hermione felt as though she were about as stunning as a polished chunk
of rock.

Her brooding was interrupted, however, by Luna and Ginny stepping into the room. They both looked giggly and blissful
and Hermione quickly rearranged her face once more into the painful imitation of a smile she had practiced earlier.

“Hey, guys,” she said brightly.

“Oh, look at you!” Ginny said happily, circling Hermione. “You look amazing!”

“Yes,” Luna agreed serenely. “You look wonderful, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Luna,” Hermione said, feeling tears prickle at the back of her eyes. “You both look beautiful as well.”

“You're not supposed to remark on how we look,” Ginny said, exasperated. “It doesn't matter how we look. It matters how
you look. If anything, we're supposed to look horrible compared to you!”

“Really?” Luna said curiously. “I could always go change…maybe change my eyebrow color…?”

“No, that won't be necessary, Luna,” Ginny said. “This is supposed to be a Muggle wedding. No magic allowed since
Hermione's relatives are here.”

“And I want you to stay looking just as nice as you do now,” Hermione said kindly.

Luna smiled. “Rolf seems to like the dress as well.”

“And he should!” Ginny said. “I'm glad you've hit it off so well with him.” She turned to Hermione suddenly and gripped
her shoulders.

“No one would blame you if you pulled out now, Hermione,” she said seriously.

Hermione cocked her head to hide how much this plan appealed to her. “Random much, Ginny?”

She shrugged. “Not so much. I was thinking about Rolf and Harry and how in the world someone like Ron got someone as
good as you.”

“That's so touching, Ginny,” Luna said.

“I thought so,” Ginny replied. “And I was joking, of course.” She lowered her voice and gestured toward the window.
“I'll cover for you!” she whispered loudly.

Hermione couldn't help but giggle at her soon-to-be sister-in-law's crazy antics.

“You are something, Ginny.”

“As are you, Hermione.” She paused. “And Luna.”

“Thank you, Ginny!” Luna said sincerely, beaming.

Ginny smiled at her in return and then turned back to Hermione. “Seriously, though, it is nice that we've all stuck
together like this. One big happy Weasley family!”

At that moment Mrs. Weasley came bustling into Hermione's room. She examined her son's fiancé fondly and hugged her.

“You look so beautiful, darling.”

“I've been told,” Hermione said, smiling.

“The ceremony is going to be lovely,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Everything is perfect. And I must say it'll be a bit of a
relief to be done with all of this wedding business once and for all. It's so exhausting!”

Ginny laughed. “Oh, you know you're going to miss all of this!” she said. “I'm actually considering getting a divorce in
the near future just so you'll have something to occupy yourself with.”

“That's nothing to joke about, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said seriously. “That would be absolutely horrible.”

“Who said we wouldn't get remarried?” Ginny said.

“She has a point, Mrs. Weasley,” Luna said, nodding.

“Either way, it can't be good luck to talk about such things on the day of a wedding. And I need you two to come with me
to set up a few last minute things,” Mrs. Weasley said, gesturing to Ginny and Luna. She then turned to Hermione. “Your
mother should be up in a moment as well.”

Hermione nodded. “Alright.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled at her once more and then bustled the other two girls out of the room. Hermione's mother showed up
moments later.

“Hey, honey,” Katherine said, pulling her daughter tightly to her. She then held Hermione at arm's length and examined
her intently. “How're you feeling?”

Hermione swallowed. So many choices really… Depressed? Miserable? Heartbroken?

“Nervous, I suppose,” she responded, settling on the feeling that would be most appropriate for the situation.

Katherine smiled. “That's to be expected, of course. Everyone's nervous on their wedding day.”

Hermione jerked her head in a noncommittal sort of way.

Her mother observed her sadly for a moment, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“I wanted to also apologize to you, sweetie.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “What for?”

“For… for being so harsh on you before. I was completely out of line -”

Hermione cut her off. “No, you weren't. You're my mother. Knocking sense into me is part of your job description.”

Katherine laughed, wiping at her eyes. “I shouldn't have gone about it in that way though. It was just such a stressful
time - ”

“I know, Mum. It's okay.”

Mrs. Granger smiled at her daughter again, sniffling. “I wish your father could be here. So much.”

This caused Hermione to dab at her own eyes. “M-me too, Mum,” she said shakily. “I miss him.”

Katherine gripped her daughter's hands tightly. “I know he would've been happy that Harry's walking you down the aisle
as well. You couldn't have picked anyone better.”

Hermione nodded, still brushing at her eyes and not meeting her mother's gaze.

“Is it almost time?” she asked.

Katherine nodded. “Just about.”

***********

Harry observed the bustle of the guests with a sense of both apathy and fascination. He had drunk very little the
previous night at Ron's bachelor party and was therefore fit enough to converse with many of the Grangers. He had met no
one from Hermione's family except for her parents and he found the opportunity to study her relatives quite appealing.
It also provided the perfect distraction from the event itself.

He was absorbed in a conversation with one of Hermione's older cousins when Ginny and Mrs. Weasley arrived and pulled
him away.

“What's up?” Harry said as they retreated towards the edge of the crowd of people.

“We should be starting quite soon,” Mrs. Weasley said, her eyes darting methodically to the decorations to make sure
everything was in place. “Best to be ready. Where's Ron?”

“Looking nervous as hell at the end of the aisle. As expected,” Ginny said.

Luna walked up calmly a moment later. “They're lacking a seat on Hermione's side of the guests,” she said.

“Oh, I knew we should've set out more!” Mrs. Weasley said. “Ginny, dear, would you go and collect a chair from our side
and move it?”

“Why do I always have to get the extra chair?” Ginny groaned.

“Because you're just so persuasive, Gin,” Harry said.

“True,” she said, making a show of cracking her knuckles. “If you aren't willing to punch a relative for a chair, you
don't belong in this family.”

“Ginny…” Mrs. Weasley said warningly.

“Oh, Mum, relax a bit! I know there are some spare chairs over there,” she said, and pushed her way back through the
crowd to collect them.

“Believe or not, I actually am feeling rather relaxed,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Katherine's been so helpful, and after four
other weddings I've finally got it right!”

“And it's the last one, too,” Harry said. “Pity.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled fondly at her son-in-law. “Indeed.”

She checked her watch and startled slightly. “Oh, we need to get ready! It's time to start!”

“Right,” Harry said, swallowing loudly.

*********

Hermione swallowed nervously as her mother led her from her room and towards the door that led onto the porch. The house
was deserted since the guests were all seated in anticipation of the start of the ceremony.

After one last embrace and peck on the cheek her mother walked briskly from the house and sat in the front row of the
bride's section.

Unlike at Harry's wedding, every second was passing with extreme clarity. Everything seemed ridiculously crisp and
bright, as though she had just put on glasses that were much stronger than necessary.

She was dreading the moment when Harry would come get her - if anyone would see through her bravado, it would be him.

She took a deep breath and composed herself as the door opened.

Harry closed the door quickly behind him and turned towards her.

**********

Harry practically felt his throat close as he took in Hermione's appearance.

She looked - was - absolutely beautiful, and it took him multiple moments to gather the voice to tell her so.

“You look…breathtaking, Hermione.”

She smiled up at him, tears shining in her eyes, and Harry brushed them away when they began to trail down her cheeks.

“None of that, now,” he said as jokingly as he could, still cupping her face. “I can't have you blubbering all the way
down the aisle.”

Hermione laughed softly and wiped impatiently at her own eyes. She pulled away as Ginny and Luna entered the room.

“Here,” Luna said kindly, handing Hermione a bouquet of assorted flowers. She and Ginny each clutched a simpler bouquet
of their own.

“Ready?” Harry asked, all traces of joking gone as he stared down carefully at Hermione.

She averted her eyes after a moment and gave a small nod.

“Ok, let's do this,” Ginny said. The double doors leading to the porch and garden were thrown wide, and the traditional
wedding march instigated the even more traditional twist of the guests as they turned to examine the procession.

Smiling radiantly, Ginny led the way onto the porch, down the steps, and along the stretch of white silk that lined the
way to where Ron and a minister stood. Luna followed after a moment's pause and walked a few paces behind her. They both
made their way slowly down the aisle and finally lined up in front of the bride's guests.

Harry extended his arm towards a rather pale Hermione and she laced her arm through it. He gripped her hand and could
feel her shaking slightly as they stepped forward to begin their own walk.

Hermione shot Harry a nervous smile and then stared ahead of her determinedly. They both took a collective breath and
finally walked onto the porch.

Harry blinked furiously as the sunlight pierced his eyes, but despite the strong sunshine he noticed how cold the breeze
felt after the warmth of the house. He felt goosebumps erupt on Hermione's arm and reached over with his free hand to
rub her forearm soothingly. Her shivering was more prominent than ever.

Strangely, he felt himself shaking slightly as well.

He couldn't quite put a finger as to why this was. He wasn't nervous…over a decade of fame had more or less deadened him
to the stares of other people, especially since he actually knew over half of the individuals in the room. Nor was he
necessarily cold. He was wearing a suit, after all.

But Hermione's arm did feel pleasantly warm, nestled as it was against his.

Actually, his grip on Hermione's hand soon became a rather important point of interest to him, and each step that he
took seemed to make it all the more significant.

It fit rather well into his own, he thought. Perfectly, really. Her hand seemed small and warm in his, and Harry found
that he quite liked the feel of it.

So much so that he didn't want to let go.

As he and Hermione inched closer towards Ron, Harry felt as though someone had pulled wool over his ears. Everything was
very muffled except for the increasing staccato of his own heart.

Why was this happening now? In a few seconds he was expected to release Hermione's hand and allow Ron to take it. How
could he do that when every solitary fiber of his being was screaming against that very action, bellowing at him to hold
fast to her for all he was worth?

All too soon he noticed that they had reached the end of the rows of guests and that Ron had stepped forward, beaming,
to initiate the event that Harry so loathed to complete.

But he had to. There was no question of it - it's not as though he could simply stand there in front of both Ron and
Hermione's families (and technically his own) and refuse to release the bride…No matter how much he wanted to.

Hermione rubbed her thumb along the top of Harry's hand, as if reminding him of her presence. His skin tingled where her
thumb trailed.

He closed his eyes for the briefest moment and loosened his fingers against all better judgment. Hermione extricated her
hand gently and smiled at him.

Harry flashed her a reassuring smile (perhaps more for himself than her) and bent down to place a small kiss on the
corner of her lips. Then, without a further glance, he hastily retreated to stand at the front of the groom's side of
the family. He was grateful he wasn't forced to watch Hermione place her hand into Ron's.

**********

“Harry?”

Harry jolted slightly as Ginny spoke his name. “Hmmm?”

“You just completely tuned out,” she said. Her hands were around Harry's neck as they danced to the slow beat of the
music that emanated throughout the garden.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I'm just a bit tired, I guess.”

Ginny laughed lightly. “Maybe you shouldn't have drunk so much at Ron's party!”

Harry didn't bother to correct her assumption and gave a silent nod of agreement.

They danced quietly for a few minutes, but it seemed as though Ginny were practically about to burst with suppressed
excitement.

“I'm not the only one who's acting a bit odd,” he said. “You look like you're about to jump out of your skin.”

“I'm just….really really really happy at the moment,” Ginny replied with a small shrug.

Harry frowned. “About what exactly?”

“Oh, about everything, really! It's a beautiful day, my brother just got married, it looks like the Cannons might
actually have a shot at the Cup this year -”

Harry cut her off. “You wouldn't be this excited about that stuff. What is it really?”

Ginny gave a half-exasperated, half-delighted squeal. “I was meaning to wait until later, but…Harry, I'm pregnant!” she
said, leaping at him to hug him tightly around the neck. “Can you believe this? We're going to be parents!”

Harry stood in shock as Ginny practically wringed his neck. “Merlin, holy - Gin, are you serious?!”

Ginny giggled as she pulled away from him. “Of course I'm serious, you dolt! You're going to be a dad!”

Harry felt two overwhelming emotions gush into his chest almost simultaneously: pure, absolute happiness and an
unexplainable torrent of painful regret. Or almost unexplainable… the feeling of Hermione's hand in his had not yet
abated.

“Don't tell anyone, though,” Ginny said as she pulled Harry back into the motions of dancing. “This is Ron and
Hermione's day, after all. We wouldn't want to take anything away from that.”

Harry's eyes darted unwillingly to the newly married couple at Ginny's mention of them.

“Right,” he said. “We wouldn't want to do that.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

30. Falling

A/N: Here's the next chapter! Again, I would really like to thank those of you who have the patience to stick with this
story. I'm a personal fan of angst, but I know not everyone else is, so thanks! Expect the next chapter probably on
Saturday or Sunday at the latest.

Thanks to justduck, UKwildcat820, auror_lumos09, Meli, EmmaRadcliffe, and noorelisa for the reviews! And is it just me,
or am I typing the same lovely usernames for every chapter? Would love to here more feedback from everyone else I know
is reading!

Chapter 30: Falling

Hermione crouched expectantly in front of the oven, eyeing the browning chicken inside with a rather hard gaze. So
intent was she on her staring that she didn't hear the door to her - to her and Ron's - flat open.

“You here, Hermione?” Ron called out from the living area. Hermione didn't turn her eyes away from the cooking meat as
she heard the already familiar chorus of Ron's entry: the slam of the door closing, the clinking of keys as they were
dropped on the coffee table, the heavy thumping of his cloak being tossed over the couch, and the ever-increasing noise
of his footfalls as he sought her out.

“Where - oh, there you are,” she heard Ron say from behind her. “How's Mrs. Weasley doing today?”

Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes as she gave a small sigh. The continual greeting using her new surname was
getting quite old. In fact, it had really gotten old after the first few days. It had been months since they had
married, and she was still unused to it. On most days she still had to stop herself from falsely correcting him.

That would be Granger, Ronald.

“My day was fine,” she murmured, still focusing on the oven. “How was yours?”

“Eh, same old same old,” Ron said. “Though it would be much better if my wife would stop having a staring competition
with dinner and give me a kiss!”

She heard the pout in his voice and she stood up, wincing at the cracking of her knees. She turned to Ron and chastely
pecked his expectant lips.

“Sorry, Ron, I just don't want it to burn,” Hermione said. “I want it just right.”

“I'm sure it'll be great,” Ron said affably, flashing her a smile. He pulled her closer to him. “I can think of much
better things we can do in the meantime.”

Hermione felt her cheeks redden slightly. “I don't know, I'm still working on dinner -”

“Don't worry about it,” Ron said, still holding her by the waist. “It should be ready after we're through…”

Nope, still wouldn't be ready, Hermione thought, the urge to roll her eyes coming for the second time.

She pulled away from her husband with an apologetic expression. “It's not just the chicken, I've got other things to
make as well,” she said, turning away and pulling a pot from beneath the counter to prove her point.

“Well, okay then. Maybe for dessert then,” Ron said cheekily. Hermione knew he most likely would've winked if she'd been
looking at him.

She saved herself from answering by starting to mash potatoes with a blender. She heard Ron leave the kitchen and knew
he had probably settled himself onto the couch to watch television, one of the few Muggle inventions he had an
appreciation for.

Hermione continued blending for multiple minutes, welcoming the lack of any other noise, and finally stopped to scoop
the potatoes into a serving bowl.

Just as she finished this task, she noticed a fine stream of smoke issuing from the oven.

“Damn it!” she hissed, grabbing a dishtowel and throwing open the stove. She fanned away the smoke and then sat back
dejectedly as she scrutinized her now blackened chicken.

*************

“Come on, Hermione, it tastes great!” Ron said, taking a large bite of the meat as though to reassure her. Not that it
worked - Ron wasn't exactly the pickiest of eaters to begin with.

Hermione nibbled at her own portion, which she had salvaged from the ruined chicken. She nodded mutely at Ron's
compliment.

The only sound to be heard for several moments was the scraping of knives and forks.

“Thank goodness it's the weekend, huh?” Ron said eventually. “I'm exhausted!”

“Me too,” Hermione said. “Did we make any plans?”

“I dunno…wait, shit! We agreed to help Harry and Ginny with the nursery tomorrow!” Ron said, aghast that he wouldn't be
able to lounge the entire day.

Hermione lost her appetite as soon as he mentioned the task. She had forgotten entirely about it…or rather intentionally
pushed it from her mind.

Harry and Ginny had announced her pregnancy almost as soon as she and Ron had returned from their weeklong honeymoon in
Germany.

What a pleasant surprise that had been, Hermione thought somewhat bitterly.

She had thought she was above such feelings - she had reestablished a somewhat normal relationship with Harry again, she
had moved on and dated Ron, she had married Ron…

But something about this revelation had made her feel as though she had been slapped across the face.

She hated herself for the feeling of jealousy that had arisen from the announcement. She should be happy for Harry - it
was what he had always wanted, really…a family he could love and cherish in a way that he never got to experience.

But the finality of it all was almost too much for her to bear.

“You know Ginny's gonna be a right git about all this too,” Ron was saying, and Hermione pulled herself to the present.

“Yeah…you're probably right,” Hermione said. “She certainly seems to appreciate the power-boost she's gotten.”

“Of course she does!” Ron said, cutting his last bit of chicken into pieces. “And Harry doesn't help matters by
completely doting on her hand and foot!”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn't he?”

Ron backtracked quickly. “You know what I mean! You'd think she'd lost her arms and legs!”

Hermione nodded. Ginny had indeed been living the good life for a while now. Harry was throwing himself whole-heartedly
into the process of preparing Ginny and himself for the new baby, and Hermione couldn't help but find it ridiculously
sweet. He was constantly flipping through baby books whenever he had a spare moment, and seldom was an outing achieved
without stopping to pick up a new toy or trinket for his child.

“It won't be so bad,” Hermione said, attempting to console them both. “Ginny'll be fine.”

“Yeah, right,” Ron snorted. “And I'm the king of England.”

************

“Alright,” Ginny said diplomatically from her rolling chair in the middle of the room. Her belly was already quite
swollen. “Let's try to get this thing finished. Harry,” she said, pointing at him, “you'll be in charge of rolling the
paint on the walls. Hermione, you can do the trim. Ron…unpack the crib or something.”

“Right, not bad at all,” Ron muttered to Hermione, and she shrugged helplessly.

“What are you standing around for,” Ginny said with a cheeky grin. “Hop to it!”

“Ma'am yes ma'am!” Harry said, saluting his wife before proceeding to pour the pale green paint into a tray.

Ron grunted in annoyance at Harry's enthusiasm and plopped himself in front of the cardboard box contained the parts to
the baby crib. Hermione picked up a brush to begin cutting in the trim.

“Why didn't you want to find out what the baby was, anyway?” Ron said, using his wand to slice through the tape on the
box. “Green's such a copout.”

“Because we wanted to be surprised!” Ginny said. “It'll be amazing to just wait and find out when the day comes.”

“And green's not a copout!” Harry said. “It's just more unisex that yellow.”

“And the final touches will be added afterward!” Ginny said. “Though I still liked yellow,” she said as an afterthought.

“I refuse to allow my son feel as though he's been born into a world made of dandelions,” Harry said, beginning to roll
the paint.

“But it's so sunny and bright!”

“Exactly! Not manly like this light pastel green,” Harry said, tapping the wall.

“Yes, so manly,” Ron said sarcastically.

“Shove off, Ron! If you had your way you'd blind any child of yours with Chudley Cannon orange!” Ginny said.

“What's wrong with -”

“Nothing, Ron, nothing at all. So how's work been?” Ginny said sweetly, switching topics.

Ron's face fell. “Exhausting. I feel like I'm doing the job of three people for half the money. It's a bit of a letdown.
Do you have any motherly-type advice for me?” he said, grinning at her.

Ginny shrugged. “I could give it a go, I guess. Might as well get a little practice in.” She cleared her throat and then
fixed Ron with narrowed eyes. “Shake it off, you big wuss! What d'you expect? You just passed your Auror's test! Did you
expect the Ministry to just hand you everything on a golden platter? You've got to work at it! And you can pass that
tidbit of wisdom to the grandchildren you won't be having!”

She settled herself back into her chair, looking smug.

“How was that?”

“God-awful,” Ron said. “I can tell you're not going to be very good at this.”

Ginny waved her hand airily. “Eat broccoli. Whatever.”

Harry and Hermione laughed at the exchange.

Ron, by this point, had already finished unpacking the pieces to the crib and stood up with a flourish. “All done! Can I
go now?”

“Absolutely not,” Ginny said. “You can help Harry roll.”

“Or he could help me trim,” Hermione said.

“I don't trust him that much,” Ginny replied.

“Why? Am I the only one around here who knows how to paint in a straight line?”

“No, it's just that you do it so well that the rest of us feel unqualified,” Harry said with a grin.

“Is that so, Potter?” Hermione said, still focusing on her careful paint strokes.

“'Tis the truth, Granger,” Harry replied.

“Weasley,” both Ron and Ginny corrected.

“Right,” Harry said.

Ginny sat up a bit straighter in her chair as she surveyed their work.

“Harry, could you go fetch me a glass of juice, please?” she said.

“Sure,” he replied, standing up and placing the roller carefully in its tray. “Apple, orange, or grape?”

“Apple. And when you come back, wear your tool-belt.”

“Because it's sexy?” Harry asked, furrowing his brow.

“That would be between you and the unassembled pile of wood that will become the place our child will sleep for the
first year of his or her life.”

“Well that's a ego-buster.” He turned to Hermione. “D'you want anything, Hermione?”

“Um…just a water's fine,” she said.

“Great. Two waters and an apple juice coming right up.”

“Hey, what about me?” Ron said, looking wounded.

“Last time I checked your legs weren't broken,” Harry replied cheekily.

“You're getting them something!”

“Completely different.” He pointed to Ginny and then Hermione. “Wife slash child and best friend.” He gestured towards
Ron. “And, well, you.”

“Well don't I feel appreciated,” Ron muttered under his breath.

“Oh, and bring the sonogram of the baby,” Ginny called as Harry exited the room. “I want to show Hermione!”

“And make me a sandwich!” Ron yelled.

“Okay, Gin, and get off your lazy arse and make your own sandwich, Ron!” Harry shouted back, the sound of clinking glass
heard as he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets. “Just a water, right Hermione?”

“Right,” Hermione called back.

He reentered the room a moment later with drinks and a few tools and handed Ginny her glass of juice. “I brought an
extra bottle of water if you want it, Ron,” he said.

“I don't want your pity drink!”

“I'd take it if I were you,” Ginny said, taking a sip of her drink. “No one else will give you any.”

Ron shot a glare at his sister.

“Anyway, did you get the picture, Harry?” Ginny asked, swiveling her back towards Ron.

“Yeah,” he said. He slid down to the floor and sat cross-legged next to Hermione. He handed her the bottle of water she
had asked for and pulled the sonogram from his pocket.

He held it out rather gently to Hermione, who took it carefully and then gazed quietly at it for several moments.

Ginny rolled her way over to the duo in her chair and pressed a finger against a light part of the grainy image.

“I'm one hundred percent positive that it's a head,” she said. She then cocked her head. “Unless it's a foot.”

Hermione smiled and pressed the picture back into Harry's grasp. “He's going to be beautiful,” she said sincerely,
looking into his eyes.

Harry held her gaze and gave her a small smile. “He?”

Hermione shrugged as she picked up her paintbrush again. “He.”

“You know it most definitely is going to be a boy now, right?”

“Why is that?” Hermione asked, dipping her brush into the pail of paint.

“Because you're always right about everything,” Harry said with a grin. “What makes this any different?”

Hermione laughed. “The fact that it has absolutely nothing to do with logic?”

“So?”

She shook her head at his superior tone. “If you say so,” she said. She brandished her brush at him with
mock-impatience. “And you should probably start on that crib if you expect him to have a place to sleep.”

“But I was painting,” Harry said. “Ron can start on it - he unpacked everything anyway.”

Ginny choked on the mouthful of apple juice she had just swallowed, coughing profusely as she fixed Harry with an
appalled expression.

“My brother build my first child's crib? I don't think so.”

“Why not?” Harry said, glancing at Ron.

“I don't trust him,” she stated bluntly. “Why do you think I had him unpack the crib instead of paint? He does what I
like to call the `relatively unimportant' jobs.”

“Catchy,” Ron said, disgruntled. “You've just been a ray of sunshine lately, Gin.”

“Doth my ears detect sarcasm, brother?”

“Of course not!” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “And you don't have a right to talk about sarcasm…in fact, you
should probably nip that habit before the kiddie arrives.”

“It's probably genetic,” Hermione said in amusement.

“Either way,” Ron said to Ginny, “you should probably resolve to lose some of the, er, snippiness before the kid can
hear you.”

“And you should probably resolve to stop being a loser,” Ginny replied solemnly.

Ron raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “I'm only kidding.”

Ginny chuckled as well. “I'm not.”

“Play nice now, children,” Harry said good-naturedly. “We don't have the time for you two to keep bickering.”

“Look who's practicing the daddy card,” Ginny said. “Excellent job, full points!”

“So did we ever establish if you wanted Ron or Harry to help me with the painting?” Hermione interjected a bit more
harshly then she had intended.

Ginny spoke without hesitance. “Harry definitely has to build the crib.”

“Well, let's try to finish this, then,” Hermione said, pushing the tray of paint and roller towards Ron. “Just do it the
way Harry was.”

With a grunt of acknowledgement Ron picked up the roller and Harry relocated himself within reach of the wooden assembly
pieces.

**********

After a while, Ron tossed the roller back into the tray in agitation. “This is ridiculous!” he said. “Why in the bloody
hell can't we paint with magic?”

“Because the entire room would end up green,” Ginny said. “There's no way to be accurate enough when you use a spell.”

“Well, I still think it's stupid,” Ron muttered. “You could've kept it the old color.”

“I'm sure dark gray would've been so stimulating to an infant,” Hermione said, now standing on a ladder to trim around
the ceiling.

Ginny looked like she was bored out of her skull. She had hardly budged for the last hour and was quite restless.

“Merlin, I really want a cigar right now,” she said wistfully.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all fixed the redheaded girl with odd expressions.

“Er…” said Hermione.

“You don't smoke,” Harry pointed out.

“Oh, did I say cigar?” Ginny asked vaguely. “I meant pie.”

“See, that makes much more sense,” Harry said, screwing one of the bars onto the crib. “But I'm afraid we have nothing
of the sort.”

“Fate is so cruel,” Ginny muttered, heaving herself from her chair. “I think I'm gonna go get some.”

“Did you want me to go pick it up?” Harry said.

“Nah, I need to get out of the house for a little while,” Ginny said. “Plus, the other furniture needs to be picked up
as well.”

“I could go get the furniture then while you go to the store,” Harry said.

Ginny shook her head. “I'd rather you stay and finish the baby's crib.”

Ron stood up quickly. “Why don't I go then, sis? It would be my pleasure!”

“Yeah, your pleasure to ditch the work,” Ginny snorted. “But I could use the help, so why not? But you're not going by
yourself. You can come get pie with me and then we'll go to get the furniture.”

“Fine by me,” Ron said, slipping on the jacket he'd brought with him as Ginny left the room to get her own coat. He
turned to Harry. “You might as well finish up the painting once you get done with the crib, mate. Don't want you
slacking off and leaving Hermione with all the work.”

Harry gave a derisive snort. “Wouldn't dream of it, Ron. Not after seeing your work ethic.”

“Gotta lead by example,” Ron shrugged. “Anyway, see you two in a bit!”

“See you later,” Ginny said, now reentering the room with a coat. She bent and kissed Harry as he continued screwing
together the crib and she and Ron left the house. The door shut with a final slam and all was quiet.

Hermione continued to trail her brush ever more carefully along the wall as she heard Harry rustling among what was left
of the unassembled crib. She and Harry had not been alone for more than a few minutes at a time since the day Ron had
proposed to her.

She glanced over at him and was a bit surprised to find him watching her as well. His gaze made her unrealistically
uncomfortable. She turned back quickly to the wall and nervously continued to trim.

After about ten minutes Harry let out a triumphant yell.

“Done!” he said proudly, and stood up next to the completed crib. “What d'you think?”

Hermione angled herself on the stepladder and scrutinized Harry's creation. “Looks good to me,” she said.

“Great,” Harry said. “Now I get to finish up Ron's crappy paintjob.”

He rolled up his sleeves and picked up Ron's discarded roller. After re-coating it with paint he went back to layering
the pale green walls, seeming just as enthusiastic about it has he had when he'd first started. Hermione found the
attitude both refreshing and contagious and a smile spread over her face.

“You're really excited about this,” she stated. It wasn't really a question, but Harry responded anyway.

“Of course! I'm still in a state of shock that this is happening at all!”

“It's what you've always wanted…” Hermione said softly, her brush pausing on the wall.

“Right,” Harry said. “I guess I really want him to have the childhood and family I never got.”

Hermione swallowed at the burning sensation in her throat. “He's going to get that and a lot more. You're going to be a
great father, Harry.”

“You think so?” he asked, a note of hesitation in his voice.

Hermione glanced down at him, curious at his uncertainty. “I know so. You are easily the most protective and
lov—compassionate person I've ever met.” She turned away and blushed at what she had almost said, hoping Harry hadn't
registered the abrupt change of adjectives.

“Is that it, though? I feel like there should be more to it then that.”

Hermione actually crouched on her ladder at this point to look Harry straight in the eyes.

“Do you love him?”

“Completely,” Harry said, staring back at her.

“Then that'll be enough,” she said. “The best dads just love their children unconditionally…I know you'll provide him
the greatest life possible with just that.”

Harry nodded and looked away as Hermione stood back up.

“What about you and Ron?” he asked. “Have you talked about having kids yet?”

Hermione shook her head. “He's discussed it. But we've only been married for a few months…I think it'd be better if we
waited.”

“Probably,” Harry said. “But for what it's worth, I know you're going to be a great mum when the time comes.”

Hermione shrugged noncommittally, not looking at him. “I hope so.”

She raised her brush once more but felt Harry's hand envelop her left one. Her eyes met his for what felt like the
thirtieth time that night, but this time she didn't turn away.

“I know so,” he said earnestly.

Before Hermione could respond, however, a loud splintering crack resounded through the room and the stepladder collapsed
from beneath her. She felt her feet begin to give with the ladder, but Harry jerked her away from the top just before
she fell. However, given her higher position and the speed with which Harry had pulled her towards him, they both
crashed to the ground, upturning the paint-can in the process.

Hermione quivered as the adrenaline coursed through her body, but this was nothing compared to her quivering after
realizing that she was lying on top of Harry. They were both splattered with paint and Harry groaned at the hard contact
with the floor.

“Ow,” he muttered, but grinned nonetheless. “That was a close one, Copper.”

She smiled slightly at the use of the nickname. She noted that Harry's arms were still wrapped around her waist.

“See what I mean?” she said. “Protective.”

“I couldn't've let you fall,” Harry said.

“You never have before,” Hermione said quietly. Their closeness was beginning to make her nervous.

“No…but you went and broke my ladder, Granger,” Harry said, still smiling.

“Weasley,” she said even more quietly.

“Right,” Harry said again, but just as before made no move to correct himself. “Doesn't change the fact that you broke
my ladder.”

“Apparently I need to lose of few pounds,” Hermione joked.

“No you don't,” Harry said, reaching up with one of his hands to brush away a spot of paint on her cheek. He didn't
remove his hand. “You're absolutely perfect the way you are.”

Hermione felt as though her heart were in her throat as she stared into Harry's vibrant eyes. She knew she should move,
remove herself from temptation, but she felt frozen in a sea of emerald. She could think of nothing else.

Their faces were mere inches from each other. If either of them leaned forward the slightest bit…

But just as Hermione began to lower her head, she noted in the periphery of her vision the green paint pooling onto the
floor…the pale, pastel green that they were using to paint the room of the child Harry was having with another woman…his
wife who also happened to be her friend and the sister of her own husband…

Hermione rolled off Harry abruptly, still shaking slightly. “W-we should probably clean up and finish this up before
Ginny and Ron get back,” she said with a forced nonchalantness. With a quick Reparo she fixed the stepladder and set in
up in the corner of the room. She climbed it carefully and used Accio to summon her still wet paintbrush to herself.

Then she began painting as though nothing had happened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

31. An Old Enemy

A/N: Happy Easter to all those who are celebrating today! This chapter is technically the first of a two-parter, so I'll
try to put the other one up a little bit more quickly. I would've put this one up sooner, but I've pretty much been
without internet for like three days, so that didn't happen. Hope you enjoy!

Thanks to noorelisa, UKwildcat820, Norahheartshrh, Charlotte, EmmaRadcliffe, D, hphg74, Meli, and justduck for the
reviews! Love you guys!

Chapter 31: An Old Enemy

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry glanced up at the Auror who had stepped into his office.

“What can I help you with, O'Brien?” he said, setting down his quill.

“Nothing for me, sir,” O'Brien replied. He jerked a thumb behind him. “Wahler asked to see you in his office.”

“Did he mention what it was about?”

“No, sir. Just said it was urgent.”

Harry sighed in frustration as he checked his watch. Almost five - this had better be important.

“Alright, I'll be in there in a second,” Harry grumbled.

O'Brien nodded and retreated from the room.

Harry tossed whatever papers he hadn't completed rather haphazardly into his satchel and threw it over his shoulder,
sincerely hoping whatever Wahler had to say wouldn't take long.

He rapped once on Wahler's door and entered without waiting for a reply since his boss was already expecting him. “You
wanted to speak with me, sir?” he said with as much politeness as possible.

Wahler looked up from his own paperwork and gave a curt nod. “Yes, Potter. Take a seat if you would.”

Harry promptly dropped his satchel and sat down, waiting for Wahler to continue. He really didn't have time for
pleasantries.

“I suppose there's no point in beating around the bush,” Wahler said, to which Harry nodded his approval. “Do you
remember requesting any information we discovered about a particular Death Eater?”

“Yes,” Harry said, gripping his wand within his pocket. “Dolohov. Are you saying you've found out something about him?”

“Even better,” Wahler said. “We believe we know his location.”

“Really?” Harry said, sitting up straighter in his chair. This was news indeed. “Where is he?”

“We think he's hidden in a hunting cabin in Scotland. Near Polmont.”

“Excellent,” Harry said.

“I assume you still wish to have precedence over the case?”

“Definitely,” Harry replied fervently, a slight edge to his voice. “I have a personal reason to see Dolohov in Azkaban.”

“Understood,” Wahler said. “But if you want to lead the case you have to leave within the next half-hour.”

Harry had to make a mindful effort not to allow his jaw to drop. “But—but sir, it's Valentine's Day -”

“I'm fully aware of that, Potter. But who knows how long we have until Dolohov moves? There's no telling if our source
could send out some sort of warning. And if he has been warned the only advantage we have is catching him unprepared.”

“But sir -”

“Look, Potter,” Wahler said sternly, “either you want the job or you don't. I'm actually giving you a choice in the
matter. If you don't want it, I'll recruit someone else. But it's happening tonight whether you want it to or not. And I
need your decision now.”

Harry hesitated for only the briefest of moments, but his desire to see Dolohov rot in Azkaban exceeded his need to rush
home to Ginny. Aside from Peter Pettigrew, Antonin Dolohov had been the first Death Eater who had caused him suffering.
Peter Pettigrew had given him his first taste of murder during the Triwizard Tournament, and Dolohov…he had instigated
more emotional pain in Harry than he had ever felt in his life up to that point. He had never been more terrified than
when Hermione had collapsed from Dolohov's curse, and had never felt more relief than when he discovered she was still
alive.

There really was no question in the matter.

Harry nodded sharply.

“Great,” Wahler said. “You can pick any two Aurors to accompany you, but make it quick - we've arranged a Portkey for
five-thirty to a secure location a few miles from the cabin.”

Harry nodded again and said nothing as he stood up and returned to his office. He mentally ran through all of the
potential candidates to go with him as he deposited his satchel back onto his desk. He decided he'd go ahead and bring
O'Brien with him - he was a bit on the younger side, but extremely talented and smart on the field.

After a moment's deliberation he dismissed both Mitch and Ron. Mitch had taken a week off from work to go on vacation
with his wife, so getting into contact with him was impractical. As for Ron, Harry couldn't bring himself to deprive
Hermione of any Valentine's Day plans they might have set. He already felt guilty enough bailing on Ginny without
Hermione being alone as well.

Harry almost mindlessly abandoned his office and walked towards the lift. He only realized where he was going when the
lift opened on the fourth floor. He supposed it was merely the fact he was about to go after Dolohov that made him feel
the need to see her.

He quickly wound his way to her office, but seemed to barely have caught her as she was packing away her own papers. She
didn't appear to hear him enter and continued to rifle through her reports, standing and leaning over her desk. Harry
didn't know why, but he didn't interrupt her. He watched her silently from the doorway, noting the way she tucked a
stray lock of hair behind her ears after she put away each file, a habit she'd had for as long as he could remember.

He was jolted back to the present as she finished putting away the final report. He hurriedly knocked on the doorframe
to announce his presence before she looked up and saw him staring at her.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione said, a note of surprise in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Er - well…” Harry began, searching his rather muddled mind for a response. “I, er… I wanted to know if you could do me
a favor.”

“Of course, Harry, anything,” she said, circling her desk to approach him.

“Could you, er…could you tell Ginny that I won't be coming in until later tonight?” Harry asked. “I just got an
assignment and I don't have the time to send her a message.” Which was partially true…he really didn't have time now
that he'd come to see Hermione.

“You were really given an assignment tonight?” Hermione said, fixing him with a confused stare. “On Valentine's Day?
Couldn't they find someone else?”

Harry shook his head, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Wahler requested three of us personally - there wasn't much of a
choice.”

Hermione touched his arm sympathetically. “I'm sorry, Harry. That's horrible luck. But of course I can tell Ginny.”

“Thanks,” Harry murmured, distracted by her hand on his bicep. He shook his head and refocused on Hermione. He met her
eyes and noticed the dark circles beneath them.

“Tired?” he asked, reaching up to brush her cheek. He jerked his hand back almost as soon as their skin had touched.

Hermione seemed the slightest bit startled by his movements but otherwise didn't comment. “Yes, I suppose so. I haven't
been sleeping very well lately.”

Harry swallowed, frustrated by his behavior. “A-any particular reason?”

Hermione met his eyes and then looked away quickly, turning back to her desk and randomly straightening her already
meticulous possessions.

“Nothing in particular, no,” she said. Her shoulders were tense and Harry knew he shouldn't pursue the subject in
farther.

“Okay,” he said, turning towards the door. “I guess I should go then…”

“Be careful, Harry.”

Harry glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Hermione had turned to face him again with a concerned expression.

Harry smiled. “You know me.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said. “Which is why I'm repeating myself: Be careful.”

Harry chuckled slightly and nodded. “I'll try my best.”

“Good,” Hermione said, but the note of worry still carried in her voice.

Harry approached her and grabbed both of her hands despite the warning that kept repeating in his mind. He captured her
gaze and gave her another reassuring smile.

“Seriously, Hermione. I'll be careful. No need to work yourself up over something routine.”

Hermione returned the smile half-heartedly. “It's my job to worry. And considering how urgent this sounds it doesn't
seem to be the most routine field-work.”

Harry didn't reply to her correct assertion.

“But I'll try to not let myself worry too much,” she finished.

“That's all I ask,” Harry said, still grinning at her. His smile faded slightly as he looked down at their interlocked
hands and he dropped them quickly.

“I should go -”

“Right,” Hermione said quietly, grasping her now empty hands together. “I'll see you soon then?”

“Definitely,” Harry said, and before he could stop himself he bent and kissed the corner of her mouth.

Flustered, he quickly pulled away from her.

Hermione cleared her throat slightly. “Er, good luck, then.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and turned once more towards the door, but Hermione interrupted him again
just before he left.

“Who're you going after anyway?”

Harry looked back and watched as she crossed her arms vulnerably across her stomach, almost as if she were holding
herself. He debated whether to tell her or not.

“How about I tell you about when I get back?” he said.

She nodded. “That would be fine.”

“Alright then. See you.”

“See you.”

Harry finally retreated from the office and practically sprinted back to his own floor. He had used up most of his free
time and he still needed to inform the Aurors who would be going with him.

He skidded to a halt before the desk of an older Auror who had never married.

“Woah, Potter! What's the rush?” the man asked.

“We have an urgent case to attend to, Roderick,” Harry said. “I need you and O'Brien to meet me in Wahler's office in
five minutes.”

Roderick nodded his understanding. This was part of the reason Harry had chosen him to come along - he didn't waste any
time. No questions and no protest.

“We'll be there.”

“Great, we'll fill you in when you get there,” he said, and went immediately to his boss's office. Five minutes later,
O'Brien and Roderick and joined them. It took another two minutes to brief them on the case.

“I'll have you know you're cheating me out of a date, Potter,” O'Brien said good-naturedly.

“And I have a pregnant wife at home who'll probably curse me to a bloody pulp when I get home,” Harry replied. “A
disgruntled girlfriend certainly doesn't compare to that kind of fury.”

O'Brien winced in appreciation. “You win,” he said.

Wahler pushed a chipped goblet into Harry's hands.

“Enough of the chatter,” he said impatiently. “This'll be leaving any second. Good luck, boys.”

Harry, O'Brien, and Roderick all nodded to the Head Auror and the latter two each placed an index finger to the goblet.

Wahler checked his watch and counted down.

“Three, two, one.”

Instantly Harry felt the familiar pull behind his navel and he was spinning in a whirlwind of color. A moment later his
feet came into contact with soft, mossy turf.

He glanced around his surroundings and pulled his wand from its holster.

“Ready, boss?” O'Brien said to Harry, pulling out his own wand.

Harry nodded. “Ready as I'll ever be. Let's do this.”

**************

Only after Harry's cloak had whipped out of sight did Hermione raise her hand shakily to the spot where he had kissed
her. The very corner of her lips…if she'd shifted just an inch closer to him…

She shook her head furiously to clear it of such forbidden thoughts. He was just telling her goodbye - purely platonic.
That inch of movement would have pushed the barrier of being platonic and crossed into something new and very dangerous.

Sighing, Hermione picked up her reports and left her office quickly, trying to focus on anything but those few moments
of Harry's presence.

She'd recently taken to her old mantra of avoiding Harry rather fervently after the day they'd painted the nursery. The
only event that had required both their attendance had been Christmas, and Christmas at the Burrow was hectic enough to
keep her mind off of things. But the fact remained that any instance they were together resulted in hours, if not days,
of her mind reeling in every which direction.

Hermione reached the Disapparating zone in the Ministry and turned on the spot, feeling the familiar sensation of being
compressed and then reappearing in her and Ron's living room.

“Ron?” she called out, wondering if he'd gotten home yet.

“In here!” Ron called back from the kitchen.

Hermione deposited her belongings on the coffee table and entered the kitchen, finding Ron waiting with two full glasses
of wine. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Happy Valentine's Day, love!” he said enthusiastically. He pressed one of the glasses into her hands and gave her a
quick kiss. “I thought we'd start with some wine to celebrate before we go get dinner at that restaurant you like -”

“That sounds great, Ron,” Hermione said, smiling slightly at his infectious behavior. “I just need to get cleaned up a
bit. And we also need to drop by to see Ginny before we leave.”

“What for?” Ron asked. “I'm sure Harry's already home and taken her out to eat somewhere. No point in interrupting them
- or us, for that matter.”

Hermione took a small sip of her wine before setting the glass down on the counter. “That's just it,” she said. “Harry's
not going to be able to make it home until later tonight.”

Ron frowned. “Why's that?”

“Wahler gave him an assignment.”

“Damn prat,” Ron scowled. “It couldn't wait until tomorrow?”

“Apparently not,” Hermione said. “And he's not a prat - he's your boss.”

“Same difference, really,” he replied with a shrug. “So Harry left it up to us to break the news to dear old Ginerva?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, apparently it was pressing enough that he didn't have the time to floo home or send an owl.”

“Fine,” Ron said. “But you can tell her. I don't want to be in the direct line of fire.”

“Ginny'll be fine,” Hermione said, shrugging off her work robes as she walked back into the living room. “Surely she'll
understand Harry didn't have a choice in the matter.”

“Here's hoping,” Ron said doubtfully. “'Cause it'll be our necks on the line until he gets back.”

Hermione took about fifteen minutes to change and freshen up her make-up. She selected a very simple red dress and a
white sweater. Ron was already dressed in a maroon jumper and slacks.

“You look nice,” Ron said when she stepped back into the living room. “Are you ready?”

“Thanks,” Hermione said. “And yes, I am. Let's Apparate, though - I've never cared to floo in a dress.”

“Alright,” Ron said and disappeared with a crack. Hermione picked up her handbag and followed.

They appeared just outside of Grimmauld Place. Ron knocked on the door as soon as Hermione had arrived, and Ginny opened
the door a moment later.

“Oh! Hey, guys,” she said, looking quite surprised by their arrival. Her stomach was very large. She ushered them inside
and closed the door. “Did you guys need something?”

“No, actually,” Hermione answered, fidgeting with her purse. “Harry actually sent us.”

Ginny's eyes narrowed and she tucked her hair behind her ears with both hands. “And why couldn't he come here himself?”

“That's what he sent us here for. He asked me to tell you he won't be making it home until later tonight.”

Ginny let out a huff of indignation and stomped her way rather slowly into the sitting room. She lowered herself
carefully into an armchair and crossed her arms sourly. Hermione sat on the couch next to it. “Well great!” she said.
“Of course he's going to be late today of all days.”

“He didn't really have any choice in the matter,” Hermione said soothingly, patting Ginny's hand. “Wahler gave him a
last-minute assignment. And I'm sure whatever it is won't take him too long.”

Ginny didn't appear remotely pacified, but she let the matter drop.

“So it looks like you two have some plans.”

“Just going to dinner,” Hermione said.

“No big deal,” Ron added. He seemed uncomfortable. “So, er, how's the team doing without you?”

“Well enough,” Ginny said. “They were disappointed when I resigned, of course, but they'll manage well enough. I gave
them enough heads-up to find a suitable replacement before the season starts. All the girls threw me a sort of baby
shower slash retirement party.”

“You all did well this season,” Ron said. “What, fifth in the league?”

“Fourth,” Ginny replied smugly.

“Like I said, you did pretty decent.”

“I know,” she said. “And I'm going to miss it, but I can't commit the necessary amount of time to it once the baby's
here. I'd still like to be involved somehow, though. After the baby's older. I was actually thinking about writing for
the Daily Prophet.”

“That'd be perfect!” Ron said.

“It would be,” Hermione agreed. “Freelancing articles would be on your terms and you can do it from home.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” Ginny said. She pushed herself back into a standing position and grimaced. She settled a hand on
her protruding belly.

“Anything wrong?” Hermione asked, concerned.

“Nah,” Ginny said after taking deep breath. “Just a pang. Anyway, I know you guys have better things to do than listen
to little `ol me whine about how she was so rudely abandoned by her husband on the day of love so I'll just ---”

She suddenly stopped speaking as a gasp of pain escaped her and she clutched at her belly with both hands. She heaved in
a breath and closed her eyes as Hermione dashed forward.

“Ginny, are you okay?” she asked, now terrified.

“Much much much bigger pang,” Ginny gasped. She opened her eyes long enough to gaze desperately at Hermione. “I think
the baby's coming.”

**************

Harry strode quietly through the forest surrounding the hunting cabin. After ten minutes of walking, they had cast a
quick spell to discover the perimeter of the wards protecting the hideout.

In his wolf form, Harry took off around the cabin, careful to never come within a foot of the ward. He knew that if he
so much as brushed against it Dolohov and whatever other Death Eaters were here would be instantly alerted to his
presence. Wolf or human, he still had a magical signature. They couldn't breach the ward until they were absolutely
prepared.

He splashed his way through a shallow stream that flowed downhill toward the cabin and sat down on the other side,
thinking hard about the best way to go about this.

He estimated that the ward stretched about a half-mile in every direction, creating a wide circle of protection around
the area. Harry was displeased about the largeness of the boundary. In a mission such as this, a half-mile was an
enormous amount of ground to cover. They would be wide open to attack the entire time as well, and that was only if the
Death Eaters didn't simply Disapparate before the Aurors could reach them.

However, one advantage Harry could see was the geography of the area. The cabin was located in a sort of small valley,
surrounded by hills on every side. For hiding, it was a wonderful location - you could only see the cabin if you trudged
your way to the crest of the hill, which the surrounding trails would deter you from. But once you discovered the cabin,
everything about it was easily seen. With his heightened eyesight, Harry could clearly see every aspect of the hideout -
every doorway and window, any obstacles that may slow their progress into the cabin, any cover that may benefit their
advance.

Finally, satisfied that he knew as much as he could possibly discover from this distance, Harry charged full-speed back
to the area where he'd left Roderick and O'Brien and transformed back into a human.

“Man, I can't get over how wicked that is,” O'Brien said, awestruck.

“It's useful,” Harry conceded. “But now's not the time to talk about it. Did you guys ever see anyone come out of the
cabin?”

“No,” Roderick said. “Nothing.”

“Figures,” Harry muttered, running a hand through his tousled hair. “So we have no clue what we might be up against.”

“I think we can probably count on there being at least one other person with Dolohov.”

“I agree,” O'Brien said. “It'd be crazy to leave yourself without any backup.”

“Having more than one person here would actually work to our advantage,” Harry said. “Reduces the chance that they'll
run. Having backup means they intend to fight back.”

“Fanastic,” Roderick mumbled. “So how are we doing this?”

“The perimeter's spread about a half-mile in every direction. The instant we pass through the ward they'll know
someone's here,” Harry said. “So, first off, we should pass through it at the same time. The ward only alerts every time
someone passes through it - it can't tell how many people that go through. Second, once we're through they won't know
our exact location, but we'll be vulnerable until we get to the cabin. Which is why we'll be Disillusioning ourselves.”

“Simple,” O'Brien said. “No big deal.”

“I've chosen a location for us to enter from,” Harry continued as he ignored O'Brien. He pointed in the direction from
which he'd run earlier. “About a quarter-mile that way. It's the best we can hope for. It's got more available coverage
if they discover us. But there are no windows on that side either. Hopefully it'll give us some extra time and they
won't see us at all.”

And without another word Harry set off in the direction he had pointed, and the other Aurors followed him closely. Once
they reached the spot he had chosen, Harry stopped abruptly and nodded towards the cabin.

“The main door is just around the corner of this side,” Harry said. “Keep a bit of a distance between yourselves until
we get closer. If the spells start firing, make yourselves visible so we can watch each other's backs. As always, if I
give an order, just do it. No questions. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Roderick said, squaring his shoulders. In the sparse moonlight and soft glow of their lit wands, his graying
hair and lightly lined face was more evident than ever.

“You got it,” O'Brien said soberly. Despite the man's joking disposition, he always knew when to get serious.

“Alright, then,” Harry said, brandishing his wand. “Disillusion yourselves and line up on either side of me. Ready? On
my count. One, two, three.”

In one swift movement all three stepped through the ward. The eerie silence was more disconcerting than a thousand
alarms announcing their presence.

**************

Hermione dashed hurriedly down the corridor of St. Mungo's. Ginny had just been settled into a room and now Hermione set
upon the next most pressing matter: finding Harry and getting him here as soon as possible.

She stopped in front of the receptionist's desk and rapped the desk sharply to get her attention.

“Excuse me, where's a fireplace I can Floo from?” she asked.

The receptionist pointed lazily toward the stairwell. “One floor down. Third door on your right.”

Hermione muttered a quick thank you and set off once more, taking the stairs two at a time. She found the door she had
been directed to and burst through it, scanning the area rapidly. The room was of modest size and contained six
fireplaces, three of which were tall enough to stand in - the other three were strangely placed midway up the wall for
more comfortable conversation if you only wished to Floo with your head.

Hermione dashed to the closest full-length one and snatched up a handful of the powder sitting in a bowl on a
side-table. Wasting no time, she threw the powder into the fireplace and stepped into the emerald green flames.

“Alec Wahler's office, Ministry of Magic!”

She swirled in the green flames and eventually slowed to a halt.

“State your name,” said the cool female voice.

“Hermione Grang -- Weasley, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” she said.

“One moment while your floo is being transferred.”

Hermione tapped her foot impatiently, the warm sensation of the flames tickling at her limbs. A moment later, she
revolved one more time and appeared in Wahler's office.

“Mrs. Weasley! What brings you here so late?” Wahler asked, standing up and greeting Hermione.

“Where's Harry?” she asked, ignoring pleasantries.

“He accepted a last-minute assignment,” Wahler said, raising an eyebrow. “Potter, O'Brien, and Roderick left about an
hour ago.”

“I know he was sent on an assignment!” Hermione said. “But we need to get him back now.”

“I'm afraid that's impossible. We don't know his exact location anymore - going and searching for him would not only be
a risk to whoever was looking, but it could also be a danger to Harry as well. We could compromise his position.” Wahler
frowned. “What's so urgent that you would even suggest something like that?”

“His wife's having his first child, that's what!” Hermione fumed. “He needs to be there!”

Wahler's eyes widened, but he quickly shook it off and turned back to his desk. “That's…unfortunate,” he said solemnly.
“But there's really nothing I can do.”

Hermione fixed the back of Wahler's head with a glare and would've liked nothing more than to smash something very large
and heavy against the Auror's skull. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Then she opened her eyes and grabbed some
Floo Powder from Wahler's supply.

“Tell him to come to St. Mungo's as soon as he steps foot into the Ministry,” she snapped as she threw the powder into
the flames. “St. Mungo's!” she shouted furiously when she stepped into the fire, and a moment later she had returned to
the guest Floo room.

Feeling defeated, she trudged up the steps with significantly less speed than she had descended them. She slowed down
even further when she neared Ginny's room. With a feeling of apprehension, Hermione knocked softly on the door and
entered.

“Hey, Ginny!” she said brightly, a falsely radiant smile on her face. “How's everything going?”

“Great. They gave me some kind of potion and I feel loads better,” Ginny replied. She raised an eyebrow as Hermione
closed the door behind her. “Did you get Harry?”

“Er, no,” Hermione said nervously. “He's not back from his assignment yet. But, er, Wahler said he should be back really
soon.”

A blatant lie, but Ginny didn't need to know that. Besides, Harry really could be back soon.

Which will hopefully be the case, Hermione thought anxiously.

**************

As soon as the three Aurors had crossed the ward, they each took off at a quick trot towards the cabin.

Harry felt his pulse pounding behind his ears as he drew nearer and nearer to the target. His eyes darted in every
direction, searching and almost hoping for some sort of movement. If they came under fire, being in the open would
greatly enhance their chances.

But as the cabin drew nearer, Harry knew he could not continue to hope for such luck. Whoever was waiting within the
house was doing just that - waiting.

Harry inwardly winced at each crackle of leaves that followed his footsteps. He felt extremely tense - more so than
usual - and he couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with his earlier confrontation with Hermione. She had
been making him feel more and more on edge each time he had seen her since that damned incident in the nursery. And if
there was anything he didn't like being on a mission, it was edgy.

He took a deep, calming breath as he reached the outer wall of the cabin. He really needed to focus.

After rapping his head to reverse the Disillusionment spell, Harry only had to wait a few moments before O'Brien
appeared beside him, and Roderick soon after. They fixed him with serious and expectant expressions, waiting for further
instruction. What now, boss?

Harry shook his head at their looks and gave a shrug. Stick to the plan. That's all they could do at this point.

He took one more breath and led the way around the corner. He stopped before the door, and spared one more glance at his
partners. They each gave a sharp nod and held their wands higher in front of them.

Harry gazed at the door, steeled himself, and then jabbed his wand forward. With a crash, the door was blasted from its
frame. All three Aurors propelled themselves into the dark cabin at once and were immediately met with jets of light
coming from all directions.

Harry launched himself sideways as he dodged one of the spells, ramming into a table and sending everything on it
careening to the floor. With a grunt of pain he directed his wand in the direction from which the other spell had come.

“Petrificus Totalis!” he shouted.

The cacophony of curses and yelling drowned out any possibility of Harry hearing the possible thud that would have
indicated the success of his spell, so he squinted around in the darkness to see if he could find another opponent.
However, the dimness prevented such an easy task.

“Lumos Maxima!” Harry said, and a large orb of light shot toward the ceiling, where it stilled. The pale light was
enough for Harry to target his next duelist.

The man, whom Harry didn't recognize, seemed startled for a moment and then his face settled into a grim sneer.

“Avada—”

“Expelliarmus!” Harry yelled.

The unnamed opponent blocked the Disarming spell instantly and shot another curse immediately afterwards, obviously
hoping to catch Harry off guard. However, Harry was quite ready for such a tactic.

“Protego!” he shouted, and the man's spell rebounded back towards the caster. The man obviously made to block it, and
Harry took his adversary's moment of weakness to shoot another charm. Just as Harry had expected, the charm passed
straight through the man's damaged Shield Charm and blasted across the room. He slammed into the wall, crumpled to the
floor, and did not move again.

Harry gave a nasty grin of triumph, but it instantly turned into scowl as he saw not one but three different wizards
move forward to resume the duel. How many Dark wizards were cooped up here exactly?

“Three against one?” Harry said with as much bravado as he could muster. “I wouldn't call that the fairest odds.”

“I agree!” O'Brien said, and Harry glanced over to see him standing by his side. “I'd say three against two would give
us much better chances, wouldn't you say boss?”

If Harry hadn't been fighting for his life, he might have laughed at O'Brien's lighthearted comments. In his current
situation he only smiled bitterly.

“I'd say so,” Harry replied. One of the three wizards shot a spell randomly towards him, and he waved his wand almost
lazily to send it careening back towards them. They yelped in surprise and ducked and the spell exploded into one of the
two opponents Roderick was facing.

“Thanks, mate!” Roderick shouted, and slashed his wand at his remaining challenger with renewed vigor.

Before Harry could yell a response or give further direction to O'Brien, the three wizards had stood up and charged them
furiously. Two of them went for Roderick and the tallest of the three began firing spells at Harry.

“Stupefy!” Harry shouted.

“Expelliarmus!” the tall wizard said.

The similar red jets of light collided into each other and ricocheted throughout the room, shattering picture frames and
windows as they went.

“Impedimenta!” Harry yelled.

The wizard was blasted into the nearest wall just as Harry's other opponent, but he picked himself up almost instantly
and brandished his wand.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Harry threw himself sideways, sliding across the wooden floor. From the ground he glanced and saw that Roderick and
O'Brien continued to duel their challengers, but the latter was now down to the darker-skinned rival. He quickly
returned his attention to the tall wizard and pointed his wand, hoping to finish this now.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

The wizard instantly stilled and fell to the ground stiffly.

“Nice shot, Potter!” O'Brien shouted as he continued his battle with his obviously tired opponent.

Harry stood up and brushed the dust from his robes.

“Thanks, O'Bri -”

His words froze in his throat as he saw a shadowed figure step quietly into sight from one of the adjoining rooms.
Before Harry could react, the figure had stepped closer and raised his wand at O'Brien's back.

Though the words that escaped the figure were unfamiliar, Harry recognized the slashing motion immediately, as well as
the purple flames that swept across the room.

“O'BRIEN, BEHIND YOU!”

The Auror partially turned, but Harry's warning had come too late. O'Brien's eyes widened as the curse passed across his
chest and then he crumpled into a lifeless heap.

Against all better judgment, Harry ran and fell by O'Brien's side. Unlike in the Department of Mysteries, he grabbed his
friend's wrist and waited with baited breath for the small fluttering that would indicate life.

Harry closed his eyes tightly as he waited, inwardly pleading for the smallest sign.

But he felt nothing.

Damn it… Harry thought to himself. He stared down sightlessly at O'Brien's still, youthful features, quietly mourning.
He thought of the man's family, the girlfriend that had expected him tonight, perhaps wondering if he was just running
late…

And then hot, blinding anger flooded through his veins.

The same spell had been used against Hermione. If Dolohov had been able to speak, or if Harry had not hastily performed
a Shield Charm on her…

“DOLOHOV!” Harry roared, pushing himself up and slashing his wand towards the bastard who had done this. “STUPEFY!”

Dolohov blocked the spell as he strode forward, his pale, twisted features coming into the light. He smiled at Harry's
obvious distress.

“You don't seem to be too happy with me, Potter,” he said snidely. “Is there a problem? Don't like my spell, perhaps?”

Harry clenched his fists furiously as he continued to point his wand at Dolohov.

“As a matter a fact I don't,” he snarled.

“I don't understand why,” Dolohov said. “Your Mudblood didn't seem to mind it. Don't think that werewolf minded much
either - what was his name…Lupin?”

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Harry bellowed, and, ignoring his wand, reared back his already clenched fist and punched Dolohov
in the face as hard as possible.

The force of the blow caused Dolohov to lose his balance and almost fall to the ground. However, before Harry could
throw a follow-up blow with his already bruised knuckles, the man O'Brien had been dueling jabbed his wand into Harry's
side.

“Incarcerous!”

The invisible ropes wound their way around Harry's legs and chest, constricting his airway, and he tumbled to the
ground, dropping his wand as he went.

Dolohov reached up gingerly and wiped away some of the blood that was pouring from his mouth. He glared down at Harry
and Harry glared straight back, incorporating as much loathing as possible into his gaze.

Dolohov spat a mouthful of blood into Harry's face.

“Resorting to dirty Muggle methods, half-blood?” Dolohov said scathingly. “I think we might need to teach this bastard a
lesson or two.”

In the periphery of his vision, Harry saw Roderick lying still on the floor. The thin wizard who had defeated him had
come to crowd around Harry along with Dolohov and the dark-skinned wizard.

No, not him too… Harry thought desolately as he took in the sight of his partner.

But just as Harry was about to turn away, Roderick stirred slightly. The elder Auror shook his head slightly, dazed, and
Harry desperately willed him to keep quiet.

Thankfully, Roderick had the sense to do just that as his eyes finally fell upon Harry. He looked shocked, but stayed
completely silent.

Harry stared directly into Roderick's eyes, this time willing the Auror to use whatever Legilimency powers he possessed
on Harry's mind.

Get out…get help. Don't worry about me…just get help!

Harry didn't know if it was Legilimency or simply good sense that made Roderick nod solemnly. And with a crack he
Disapparated.

All the Death Eaters turned their heads sharply at the sound, and then Dolohov rounded furiously on the thin wizard.

“Idiot!” he hissed. “You let the other Auror get away!”

“I-I thought he was dead - ” the thin man said hesitantly.

“Obviously not you fucking moron!” yelled the dark-skinned wizard. “Aurors will be all over this place within the hour!”

“They'll be here sooner than that,” Dolohov said softly. His furious expression calmed a bit and Harry had no idea why.

Dolohov suddenly glanced down with a disturbing glint in his eye. “We'll have to make the most out of the time we have
then, won't we? Rennervate the others and get Rowle.”

Without warning he reared back his leg and kicked Harry in the head with all his strength. There was a flash of blinding
white, and then he faded into blackness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

32. A New Life

A/N: Here's the second part of the Valentine's Day debacle. Hope you enjoy it! Um, and something fairly major is
happening in the next chapter. Some will like it, some won't. Just giving a little bit of heads up. I'll probably post
it by Friday or Saturday.

Thanks to EmmaRadcliffe, noorelisa, cranksatnyc, h/hr4ever11, kinikeens, and UKwildcat820 for the reviews! Again, you
guys are awesome!

Chapter 32: A New Life

Panic crept further and further into Hermione's mind with each minute that passed.

At first she had been anxious about whether Harry would be here in time to see the birth of his baby.

Now it had stretched far beyond that.

Harry had been gone for almost five hours. He had had long missions before, but Hermione worried this was pushing the
limit.

Something was wrong.

Hermione tightly gripped the magazine she was holding. She had been staring mindlessly at the same page for hours, brow
crinkled, as she waited fretfully.

Ginny, of course, was not making matters any easier. The pain potions were beginning to wear off, and so was her
patience.

“Where the bloody hell is he!?” Ginny fumed, her face and hair damp with sweat.

“I'm sure he'll be here soon,” Ron said.

“You've said that about twenty times over the past two hours!” Ginny said.

“And sooner or later I'm going to be right!” he grinned.

Ginny glared at Ron furiously.

“You have no idea how much I'd like to punch you right now.”

Ron fidgeted, his smile turning uncomfortable.

“But you won't, right?” he said nervously.

Ginny crossed her arms, scowling. “Let's see what happens when I regain the element of surprise.”

Hermione half-listened to the siblings' bickering. Her eyes kept flickering every few moments towards the door as if
watching it would make Harry walk through it all the sooner. When the door did open Hermione almost came out of her
skin.

Ginny's Healer stepped in and smiled warmly at the edgy trio.

“How are things going?” he asked.

“Same as the last time,” Ginny said sullenly, her arms still crossed. “Nothing to report.”

The Healer did a cursory examination to see how far along Ginny was.

“Well, you may not feel any different,” he said, “but things have moved along quite a bit. I'd say this baby is ready to
come out.”

Suddenly Ginny's moody frown turned almost hysterical.

“He can't come out!” she blurted. “Not now!”

The Healer frowned. “Unfortunately, there isn't much negotiation in the matter. I won't move things along, but when the
baby's ready, it's going to come out whether his father's here or not.”

Ginny now looked like she'd rather like to sock her Healer instead of Ron. However, she seemed to decide against this
since he was responsible for delivering her child.

“Fine,” she said. “But not a second earlier than necessary.”

The Healer nodded and left the room, and Ginny's face settled once more into a furious scowl.

“Come on, Gin!” Ron said. “At least you've got a comfortable room…and the Healers are nice…and Harry's out making money
for the baby…all you have to do is put a positive spin on things!”

Hermione winced behind the magazine. Certainly not a good thing to say to a woman in labor.

“Right!” Ginny said sarcastically, also wincing as a contraction overwhelmed her. “Like how because I'm sweating like a
bloody salamander in the Sahara, you can't tell that I'm crying!” She proceeded to throw her empty water glass at Ron's
head. “You can be such a moron sometimes!”

Hermione didn't even look up as she heard the glass collide with its target and the following whelp of pain.

Harry, please get here soon…

*********

Roderick felt almost light-headed with relief when he successfully Apparated from the cabin. The one-way anti-Apparition
ward provided the Death Eaters an easy escape route if it was needed, and Roderick had certainly needed it.

He arrived back at the Ministry Apparition zone. It was almost ten at night, and everyone had gone home. Roderick
stumbled wearily through the dark and silent Atrium, his heart heavy.

The mission could scarcely have gone worse.

O'Brien was dead, they had not successfully captured a single Death Eater, and to top it all off, Harry Potter was still
there undergoing Merlin knows what. For all Roderick knew, they might have already killed him.

The lift, after what seemed an eternity, finally slid open at the appropriate floor and Roderick lurched forward, intent
on reaching Wahler's office.

For the love of Merlin please let him be there…

He grabbed the door handle and wrenched the door open, and thankfully, Wahler looked up from his desk.

“It's about bloody -” he began, but stopped as he gaped at the Roderick's beaten condition. “What the hell happened -?”

“No time,” Roderick gasped out, clutching his side. “O'Brien's dead. We need back-up. Potter's still there.”

Wahler stood up immediately from his desk.

“How many are we up against?”

“Don't know completely…at least half a dozen I'd say. Probably a few more. Dolohov and mostly new blood from the looks
of it. I think I heard him mention the name Rowle.”

Wahler nodded. “I'm going to need you to go to another office. We need as much back-up as possible. You try to Floo
Smith, Fletcher, and Kresley. I'll work on getting Donovan, Tobias, and Roland. If you reach any of them, tell them to
get their asses here immediately. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Roderick said.

“The prerogative is getting Potter out, not apprehending the target,” Wahler said, turning toward his fireplace. “And
preferably as soon as possible - he's got a baby to get home to.”

*********

When Harry stirred, he had no idea how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? Days?

His eyes sluggishly tried to open, but didn't quite manage the task. His head hurt badly - enormously so - and he had a
hard time focusing on his surroundings. People were talking, but he couldn't quite hear what was going on.

He tried once more to open his eyes. They opened to the barest slits, but Harry could hardly tell the difference.
Wherever he was, it was very dark. Only the slightest bit of light permeated the thick blackness.

With effort, Harry opened his eyes further. His eyes fluttered lazily to take in his surroundings, but still nothing
came into clarity.

Then the blackness was replaced by a blindingly white light and Harry clamped his eyes shut, wrenching his head to the
side.

“Too much light, Potter?”

As Dolohov's voice wafted over his ears, Harry instantly became alert.

Now he remembered where he was.

Harry squinted from the glare of Dolohov's wand and scowled.

“Just a tad, yeah,” Harry said, and he was surprised by the increasing throbbing in his head.

He must have winced, because Dolohov smiled in a pleased sort of way. He looked particularly sinister in the glow of his
wand.

“Hurts, doesn't it? But I wouldn't worry about that too much if I were you - you'll have much more to fret about
momentarily.”

Harry tried to push himself forward and realized he was bound tightly to a hardback wooden chair. The ropes cut tightly
into his arms - he couldn't move an inch.

“You and the bastards you brought with you killed two of my men,” Dolohov stated rather blandly, idly twirling his wand.
“As you might imagine, I don't greatly appreciate that.”

Harry licked his mouth to moisten his dry lips. “And as you might imagine, I don't appreciate a group of fucking
washed-up moronic Death Eaters killing my partners.”

“Washed-up?” Dolohov said. He pressed his wand into Harry's throat. “Just because the Dark Lord is gone doesn't mean
his…mission… was forgotten. As you can see, our cause still has its followers.”

For the first time, Harry glanced around the room. The light from Dolohov's wand cast a dim glow around the room, and he
guessed he was in some sort of a cellar because of the lack of windows. He had no idea if they were still in the cabin
or if Dolohov had moved him.

Harry noted with a bit of foreboding that the other surviving Death Eaters had joined them. The dark-skinned wizard that
O'Brien had dueled, the tall man Harry had knocked out, the thin, rodent-like man that had beaten Roderick, and a
good-looking brown-haired man Harry had never seen stood around the room, watching the exchange wordlessly. Harry also
saw one hulking blonde man whom he did recognize.

“Rowle,” Harry rasped. “Fancy meeting you here. I'd say this was a nice reunion, but of course I'd be lying.”

Rowle nodded, unsmiling.

Harry glanced once more at the others.

“Can't say I recognize your other lackeys here, though,” he said.

“You shouldn't,” Dolohov said. “They're new recruits.”

“Idiots-in-training?” Harry said scornfully. “That's brilliant.”

Suddenly Dolohov grabbed Harry by the hair and wrenched his head back, pressing his wand even harder into Harry's
throat.

“Considering the situation you're in, I'd keep your smart-ass comments to yourself,” he said threateningly.

Harry made an effort not to grimace as the wand began to burn his skin.

“What's the point in behaving myself for you lot?” he said scathingly. “Obviously you want something from me.”

“Why would you assume that?” Rowle said, coming closer.

Harry turned his eyes towards Rowle since his head was still being held back.

“Because if you didn't you would've already killed me,” he said simply.

Dolohov smirked. “Smart boy. Of course, I knew you had to have had some modicum of intelligence to defeat the Dark
Lord.”

“Voldemort was just as fucking mad as you-”

Dolohov jerked Harry's head back farther and jabbed the wand deeper into his neck, making him choke.

“Crucio,” he hissed.

Harry felt as though a fiery dagger had been stabbed through his neck. A guttural howl of pure agony escaped his lips as
his limbs twitched in protest to their torturous treatment. He thrashed his head from side to side and the ropes cut
further into his flesh as his muscles bulged in convulsions.

After an eternity, Dolohov raised his wand.

Harry fell back into his chair, gasping for breath and soaked with sweat. He shivered frantically.

“How dare you say his name!” Dolohov said. “You weren't worthy to lick the dirt from the Dark Lord's feet!”

Harry stayed silent, his head making him even woozier than before.

“The Dark Lord…underestimated you, I will admit. But who wouldn't? You were just a skinny half-blood teenager who had
rather extraordinary luck and friends in high places.”

The other Death Eaters snickered loudly.

“But I'll do no such thing,” Dolohov said. “You've learned a few tricks since you came of age…quite accelerated, I've
heard. Supposedly on the fast-track to becoming the youngest Head of the Auror Department the Ministry has ever had.”

Harry blinked furiously as he fought to remain conscious.

Dolohov punched him hard in the face, and Harry's mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. He spat away from him,
feeling sick.

“Can't have you falling asleep on us, Potter!”

Harry thought briefly that punching the living daylights out of him was not the most foolproof method to keeping him
awake.

“Sorry,” Harry said, breathing raggedly. It hurt to talk. “Your bullshit talk is boring me. I'm surprised those losers
over there stuck around to listen.”

As expected, Dolohov hit him once more, if possible even harder than before. Harry suspected he heard his nose crack.

“You've seemed to take a liking to these Muggle tactics, Dolohov,” Harry slurred, blood trickling steadily from his
nose.

Dolohov put his face within an inch of Harry's.

“Do you have a death wish, Potter?” he growled.

“Sure I do,” Harry coughed. “For you, that is.”

“And this idiot's calling us morons,” said the dark-skinned wizard, a small amount of awe tracing his tone at Harry's
audacity.

Dolohov glared at the man. “Go keep an eye out for any Aurors, Nakul.”

The dark-skinned man looked appropriately abashed and gave a small nod before walking out of sight. There was the sound
of a door slamming, and then Dolohov returned his attention to Harry.

“Let me tell you something, Potter,” Dolohov said in a quietly sinister voice. “I can see how little you seem to value
your own life - but how would you like it if we went after that pretty little wife of yours?”

Harry closed his eyes tightly, clenching his teeth as he tried to control his temper.

“Of course, maybe you'd rather us go after someone else…like that little curly-headed Mudblood wench you spend so much
time with.”

Harry's eyes popped open instantly.

“I swear to Merlin if you so much as touch a hair on either of their heads…” he snarled, lunging once more against his
restraints.

Dolohov laughed. “Oh oh oh, look's like we've touched a nerve,” he said. “Where is your loyalty, your pride, Potter?
Trading a pureblooded witch for a filthy Mudblood? I can't say I'm surprised, though. I should've guessed you've been
fucking that filth for quite-”

Before Dolohov could complete his sentence, he was blasted off his feet as if by a miniature explosion and collided with
the tall Death Eater, knocking them both to the floor.

In a matter of seconds Dolohov was back on his feet, pointing his wand at a severely pissed off Harry, whose magic was
radiating in torrents from his body.

“Impedimenta!” Dolohov yelled through bared teeth.

This time Harry was hurtled through the air. His already sensitive head hit the wall with excessive force, but the rest
of his body was mostly protected by the chair. When Harry fell back to the ground, he was mostly surprised he hadn't
passed out again. He knew he was quite close, however. Honestly, he would've gladly welcomed it at this point.

Dolohov leered at him as he crept forward, Rowle close behind.

Harry thought Dolohov was going to say something to him. However, without warning he kicked Harry swiftly in the
stomach. The breath was knocked out of him, and he gasped for air, still bleeding profusely from his mouth and the gash
he knew was in his head.

Before Harry could gather his senses again, Rowle stepped forward and kicked him as well. The force of the blow was
enormous, and Harry knew his ribs had been broken.

Both Dolohov and Rowle took turns kicking him time and time again, and at some point he knew he must have passed out
from the pain in his side. However, Dolohov had gleefully awakened him and given him another unendurably long dose of
the Cruciatus Curse.

Before the torment could continue, however, Nakul returned, looking rather pale.

“The wards were breached.”

Dolohov looked up sharply. “Already?”

Nakul nodded curtly. “At least five times.”

Dolohov looked down with disgust at Harry. “Looks like the cavalry's here to save you,” he hissed. He pulled a long
dagger from within his cloak and looked at it thoughtfully.

“What do we do, sir?” the thin Death Eater asked nervously.

Dolohov was silent for a moment. The other Death Eaters looked ready to bolt at any moment.

“Nothing,” he said finally.

“N-nothing?” the thin wizard asked.

“Yes, nothing, Krause,” Dolohov said, testing the point of his dagger. “We'll leave this sack of trash for another time.
But before I go…”

He bent down low, almost whispering directly to Harry. “I'd like to give this bastard a taste of what's coming to that
Mudblood whore of his.”

Then he stabbed Harry fiercely, burying the knife up to the hilt in his stomach.

Harry stared unseeingly at Dolohov, shaking as he felt warm blood seep onto the cold skin of his abdomen.

After giving the knife a final twist, Dolohov jerked it from Harry's stomach, stood, and turned away from him as though
he were never there.

“Let's go,” he said coolly.

The cracks of Disapparition were almost drowned out by the sound of exploding timber as the door upstairs was blown from
its frame.

About thirty seconds later Harry was dimly aware of stomping feet as they descended the stairs into the cellar and
someone bending over him.

“Merlin…it's okay, Potter, we're getting you out of here - you'll be patched up in no time,” a voice said. It sounded
very distant and a bit scared as well. Harry's vision was starting to fade completely, and he was quite eager for the
blessed oblivion that would take him away, at least momentarily, from the extraordinary amount of pain he was in.

“By the time you wake up, you might have a brand new baby to knock you around instead…”

But Harry's exhausted and antagonized body barely took in this information before his eyes slipped shut and everything
went dark once more.

**********

After Hermione had flipped though each page of the magazine she was holding for the sixth time, she stood up and began
pacing frantically around Ginny's room, her pent-up energy finally bursting to the surface.

Ginny didn't say a solitary word regarding Hermione's anxious behavior, but her eyes followed her movements the entire
time. Confined as she was, Ginny seemed to find some sort of solace in Hermione's frenzied actions. At least one of them
could work off some worry.

The Healer stepped in shortly after Hermione began her pacing and examined Ginny. Almost apologetically, he informed
Ginny that the baby was ready to be delivered.

Surprisingly, Ginny gave a nod with almost no hesitation.

“If it's time, go for it,” she said civilly.

The Healer nodded and returned moments later with two assistants.

“You're only allowed one individual in the room,” the Healer said. “I'm assuming you'd like your husband when he comes
in?”

“Yes, I'd like that,” Ginny replied.

“Well, it's about time we got started…” The Healer glanced at Ron and Hermione, looking apologetic once more.

Hermione took the hint and grasped Ron's arm, leading him towards the door. “We'll be outside.”

Once the door had shut behind them, Hermione released Ron's arm and once more resumed her walking, turning a tight path
in front of Ginny's door. Ron watched her apprehensively for a moment before he cleared his throat.

“Well, erm, I suppose I'll go see Mum and Dad in the waiting room,” he said. “D'you wanna come?”

Hermione shook her head. “I'll wait here.”

Ron, somehow guessing she would've given such a terse response, simply shrugged and left down the corridor.

Silence permeated the hallway after Ron's footsteps had faded away. The only noises Hermione could hear were the soft
thumps of her own shoes on the tile floor and the much more frenzied sound of her heart beating against her chest. Her
previous anxiety was nothing compared to how she was feeling now.

Before, she had simply suspected something was wrong.

Now she knew something was wrong.

She had sent Ron to Floo his boss again to ask about Harry's whereabouts, and her husband had informed her that Wahler
was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione wringed her hands as she continued to pace. For the Head of the Auror Department to abandon his office before
Harry had returned indicated something was extremely amiss - and she was going absolutely mental not knowing what was
going on.

Her restlessness widened her path significantly until she was walking the entire length of the hallway, though she was
careful not to cross in front of the waiting room. Frustrated, she decided to ease her tension by exploring more of the
hospital. She was quite simply sick of the pregnancy ward.

She wandered aimlessly up and down the various wings of the hospital, managing to mostly ignore the more surprising (and
usually disgusting) cases that were also occupying the hallways.

When she had finished roaming the deserted fourth floor for the third time, she figured she ought to go back and check
on Ginny's progress.

However, just as she started back towards the double doors at the end of the hall, a group of Healers burst through.
They appeared to be surrounding a gurney, and they were talking loudly and frantically to each other as they sped down
the corridor.

Hermione heard bits and pieces of their jumbled speech as they hurtled towards her. She couldn't see the person on the
gurney.

“He's lost a lot of blood -”

“—broken wrist and nose, definitely—”

“No telling how much more—”

“Surprised he last this long—”

Hermione, startled by the gravity of the state of the man being pushed towards her, flattened herself against the wall
to make room for the herd of Healers as they hurried past her.

Then she saw the man on the gurney and felt as though her heart had dropped to her feet.

“HARRY!” she screamed, and was surprised that it came out as a sob.

He was almost unrecognizable. His dark hair was matted with blood from a large wound in his head, and the blood had
trickled down to cover the left side of his face and neck. His glasses had been knocked off and one of his eyes was
swollen shut. He was also bleeding from his mouth and nose, and the blood stood out in stark contrast to his deathly
pale skin.

The Healers passed by and pushed Harry into an available room, but Hermione was hot on their heels. They immediately
bent over his unconscious form and began passing their wands over his body, muttering to themselves. Hermione craned her
neck to see him, but the Healers blocked him completely from few.

“What happened to him?” Hermione asked in a shriller voice than she had intended.

Either no one heard her in the frantic nature of the situation or they chose to ignore her in the light of healing the
Boy-Who-Lived. However, Hermione was in no state to be unheard or unnoticed. She pulled out her wand, gripped the
shoulder of the nearest Healer, and spun him to face her.

“What - is - going - on?” she breathed dangerously, pointing her wand at him. “What happened to him?”

The Healer's eyes widened at the unsuspected attack.

“We-we-we have no idea!” the man stammered. “Some Auror just came in and sent him up to us!”

“Fine,” Hermione said crisply, attempting very hard to mask the fear in her voice. “What's wrong with him?”

The man swallowed noisily. “We haven't established that completely.”

Hermione felt her wand hand shaking rather badly as the back of her throat burned.

“Will he - will he be all right?” she managed to ask, her voice growing much quieter. She noticed that she was crying
but didn't really care.

The Healer seemed to soften then. “We don't know everything that's wrong with him, but we believe he'll be fine,” he
said as kindly as one can with a wand pointed in their face.

Hermione felt as though she was going to melt with relief. She lowered her wand and took a step back, crossing her arms
across her chest.

The Healer gestured to the door. “You should really wait outside…”

Hermione shot him as filthy a look as she could muster.

She wasn't going anywhere.

*********

Voices.

That was the first thing Harry was aware of after he lost consciousness.

After the ridiculous amount of pain, of course.

He couldn't understand what was being said - it seemed like cotton had been pressed into his ears - but he knew that
people were talking. Occasionally someone poked and prodded him, and he inwardly hissed in agony. But eventually the
pain eased up slightly though, and then the voices were gone.

He felt his awareness slipping away from him again as the silence enveloped him. He was so tired…

Then he felt a soft touch on the crown of his head. He knew instantly that it wasn't some Healer performing another
spell on him - this touch was much more gentle and familiar.

He felt his hair being smoothed down, and then he felt his bangs being brushed back with soft fingertips. He was aware
of them lingering in his hair. And then he felt a single fingertip brush his forehead, so light that he wasn't really
sure if he felt it at all.

Perhaps he was imagining someone's fingertip tenderly tracing his feverish skin - his scar? Whether it was real or not,
when the contact withdrew, he missed it.

But then he felt soft lips press gently to his forehead. They remained there for a few seconds, feeling almost cool
against his skin, and then they were gone.

Then she gripped his hand tightly and he could feel tremors in the person's touch. Harry, almost as a reflex, curled his
own fingers over the person's hand.

There was a soft gasp.

“H-Harry?”

Harry slowly opened his eyes (or, rather, his one good eye).

Hermione sat next to him, looking as though she'd been crying for days. She was very pale.

Always her, he thought mildly to himself.

He took in her attire and blinked tiredly at her.

“You - you look nice,” he rasped out. “Dressed up just for me?”

Hermione glanced down with tired eyes at her rather rumpled dress.

“No. I usually dress up for pleasant occasions.”

Harry winced at both the accusation in her voice and a particularly nasty throb that swept through his skull. He felt a
thick bandage on his head and noticed that his bare chest was purple and black with bruises. He almost didn't notice his
other bruise. There was also a bandage across his abdomen where Dolohov had stabbed him.

He swallowed in an attempt to moisten his throat.

“I take it you don't find this pleasant?”

Hermione stared at him through bloodshot eyes. “I've had better times.”

“Really? Me too.”

Hermione averted her gaze. “How…how are you feeling?” she asked quietly.

“Great,” Harry replied. “One-hundred percent.”

Hermione frowned at him. She was clearly in no mood for his jokes.

“Fine, I feel like a train ran over me. And then backed up.”

“You almost died.”

Harry was rather stunned by the shakiness of her voice and the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks.

“No, I'm fine -”

Hermione cut him off angrily as she jerked her hand from his and stood up abruptly.

“You had the Cruciatus Curse used on you four times, a broken jaw and nose, a fractured wrist, three broken ribs, a
punctured lung from one of said ribs, a dislocated shoulder, burns on your neck, a major concussion and head wound, and
a fucking stab wound, Harry Potter! Don't you dare tell me you're fine!”

Harry's jaw almost dropped at her heated outburst - in all the years he'd known her, he'd never heard her use language
like that.

Just as he was about to stutter some sort of response, she continued, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“You almost died… again,” Hermione murmured.

Harry remained silent.

“When you were being brought in on that stretcher like that, it... for the smallest second…” Hermione took in a shaking
breath and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. “It almost felt like the first time,” she said quietly. “Hagrid… carrying out
your body, Voldemort's taunts, the screams... You can't imagine how much it hurt to think you were dead. It wasn't like
one of your stupid Quidditch injuries - it was real…and I've never felt so much pain in my entire life.”

She wiped at her eyes irritably.

“Why, Harry?”

“Why what?” Harry said, his brow crinkling in confusion.

“Why did you agree to go tonight?”

Harry knew there was no point in making excuses.

“Because I had to.”

“Roderick told me you volunteered - you didn't have to do anything!”

“No,” Harry clarified, shaking his head. “I needed to.”

Hermione only glared at him.

“Why?”

Harry looked at her intently.

“For you,” he said quietly, holding her gaze.

Hermione's shoulders fell slightly. “For me?”

Harry nodded. “It was Dolohov. I wanted to be the one to…I dunno...”

Hermione's features softened, and she sat down again. She took his hand once more.

“You didn't need to do that,” she murmured softly, biting her lip and gazing at their intertwined hands.

“Yes, I did. And even after all this -” He gestured vaguely to himself. “—he still got away.”

“Who cares?” Hermione said. “I don't care what happens to him! I care what happens to you.”

“And I care about what happened to you in the Department of Mysteries,” Harry replied angrily. “I'm not just going to
forget about that.”

“It's been almost ten years, Harry,” she replied, exasperated. “It's not like there were any lasting effects.”

“But there could've been,” Harry said furiously, trying to sit up. He fell back as pain shot through him. “You said I
couldn't imagine how it felt to think someone I cared about was dead, but I can, Hermione. I watched him use that same
spell on O'Brien that he used on you - the same one - and he's dead. If you hadn't silenced him, or if I hadn't shielded
you -”

“But we did,” Hermione said, sounding angry herself as she gripped his hand more tightly. “I'm alive, I'm here right
now. And I'm not going to let you kill yourself over `ifs'!”

“Getting the crap beaten out of me wasn't exactly part of my plan, Hermione,” Harry said. “And getting lectured for it
was even further off target.”

“I'm not trying to lecture you!” Hermione shouted. “I'm telling you that you can't just recklessly pursue such dangerous
schemes like this! Not for revenge, not for me, and especially not now!”

For a moment Harry felt confused.

Then he remembered what the voice had said to him before he blacked out.

By the time you wake up, you might have a brand new baby…

Harry leapt from his bed so quickly he felt dizzy, and he almost fell to the floor as pain shot through his body.
Hermione caught him by the arm and helped steady him.

“Harry -” she began.

“Hermione, I have to see him,” he said urgently, meeting her anxious eyes. “I'm not going to wait around for these
Healers.”

Harry waited, expecting Hermione to scold him for his rash behavior.

However, she did no such thing. Instead, she reached over and picked up a clean T-shirt that had been draped over her
chair. She stood on tiptoes and started pulling the neck of the shirt carefully over his thickly bandaged head.

She smiled at his surprise.

“Don't just stand there - I could use a little help with this.”

Harry smiled back, sat down gingerly on his bed, and cautiously pushed his arms through the offered shirt. He was still
wearing his filthy jeans, but Hermione cast a quick cleaning spell to remove the dirt and blood.

Once the spell was complete, she came to his side and, putting one arm around his waist and grabbing his arm with the
other, helped him to stand. Not looking him in the eye, she slowly ran her fingertips over Harry's torso and upper arms,
unwittingly massaging his sore muscles as she smoothed the creases from his shirt.

She stood back, gave him the once-over and nodded.

“Besides the black eye and bandaged head you almost look normal,” she said lightly, still avoiding his gaze, and took
his arm. She pulled it over her shoulders and they slowly made their way to the pregnancy ward, both keeping a steady
hold on each other's waist.

Finally, they reached the room and Hermione pushed the door open quietly, pulling Harry along with her.

Only three people were in the room. Ron hovered beside the hospital bed as Ginny cradled a small infant in her arms.
Both were grinning widely, and their smiles only increased when Harry and Hermione entered. If Ginny was at all bothered
by Harry's appearance, she didn't show it.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Harry said hazily, staring at the dark-haired bundle in Ginny's arms.

“If you'd stop staring, you can hold him, believe it or not,” Ginny said, amused.

Harry still appeared almost awestruck, so Hermione pulled him closer to the bed. When she was sure he had his balance,
she gently extricated herself from him and moved towards Ginny. Wordlessly, Ginny lifted the baby into Hermione's arms.

Hermione turned towards Harry, but she continued to stare at the baby. Harry watched as she smiled at the sleeping
newborn. He felt warmth spread through him, and for that moment he forgot about Dolohov and O'Brien and his injuries.

Finally, Hermione turned her gaze to his, and Harry had to make an effort to look away from her brown eyes. He shouldn't
be feeling like this, not now. Hermione shouldn't be handing him his newborn son - Ginny should. But as Hermione,
smiling, placed the baby carefully into his arms, and kissed the newborn's head tenderly, Harry couldn't help but feel a
certain rightness to it all.

Harry cradled the baby clumsily and examined him scrupulously, memorizing his features. He felt so tiny and fragile in
his arms that Harry felt as though he might break.

“I think his hair's going to be as dark as yours,” Hermione said softly, letting her fingers slide over the fuzzy locks
as she looked back up from the baby's face to Harry's.

“You think so?” Harry asked, still searching his son's sleeping face.

“He's not going to be a red-head, that's for sure,” Ron said mock-glumly. “Thanks, Harry - you've destroyed a Weasley
tradition that's been around for generations. You and Angelina both, you inconsiderate black-haired misfits! Way to
break the cycle.”

Harry laughed. “Someone had to.”

Ron and Ginny chuckled appreciatively, but the sounds of their laughter soon faded. All Harry was aware of was the soft,
steady breathing of his son and the touch of Hermione's hand on his arm.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

33. Destructive Perfection

A/N: Okay, as I mentioned, some of you may blatantly dislike this chapter, while some of you might absolutely love it.
For those who don't like it, I'll comment on that a little later. For those who do, please enjoy!

Thanks to Meli, hphg74, h/hr4ever11, EmmaRadcliffe, cranksatnyc, UKwildcat820, and Charlotte for your reviews! Wonderful
as always!

Chapter 33: Destructive Perfection

“I can't believe I have to go to this bloody conference!” Ron said grumpily as he threw clothes haphazardly into a
duffel bag. Hermione calmly picked up each article of clothing and folded it neatly before setting it back in its place.

“It's not as though you have these things very often,” Hermione said sensibly. “There's especially no point in getting
ruffled about it since there's no choice in the matter.”

“That's another thing!” Ron said, lobbing a few pairs of socks into the bag. “I should have a damn choice in the matter!
Harry's not going!”

“Really?” Hermione asked. She had been spending large amounts of time at Grimmauld Place since James had been born, but
hadn't seen them in over a week, so she had not heard this bit of news. “Well, I'm sure he's busy with something else.”

“That's just it! He's not -- he just up and decided to take a few days off!”

Hermione sighed. “Once again, I'm sure he's busy with something.”

“He just got back to work! What could he possibly be busy with? I mean, I know Ginny's going to be gone to that
Quidditch game today and James needs to be watched, but it's the principle of the thing! Mum could've watched him!”

Hermione gave a noncommittal shrug - there was never any point in talking to Ron when he was like this. She added a few
more items to his duffel bag, zipped it shut, and offered it to him.

“Thanks,” he muttered as he flung the strap over his shoulder. He wiped at the sheen of sweat that coated his forehead.
“The only possible good thing about this conference is it should be a damn sight cooler than it is here.”

“I would hope so,” Hermione said, unconsciously pulling at the neck of her dark blue T-shirt. She could hardly remember
it ever being this hot in mid-August. “I can't wait for this heat-spell to break.”

“Me either,” Ron said. “Hopefully it'll be cooler by the time I get back. So what are you planning to do while I'm
gone?”

“I don't know,” Hermione said. “I might just catch up on some reading since I have tomorrow off as well.”

“Why do I even ask?” Ron said, rolling his eyes jokingly. “Don't go having too much fun without me.”

“Of course not,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes back.

“Okay, then. I guess I'd better go,” Ron said, pulling the bag more securely onto his shoulder. “I'll be back in a
couple days.”

“Right. Be sure to call if you get the chance.”

Ron pulled his new cell phone from his pocket distastefully. “I still don't see what Muggles see in these things.”

“It's much more convenient than owls or Floo, Ron. They're really one of the few things I'd say Muggles have over
magic.”

“Fine,” he replied moodily, stuffing the phone back in his pocket. “I'll call if I get some spare time.”

He leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the lips before standing up straight.

“Well, see you later,” he said, and disappeared before Hermione could utter a quick goodbye.

She sat down on the bed after Ron left and pondered what she could do for the rest of the day. She glanced around the
room, checking for anything that was out of place. As she expected, there was nothing.

She moved throughout the rest of the house, picking up a few items that Ron had managed to scatter in the small amount
of time he'd been home. She replaced them in their proper locations, and then sat down once more, this time on the
couch.

This happened every time she was off for more than a day.

She woke up almost as early as she would on a workday.

She cleaned the entire house from top to bottom.

She fixed herself and Ron a nice dinner.

And then she didn't know what to do with herself the rest of the time.

She sighed and picked up a rather uninteresting novel on the coffee table she had started the previous week. Settling
herself back into the cushions, she sought out a more comfortable position, and then cracked the book open to the marked
page.

She sat quietly, her eyes scanning the words pointlessly as the clock ticked methodically in the background. She read
five pages in this manner and finally stood up restlessly, tossing the book onto the sofa.

“Fine,” she murmured to herself. She knew the source of her restlessness, and the later she waited the less chance there
was of seeing Harry while James was awake.

*********

“Are you sure you don't want to come with me?” Ginny asked, clasping her bag shut. “It's not too late if you do.”

“For the last time, Gin, I'm perfectly fine staying at home,” Harry replied, bouncing James on his knee and causing him
to laugh joyously.

“We haven't done anything alone together in ages though,” Ginny said. “And you haven't been to a Quidditch match in
longer than that.”

“I know,” Harry said, exasperated at her persistence. “But I took today and tomorrow off work to spend time with my son,
not to watch you work.”

“But it's not really working at all!” Ginny said. “It's not as though I'll be writing the article while I'm watching the
match. Just taking a few notes. And Mum's already said she'd be more than happy to watch James.”

“Maybe the next one,” Harry said, continuing to bob his knee up and down. “But I'd really just rather stay here.”

“Alright, fine!” Ginny said, throwing her hands up. “You can't say I didn't try.”

“No, I can't,” Harry said, quietly enough so Ginny couldn't hear him.

“I should hopefully be back sometime tomorrow afternoon, depending on how long the match lasts,” she said crisply,
picking up her bags.

“Sounds good,” Harry said.

Ginny crouched in front of Harry and smiled brightly at James.

“Bye, Jamie,” she cooed sweetly. She planted a kiss on the baby's forehead and then on Harry's lips. The kiss was very
terse and Harry could tell she was angry with him.

“I'll see you both tomorrow,” she said, standing up and turning away. She exited the house into the backyard and
Disapparated with a crack.

Harry sighed in relief and turned James around to face him.

“Your mum can be quite the handful, you know that?” he said. “Don't tell her I said that, of course.”

James toothlessly grinned in what Harry liked to think of as a knowing way.

Harry grinned back, and just as he stood up with the baby, the doorbell rang.

Curious, Harry laid the baby down on a quilt, quickly made his way to the entry and opened the door.

“Hermione!” he said, smiling widely. “What're you doing here?”

Hermione shrugged as she stepped into the house. “I was in the neighborhood and just thought I'd drop in to check up on
my favorite godson,” she said.

Harry chuckled. “I think I'd start questioning your, er, `after-work activities' if you were just randomly in this
neighborhood, Hermione. You can just admit you want to see my kid.”

“Guilty,” Hermione said with a smile. “Of the latter act, of course.”

Harry led the way to the living room and plopped himself on the couch. He waved a hand towards the baby off-handedly.

“The little charmer's all yours,” he said.

Hermione immediately scooped up the baby in her arms. “Was I interrupting any father-son bonding?” she teased.

“Oh, not at all,” Harry said. “We were just on the verge of cracking open a few firewhiskeys and watching the big game
but then you got here. So no, nothing interrupted.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and pouted at James. “The poor little thing's already being shoved into a primitive male
stereotype!”

“Poor little thing?” Harry said disbelievingly. “First of all, I'm the one getting used here, seeing as any visitors
I've received lately were here to see this little moocher, and second of all, he's putting himself into that stereotype
by attracting any female within a fifty-foot radius.”

“That's because he's just so darn cute!” Hermione cooed, tickling her nose against James's. The baby laughed happily.

“Case in point,” Harry said, grinning at the exchange.

Hermione coddled the baby for a few more moments, observing the baby's smiling features as she sat down on the couch
next to Harry.

“I can't believe his eyes are going to be brown,” Hermione said, a slight bit of disappointment lacing her voice as she
stared at the darkening irises of the infant.

“I happen to like brown eyes,” Harry said, gazing pointedly at her. He was inexplicably pleased when he saw her cheeks
blush slightly. She cleared her throat after an embarrassed moment of silence.

“Um, has Ginny already gone to the game?” she asked, evidently wishing for a change of subject.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “She left not even five minutes before you got here.”

“Close timing,” Hermione said. “Who's playing?”

“It's Bulgaria versus Spain,” Harry said, amused that Hermione would continue this line of conversation.

“Really?” Hermione asked, her interest actually piqued.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “In Barcelona.”

“Is Viktor still playing?”

“Surprisingly he is. He's now one of the older members in the league, but he's still quite good. D'you still talk to him
at all?”

“On occasion,” Hermione said. “I haven't written him since I got married, though.”

“Can't bear to break the poor guy's heart?” Harry teased, poking her playfully in the side.

Hermione squirmed a bit, giggling. “I'm holding your son, here!” she mock-scolded. “And for your information, I did tell
him I was married. He wrote me back and congratulated me. I haven't written since then.”

“He's just hiding the heartache,” Harry said. “But speaking of Quidditch, it's time for the sport's newest star to get
in a little practice.”

He then plucked the baby from Hermione's arms and led the way into the backyard.

*********

“Why do you insist on doing this?” Hermione whined from behind Harry as they entered the yard. The sun was starting to
go down, but it was still very warm.

“Because he loves it!” Harry replied as he picked up the Firebolt leaning against the house. “It helps him get to sleep
easier as well.”

In addition to the broomstick, he also picked up a small ball from the grass before swinging his leg over the Firebolt,
all the while keeping a firm grip on James. With a soft kick he lifted off the ground and hovered just high enough where
he could skim the top of Hermione's head with his trainers if he flew over her. He zoomed in slow lazy patterns
throughout the yard, and Hermione could hear his commentary as she walked beneath them.

“Potter and Potter zoom to the left,” Harry said dramatically, barely angling the broom and then dipping it slightly.
“They duck a nasty Bludger and then proceed to barrel roll to avoid the other Bludger, absolutely amazing! Potter tosses
the Quaffle to Potter and together they speed towards the goal, almost smashing into the opposing team's Seeker as they
do so. However, they're blocked by a big ugly brute of a Chaser and they desperately hurl the Quaffle towards Granger in
hopes of winning the match - !”

Harry then proceeded to lower himself even closer to the ground and slowly dropped the small ball over Hermione, who
stepped to the side to avoid it, her hands held primly in front of her.

“Weasley,” she said.

“Right,” Harry said. “But come on, Hermione, you so had that! That couldn't've been more than three feet above your
hands. You're letting the other team win! What's the matter with you!?”

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at his seriousness. “How can I play Quidditch when I'm worried about my favorite guy
falling from a floating twig?

“Easily!” Harry countered cheekily. “And don't worry, I won't fall - James has a good grip on me.”

Hermione shook her head as she continued to laugh. Despite her supposed concern, she inherently knew Harry would never
drop the baby. “I sometimes wonder which of you two is more immature.”

“Why would you wonder about that? Definitely me,” Harry said. “James has a very serious disposition.”

“We'll see how long that lasts,” Hermione said, watching as Harry glided gently to the ground. “You set him up to be a
troublemaker when you gave him his name.”

“I'm sure my dad and Sirius both highly disapprove of your disapproval,” Harry said, wiping sweat from his brow. “And
who knows, it might turn out as an ironic twist and James could be the perfect little angel.”

“There's always a chance, I suppose.”

“You sound doubtful,” Harry said as he replaced the broom and opened the door for Hermione. After the heat from outside,
his shirt was clinging to his stomach. She looked away pointedly.

“With Potter and Weasley genes, it's almost guaranteed,” Hermione said apologetically. “Nothing to be done.”

“Maybe I should ground him in advance,” Harry said, casting a mock-suspicious glance at the baby growing sleepy in his
arms.

“Never!” Hermione said, tickling the baby. “I would miss him too much!”

“Sorry,” Harry said, turning away from Hermione so she could no longer reach James. “No aunt visits allowed during
grounding.”

The baby gave a small cry from Harry's arm and Hermione smirked.

“So he disagrees,” Harry said dismissively, shrugging. “I'm the parent, I make the decisions.”

“Though I'm sure his cry was purely in relation to your horrible punishment,” Hermione said, “I have a sneaking
suspicion that it's nearing his dinner time.”

Harry made a show of checking his watch.

“So it is!” he said.

“Would you like me to feed him?” Hermione asked.

“If you want to,” Harry said. “I'll get his bottle.”

He handed Hermione the baby and proceeded to the kitchen. Hermione made her way to the living room and Harry intercepted
her as she sat down, the bottle already clutched in his hands.

“Here you go,” Harry said. “Bon appétit.”

Hermione, trusting Harry had made the milk the correct temperature, placed the tip into the baby's mouth. James
immediately grasped at the sides with both hands, sucking greedily.

“Wow,” Hermione said, smiling. “You really were hungry, weren't you?”

“Speaking of hungry,” Harry said. “I'm starting to feel a bit famished myself.”

Hermione nodded. “I'll get out of here as soon as I'm finished feeding James.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That wasn't me banishing you from my house,” he replied, amused. “That was more-or-less me
asking if you'd like to stay and save me the misery of eating alone.”

Hermione thought about this, biting her lip. She couldn't remember the last time she and Harry had shared a meal without
Ron or Ginny accompanying them.

“I don't know…” she said uncertainly.

“Please?”

“Well…” Hermione chewed her lip a bit more. “Are you sure you have enough?” she finally said.

“Technically I have no idea what I'm making,” Harry said. “But whatever it is I'm sure there'll be plenty.”

Hermione glanced up. “I suppose I could stay. I'd just be eating alone as well.”

“It's a win-win situation, then!” Harry said enthusiastically. “You get to have a first-class meal and neither of us
have to look like pathetic gits!”

“Who said I wouldn't have a first-class meal on my own?” Hermione asked, ignoring the latter statement.

“No one,” Harry answered vaguely. “But surely it wouldn't be chef Potter quality.”

“I'll have you know I'm an excellent cook!” Hermione said indignantly.

“Of course,” Harry said, patting Hermione patronizingly on the shoulder. “You're a wonderful cook.”

Hermione shook her head as she repositioned James in her arms. “You are such a prat,” she said, laughing.

Harry chuckled as well and then gestured towards the almost empty bottle, which James was suckling lazily.

Hermione plucked the bottle from James mouth and handed it to Harry.

“I'll start on dinner as soon as I give James a bath,” he said.

Hermione stood up, angling James against her shoulder and rubbing his back gently. “I could give him a bath as well.
It's no trouble.”

Harry raised an eyebrow mischievously.

“Wow, Hermione. First you hand-feed him and then you offer to give him a bath? Does Ron know about this relationship?”

Hermione swatted at his arms playfully. “Just get started on dinner, Potter!”

Harry gave a showy bow, waving the bottle in front of him as he backed out of the room. “Yes, master! I'll get right on
that!”

Hermione picked up a pillow from the couch and chucked it at Harry as he rounded the corner. He ducked it, and then
poked his head back into the room and grinned cockily. She stuck her tongue out at him and he withdrew his head; she
could hear him chuckling all the way to the kitchen.

She carried James up the stairs to the nearest bathroom, continuing to shake her head as she went.

“Your father is a complete prat,” she said as she sponged warm soapy water over the baby's back. “What d'you think?”

The baby laughed at her and splashed happily.

“I know, I like him to,” she said in a slight tone of frustration, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “Don't
mention anything, though, okay? It might complicate things a bit.”

After she had finished bathing James, she dried him, dressed him in a light pair of pajamas, and carried him back down
the stairs. The baby was quite drowsy by this point, and his hand resided lazily on her shoulder.

“All done,” Hermione said as she entered the kitchen, sniffing gratefully at the mouth-watering smell that wafted
instantly to her nostrils.

“Great,” Harry said, turning away from the stove. “Let's go put the little guy in bed.”

“Yes, he's pretty tuckered out,” Hermione said, turning and retreating once more to the first floor. “All those
Quidditch maneuvers really took it out of him.”

Harry followed closely behind her, his arm brushing hers as they entered James's nursery. Hermione felt rather
uncomfortable with the contact as she thought of what had occurred - or almost occurred - the last time they had been
alone together in this room.

“He usually doesn't go so crazy with the moves,” Harry said, “but he did have a beautiful lady to impress.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up once more as she laid the sleeping baby into the crib.

“H-he didn't need to do that, of course,” she said as lightly as possible. “He's quite the catch as it is.”

Harry didn't respond for a moment as he rubbed his son's back.

“Night, James,” he murmured softly. He bent and kissed the crown of his soft dark hair, and Hermione felt her heart
melt. She had always known that Harry would be a wonderful father, but even she hadn't fathomed its fullest extent: the
way Harry smiled when he made his son laugh, the way his eyes shone with the most sincere happiness, gratitude, and
serenity as he simply watched James sleep. Smiling softly, Hermione bent down and kissed James as well in the same spot,
running her fingertips lightly over his hair as she straightened up. She turned to find Harry watching her with
interest, his arms folded, a small smile across his features. Hermione returned the smile as she met his eyes, reaching
out to rest her hand on his shoulder and run it down the length of his arm. Then she walked quietly from the room, Harry
in her wake as he closed the door slightly behind him.

“Everything should pretty much be ready,” Harry said as they entered the kitchen a moment later.

“It's smells amazing.”

“It's just a little something I threw together,” Harry replied. “I had a few pieces of chicken I needed to cook and some
asparagus, so I decided to make a pasta.”

“In that case it sounds amazing as well,” Hermione said. “I'm starving.”

“Me too.”

He quickly mixed the ingredients together and dished up a few spoonfuls onto two plates. He handed one to her and
together they walked to the dining room. Harry sat at the end of the table and Hermione chose the seat next to him.

Hermione took a bite of her meal and had to hold back the sigh of satisfaction that threatened to escape her.

Harry grinned at her as he twirled his own fork into the pasta.

“Good?”

“Amazing,” she answered. “This is absolutely delicious.”

“I'm glad you like it,” he said genuinely. “Plus, you gave me an excuse to actually make something halfway decent. I
probably would've just eaten a sandwich or something if it were just me.

“Glad I could be of assistance,” Hermione said, smirking as she scooped another large bite into her mouth. “That
would've been just dreadful.”

“Exactly,” Harry said, also grinning. “The company's not half bad either.”

Hermione felt herself flush, again, and focused on spearing another bite of chicken and asparagus onto her fork. Why was
she getting so flustered? There was really nothing uncomfortable about these statements. Completely innocent. She
attributed it to the weather - it really was very warm.

“Do you want some wine?”

Hermione looked up, slightly surprised by Harry's sudden outburst. She was even more surprised when she found herself
nodding.

“Great,” Harry said. “I'll be right back.”

He returned a moment later, clutching two glasses and an unopened bottle of white wine.

“I figured you'd appreciate something chilled,” Harry said as he poured them each a liberal glass. “You look a little
flushed.”

Of course he noticed. “I-I do feel a little warm,” she said, accepting the glass as he held it out to her.

The wine was sweet and refreshing, and Hermione soon found herself accepting a second and then a third glass. By this
point they were both beginning to act rather giggly.

“I can't believe you already took more time off,” Hermione said.

“I missed James,” Harry replied simply, a broad smile plastered to his face.

“But you've been off for almost four months since he was born!” Hermione argued, also grinning hugely.

“I know!” Harry said. “All the guys at work keep asking when my `paternity' leave'll be up.”

Hermione giggled. “Later than maternity leave at the Daily Prophet, apparently!”

“I know!” Harry said again. “Ginny's right peeved about it too.”

“I imagine,” Hermione said, collecting a few remnants of her meal and taking a bite.

Harry chuckled as she lay down her fork.

“What's so funny?” she asked.

“You've got a little something…” he said, gesturing vaguely to the lower region of his face.

Hermione brushed at the corner of her lips.

“Did I get it?”

“Not quite,” Harry said. “A little higher.”

She wiped a bit more onto her cheek and raised her eyebrow at Harry.

“Nope,” he replied. He extended his hand towards her. “It's right -” He suddenly tapped a small dab of sauce onto the
tip of her nose. “—there!”

Hermione fixed him with a glare as he continued to chortle, but knew she must look rather unintimidating with her nose
covered in alfredo sauce.

“Very mature, Harry,” she said, trying to sound as dignified as possible as she wiped at her nose with a napkin. “I
would've thought fatherhood would've raised your maturity, not decreased it.”

Harry seemed rather unaffected by this statement. “Dinner's on you!” he said, pouring himself yet another glass of wine.

Hermione found this quite humorous and lapsed into giggles once more.

After several minutes in this manner, they wiped the tears of laughter from their eyes.

“Let's go sit in the living room,” Harry suggested, sobering up slightly.

“Okay,” Hermione said. Bringing their wine glasses with them, they settled themselves comfortably on the sofa. They sat
for a few moments in amicable silence, their arms touching as they sipped on their wine.

“You know, you're really good with him,” Harry said, glancing sideways at her.

“Who?” Hermione asked, furrowing her brow.

“James. You're really good with him.”

Hermione shrugged. “It's nothing, really. Feeding and bathing him isn't really a big deal.”

“It's not just that,” Harry said. “You're amazing with him in general.” He paused. “Well, you're amazing in general.”

Okay, that one was a bit more blush-worthy, Hermione thought as she took a hasty swallow of wine in an attempt to hide
her face.

Harry laughed at her thinly veiled embarrassment. “You don't have to blush every time I give you a compliment,
Hermione.”

This, of course, only served to make her blush even further. “I wasn't blushing,” she mumbled into her glass.

“Sure you weren't,” he said. “Just the heat, right?”

“Just the heat,” Hermione said, nodding. She went to take another drink of her wine, and with a bit of disappointment
found it empty.

“There's a bit left if you want some more,” Harry said, leaning forward and lifting the bottle from the coffee table. He
reached over and grasped her hand, holding it steady as he poured the remainder of the wine into her glass.

His hand felt warm on hers and she was glad that Harry was holding it still; she was sure when he released her hand it
would tremble quite badly.

Unfortunately, Harry noticed this and immediately replaced his hand in the same spot within seconds of letting go.

“You alright?” he asked, looking slightly concerned.

“Of-of course,” Hermione said breathlessly, desperately hoping Harry would release her hand. When he finally did, she
promptly placed the wine glass down on the coffee table. Too much wine, she scolded herself.

“But seriously, Hermione, you really are great with him,” Harry said, continuing their previous line of conversation.
“Are you planning for one anytime soon?”

Hermione glanced at him a bit somberly. “Actually, Ron and I have been…trying…for a few months now,” she confessed in
discomfort.

Harry looked genuinely surprised. “Really?” he asked. There was an odd tone to his voice that Hermione didn't quite
understand.

“Yes,” she replied. “Obviously nothing's come of it yet, though,” she added quietly.

“Is…is anything wrong?”

She shook her head, aware of the implication.

To be perfectly honest, Hermione didn't completely comprehend why she hadn't become pregnant yet. Ron had,
unsurprisingly, insisted they try for a baby shortly after James had been born, but after three months there were still
no results. Concerned, she had then persuaded Ron to accompany her to a clinic to ensure that becoming pregnant was even
possible for them. But after a few tests, the doctors had asserted that they were both perfectly healthy.

Just bad luck, the man had said. Just give it some time.

Two more months had passed in the meantime, and Hermione became apprehensive that, somehow, she was to blame for it. She
had been uncertain about having a child ever since Ron had suggested it, and she inherently felt that her hesitation had
was causing her to somehow magically prevent it.

“No,” Hermione said, staring away from Harry. “Nothing's wrong.”

She didn't know if an air of sadness had crossed her features or if it had been in the tone of her voice, but Harry had
evidently noticed.

After a moment he set his wine glass down decisively on the table, stood up, and extended his hand towards her, an
expectant expression on his face.

“What?” Hermione asked curiously, tentatively reinstating the contact she had sought to escape moments before. Harry
clasped her hand firmly and pulled her to her feet.

“We're going to dance,” Harry stated as if it were obvious.

Hermione cocked her head slightly, a disbelieving smile playing across her face. “You want to dance?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I do.”

“There's no music,” she pointed out uncertainly.

He flicked his wand in the direction of a small radio sitting on a shelf, and music began to play softly throughout the
room.

“Now there is.” He then tossed his wand onto the coffee table and offered his other hand.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, deliberating. His eyes shone brightly in the dimly lit room, and she couldn't help
but return his brilliant smile. She realized she wanted very badly to go along with Harry despite the nagging warning at
the back of her mind. Why shouldn't she be able to have an innocent dance with her best friend?

Determinedly, she removed her own wand from her pocket and tossed it alongside Harry's before taking his hand. His smile
only widened at her acceptance, and his obvious gladness made Hermione feel even more confident in her decision.

His eyes flashing playfully, he began to pull her arms alternatively back and forth. She raised her eyebrows at his
silly movements, but his lively spirit was contagious and she soon found herself imitating his motions with just as much
enthusiasm.

With a grin, he continued to pull her throughout the room, and before long they had become enveloped within the
turbulence of the moment, caught within a small world where there was just them, just them and the melody that
surrounded and compelled their steps.

Harry twirled her and she twirled him, laughter escaping their lips and adding to the harmonious notes that were so
thick in the warm air. They weaved together around the various furniture, stumbling occasionally but always falling into
each other, never stopping their movement. Their intermittent clumsiness somehow felt appropriate and simply became
integrated into their dance.

Throughout the dizzying, wonderful giddiness of it all, however, Hermione always remained aware of his warmth - the
warmth of his hands as their fingers were interlaced, the hotness of his body when she twirled into his arms, the heat
of his breath on her neck when they spun together in a tight circle.

She was vaguely surprised she could feel his warmth at all; she knew her own temperature was also high, and the beating
of her heart was increasingly rapid against her chest, pushing the blood through her veins at a velocity that was making
her lightheaded.

Finally, their dancing began to taper into something more manageable. They stood closely to each other, still smiling as
they laid their heads against each other, their breathing coming in slow collective gasps.

As Hermione caught her breath, she became acutely aware of their intimate position. Her left hand was entwined within
his right, and her other hand rested gently on his shoulder. His remaining hand lay softly against the small of her
back, holding her closely. She found herself nestling herself even closer into him and his touch on her back became
firmer. They had almost stopped moving and her heart was beating so hard in her ears that the music was all but a hum in
the back of her mind.

Breathing unsteadily, she pulled back from him slightly, just enough so their eyes met. They stared at each other in the
dimly-lit room, and Hermione felt herself immersed in his eyes, just as she had that day, so long ago, when they had
painted the nursery together.

But this felt different. Then, Hermione had felt frozen, held in place in a calm sea of green; now, she felt as if she
were being tossed violently on that same sea, engulfed and drowning under wave after wave of emotion. Her thoughts were
muddled and all she knew was the feel of his hand on her waist and her frantic heartbeat and his emerald eyes…

“Harry…” she whispered, so softly she could barely hear herself. She didn't know why she said his name, but for some
reason she felt it was necessary. Why it was necessary she also didn't know. Was it a warning…

…an invitation?

Before she was even conscious of it she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

Only when she felt Harry tense up did her brain catch up to her actions.

Horrified, she leapt back from him.

“Oh my god, I-I-I'm so sorry,” she said frantically, covering her mouth shakily. “I didn't mean—”

She felt almost sickened with herself for being careless enough, stupid enough, to have made her feelings so obvious and
she didn't dare meet Harry's eyes. She felt tears begin to spill onto her cheeks, and she spun away, intent on escaping
before he could see them.

However, before Hermione could take a step, she felt a hand grab her wrist tenderly.

“Wait,” Harry said.

Hermione closed her eyes, gathering the nerve to turn around and face him. She didn't want to look him in the eyes and
find the look of pity she knew must lay there now.

“Hermione?” he said more forcefully, tightening his grip on her hand.

Sighing unsteadily, she turned towards him. Then, finally, she looked up into his eyes again.

The blazing intensity she found within them made her feel as though her legs would give out from beneath her.

He was looking at her not with pity, but with a burning desire that she knew was mirrored within her own eyes - a want
that was somehow, astonishingly, the same as hers.

Hermione remained still as she fought the searing heat that simmered throughout her body, overwhelming her already
turbulent senses. Yet she felt herself almost relaxing under his piercing gaze despite the ravaging flames consuming her
insides.

Harry gently took her other hand in his, and Hermione stared breathlessly at their intertwined fingers held between
them, the only thing preventing their bodies from touching.

After a moment he freed one of his hands and slowly, tantalizingly slowly, reached up and placed it on the side of her
face, directing her eyes towards him. She felt the blood catch in her veins as his face inched towards her, a deliberate
movement that made her heart beat, if possible, even more quickly.

And then his lips were on hers, he was kissing her back, and Hermione knew she was beyond coherence.

She melted easily, so easily into his kiss and Harry released her other hand to entangle it within her hair. Her hands
freed, Hermione grabbed the front of his shirt in fistfuls, desperate to bring him closer to her though there wasn't a
hairsbreadth between their bodies.

She wanted somehow to pour everything she had ever felt for him, every thought she had had of him, every emotion she had
felt for him for the past fourteen years into this moment, and she wondered if she had succeeded when his hold on the
back of her neck became almost painfully tight.

She realized that her back was pressed against the wall, his free hand trailing along her body, and she pushed him away
just enough to upset his balance. Taking advantage of his instability, she twirled them around as best she could and his
back thudded into the wall instead. She felt him grin beneath her mouth and she couldn't help but smile back as he
playfully reversed their position once more.

Instead of meeting her lips again, however, he pressed his mouth to her moist neck. She moaned as he trailed kisses
along her collarbone, the hollow of her neck, the line of her jaw. Her breath came in halting gasps and her eyes closed
of their own accord, his lips scorching her heated skin. Her hands caught in his damp black locks and she pulled him
upwards to desperately recapture his mouth.

Suddenly, she was lifted upward by Harry's arms, pushed more roughly into the wall behind her, his stubble scratching
her skin as his kisses became quicker, harder, more fierce. She wrapped her legs around his waist, winding her arms
urgently around him, pulling him closer, as he kissed every exposed inch of her skin he could reach. Her breathing was
coming in shallow gaps, and she was only vaguely aware of movement as Harry carried her up the stairs. She was engrossed
by the feel of his fingertips on her back and the taste of the taut skin of his neck under her lips. His warm heavy
breathing was so close to her ear she felt faint.

She almost thought for the briefest moment that she had fainted as she felt herself falling. But then a soft mattress
was pressed against her back and Harry's shadowed form loomed over her, filling her vision.

As he bent to claim her lips again, Hermione pulled him upwards, tugging forcefully at his white shirt. He knelt upright
just long enough to help her pull it over his head impatiently and they attacked each other once more. She was kissing
him desperately, sought to kiss every inch of his chest, his body, but slowed as she came across his past wounds.
Pausing for a moment, she stared at every scratch, every mark, her breathing becoming deeper, more measured. Then she
traced her fingertips lightly over them, Harry hovering above her, frozen as he watched her careful movements. She
finally turned her head up to meet his eyes, blank and almost wary. Hermione leaned up and slowly placed a lingering
kiss at the corner of his mouth, then rested her face against his for the briefest moment, her breathing still slow and
quiet. She kissed his cheek softly before moving to kiss every scar that covered his body: the scarlet oval over his
heart where the locket had burned him, the puncture marks on his forearm, the faded lines on his hand, the small gash on
his abdomen from Dolohov's knife, the dark bruise on his chest, and the scar on his forehead that had been the source of
so much heartache in his life.

She took her time to kiss each of these spots tenderly, her lips lingering on each, and she felt his lips grazing her
neck almost as delicately, although there was an edge of constraint to his ministrations.

Finally, she pulled his head downward and crashed her lips into his again, and he pulled her flush against him as his
hands moved under her shirt and against her back. As she felt the contact with her bare skin, she yearned to feel more
of him; Harry clearly had similar thoughts because a moment later she was sitting up and he was lifting her T-shirt
above her head. At last she became free of her sweltering top and their skin was pressed together, moist with sweat and
so incredibly warm…

And suddenly she felt something icily cold pressed into her back, and she jerked forward, unexpectedly jolted into some
form of reason.

“Harry, stop, we can't -” she said abruptly in a strangled voice, somehow speaking as she pushed away from the
iron-frame headboard. She didn't know how she managed it.

Immediately, Harry pulled away from her, though she could see it was difficult for him to do so.

“W-we can't do this,” she said, touching her swollen lips.

Harry stared at her a moment, his green eyes searching hers. His chest was covered in sweat, and his damp black hair was
splayed across his forehead. It was all Hermione could do to not cut off his answer with her lips.

“Why?” he asked deliberately.

Hermione stared at him as though he'd gone mad, though considering how long it had taken her to get herself under some
modicum of control she figured she must be mad as well. Why?

“B-because of Ginny. And R-Ron,” she said, her throat dry.

“What else?” Harry asked, his voice sounding equally strangled. “An excuse that doesn't involve them.”

Hermione shook her head, stricken.

“You don't know what you're saying, we've both had too much to drink -”

“No,” Harry said forcefully. “I know exactly what I'm saying, painfully aware of it. And I want to say it.”

Hermione stared unblinkingly into his eyes. They were just as lucid as they always were, perhaps even more so. She could
also see the conflict in his expression, conflict that mimicked her own tumultuous emotions.

“I think we-” she began breathlessly, but Harry cut her off.

“Please, don't think,” he pleaded, grasping her wrist. “For once, for tonight, just don't… let's not think about
anything.”

Hermione hesitated, but she was drawn once more to Harry's face. Her head and her heart were in a completely different
state: her thoughts moved sluggishly through her mind, but her heart continued to beat against her chest like
hummingbird wings, in fact hadn't stopped beating at this pace since he first took her hand to dance. She couldn't
fathom one progressive thought during this moment. All she knew was that she had never felt anything close to the
passion burning in her abdomen right now, and she knew she wanted this, had always wanted this, wanted it for so long…

And after a moment, she kisses him, allowing herself to forget the world once more. Her hand moves to his cheek and his
hands cup her waist, gently pulling her closer to him. Her fingers graze his face and she lets herself be pulled further
into his embrace. She feels her back press once more into the soft cotton sheets, giving in to the wonderful chaos, the
destructive perfection of it all, and he falls with her, trailing feather-light kisses along her shoulder as she presses
her lips to his neck, and the radio continues to play quietly in the room below them, innocent and all-but-forgotten.

**********

Hermione felt her eyes flutter open. She had no idea what time it was, but by the very faint light that pervaded the
room she imagined it was dawn. She was curled into Harry's side and his arm was wrapped around her waist. She laid her
face against his chest, her hand splayed across his stomach, holding onto those brief moments before reality could crash
her sleepy bliss. Harry's heartbeat resounded softly, reassuringly, in her ears, and she closed her eyes, content to
simply listen and be wrapped in the warm arms of her best friend.

But then Hermione heard a soft cry from the hallway, and she felt the fulfillment of the moment dissolve into a
horrible, soul-wrenching ache. She buried her face into Harry's neck for the smallest instant, her eyes squeezed
tightly, desperately shut, wanting to hide in his embrace, feeling only him, only ever him.

As James let out a louder, more insistent wail, Hermione pulled herself away from Harry's side, keeping the sheet
wrapped tightly around her as she slid away across the bed and stood up. She felt tears welling up furiously in her
eyes, and she scrambled about the room, frantically gathering up her discarded clothing as she fought to keep a sob from
escaping her lips.

As she picked up her T-shirt from Harry's side of the bed, she felt her wrist suddenly grabbed gently and she knew she
had woken him.

“Hermione -” he began, but she pulled her hand away, perhaps with more vehemence than necessary.

“I-I can't talk with you right now, Harry,” she said, turning away from his somewhat hurt gaze.

“Hermione, please don't leave -”

“I've got to,” she said. “I need to leave.”

Swallowing, she glanced at him, a beseeching look in her eyes. Please let me go.

Harry stared at her and gave a small nod, an almost unreadable expression on his face that made Hermione furious.

She would've rather him shout at her, demand that she stay so they could talk and sort everything out. It would've been
so much easier to leave had that been the case. As it was, his silence and quiet acceptance only made her wish to fall
into his arms once more, to hold him and kiss him until he smiled again and his eyes brightened.

Knowing she couldn't fight her tears a second longer, she turned and vanished.

As she appeared in her living room, it was all she could do not to immediately fall to her knees and give in to the
wracking sobs that escaped her lips.

She looked around the room as tears flooded down her face: the straightened shelves, the clean coffee table, the
forgotten novel thrown carelessly on the sofa— everything was just as she'd left it.

Nothing had changed, when in reality everything had changed.

She turned and darted into the bathroom, and shut the door quickly behind her. Dropping her clothes and the sheet she
still clutched around her, she turned the shower on cold and stepped into the icy jets. A gasp escaped her but then she
finally dissolved into painful sobs, sinking to the floor in gut-wrenching anguish.

The cold water fell onto her face and mingled with the hot tears that poured down her cheeks and she knew she had never
felt so much guilt, so much regret… so much heartbreak in her entire life.

**********

A/N: Okey dokey then, here are the comments I promise. Let me break it down a little.

Firstly, for those of you who don't care for this and, however, are still interested in reading, this isn't a crucial
part of the story. There is much much much more to come, and this one night is just that - one night. This isn't an
affair fic where this continues and Ginny and/or Ron find out and they all get divorced and live miserably/happily ever
after. Not the case.

Secondly, if this just completely grinds your gears, don't read it, simple as that. Sorry I couldn't keep ya, can't
please everyone, etcetera etcetera. However, do not drop me flames in reviews expressing your disapproval about the
situation and saying you'll no longer be reading. Don't want to hear it, and the reviews will just be deleted. Fair
enough?

Okay, well I think that's all I have to say on the matter. Sorry for the rant…rude people really get on my nerves. Get
this…lots of angst in the next few chapters. Can you believe it?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

34. Breaking Mirrors

A/N: Thanks for your feedback for the last chapter! As I predicted, some of you loved it, some of you not so much.
Thanks to everybody for being polite, though! I very much appreciate it. As I've mentioned to a few people, I am by no
means asking you to approve of their behavior (I certainly don't), but to kind of accept it for what it is. Some aspects
may not be the most original, but hopefully I can convey things in an original enough way for people to be pleasantly
surprised by the outcome. Also, hopefully I can just plain surprise people with some aspects I plan to bring up. Either
way, please keep reading and giving me feedback!

This chapter is technically more filler than anything, but I felt it was necessary to convey where the characters are
emotionally right now after the events of the last chapter. Hope you enjoy.

Thanks to cranksatnyc, noorelisa, UKwildcat820, miss moony, hphg74, Bexis, MarenKPotter, justduck, VampLvr, h/hr4ever11,
Charlotte, and an Anonymous reviewer for the feedback!

Chapter 34: Breaking Mirrors

Ron walked rather lazily up the steps that led to his and Hermione's flat. Usually he would just Apparate directly into
the living room, but he figured Hermione might appreciate some sort of warning after three days without him - he didn't
want to startle her, after all.

When he reached the door, he gave it a sharp rap and promptly turned the knob, but found it locked. Hoisting his bag
over his shoulder, he knocked a bit more impatiently on the door.

Still no answer.

She must be out, he thought to himself as he dug through his bag. Hermione insisted he use keys to enter the flat
instead of his wand so as not to attract undo attention, which he frankly found to be quite a hassle.

After over a minute of rummaging, he finally extricated the small set of keys from his bag and inserted the correct one
into the lock.

As he entered the room, the first thing he was aware of was how dark everything was. Not a single light was on and the
curtains blocked out any sunlight that might have shone through the windows.

But he barely had time to dwell on this fact, however, because a small hiccup of surprise sounded from the couch as he
dropped his bag onto the hardwood floor.

“R-Ron? Is that you?”

Puzzled, Ron groped along the wall until he found the light switch and flicked it on. As light flooded the room, he saw
Hermione bundled on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around her. Her face was pale and drawn, and her hair was a
mess. She squinted and blinked rapidly at him through puffy, bloodshot eyes as she adjusted to the sudden light.

“Hey,” Ron said, wrinkling his brow. “What're you doing sitting in the dark like this? What's wrong?”

“N-nothing's wrong,” Hermione replied in a somewhat raspy voice. “I just - I just haven't been feeling the greatest.”

“Oh,” Ron said. “I didn't know you were even home. Why didn't you answer the door?”

Hermione glanced at the door behind him. “Um…people have been knocking on the door all weekend,” she said quietly,
pulling the blanket more tightly around her. “Just salesmen and what-not. I got tired of answering.”

“Oh,” Ron said again. He fidgeted uncomfortably as Hermione continued to stare lifelessly at the door. He sidestepped
into her line of vision and she blinked as she quickly refocused on Ron.

“H-how was your trip?” she asked, an apologetic tone lacing her voice for her lack of attention. “Did you have fun?”

“No, not really…”

A moment of silent passed between them before Hermione realized she needed to continue the conversation.

“What did you do at the conference?” she asked.

“Attend lectures mostly.”

“You get those from me for nothing,” Hermione replied. Ron could sense that she had meant the statement to be humorous,
but she had spoken half-heartedly. Nonetheless, Ron gave her a small smile in an attempt to cheer her up.

“And those blokes aren't nearly as good at it either,” he said jokingly, but then fell silent again. The aura of the
room was downright depressing, and he found very little desire to talk.

“Are…are you feeling well enough to go out?” Ron finally suggested after the silence had persisted for almost a full
minute.

Hermione frowned slightly, as if this idea were quite adverse to her, so Ron was quite surprised when she finally nodded
in assent.

“I just have to clean up a bit,” she said softly, and then retreated into the bedroom, still clutching the blanket
around her shoulders.

Ron furrowed his brow as he sat down in the spot Hermione had vacated. Although Hermione had insisted she had been ill,
he couldn't help but feel that her behavior was a little off in a different way. She seemed quite preoccupied by
something, and whatever that something was was clearly upsetting her. Why else would she be cooped up in the dark like
this? And not only was she sitting in the dark, it looked like she had been crying as well.

Maybe she would tell him what was bothering her over dinner.

But Ron's musings were soon interrupted as Hermione exited their room, still looking quite cheerless, but presentably
so.

“Ready?” Ron asked, standing up.

Hermione nodded silently as she collected her purse from a hook near the door.

“Where d'you want to eat?”

Hermione's face was shadowed by a veil of hair as she checked the contents of her bag. She paused, and when she spoke it
was almost a sigh.

“Doesn't matter to me,” she said finally, slowly continuing her rummaging and not looking up. “You can pick.”

**********

Ginny frowned as she watched Harry attempt to sooth a crying James.

She had returned home from the Quidditch match yesterday afternoon to find Harry in an absolutely foul mood. Beyond a
rather curt hello, they had barely exchanged a dozen words with each other. Mostly Ginny would just talk, and her
husband would sometimes give a vague nod, if any response at all.

To top it off, James had been absolutely unmanageable since she had come home as well. She guessed that he was teething,
and he cried almost non-stop whenever he was awake. She attributed this to Harry's irritability, which seemed to grow
more and more pronounced with each passing hour.

“Come on, buddy,” Harry murmured tiredly as he rubbed James's back in a circular motion. “I know it hurts, but it'll
stop soon…”

He stared vacantly at the wall as he said this, and Ginny was a bit concerned by the dark circles under his eyes.
Although they had taken turns soothing the baby, it seemed that he still wasn't getting much sleep. He hadn't even
bothered shaving since the day before the match, further enhancing his haggard appearance.

“How was work today?” Ginny asked offhandedly, although Harry had already been home for almost an hour.

“Fine,” Harry responded, little to Ginny's surprise.

She waited a moment, idly flipping a few pages of her monthly issue of Witch Weekly to see if Harry would bother
continuing the conversation.

He didn't, of course.

“Have you had any more leads on Dolohov?” she continued.

“None.”

She gave him another chance to speak, but again, nothing came of it.

“The article for the match is going really well,” she finally said. “Krum was a little reluctant to be interviewed, but
he seemed quite eager to give me some exclusive quotes after I mentioned I was Hermione's sister-in-law.”

She saw Harry, predictably, give a small nod, but was surprised to see a flash of emotion cross his face before it
hardened into an unreadable mask once more. Or perhaps not completely unreadable - if anything anger could be discerned
from his stony expression.

She cocked an eyebrow, confused by Harry's change in expression. She had spoken about her article multiple times - why
would he seem angry now?

“Is something the matter, Harry?”

Ginny thought she saw the slightest tensing of Harry's shoulder, but she might have been mistaken - he was already tense
to begin with.

“No,” he said brusquely, his back turned to her. “Why?”

“Don't even act like you don't know why!” Ginny said, exasperated. “You've been acting like a git since I got back.”

“How d'you mean?” Harry said, a note of cautiousness in his voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we've got a new record for the longest sentence spoken in the last forty-eight hours!” Ginny said
sarcastically. “Quite the accomplishment!”

“I'm - I'm just not in a talkative mood,” Harry said defensively. “I don't see why you have a problem with that.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “There's a difference between being uncommunicative and giving me the cold shoulder for two days,
Harry!”

“Well, I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I've just had a lot on my mind.”

“That might've been useful information to know,” Ginny said. “I'm your wife, you can tell me these things - it sort of
comes with the territory. So what's bothering you?”

Harry shook his head. “It's just…just some work stuff. There's nothing you can do about it.”

“Maybe if you just talked about it you'd feel better anyway.”

“No,” Harry said a bit more vehemently as he shook his head again. “It's…private. Classified. I can't talk about it with
you.”

“Then who can you talk with about this?” Ginny said with irritation. “Because I'm frankly sick of your bad mood.”

Harry looked as though he were about to make a retort, but then closed his mouth and glanced away for a moment. When he
turned his gaze back to her, there was a bit of remorse in his eyes.

“I'm sorry, Gin, really. I shouldn't be taking this out on you…especially you. I'll try not to act like such an
asshole.”

“Baby ears!” Ginny said as she gestured to James, who had finally grown quiet in Harry's arms. “And you're forgiven if
you actually hold to that.”

Harry nodded, but Ginny could already see his face beginning to take on the same emotionless expression.

Sighing, she stood up and placed her magazine on the chair behind her. Harry glanced at her sudden movement, and Ginny
reached out to take the baby from him.

“We're all taking a walk,” she said briskly. “Go change into a more comfortable shirt so you can join us.”

Harry showed little surprise at her outburst, and simply left for their bedroom without another word.

*********

Hermione walked slightly behind Ron as they were led to a small table near the back of the Muggle restaurant he had
chosen. Normally she would have been pleased by the privacy warranted by the secluded spot, but at the present moment
she was absolutely dreading it. Being surrounded by dozens of noisy diners would have made the evening a much more
enjoyable affair. The less they could hear each other, the less they would talk, and the less they talked the better.

As they were seated, their waiter pulled a small pad from his pocket.

“What would you like to drink?” the man said, turning politely to Hermione.

“Water, please,” she said, just loud enough for the waiter to hear. She didn't even bother looking in his direction.

“Alright,” he said, seeming a bit put-off by Hermione's reticent behavior. “And for you, sir?”

“I'll have a beer,” Ron replied more genially.

The waiter nodded. “I'll have your drinks ready in a moment,” he said, and walked away to fetch them.

The couple sat wordlessly as they perused their menus, and Hermione was grateful for a legitimate excuse to stay silent.
The walk to the restaurant had been much more awkward, as Hermione was unforthcoming in conversation and Ron had no idea
how to react to her unusually taciturn demeanor. Periods of silence were not uncommon between them, but generally it was
an amicable sort of silence born from years of knowing each other. This was a different sort of quiet, heavy and charged
with tension from what was not being said.

The waiter returned after a few moments and set down their glasses. Hermione mumbled a thank you and Ron immediately
placed his order as soon as the man had taken out his notebook again. Hermione glanced to the menu and picked the first
item her eyes fell upon - she really didn't care what it was.

The heavy silence returned as soon as the waiter left, and Ron fidgeted uncomfortably. His discomfort made Hermione feel
even guiltier than she already did, but she still couldn't bring herself to speak. She could hardly look him in the eye,
let alone hold a conversation with him.

“You, er, you've been pretty quiet…” Ron finally stated, adjusting his fork uneasily. He set it down and raised his eyes
to her face. “Are you sure nothing's wrong?”

No, at the moment I'm pretty sure everything is wrong, Hermione thought.

“Really, Ron, I'm fine,” she replied, turning her eyes to his long enough to flash him a reassuring smile. Apparently it
was convincing, because he returned her smile, seeming a bit relieved, and she felt an especially painful pang of
remorse.

No matter his faults, he didn't deserve what she had done to him…no one deserved that.

“Good,” Ron said. “I was just feeling a little worried about you. You've seemed sort of off since I got back.” He shook
his head, chuckling. “Guess my super-sharp intuition is a little hazy tonight.”

Hermione felt another pang at his light-heartedness, as well as the irony of his statement: for once, he was right on
the mark.

“Well, don't mind me, I guess,” Ron said. “How was work today?”

Hermione blinked a few times. “Actually,” she said slowly. “I didn't go to work.”

Ron furrowed his brow, just as Hermione expected he would. “You didn't go to work?”

Hermione shook her head, mentally cursing her predictably responsible nature. “No,” she said. “I didn't.”

“Wow,” Ron said, running a hand through his hair. “You really must have felt bad - you almost never miss work!”

Hermione nodded. She'd only missed work for four occasions: Harry's wedding, her own wedding and honeymoon, her father's
funeral, and the hooky-day she had spent with Harry (which Ron had no idea about).

“A Pepper-Up Potion didn't do the trick?” Ron asked.

“Um, we were out,” Hermione replied.

“I bet Harry would've brought you some if you'd owled him,” Ron said.

Hermione physically winced at the mention of Harry's name. “I - I know he would have, but I knew he was busy with
James…I didn't want to bother him.”

Ron shook his head in wonder, but didn't reply straight away as the waiter arrived at their table with their food. He
took a large bite of his steak before he looked once more at Hermione, who had only just picked up her fork.

“Merlin, I figured you would've brewed the potion yourself before missing work.”

Hermione moved her vegetables around a bit with her fork. “Well, I had…a lot to think about.”

She doubted any statement she had ever spoken was as deviously truthful as the one she said to Ron.

She was certainly not lying - she did have a lot to think about.

As Ron nodded in understanding, she knew he couldn't possibly understand what she had been thinking of. If he did, she
doubted very much that they would be sitting in this restaurant, speaking amicably to one another. She honestly doubted
that he would ever speak to her again if he really knew.

She had spent days thinking, and days trying to stop thinking…about that night, about the following morning, about her
lack of self-control…

But mostly just about him.

She hoped that having time to herself would've allowed her to regain some sense of composure, some rationality that
would make her understand her actions and, more importantly, how to rectify those actions.

But her rationality, once so kept and headed, had seemingly perished under Harry's gaze that night. She had exulted in
his touch, and now she felt drowned by it. She thought that if she waited, away from his burning eyes and tempting
hands, she could take control like she always did.

Instead, each thought had brought her further and further from control. All she could do was cry, and her sobs only
increased when someone knocked on her door. She had stifled her anguished cries, however, because she knew it was him.
He had knocked on her door for an hour straight - today, yesterday, and the day before. And she knew that he would
continue to come every single day until she opened the door.

The rest of their meal passed with idle chit-chat, and Hermione sent her meal away when Ron was finished although she
had only taken a few bites. When they exited the restaurant, they located a secluded alley and Apparated back to their
flat.

Hermione placed her bag on the coffee table, feeling inexplicably exhausted by her short outing. She closed her eyes and
ran a hand tiredly over her face, craving the sheets of her bed even though she had seen far too much of them over the
past few days. But just as she was about to turn around and wish Ron a good night, she suddenly felt an arm wrap around
her waist.

“I've missed you,” Ron said, kissing the side of her face.

Before she could think about it, Hermione jerked away, spinning around and taking a step back before her brain caught up
with her.

Why did I just do that?

Ron looked at her in confused amusement. “Geez, jumpy much? What's wrong?”

Hermione stared at him blankly as he approached her again, and finally shook her head.

“No,” she said. “Nothing's wrong.” Maybe if she said it enough, it would be true.

Maybe if she continued to tell this to herself, she would stop imagining the hum of a radio in the background, or the
feel of someone else's touch on the small of her back. Maybe if she said it long enough, in time, she would stop
thinking—stop feeling to the depth of her soul—that the red-headed man kissing her right now was the wrong man.

And maybe, with a little more time, she would stop wanting to kiss someone else…the dark-haired man who was supposed to
be the wrong one.

Really, maybe time was all she needed to re-right her world, the one that was recently turned upside down by an event
that made her so painfully and guiltily aware which of her worlds—the world she was currently living with a red-haired
man who loved her, or the flashing glimpse in a breaking mirror of the life she had lost with her emerald-eyed best
friend—actually felt upside down.

Maybe.

***********

Harry sighed deeply as he selected a T-shirt at random from his closet.

Deep, measured breaths - those were supposed to clear your mind, weren't they?

But even as he gulped at the limited air in his room, Harry knew all the world's oxygen couldn't succeed in such a task
during the past few days.

He pulled at the buttons of his shirt in agitation, pulled the shirt from his shoulders, and threw it harshly into the
corner of the room. Before he could pull the clean T-shirt over his head, he couldn't resist peeking at his image in the
mirror hanging over the dresser. As his eyes darted to his chest, he was plagued once more by the thoughts that had been
running rampant in his head for days.

The bruise on his chest, which had been roughly half a foot in diameter just three days previously, was now the size of
a small fist.

It had taken him hours after Hermione had left to notice the significant change, and even more hours to find the energy
to ponder the difference.

The mark had been decreasing in size steadily since he had received it, but never in such a burst as this. It had taken
almost eight years to reduce to half its original size, and yet it had made the same reduction within hours.

His fleeting theories were not enough to convince him of the cause of the change, and he had been wanting to ask
Hermione about it for days - she would have the answer. She'd always had the answer.

But for the first time in his life, he couldn't ask her.

In an almost unconscious burst of anger, Harry's fist shot forward and collided with the mirror. The glass crunched
under his knuckles, and tiny fractures laced from the point of impact. A hiss of pain escaped his lips as Harry pulled
his hand back, and he observed his bloody fingers for only a brief moment before his eyes returned to the mirror.

His image was reflected oddly in the various shards, and he thought it strangely befitting to the current state his life
was in. Broken and distorted.

“Harry, what was that? What's taking you?”

He tore his eyes away from the mirror at Ginny's call.

“It's nothing,” he said. Then, more quietly, “Reparo.”

He watched the shards of mirror on the ground float back up to rejoin the mending mirror. The glass seemed to meld
together, and soon he was staring once more at his crisp image. He felt that it was a façade compared to the broken
picture he had observed before.

Sighing, Harry slipped the shirt over his head and cast a quick healing and cleaning charm on his hand as he left the
room.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Couldn't find a clean one.”

“It shouldn't have been too difficult considering I washed laundry yesterday.”

“Well, I was looking in the wrong place then,” Harry said shortly. “Let's go.”

“Fine,” Ginny said. “Get the stroller.”

Harry nodded as he picked up the collapsed baby carriage. Ginny hoisted James a bit higher on her hip and led Harry from
the house without another word. He popped open the stroller when they had reached the sidewalk and James was quickly
transferred into the seat.

Harry glanced sideways at Ginny as they began walking. She pushed the stroller at a brisk pace, and a frown adorned her
pale face. She was still not pleased with him, obviously. He hated to think what would happen if she ever found out
about what had actually transpired between himself and Hermione…

He looked away as the thought crossed his mind, shame coursing like poison through his veins.

“Did you see Hermione over the weekend?”

Harry almost stopped dead in his tracks at Ginny's casual statement.

“No,” he said, more loudly than he had intended. He cleared his throat before he spoke again. “Why d'you ask?”

“Just curious,” Ginny said. “I figured with both Ron and I being gone you two might have gotten together for lunch or
something.”

Harry swallowed. “We didn't.”

Ginny shrugged. “Okay. We might have to all get together in a few days to do something then. Maybe we'll have them over
for dinner.”

Harry didn't reply, instead choosing to clench his fists in the pockets of his jeans. He had a strong feeling that such
a gathering wouldn't occur, especially if Hermione had anything to do about it. Three days of pounding on her door with
no answer certainly insinuated as much.

He had thought of just Apparating into her house on multiple occasions - if he could get in, that is. For all he knew,
Hermione had removed his permission through the wards. He honestly didn't want to find out if she had, and he knew that
bursting in unannounced and without permission would only hurt matters between them.

Unfortunately, this knowledge didn't reduce his desire to barge in there anyway. Out of all the years he'd known her,
not once had she avoided him like this - if anything it was the other way around. He knew they would have to talk
eventually, and the longer he waited the more anxious he felt about the impending discussion.

A pair of fingers suddenly snapped in Harry's face, and he jerked his head toward Ginny, dazed.

“What?”

“I was just wondering why you haven't been listening to a word I've said for the past ten minutes,” Ginny said, anger
evident in her voice yet again.

Harry inwardly winced at her accusation since it was obviously true. He'd had no idea that ten minutes had passed let
alone that his wife had been talking during that time.

“Let's just go back,” Ginny grumbled when Harry continued to stay silent and James began whimpering in his stroller.
After about fifteen minutes they had made their way back to the recently vacated home.

The rest of the evening passed with much crying on James part and not much else. Ginny maintained a stony silence in
response to Harry's distractedness, but he still couldn't bring himself to speak to her. Each time he turned to look at
his wife, images of Hermione would push themselves to the front of his mind. His conscience simply wouldn't let him face
Ginny under these circumstances, and the fact that his conscience tended to sound—achingly so—like none other than
Hermione only served to prolong his muteness.

I've already got you in my head enough without hearing you give me a lecture on the same matter as well, Harry thought
dejectedly.

It was around eleven at night and he was still up with James, whose cranky disposition had only been invigorated by
their short walk. But he was finally growing drowsy on Harry's shoulder, and after a few more minutes James was set
gently in his crib, asleep for the time being.

Harry crept softly from the room, across the hall, and then opened the door to his own bedroom. He let out a sigh of
relief when he saw that all the lights, including Ginny's bedside lamp, were off. The room was almost pitch black, and
he made his way silently to his side of the bed.

Taking extreme care not to jostle the mattress, Harry lowered himself onto the bed. As he gently pulled the quilt to
cover him, he breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

“Harry?”

Harry bit back the groan that threatened to escape his lips.

“I just felt you get into bed. I know you're awake,” Ginny said from beside him.

Harry nodded, knowing the gesture was lost in the darkness.

“Fine, don't talk,” he heard Ginny huff. “Just listen.”

Harry heard her adjust slightly, and imagined that she had just turned on her side to face him.

“Look, I know you don't want to talk to me about whatever's wrong with you, but this has to stop. It's not even so much
that you've barely spoken to me, but you seem genuinely upset about whatever it is.”

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat as he stared at the ceiling. He felt Ginny's hand on his upper arm.

“I can tell this is hurting you - I don't know why, but you've literally seemed ill for the past few days. I just - can
you please talk to someone soon? Try to figure this out?”

Harry lifted his arm—the one Ginny wasn't touching—and ran his hand over his face. His eyes closed involuntarily. He was
too damn tired to figure this out - to figure out why it hurt so much.

“Alright,” he said, his voice sounding hollow. “I will.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

35. Teamwork

A/N: Here's the next update! We now find out a bit more about what Harry and Hermione have been doing to deal with their
guilt, and set things up for a more action packed chapter. This one's a little on the short side, but the next once is
really long so that will hopefully make up for it.

Thanks to hphg74, auror_lumos09, EmmaRadcliffe, UKwildcat820, Charlotte, Meli, h/hr4ever11, noorelisa, and the Anonymous
reviewer who just jumped on board with this story. Hope you guys (and everybody else) enjoy!

Chapter 35: Teamwork

Harry leaned back in his chair, staring severely at the ceiling above him with a scowl.

In all fairness, he really couldn't be blamed for his mood. Here he was, on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, sitting at
his desk. Not that he minded working on Saturdays most of the time - it was when he wasn't supposed to be working on a
Saturday when it really bugged him.

For some reason that was still unknown to him, he had received an owl requesting that he come in to work. But in the
five hours he had been there, he had finished two reports he hadn't quite completed earlier in the week, replenished his
supply of ink, drunk four cups of coffee although he wasn't particularly tired, and more-or-less simply twiddled his
thumbs.

In other words, he had had nothing to do other than think for five hours, and these days thinking was the very last
thing he wanted to be doing.

Almost two months had passed since he'd last seen Hermione. One month, three weeks, and four days to be exact. And Harry
could honestly say that it had been the most miserable month, three weeks, and four days he had had in an extremely long
time. If it hadn't been for James, it would probably be the most miserable he had ever had.

As it turned out, Hermione proved to be just as impossible to get in touch with as she had during the days following the
night they had spent together. Since Ron had returned from his conference, Harry had mostly stopped going to his and
Hermione's flat to bang on their door. There had been a handful of times, but only when he knew for a fact that Ron
wasn't there. Hermione continued to ignore him, and Harry still couldn't bring himself to test if the wards were still
keyed to his magical signature.

Given the fruitlessness of these home visits, Harry had instead opted to try to catch her at work. If he had to, he'd
lock them in her office and force her to speak to him.

However, the first time he went to her department, the secretary had informed him that Hermione was busy and refused to
see anyone at this time.

The next day, he was told Hermione was in an important meeting and wouldn't be available for multiple hours.

On the third day, Hermione apparently wasn't there at all.

Harry mused on this fact as he idly twirled a quill between his fingers. He wouldn't be surprised if Hermione had
completely changed her schedule just to ensure they would never be in the Ministry at the same time. She was thorough
after all.

Despite this, Harry had steadfastly continued his pursuit, and if Hermione knew anything about him, she should realize
that he would never give up as well. In fact, he had been seeking her out even more actively than usual during the past
few weeks, specifically because of one instance of Hermione's careful avoidance.

Harry's frown deepened as he reflected on this, his continual quill-twirling slowing as his agitation from that memory
resurfaced.

About a month previously, Harry had been assisting Ginny with the laundry. It had been a quiet day, and nothing
particularly memorable had occurred. It was therefore much more of a shock when he had opened the linen closet to
replace a few quilts and was met with the sight of a pale blue sheet, neatly folded and placed near the bottom of a
stack of other bed linens. A completely innocent sight to anyone else in the world that saw it, but a harsh slap in the
face to Harry.

He had no idea when Hermione had returned it, but the simple fact that she had infuriated him. By replacing the sheet,
she was not only refusing to see him, but also refusing to acknowledge that that night had ever even happened.

And Harry had no intentions of letting her do that.

“Hey Potter, you might want to loosen up your grip on that quill there - I'm pretty sure it's about to snap in two.”

Harry glanced down at his fist and saw that his quill was indeed on the verge of breaking in half. Very deliberately he
untightened his clenched fingers and carefully set down the quill before looking up.

“Sorry, Mitch - wasn't even paying attention. What's up?” he said.

Mitch jerked his head to his left. “Wahler needs to see you - says he's got a case.”

“About bloody time too,” Harry said, immediately pushing himself up from his chair. “Did he mention anything about it?”

“Nope. Just that he needed to see you.”

“Alright, I'll be there in a second if you want to go ahead,” Harry said, gathering his cloak, wand, and other personal
items.

“Oh, I'm not going,” Mitch clarified. “He just assigned me a different case - that's why I was in there in the first
place. Something stupid about some nut jinxing Muggles a few towns away. Mostly harmless stuff, but he apparently needs
a `stern warning.'” Mitch made air-quotes as he mimicked Wahler's harsh voice.

Harry grinned as he drew his cloak around him. “Which probably means I'm about to be sent on an equally mundane job.
Which is exactly what I need today - more mundane tasks.”

“Tell me about it,” Mitch said, chuckling. “But I'll see you, Harry - I've gotta get going.”

“See you,” he replied, and Mitch disappeared down the hallway. With one final glance around his office, Harry also
stepped into the hallway and trudged down to speak to his boss.

“Potter,” Wahler said as a means of greeting as he stepped into the office. “Close the door behind you.”

Harry did as he was told and then sat down in the chair opposite Wahler's desk.

“So what've you got for me?” he asked promptly, eager to occupy his mind with any case, no matter how dull.

“Good to see you too, Potter,” Wahler growled.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said in amusement. “I've just been cooped up all day - just ready to get started.”

“Good,” Wahler said. “Because I've got an unusual job for you - well, unusual since the Dark Lord's defeat.”

Harry's ears perked at this statement, and he sat up straighter in his chair.

“What is it?”

“Dementors,” Wahler said.

“Dementors?” Harry said, furrowing his brow. “I thought they were banished after the War.”

“They were,” Wahler said. “Which is why this is an unusual case. They were banished to colder, uninhabited regions on
the Continent when Shacklebolt became Minister. But there's been sightings in Scotland - even some rumors of people
being Kissed.”

Apprehension filled Harry's mind as he processed this information.

“Why've they come back?” he asked slowly.

“That's just it - we don't know. But we do know it's not random. This isn't a rogue Dementor wandering its way back into
the country. It's a mass migration, all leading to the same area.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, his suspicions confirmed. “So someone's behind this.”

“Yes, it seems that way,” Wahler said with a scowl. “Although there could be some other force at play. Which is where
you come in - I want to know who or what is behind this.”

Harry gave an understanding nod. “Got it.”

“No, I don't think you do,” Wahler said. “I want you to find out what's going on - I don't want you getting involved.
When you figure it out, I want you to report directly to me. No one is to know you were even there. Understood?”

Harry frowned in annoyance, but he gave another nod. “Yes, sir.”

Wahler gave an approving nod, but then it was his turn to look annoyed. “But you're not going alone.”

Harry gave the Head Auror a confused look. These sorts of scouting missions were usually done alone since there was less
of a chance of being spotted.

“I know,” Wahler said, reading Harry's expression. “But it's not my decision. Apparently the Creature Department is
insisting on sending someone along. An ambassador, of sorts, according to Vintreem's note. She wants to make sure things
are `handled appropriately.'”

Wahler scoffed, clearly finding the matter ridiculous.

“But like I said, they're insisting on it, so I've got no choice. Vintreem wants you to come down to her office when
you're ready to leave.”

Wahler slid a note towards Harry. “Here are the coordinates as well. You'll side-along with your partner to this
location, and from there you're going to scout the area until you find something of interest. Start by going north - it
seems like more activity has been reported in that direction.”

Harry nodded as he read the paper and then slipped it into his pocket.

“I'll be back as soon as I find something.”

Wahler gave one final nod, bent over his paperwork, and began scribbling away, which Harry took as his cue to leave.

As he had already gathered all of his things, Harry headed immediately to the lift and made his way to the fourth floor.

************

Hermione leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes as she tilted her head upwards.

She had been working continuously for almost five hours straight, but she couldn't very well complain considering she
had put this upon herself. After all, she'd been the one to change her work schedule to give herself the worst hours
imaginable.

All to avoid Harry.

Hermione's eyes flew open as her thoughts drifted to her dark-haired friend - or whatever he was to her now. She hadn't
quite figured that out yet.

She sat up and quickly returned her attention to her desk before her thoughts could go any further.

Despite the exhaustive nature of her new schedule, she couldn't help but find herself looking forward to these hectic
hours. By preoccupying her mind with the endless number of files that came upon her desk, she didn't have to think about
- well, other things.

Such as the night she and Harry had shared one month, three weeks, and four days ago. Or the fact that she had avoided
him every day since.

Hermione stopped writing briefly as these errant reflections pervaded her buzzing mind, causing her to feel physically
ill as the guilt flooded her. That seemed to happen a lot recently - the more time that passed, the guiltier she felt,
and the guiltier she felt, the more sickened she became with herself.

She had never intended to avoid him for this long - truly she hadn't. It just happened that way. With every day she
avoided him, the idea of seeing him became harder and harder. To be perfectly honest, she had no idea if he even wanted
to see her anymore. Although she'd changed her schedule, it was really more of a precaution than anything. Perhaps he
had attempted to intercept her in her office, but she really couldn't be sure. It's not as though Hermione could ask her
secretary if he'd come by, especially since that would most likely cause the young witch to think that Harry had
permission to interrupt her.

“Ms. Weasley?”

Hermione gave a startled jump at the unexpected disturbance and jerked her head upwards to see said secretary at her
office door.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said, still holding the doorknob and standing awkwardly in the hall. “I didn't mean to alarm you.”

“That's - that's fine, Elizabeth,” Hermione said, refraining from clutching a hand to her rapidly beating heart. “Please
just knock next time.”

“Yes, Ms. Weasley,” she replied timidly, inclining her head slightly. “I apologize for interrupting you, but Ms.
Vintreem would like a word.”

“Alright, I'll be out shortly,” Hermione said, a bit more kindly than before.

The secretary nodded once more and then pulled the door shut, leaving Hermione to sag back into her chair. She sighed
deeply as she collected herself, ran a hand through her bushy hair, and then left the office to see her Head of
Department.

Cecilia Vintreem smiled brightly at Hermione when she entered. Hermione couldn't help but smile back - Cecilia had
always exuded a very matronly air, and her refreshingly bright demeanor was often contagious, which was just what she
needed.

“Hermione, dear, how are you?” the plump witch said pleasantly, gesturing for her to sit in one of the chairs facing her
desk.

“I'm fine, Cecilia,” Hermione replied. “Just wading through paperwork as usual. How are you?”

“Wonderful! I've had a marvelous day.”

“You always have a marvelous day,” Hermione said with a laugh. “I have no idea how you manage it.”

“It's all about your outlook,” Cecilia said, straightening a few papers on her desk. “Positivity. Most of the time you
realize half the things that upset you just aren't worth the time of day.”

Hermione shook her head. “I wish I could see things like that.”

Cecilia waved her hand dismissively. “You're still young - you've got plenty of time to practice.”

Hermione gave a somber nod as she folded her hands in her lap. “Elizabeth said there was something you wanted to
discuss.”

“Yes,” Cecilia said, placing a pair of reading glasses on her nose. She peered closely at the papers she had just
straightened. “I've got an unusual task for you.”

“Unusual in what way?”

“Unusual in the fact that you've been requested to accompany an Auror on a field mission,” Cecilia replied.

“What?” Hermione said, shocked. “Why would the Auror Department request someone from our level?”

“Because it deals with Creatures,” Cecilia said.

“That makes no sense,” Hermione said. “The Aurors deal with werewolves and what not all the time - they've never asked
for our help before.”

“Trust me, I'm just as confused by this as you are. But Alec is insisting.”

“Why is this situation any different?”

“I suspect it has to do with the fact that it pertains to dementors -”

“Wait, hold on,” Hermione said, raising her hand to signal Cecilia to stop speaking. “Dementors?”

“Yes, according to Alec's note.”

“Well, then why am I here at all?” Hermione said. “Although I still find it strange they need assistance, someone from
the Spirits Division—not Beings—should be involved.”

“Unfortunately, that's not possible at the moment,” Cecilia replied with an uncharacteristic frown. “The only two
employees competent enough to be involved with an Auror case both called in sick today. Besides, you're clearly the most
proficient at Defense in the entire Department.”

“Not necessarily -”

“Don't sell yourself short, Hermione,” Cecilia said in a stern voice, as a mother might do when their child is feeling
unconfident. “You have the highest scores in practical Defense of anyone in the Department - Auror-level scores. Not
only that, you've proven your skills in a stressful field environment -”

“Everyone had to prove their skills during the War -”

“Don't interrupt, dear. As I was saying, you've proven your skills outside of a test environment, and, most important of
these skills, you can cast a corporeal Patronus.”

Hermione gave a huff of agitation as she continued, though she knew it would do no good. “Almost every Hogwarts student
within three years of my age can cast a corporeal Patronus - we were taught during school.”

“That's irrelevant. I said you were capable of casting a corporeal Patronus - I'm not concerned with the abilities of
your classmates.”

Cecilia watched Hermione for a moment and finally gave a small smile as she continued:

“Besides, you're considering transferring Departments, aren't you?”

Hermione looked at her boss sharply, her brow furrowed. “How did you know-?”

“Also irrelevant,” Cecilia said. “But is this true?”

Hermione stared blankly at Cecilia, and then nodded slowly. “Yes…I've been considering transferring to Magical Law.”

“An excellent choice,” Cecilia said crisply. “You've done all you can do for this department - you'll be able to do much
more on that level. So this should be a good opportunity for you to begin the transition.”

“I don't intend to transfer to the Auror Division, Cecilia.”

“But you'll be working with them closely. And no, there are no other alternatives for this case.”

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to retort, a sharp knocking resounded from behind her.

“Come in,” Cecilia said loudly, drowning out the beginning of Hermione's complaint.

Hermione glared at her boss, but Cecilia had eyes only for the person who had just entered her office. The bright smile
had returned to her face, and she gestured to the other chair beside Hermione.

“Mr. Potter, I'm so glad you could join us!”

Hermione spun around so fast in her chair that her neck gave an audible crack.

Harry Potter stood in Cecilia's office, looking almost as surprised as Hermione felt.

Cecilia clasped her hands on her desk as she continued to smile happily.

“Besides, I know how well the two of you work together!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

36. The Mission

A/N: Okay, here's the pretty dang long chapter I promised (I think the longest so far). Sorry in advance if you get
bogged down by some descriptions I put in later in this chapter…I literally drew up a floor plan for the place that is
described to create a cohesive path for Harry to follow, and I just wanted to give some feel for the aura of the place.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Oh, and just so you know, I'm rapidly approaching the end to my stockpile of chapters, so very
soon the wait between chapters will increase (sorry in advance!).

Thanks to cranksatnyc, UKwildcat820, auror_lumos09, noorelisa, h/hr4ever11, EmmaRadcliffe, VampLvr, Meli, SpecialK220,
and BB Ruth for the great reviews!

Chapter 36: The Mission

Hermione stared in disbelief at Harry, who hadn't moved a muscle since fixing his eyes on her. Disregarding the
bewilderment, the expression in his gaze was unreadable. He appeared neither pleased nor angry at the sight of her - not
even triumphant that he'd finally cornered her.

Oh Merlin…she thought. It had never crossed her mind that Harry would be the Auror she would be teamed up with.

But apparently Fate had other things in mind. Bastard.

“Harry,” she finally managed to choke out. “I - I didn't think you were supposed to be working today.”

Harry finally came out of his trance at her statement, and he fixed her with an abrasively gratified smirk.

“I wasn't,” he said in a falsely light tone. “Funny how things sometimes work out.”

Hermione flinched at his unfriendly demeanor, and turned away from him, resigning herself to what would doubtless be an
emotionally exhausting few hours.

If Cecilia detected any sort of coldness to their exchange, she made no comment on it. “Please have a seat, Harry. I'm
sure the two of you are anxious to be on your way, so I won't take up too much of your time.”

“No rush, Cecilia,” Harry replied in an almost mockingly casual manner. “I've got all the time in the world.” He sat
down in the chair next to Hermione, and she could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to turn her head towards him.

“I'm sure your boss doesn't see it that way unfortunately, so I'll be quick. I promise Alec told you the location?”

“Yes, he gave me the coordinates just before I came down here,” Harry said.

“In that case, I really don't have much more to tell you. I'll leave it up to you to fill in Hermione on the details.”
At this point she fixed Harry with a stern gaze very similar to the one she had given Hermione earlier. “And I trust
you'll bring her back safely as well.”

Hermione couldn't resist peeking over at Harry at this point, and saw that he was looking at her in a considerably
softer manner than before.

“Of course,” he said quietly.

“Then I wish you both the best of luck,” Cecilia said. “We'll see you back here soon.”

Hermione and Harry both nodded solemnly, stood up, and exited the office.

Hermione waited for the accusations to begin the moment the door had clicked shut behind them, but Harry didn't say a
word. He led the way to the lift, up to the Atrium, and finally to the Apparition zone before he acknowledged her, and
even then he did it wordlessly. He offered her his arm without even looking at her, and Hermione took it, gripping it
much more tightly than necessary. Still he didn't look at her, but the next moment she felt the sensation of being
forced through a tube and then she was standing at the edge of a forest, a cold breeze playing on her face. The green
hills of Scotland met her eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to find much beauty in them at the moment.

She dropped her hand from Harry's arm as soon as they appeared and turned her back to him.

“Thanks for acting like a pompous git in front of my boss,” she said, though she felt strangely detached from the anger
in her tone. She knew she had no right to be angry with him, but something clearly needed to be said…it just so happened
that insults were the easiest things to say.

“My bad,” Harry said harshly from behind her. “I forgot you prefer the cold shoulder over outright disrespect.” He gave
a bitter laugh. “Actually, that's not quite right either - the cold shoulder usually requires two individuals to
actually be in the same room with one another. Even blatantly ignoring a person involves an acknowledgement of their
existence. You seem to favor blocking people out of your life completely.”

Hermione closed her eyes tightly as tears threatened to spill from them. She had really expected nothing less than these
comments, and felt she deserved much more. She was grateful Harry was standing behind her.

“That's not fair,” she said softly, hardly managing to believe her own words.

“Not fair?” Harry sounded quite incredulous. “You think I'm being unfair?”

Hermione could hear him pacing around behind her.

“I'll tell you what's unfair,” he continued angrily. “Unfair is having your best friend refuse to see you for two
fucking months. Two months, Hermione!” He seemed to stop walking for a moment, and when he next spoke she was
uncomfortably aware that he was standing directly behind her.

“Did you even miss me?” he said quietly.

Hermione wiped at her eyes as she began to cry, hoping she could somehow stem the flow before it got out of hand. If she
started now, she knew she wouldn't be able to stop. Before she even had the chance to respond, however, she heard him
sigh.

“Never mind - it doesn't matter,” he said. “We should get started.” His tone became more businesslike with each word he
spoke. “In case you weren't told, we're trying to find out why dementors have migrated into this area. Who or what's
responsible.”

Hermione bowed her head and nodded, but she didn't know if Harry was even looking at her.

“Point me,” he said, and Hermione glanced his way in time to see his spinning wand come to a stop, pointing directly
into the forest behind them. “Let's go,” he said, and strode purposefully into the woods, leaving Hermione to trail
along sadly behind him.

For the next half hour, not a single word was exchanged between the two. Harry continued determinedly through the
lichen-covered trees, every now and again checking his wand to make sure he was going in the right direction, and
Hermione simply walked behind him, intermittently staring at her feet and the back of his head as though she could
perhaps see his thoughts if she examined it long enough.

The forest was intensely green, and she felt that it was mocking her - emerald staring down at her from every direction
except from where she wanted to see it. The light decreased as they went deeper into the forest because of the thick
canopy of green leaves above them, but eventually the fading sunlight began to peek through with more frequency.

At this point Harry threw out his arm to signal Hermione to halt. He pressed a finger to his lips, gripped his wand a
little more tightly, and pressed forward at a much slower rate. Hermione thought that both of these actions were quite
unnecessary considering their already intense silence, and she had been clutching her wand forcefully since they had
Apparated.

Nevertheless, she slowed her pace and continued with much more care than before, listening intently for the slightest
noise. But nothing could be heard beyond the occasional snap of a twig beneath their own feet and the soft rustle of
their cloaks as they moved. Even the breaking of the twigs was muted due to the mossy ground beneath them.

Eventually Hermione could see a brighter gap of sunlight peeking through the trunks a few hundred yards in front of
them, and as they drew nearer they saw that it was a break in the trees, perhaps a clearing bridging two sections of
forest.

They proceeded even more slowly now, and Harry cast a Disillusionment Charm upon himself, which Hermione quickly
mimicked on herself. As they neared the edge of the trees, they were surprised at the sight that met their eyes.

A huge mansion sat in the clearing, its stone façade staring menacingly at them from a distance. Actually, a small
castle would be a more apt term to describe it. Although it was mostly rectangular, battlements reminiscent of medieval
Scottish castles rose above the tall building. Ivy covered a large portion of its front, with lines of empty windows
peeking through the thick vines to examine the forest indifferently. Directly in front of Harry and Hermione was a large
tower situated at the end of the mansion, rising just as high as any of the battlements. As the two stared awestruck at
the impressive fortress, they finally detected the wide double doors at the left end of the mansion, opposite from the
tower. The sky seemed darker beyond the clearing, and the air had an unusually cold tinge to it.

“I think,” Harry said, “we've found where the dementors are gathering.”

Hermione watched him scan the area a moment more, and then he retreated back into the trees, just enough so that they
would be hidden while keeping the castle and its grounds in sight.

Once they were back in the shadows of the forest, Harry removed the charm on himself, and Hermione once again did the
same. Together they sat heavily on the ground, facing the mansion to wait for any sign of movement.

Although she tried to keep her attention on the forbidding mansion, Hermione couldn't help but glance over at Harry
after several silent minutes. His arms were draped carelessly over his raised knees, and he held his wand loosely in his
right hand, tapping it softly against his leg. Though he kept his eyes forward, she could tell he was deep in thought.
He had a small frown on his face, and Hermione hated herself for causing him distress.

In a soft breath, she answered the question he had asked earlier, the one he hadn't allowed her to respond to.

“Of course I missed you,” she said quietly.

Harry didn't look at her at first, but after a moment he raised his wand and cast Muffliato on the small area
surrounding them. Then he turned to Hermione, still frowning.

“You certainly have an odd way of showing it,” he said, but there was less animosity in his voice than before. “Usually
you seek out someone you miss - your logic of avoiding me seems a little faulty.”

He was trying to keep a joking edge in this last statement, but Hermione could detect more sadness than anything.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I never meant -”

“It's fine,” Harry said, cutting her off. He fixed her with an intense stare, and the raw vulnerability in his gaze made
her heart melt. “Just…don't ever do it again. Please. No matter what happens between the two of us.”

Hermione fixed him with just as intense of a stare, as though trying to ensure that he would believe the validity of her
reply.

“I won't. I promise.”

Harry apparently did believe her, because he gave a satisfied nod. He turned his eyes towards the mansion again as
though signaling an end to the conversation, so Hermione was surprised when he addressed her again.

“I missed you too,” he said in a low voice.

Hermione felt a warmth spread through her that she hadn't felt for almost two months at his simple words. She ached to
reach out and touch his hand, to show him that she appreciated his comment, but at the same time she was almost
frightened of instigating contact with him. Though perhaps it was a good thing to ignore her impulse for the time being
- to acknowledge it would be to delve into the inevitable conversation they desperately needed to have, and this
certainly wasn't the time or place for such an encounter.

“How's James?” she said instead.

A ghost of a smile occurred on Harry's lips. “He's gotten big,” he said. “And he's started to crawl.”

Hermione smiled as well. “I bet that's quite the handful.”

“Definitely,” Harry chuckled. “Me and - we can hardly keep up with him.”

Hermione noticed as Harry deliberately sidestepped saying his wife's name.

“How has Ginny been?” she said purposefully, knowing they couldn't avoid the topic forever.

“She's fine.”

Hermione waited for him to say more, but he didn't seem keen to disburse any other information.

“Well, have you seen much of Ron?” she asked. She was determined to get him to acknowledge one of their spouses.

“Yes,” he said, and she was pleased to see that he appeared more uncomfortable now. “I've spoken to him a few times at
the office.”

“And?” Hermione prompted.

“And nothing,” Harry said, a slight edge to his voice. “Look, Hermione - I really don't feel like talking about Ginny or
Ron until we've discussed a few other… more pressing things. Which we're going to do as soon as we're done with this.”

His tone left no room for negotiation.

“Alright,” she said quietly.

Night had almost completely overtaken the area by this point, and the only light provided to the courtyard was given by
the moon. Hermione examined the sky above them thoughtfully - the stretch above them and the mansion was filled with
thousands of stars, and she couldn't help but think back to what were ironically simpler times: sitting under a sky much
like this one as they waited with a hippogriff to alter the course of time; picking their way through a familiar forest
to meet the giant brother of Hagrid; lingering under the trees of forests that were completely unfamiliar to them,
hoping and praying, with only the thin canvas of a tent protecting them from the outside world. Hermione wondered if
Harry was possibly thinking of the same things.

But her nostalgia only extended as far as the stars - they ended abruptly in the sky beyond the mansion, creating a
blank void of darkness that further attested to the creatures that resided there.

Engrossed as she was in the sky, she was a bit surprised by Harry nudging her shoulder and pointing to the middle of the
courtyard. A tall robed figure had suddenly appeared at the very edge of the clearing, a little too close to their
position for Hermione's liking. She was impressed that Harry had been able to see him in the darkness. The man was much
more visible in the openness of the moonlit clearing, but the border of the trees was almost pitch black.

They both watched the figure until he had disappeared through the doors, and even then they continued to watch. After
several long minutes, Hermione finally heard Harry move beside her. He stood up, and she did the same.

“Are you ready, Copper?” Harry asked lightly, his eyes never moving from the mansion.

Hermione gave a small nod. “As ready as I'll ever be, Swiftpaw,” she said, understanding the connotations of using their
nicknames.

“I want you to stay in my shadows, on the side opposite to the house,” he continued. “If anyone's looking out of the
windows it'll be less suspicious.”

“Are wolves even indigenous here?” Hermione asked curiously. “And I'm assuming we're in Scotland?”

Harry shook his head. “Yes, we're in Scotland - Glen Etive, to be exact. And no, wolves aren't around here. They used to
be, but they've been extinct in the country for a while. Foxes are still around, but obviously I can't hide behind you.
Our best bet is to hope that they don't know what species live around here, though I don't think that'll be a problem.
I'm more concerned with making sure they don't see both of us - seeing a fox and wolf together is obviously more
suspicious than just seeing a wolf.”

“You learned everywhere your form is indigenous to?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “It's pretty useful to know where it won't get questioned. Though I doubt that anyone's first
thought when they see a wolf is whether or not it's indigenous to the area,” he chuckled.

“True,” Hermione said, also amused.

“Okay,” Harry said. “If we're clear on that, let's go.”

He immediately morphed into a large grey wolf and Hermione quickly changed into her fox form. Harry trotted forward to
the edge of the trees and she scampered along beside him. When they emerged into the clearing, Harry was careful not to
outstrip Hermione's pace. He walked briskly through the grass, which was surprisingly well-kept considering the
remoteness of the location. Hermione held her breath as they hurried across the landscape, but before she had time to
become too worried they had reached the mansion.

Harry quickly bypassed the door and slipped behind the corner just in case someone decided to exit the house. As soon as
they were within the mansion's shadows, he transformed back into himself. When Hermione was also standing on two legs,
she looked to Harry for further instructions. She could see he was thinking quickly, and he soon gave her a stern
expression.

“I need you to stay here,” he said after he had wandlessly performed another Muffliato charm.

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. “You're kidding me, right? You must be joking.”

“I'm not,” he said firmly. “This isn't a game, Hermione. Here, you follow my instructions, and I'm instructing you to
stay put.”

“Don't pull that card on me!” she said angrily. “You have no right -”

“Actually, I have every right,” Harry countered before she could complete her sentence. “I'm the Auror - I do these sort
of things every day.”

“And I used to do them with you, if you recall!” She couldn't believe his insensitivity. “I'm just as capable as you
are!”

“Did I ever say you weren't capable of doing this?” Harry said.

“You're implying it by insisting I stay out here! I was obviously sent here with you for a reason: it's only logical
that I should help you!”

“If we were actually dealing with dementors, I'd be inclined to agree with you,” Harry said begrudgingly. “But we're
not. I'm literally going to scout out the mansion and see if I recognize whoever just walked in here. It'll just be more
difficult with two of us in there. I'll be in and out in no time.” He sounded as though he was trying to placate her,
but Hermione was unconvinced. Unfortunately, she couldn't find fault in his judgment.

“But what if there's more than one person?” she asked in a last ditch effort.

“Then I'll have to leave anyway so we can get backup.”

Hermione wracked her mind for any other way to convince Harry to allow her to accompany him, but her search was
unproductive.

Harry seemed pleased as he recognized her submission, which infuriated Hermione to no end.

“I'll be in and out in no time,” he said again, and pulled something from within his robes. Hermione realized it was his
Invisibility Cloak.

“Here -” he began, but she instantly pushed away his proffering hands.

“Don't you dare try to give me that,” she said.

“Why not?” Harry said, bewildered.

“You're the one going in there,” Hermione said furiously. “As you've made it perfectly clear that I'm not allowed to go
with you, I certainly won't be needing it.”

“But -”

“No,” she said more forcefully. “You may be able to make me stay out here, but you can't make me take that. And if you
leave it here I'll just use it to follow you into the house.”

Harry gave an aggravated sigh. “Fine,” he relented. “You don't have to take the damn Cloak. But make sure you're
Disillusioned.”

“I will,” she said.

“And keep an eye out for anybody else.”

“Of course.”

She could see Harry attempting to come up with further orders, but he finally nodded as he could think of nothing else.
He slipped the Cloak around his shoulders as he walked towards the edge of the house, but before he ducked out of sight
he glanced back at her.

“Did you ever block me from you wards?” he asked.

Hermione could see the question had been plaguing him for some time.

She shook her head.

“No. You could've come in anytime you wanted.”

Harry was seemingly satisfied with this answer, because the next moment he had raised the Cloak over his head and
disappeared around the corner of the mansion.

*************

The first thing that struck Harry as he stepped into the cold shadows of the house was the sheer cavernous size of it.
The sloped ceiling could be seen far above his head, and he guessed that it extended along every floor of the mansion.
He stood in a large foyer that extended in front of him and to the right. A pair of tall double doors stood at the very
end of the northern section, and a large window-lined corridor extended to his right. Harry debated for a moment about
which way to tour first, and then decided on the double doors in front of him - there seemed to be a staircase to his
right, so he would save that for later.

He trod silently across the white marble floors, his ears alert to the slightest noise, but the foyer was just as silent
as himself. The doors loomed closer with each step, and when he finally reached the end he carefully pushed them open.
Thankfully, no one seemed to be present on the other side, but Harry couldn't help but be momentarily astonished by the
splendor of the room he had just entered. He stood in a room larger than the Great Hall, and by the expansive floor
space he assumed it was a ballroom. Three enormous chandeliers hung at equally spaced intervals along the length of the
room. There were also windows that were placed at the same intervals as the chandeliers, and although they extended
almost to the ceiling, only the palest streams of moonlight crossed the floor (which Harry noted with a shiver was
blood-red). The main light source came from the circular arrangement of candles in the chandeliers.

As Harry craned his neck to peer more closely at the candles and glittering crystals above him, he also couldn't help
noticing the golden patterns on the arched ceiling. The detailed designs lacing their way across the ivory surface were
simultaneously intricate and bold, and he found that he very much preferred to gaze at it than the starkly contrasting
marble beneath his feet. However, he knew that he needed to get through this mansion as quickly as possible and turned
his attention to more practical matters.

He quickly saw that there were two entries to the ballroom: the door which he had just entered through that led to the
foyer, and an impressive staircase at the opposite end of the area. To his left were the windows, and to his right, a
little more than mid-way up the wall, were two balconies arranged directly across from the gaps between the windows. He
guessed that the balconies served the occupants of the house who didn't wish to directly participate in any events
occurring in the ballroom.

Deciding to continue onward, Harry quickly made his way to the grand staircase and ascended to the next floor. At the
top, he turned right and continued along a corridor that led into the bowels of the house.

Without the windows and candles to provide light, Harry found it very difficult to maneuver the dark hallways. He didn't
dare illuminate his wand, so he remained close to the wall, using one hand to feel his way along like a blind man and
holding his wand in the other. He noticed that there were unlit lamps lining the walls, and twice he felt his hand touch
the smooth surface of wood, which he assumed to be doors, but he only paused for a moment by them to listen carefully
for any sort of noise. When he heard nothing, he continued his slow trek down the corridor, grateful when he finally
found the corner of the wall and was able to make another right turn.

However, he almost groaned as he saw that he was in another corridor that was almost identical to the last one. At least
there were windows along this one, Harry thought - he was able to see where he was going.

Feeling a bit agitated by the size of the house, he strode forward and threw open the closest door he could see.
Thankfully, no one appeared to be here either. Not that Harry could see, anyway. The room was even darker than the
hallway had been, so he decided to take a risk and cast a quick Lumos.

As the soft light flooded the room, Harry could see that it was a library. Shelf after shelf of dusty tomes filled the
room, as well as a few overstuffed, wingback chairs. The two doors that he had felt earlier were spaced along the right
wall, and at the far end was one of the two balconies that he had noticed from the ballroom. Nothing at all suspicious.

With a sigh, Harry backed out of the room, quietly shut the door, and continued walking down the hallway. As he came to
another wall, he noticed another door. He listened at the door, but just as before he heard nothing. He grasped the
doorknob and went to turn it, but it barely budged. Frowning, he tried turning it a few more times, but nothing
happened.

He debated for a moment about whether to try to unlock it with a Alohomora charm, but he decided against it, at least
for the time being - he wanted to disturb as little as possible if he could help it.

Beginning to feel apprehensive at the lack of people, Harry turned from the door and walked a bit more quickly than
before along the new passage. It was wider than the previous halls, and Harry could see the second balcony at the far
end. He made his way closer to it, but found an archway halfway down the passage and went through it instead. To his
right, he saw a large staircase that led to the ground floor. To his left, a smaller staircase that led to the second
floor. Grumbling to himself, he turned left so he could search the higher floors.

When he came to the next landing, he could faintly see that the floors were covered in thick, deep red carpeting. There
was only a wall to his right, so Harry had no choice but to turn left and try the first door he came to. He noticed
small puffs of dust emitting from the thick carpet with each step he took, and again he wondered where the mysterious
man had wandered to in this cavernous house - surely he was beginning to run out of places to look. Each door he opened
increased the probability of finding him, and therefore each door Harry opened increased his trepidation. As he opened
the next door, he stopped in his tracks.

Shit.

Squinting through the darkness, Harry saw that half a dozen doors lined each side of the narrow hallway. He quickly
surmised that this floor served a residential purpose for the house's previous occupants. Cursing his luck, he strode to
the first door on his left, resigning himself to a long and nerve-racking search.

However, when he cracked open the door, Harry began to wonder if the search would take as long as he had guessed.

A small, rectangular wooden table sat in this room, as well as a handful of hardback chairs. It was rather barren, Harry
thought, and he would've passed it by had it not been for the fact that he realized he could actually see the room with
ease. He pushed the door open a bit more, holding his wand at the ready, until the entire room was exposed to him.

Bingo, Harry thought grimly.

Three lamps were bracketed into the wall, much like the ones he had passed all the way through the house. However,
unlike before, these three were lit. And better yet, there was another door at the other end of the room. A tapestry
partially covered it, so Harry guessed that it was usually meant to be hidden.

I'm getting close now, he thought. He pulled his Cloak more tightly around himself as he walked forward, and gripped his
wand more tightly than ever as he approached the door. Unfortunately, he could hear nothing on the other side, so he
knew his search wasn't quite over.

He took as much care as possible to be silent as he opened the next door, and his eyes widened as he stepped into the
next area. He had once again encountered another staircase, but this wasn't like any of the others he had seen in the
mansion. The others had been wide, expansive, open, and not in the least bit intimidating disregarding the mission Harry
was on. This narrow, dingy, spiraling stone staircase was the epitome of intimidating, especially since whoever Harry
was looking for was almost guaranteed to be at the top. He inherently knew that he must be in the tower that he and
Hermione had seen at the far right of the house. In other words, as far away as humanly possible from the main doors
where he had entered the house.

Harry could feel himself shaking slightly as he finally steeled himself to ascend the stairs. He clenched his wand so
tightly that his knuckles were white, and the eerie glow from the candles lighting the staircase made him uncomfortable
- he almost wished for the darkness of the previous passageways. Without a single sound he crept up the stairs, and a
little sooner than he would've liked he came to another door. And for the first time, he could hear voices behind it.

Pulling the Cloak from his head so he could hear better, Harry pressed his ear against the door.

“ - long do you think it will take?”

“Be patient. It shouldn't be much longer now.”

“I personally don't think this whole deal is worth a shit anyway. It seems like a long shot.”

Furrowing his brow, Harry strained to hear the conversation so he would know what to say to Wahler. He wasn't sure he
recognized any voices, but hopefully someone would drop a name soon.

“Anything we try these days is a long shot. This is the most we've come up with in months.”

“Don't even bother with the git, Watts. He's just afraid of the dementors.”

A burst of laughter erupted from the room, and Harry wondered just how many people were in the room. He had heard three
distinct voices, but the level of the laughter made him think there were more.

There was a murmur as the laughter died down, but it was so quiet Harry couldn't hear it.

“Ah, lighten up, Krause, we're just screwing with you. None of us want to be out here in the middle of fucking nowhere
any more than you do.”

Krause? There was something very familiar about that name, but the memory alluded Harry's mind. He knew he had heard it
somewhere, but he couldn't get caught up in his thoughts now. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the
conversation.

“Not that we've been completely told what the hell we're sticking around here for…we brought the dementors and have been
stuck here doing nothing ever since.”

“Like I said, be patient. If tonight works out, it'll be worth it.”

Harry pressed his ear so hard into the door that he felt as though it were being crushed into his skull. What were they
planning?

He heard some grumbling from within the room, and then the same voice as before spoke up again, sounding harsher than
before.

“Just because he doesn't tell us every little thing about his plans doesn't mean they won't work. Dolohov knows what
he's doing.”

Harry felt as though his heart had dropped into his stomach. So that's where he'd heard Krause's name…he was one of
Dolohov's new recruits. His hand unconsciously went to the raised scar tissue on his stomach where Dolohov had stabbed
him so many months ago.

“If you recall, the last plan didn't exactly go the greatest…”

“Actually, it went quite well. Just because we ran out of time—”

“Would both of you shut up already?” This voice was, surprisingly, that of a young woman. She sounded rather bored.
“That was last time. We can't do anything about that. So stop flapping your jaws.”

“Stop acting so high and mighty. I know we can't do anything about it, but it helps to know what mistakes we made.”

“And we've already discussed it. There's no point in wallowing in the past. We need to focus…We won't let Potter get
away this time.”

If Harry had felt nervous before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. Not only had his heart dropped into his
stomach, but at the mention of his name it was beating so wildly that he felt it would burst through his skin at any
moment. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he backed away from the door, his breathing erratic. He had to get out of
this place. Now.

He spun around to do just this, but halted in his tracks as he came face to face with the hulking, blonde form of
Thorfinn Rowle.

As Rowle stared straight into his eyes, Harry felt a trickle of sweat trail down the back of his neck.

Shit shit shit shit I forgot to pull my Cloak back over my head.

However, luckily for Harry, Rowle seemed too surprised at the sight of the disembodied head of Harry Potter floating
just outside the door of the Death Eater's hideout to do anything instantly. He whisked his wand towards Rowle's face
just as the man opened his mouth to let out a yell.

A red light shot into the Death Eater's face as Harry wordlessly stunned him, and with a muffled groan Rowle collapsed.
Lunging forward, Harry attempted to grab the front of Rowle's robes, but it was too late: the man's body fell down the
staircase, thudding loudly against the stone as he went, and Harry winced as he heard the Death Eaters in the room
behind him clamber through the room.

Not bothering to wrap the hindering Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders, Harry dashed down the stairs, leaping over
Rowle as he went. He was so intent about descending the stairs that he completely bypassed the door he had come through,
but he knew there was no time to turn around - he could already hear the Death Eaters thundering down the staircase.

Praying for another exit, Harry continued to fly down the stairs three at a time. As the staircase continued to spiral
downward, he felt his heart sink. But thankfully another door came into view a few moments later.

“Thank Merlin,” he muttered as he threw open the door. The footsteps were coming closer every second. He ran into the
next corridor, but he barely had the time to pick up his speed before he encountered another door. He grasped the
doorknob and pulled at it urgently, but it didn't move.

“Shit! I really don't need this right now!” he hissed. He frantically pointed his wand at the handle, hoping his
simplest spell would be enough.

“Alohomora!” he shouted, not bothering to keep his voice down. He felt like passing out in relief when the lock clicked.
He had barely managed to open the door when a spell blazed past his head, ruffling his hair.

“You can't run forever, Potter!” he heard someone yell from behind him as he dashed out of their sight.

“I don't intend to!” Harry yelled back as he took off down the hall. “Just enough to get away from you,” he muttered to
himself.

As he ran, he realized the door he had come from had been the door he had attempted to open earlier, which meant he was
on the first floor once more. Yes - the archway that led to the main staircase was just ahead to his left. He picked up
his speed another notch as he realized this, but skidded in a wide curve as he saw a dark-haired man waiting for him
under the arch, brandishing his wand threateningly. Harry slid feet first beneath the man's initial spell and was on his
feet again as soon as he had evaded it.

Unfortunately, he needed to elude a whole volley of spells as soon as he had stood to his full height.

“Protego!” he yelled desperately as he ran in the only direction that was available to him: towards the balcony at the
end of the corridor. He felt his shield take one, two, three spells, but it shattered as he was within ten feet of his
destination. He sprinted the last few steps for all he was worth, grabbed the railing, and launched himself over the
edge.

“Concutio!” the female Death Eater shrieked.

Harry had just leapt to clear the balcony's railing as the spell made contact with his right leg. He felt the bones of
his knee and lower leg shatter from the force of the spell, and he let out a scream of agony as he hurtled through the
air. After a few seconds of his dizzying fall, Harry crashed to the marble floor of the ballroom, his Cloak falling from
his hand. He lay there for a moment, blinded by pain, but he knew he had to get out - he couldn't just sit here.
Hermione needed him. She might not know he was in trouble until it was too late.

His breathing ragged, he tried to push himself to his feet. However, his leg wouldn't support his weight. He struggled
for a few more moments, each attempt clumsier than the last, and then he heard someone clapping. He jerked his head to
the side to see the Death Eaters standing in a semi-circle around him. He saw that it was the woman who was clapping.

“Excellent try, Harry. I know that must hurt terribly,” she said sweetly.

“It does,” Harry muttered through gritted teeth. With one final push, he managed to rise to his feet. He was incredibly
unsteady, but he was stable enough to raise his wand defensively towards the Death Eaters.

“Ooooh, I'm impressed!” the woman said, smiling. She had long hair nearly as dark as Harry's, and dark brown eyes as
well. She was extremely attractive, and she certainly seemed to know it. She approached him slowly, tantalizingly, and
circled him, letting her hand lightly graze his chest as she went. He knew better than to attempt to stun her - the
other Death Eaters would curse him before he had the chance to blink. He considered grabbing her and pressing his wand
into her throat, but he knew that wouldn't work either. Even if the Death Eaters believed his threats and were
compassionate enough to secure her safety, Harry knew that she could easily throw him off balance with the slightest
movement. It would be better to wait for another opportunity.

If there is one, he thought uneasily.

“Not many people would be awake after withstanding that curse, let alone standing,” the woman cooed. “Tough, talented,
and good-looking…” Her mouth was right next to his ear, and Harry shivered unwillingly. She nuzzled the side of his face
with the tip of her nose. “I could get used to having you around…” she murmured.

“That will be enough, Krista. I believe you've made Mr. Potter feel more than welcome.”

Harry's eyes darted toward the Death Eaters, and saw who had spoken:

Dolohov had finally joined the group.

“If you insist, Antonin,” Krista replied, sounding a bit disappointed. “I'll see you later,” she whispered seductively
into his ear, and then sauntered over to rejoin her comrades. Harry watched her leave with distaste.

Dolohov smiled as Harry surveyed the group. “It's been too long, Potter. As you can see, we've increased our numbers a
bit. I believe you know Krause -” The thin, balding man in the back gave a curt nod. “And Watts and Nakul of course -” A
tall, bearded man and a dark skinned man both jerked their heads in acknowledgement. “And of course you've already run
into Rowle...he should be joining us shortly. And the gray-haired man to the right is Curtis Burkes - I believe you may
know his uncle from the Borgin and Burkes shop in Knockturn Alley.” The identified man smirked and gave Harry a short
wave. Only one brown-haired, handsome young man stood unidentified in the back, observing the confrontation as passively
as a student observing a lecture.

Dolohov then gestured towards Harry. “And of course you all should know Harry Potter,” he said sarcastically. “The
Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, Savior of the Wizarding World…”

The Death Eaters gave a harsh laugh, and Krista smiled pleasantly at him.

Harry felt his bad leg shaking as he continued to hold out his wand. He could see blood pooling around his foot in the
periphery of his vision. It blended in well with the marble floors.

“Now that the proper introductions have been made on my side,” Dolohov continued, stepping closer to Harry, “I believe
it's time for you to make an introduction of your own…where is the Mudblood?”

Harry felt his blood run cold as he stared at Dolohov. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Dolohov gave a short laugh. “I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. I know Granger was asked to escort you on
this little mission if yours.”

“Well, you've been misinformed then,” Harry replied, hoping they would take the shaking in his voice and hand as a
result of his leg wound. “I didn't bring anyone with me. This was supposed to just be a scouting job…I didn't think I'd
need anyone else.”

Dolohov raised his eyebrows, his pale features contorting into a smirk as he gazed at Harry.

“There's no point in lying, Potter…we know more than you think.”

His smirk widened until he was full-out smiling at Harry, and the effect was immensely disturbing. But before he could
question the Death Eater, the doors to the ballroom were thrown open, effectively distracting him from Dolohov - and if
he hadn't been so intent on remaining on his feet, Harry was sure he would've collapsed to the ground.

Rowle and an unknown, black-haired man had just entered the room, and Hermione was pinned between them.

She was thrashing around frantically, pure fury in her face as she bucked and kicked against her captors. Harry couldn't
help but feel a trace of pride as he noted that both Death Eaters were struggling to keep a grip on the angry witch. The
feeling only increased when he noted the numerous scratches along Rowle's face and the bloody mouth of the dark-haired
man, who was also clutching her wand.

Dolohov, if possible, smiled even more widely at the look of distraught on Harry's face. “Now that we're all here, would
you like to make the proper introductions, Potter?”

The two Death Eaters, clearly fed up with Hermione fighting, shoved her roughly towards Harry. He managed to catch her
before she stumbled to the ground, but the effort nearly made him fall as well. Hermione seemed shocked by the state of
his leg, but she knew better than to question him at the present time. Instead, she gripped his left arm and helped to
keep him steady. He found her hand and squeezed it, but his eyes never left the group in front of him.

“Well, Potter?” Dolohov urged.

Harry maintained a stony silence as he stared down the Death Eater, who gave a sigh after a few moments.

“Since Auror Potter doesn't seem too keen on speech, allow me to introduce the new arrival. This is Hermione Granger, or
more recently Hermione Weasley, and she is a very close friend of Mr. Potter -”

“How close would that be, Harry?” Krista said, interrupting Dolohov. “I'd like to think that you wouldn't sink so low as
to fuck a filthy Mudblood, but after all, I don't know you all that well - I may have misjudged your character.”

Harry felt a tic in his jaw as he glared at the dark-haired female, and he tightened his grip on Hermione's hand as he
tugged her closer to himself. She rubbed her thumb along his hand, and he felt himself grow slightly calmer.

“Krista!” The dark-haired man who had helped bring in Hermione snapped at the woman. “Keep quiet unless you actually
have something to contribute.”

“It's fine, Xavier,” Dolohov said, waving down the man. “I find your sister's outbursts to be quite…amusing. She means
no harm by it. Besides, I would think the injury the Mudblood gave you would hinder your speech.”

Xavier looked as though he wanted to protest, but merely inclined his head slightly at the snide remark.

“But as I was saying…” Dolohov continued, beginning to pace up and down in the space between Harry and Hermione and the
Death Eaters. “Ms. Granger is a very close friend of Mr. Potter. She's always been a close ally of his - surprisingly
useful for a Mudblood,” he added dryly, and the Death Eaters snickered appreciatively. Harry again felt his jaw twitch a
bit and his heartbeat rise, but Hermione again grazed her thumb against his hand.

“She's assisted Potter frequently over the years,” Dolohov said as soon as the snickering had died down. “All the way up
to the Battle of Hogwarts when the Dark Lord was defeated.” His tone became slightly darker as he delved into the
sensitive subject matter. “You might say that she is one of the primary reasons Potter is alive today.”

Although Harry couldn't help but wholeheartedly agree with this statement, Hermione suddenly turned towards Dolohov.

“I may have helped him, but I wasn't the one who defeated Voldemort,” she said, anger tingeing her voice. She still held
tightly to Harry, making sure he was steady on his feet. “He did that without any help - they dueled and Harry won! And
the sooner you realize that the sooner you can get over your sick obsession with a dead wizard who caused everyone
nothing but pain!”

Harry almost winced, expecting a sharp retaliation, but Dolohov didn't seem particularly ruffled by Hermione's outburst;
instead, he smiled at her in an infuriatingly patronizing manner.

“This is true, Ms. Granger…at least partially. Potter may not have had any assistance from you or any other witch or
wizard, but his survival was a mere fluke. He had other, much more powerful assistance at the time.”

“Which would be?” Hermione said contemptuously.

“The Elder Wand,” Dolohov said calmly. “Had Potter not disarmed Draco Malfoy, the Wand would have had no allegiance to
him. Without the Wand's allegiance, Potter would have been killed.”

The room was silent as Harry stared at Dolohov as he halted his pacing.

“That's what this is about?” Harry said. “The Elder Wand?”

“Don't sound so surprised, Potter,” Dolohov said, fiddling with his own wand vaguely. “Rowle and I were both present at
the Battle, and even if we weren't, it would've been all too easy to recover the story from anyone else in attendance.
You didn't exactly keep quiet on the matter. You were kind enough to explain everything to the Dark Lord before his
death, and as you know, bragging about the Wand is the surest way to get it taken from you.”

Harry felt his face flush at the memory of his encounter with Voldemort. Dolohov was right - he hadn't exactly been
secretive about the source of his victory. He wracked his brains as he processed the situation. Dolohov wanted the Elder
Wand. Clearly, Harry didn't have the Elder Wand. Dolohov knew this, because otherwise he would simply disarm him and
take Harry's wand, thinking it to be the correct weapon. The Wand was back with Dumbledore…Harry had replaced it. Again,
Dolohov clearly didn't know this. Otherwise he could simply go to Hogwarts and steal it…

“You're too late,” Harry finally said after a moment's deliberation.

“How so, Potter?” Dolohov asked. “Enlighten me.”

“I don't have it.”

“Which is why I'm asking you where it is.”

“No,” Harry said, trying to make his voice sound arrogantly triumphant. “You don't get it. I destroyed it. It's gone.”

Dolohov laughed in a true show of arrogance. “Do you take me for a fool, Potter? Do you honestly expect me to believe
you destroyed the most powerful magical object ever created? That you were even capable of such a feat? Just snapped it
in half, did you?”

“Maybe a taste of the Cruciatus Curse would loosen his tongue?” Burkes suggested.

“No,” Dolohov said. “Torture hasn't proved to be the most effective tool to use against Potter in the past…” He smirked
at Harry, flicked his eyes in Hermione's direction, and then directed them back at Harry. His intentions were clear, and
Harry felt slightly sick to his stomach.

His mind whirred furiously as he desperately looked for a way out of this mess. The Death Eaters were blocking the doors
to the foyer, which was obviously the best way out. He and Hermione could try to make a run for the staircase behind
them, but they would be wide open to curses. And even if they managed to make it to the staircase, they could be cut off
at any number of points throughout the house. No, outright running wasn't an option.

Then Harry glanced above him, and he knew what his only shot was.

Dolohov rapped his wand against his hand as he continued to stare at Hermione.

“Well, Potter? Do you feel a little more inclined to tell us the truth, or would you like your Mudblood to do the
talking for you?”

Harry gripped Hermione's hand more tightly than ever, willing her to realize his connotation. She squeezed back, and he
took this as a good sign.

Be ready, Hermione. This'll be our only chance.

Dolohov now seemed to be annoyed by Harry's lack of response, and his tone became more hostile by the second.

“Fine, Potter. Apparently you care less for that Mudblood -”

“STOP CALLING HER A MUDBLOOD!” Harry yelled furiously, directing his wand at Dolohov. Then, before the man could react,
Harry jerked his wand upward.

“BOMBARDA!”

With a deafening explosion, the chandelier directly over the Death Eaters was blown from the ceiling and came crashing
downward. Screaming in panic, they all threw themselves aside just as it smashed into the floor, the glass crystals
shattering and flying in every direction.

“RUN!” Harry bellowed, and he and Hermione sprinted around the wreckage and towards the open double doors that led to
the foyer. Harry tried to sprint, at least - his leg continued to hinder him greatly, and Hermione continued to support
him as they dashed out into the cool night air. Harry used his wand to make the front doors shut firmly, and then began
to cross the infuriatingly large courtyard.

“We just need to get to the trees!” he gasped, drawing in great mouthfuls of air as he limped forward as quickly as he
could. He felt that he was about to pass out from pain, but he had to keep moving. “We can Apparate if we can reach
them!”

Hermione uttered a small noise of consent as she tightened her grip on Harry's arm, but if she was going to say any more
Harry didn't know, for at the same moment the doors behind them reopened with an explosive bang.

“Damn it!” Harry hissed. With Hermione leading him, he alternated between shooting spell after spell at the oncoming
Death Eaters and shielding himself and Hermione. He felt a grim satisfaction as a weak cutting curse made contact with
Nakul, whose face, arms, and chest suddenly became covered in shallow gashes. The dark-skinned man howled in pain and
rage, which was enough to keep him momentarily distracted. An Impedimenta spell hit Krause a moment later, and he was
hurtled back into the wall of the castle. The crack of his head against the stone was lost among the shouting and
collisions of spells, but Harry knew the man was out for the count as he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Just as Harry began to think that they must be nearing the edge of the forest, that he and Hermione just might make it
out of this alive, she suddenly came to an abrupt halt, dragging him to a stop as well.

“Hermione, what the hell are you -!” he began, but didn't finish his outburst as he saw that, amazingly, the remaining
Death Eaters had stopped chasing them. In fact, they weren't even casting curses anymore. Instead, they were staring
past Harry and Hermione, some into the sky, and others into the forest. Regardless of where they were staring, however,
they all had one thing in common: a horrible smirk was etched into each of their faces, and for the first time Harry
felt the unnatural coldness of the air and saw the goosebumps that had already erupted all over his skin.

“Harry…” Hermione whimpered from beside him, and he finally turned his head towards the forest, knowing what he would
see.

Dozens of dementors hovered by the edge of the forest. They could barely be seen in the darkness, and they were shrouded
in a cold mist as they moved closer to him and Hermione. Harry knew without looking that just as many were swarming
through the sky above his head.

“Harry!” Hermione said more insistently, and terror was evident in her voice.

Despite the freezing air, Harry knew his forehead was coated with sweat, and the shaking in his leg was worse than ever.
He raised his wand, and saw that his arm was shaking almost as badly.

Taking a deep breath, he tried with all his might to think of something, anything, happy.

But he was so tired. His leg was throbbing horribly, and the dementors were so close already. His hearing was muffled in
his ears...he could barely hear Hermione's frantic shouting, as though he were listening to her from far away…

Wait, that was right. Hermione was here with him. She was standing right next to him, his arm flung around her shoulders
as she struggled to keep him on his feet.

Hermione made him happy, Harry thought vaguely. He glanced through blurry eyes towards her, and her frightened brown
eyes met his. His mind cleared somewhat as he gazed at her, and even more so as he thought about her lips sculpted to
his, and the feel of her skin against his. He may not have told her, but that night had meant more to him than he could
possibly describe.

Maybe he could do this…

But just a quickly as these thoughts flitted through his head, just as he managed to focus his wand towards the
dementors once more, his mind wandered down a much less welcome path.

He had not been able to tell Hermione the way he felt because she had avoided him. She had skipped carefully around him
in a spacious impression of the intimate dance they had shared, a painful mockery of the original.

The dementors were drawing ever closer, and Harry distantly registered that he had fallen to his knees.

She obviously didn't feel the same way. Otherwise she would've spoken to him a long time ago…she wouldn't have left him
like that, with that sad and horrified expression on her face. No, she didn't want to be with him…she wanted to be with
Ron…

The image of Hermione's fearful expression as she fled his room blurred as he stared at the real Hermione, who looked
more frightened than he had ever seen her as she looked down at him. She was saying something, but no sound came from
her mouth. He couldn't hear anything at all…

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, and then his eyes fluttered shut as darkness flooded his mind.

************

Hermione collapsed as Harry's knees finally gave way beneath him. His dead weight dragged her to her knees as well, and
she frantically tried to keep him alert, though it was clear he was losing consciousness fast.

“Harry!” she yelled, shaking his shoulders. “You have to stay awake! I can't do this alone, please!”

Her shouting seemed to have no effect on him, and before long he sagged to the ground.

“No, Harry, come on, you can't do this!” She was positively sobbing now as she splayed her hands across his chest, but
Harry turned his weary eyes up to her sightlessly. “I need you!”

“I'm sorry,” he whispered so softly that she could barely hear him, and then let his eyes close.

“No!” Hermione yelled. She pounded his chest desperately as she continued to scream, but she knew that it was pointless.
Every second she wasted trying to wake him was a second that allowed the dementors to get closer, and therefore reduced
both their chances for survival.

Breathing heavily, she threw herself towards Harry's wand, which lay a few feet from where he had fallen. She felt
warmth flood through her fingertips as they made contact with the wood. It wasn't quite the feeling she got when she
touched her own wand, but it was certainly enough to get the job done.

At least she hoped so. Both her own and Harry's lives depended on it.

She raised the wand and pointed it towards the dementors, which were close enough to be causing her an enormous amount
of discomfort.

“Expecto patronum!” she said, and was horrified when a small silvery mist was all that emitted from the wand.

Damn it! she thought hysterically as the dementors batted away the charm as though it were a pesky mosquito. I've never
been good at this spell at the best of times! Let alone when I'm being swarmed by dementors with Harry lying unconscious
next to me…or worse…

She shook her head as these thoughts entered her mind, but it was too late - the seed had been planted. The dementors
swarmed towards her more quickly than ever as they fed off her misery…they were upon her now.

No, she thought groggily. I have to do this…Harry's always been there for me…I need to be there for him.

She glanced down at him as she thought of this, and swallowed the lump in her throat as she gazed at his features in the
pale light from the moon. She moved her hand along the contours of his jaw, never taking her eyes from him, even as the
dark cloaks of the dementors swirled around her.

She wouldn't give up now. She couldn't.

And suddenly, against all rationality, against the freezing air that surrounded her, she felt a strange warmth in the
pit of her abdomen, at her very core. It was so unmistakable and tangible that she couldn't imagine why she hadn't felt
it before.

As soon as she noticed it, the fogginess was banished from her mind. It wasn't a happy feeling, exactly…it was more like
a feeling of complete contentment, a feeling that was entirely detached from her current situation. But she knew,
regardless of how this feeling was happening, that she needed to utilize it. Now.

With the warmth flooding her, Hermione raised her wand.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Instead of the flimsy mist that came before, a more solid silvery substance shot from the tip of her wand, and began
materializing into a corporeal Patronus. But as Hermione waited for the familiar shape of her otter Patronus, she was
startled to see the charm condense into another shape entirely. It was much too different to be an otter…it was bigger,
much bigger…with longer hair… a more pointed face…

Hermione stared at it blankly, unable to fully comprehend what had occurred.

Her Patronus had morphed into a wolf.

With a mighty growl, the Patronus bounded forward, its silvery hackles raised and teeth bared as it lunged at the
dementors that had surrounded Hermione. Its shape emitted a powerful glow that nearly blinded her after the previous
darkness, and through her squinted eyes she could see the dementors retreating into the sky and forest. The enormous
wolf gave chase for a moment, but as the dementors disappeared it stopped, raised its head, and gave a resounding howl
that resonated through the night. It echoed through the air longer than that of a normal wolf's, hanging in the air even
as the ghostly form faded into the darkness.

She stared at the spot where her Patronus had disappeared for only the briefest moment before she heard an angry shriek
from behind her.

“GET THEM NOW!”

Hermione instantly jumped to her feet as she saw the Death Eaters hurtling toward her and Harry. They had retreated to
the walls of the house as the dementors had swarmed them, and she hoped it would be enough distance to ensure their
escape.

She bent down and grabbed Harry, wrapping her left arm around his chest as she began to drag him backwards through the
final few yards to the trees. With her right arm, she used Harry's wand to block the avalanche of spells that was
hurtling towards them.

Dolohov was at the head of the group, fury in his face as he glared madly at Hermione. She heaved Harry back with all
her strength, adrenaline pumping through her veins as the Death Eaters drew nearer. Tears were streaming down her face
in earnest, and she barely noted through her terror that her shield, unmanaged, was maintaining its strength throughout
the onslaught.

As she finally stumbled back into the trees, she saw Dolohov's fury reach a new height as he cast one final curse
towards Hermione's shield. It shattered under the power of the curse, but now it was too late. Hermione glared defiantly
at the group, wrapped her other arm tightly around Harry, and they both disappeared from the forest, just barely
managing to hear the beginning of the Death Eaters' furious screams.

Hermione's knees crashed into the ground a moment later as she appeared in a calm grassy clearing. She honestly didn't
remember where she had chosen to appear, but it didn't matter. She fell back into a sitting position as the final dregs
of energy left her, still clutching Harry to her. As she settled down into the dewy grass, she gently placed his head in
her lap, against her stomach, and tears flowed from her eyes more furiously than ever. Occasionally a stray tear would
fall into his hair as she stroked the dark strands, and she clenched her eyes tightly to fight back her sobs.

What am I going to do now?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

37. Revelations

A/N: Okay guys, here's the big confrontation. Hope you enjoy! Please review, sans flames.

Thanks to SpecialK220, justduck, Charlotte, EmmaRadcliffe, UKwildcat820, noorelisa, VampLvr, RogueBHS, Paddy, and the
Anonymous person for you're reviews! You guys rock! And thanks to everyone who is reading period…over 55,000 hits, so
that's great!

Chapter 37: Revelations

The silence of the dim room was shattered as Dolohov slammed his fist onto the table, causing the goblet on its surface
to be turned on end. The contents of the cup spread over the unfinished wooden table, seeping into its grain and
dripping over the edge to create a pool of red liquid.

With a roar of rage, the Death Eater swiped his arms across the table to send the goblet and everything else rocketing
into the wall next to him. The loud clattering was deafening, but the brown-haired occupant sitting at the other end of
the table looked on impassively.

“All of that fucking planning for NOTHING!” Dolohov roared, sweeping around and slamming his hands against the wall.
“The filthy half-blood still got away!”

“Which was always a possibility,” the brown-haired man said neutrally.

Dolohov turned sharply to the man and curled his lip in a snarl.

“Not according to your brilliant plan!” he said viciously. He pointed a finger accusingly at the man. “You swore it
would work!”

“I never swore anything. I said we had a good chance.”

“And obviously you were wrong! You're the one who insisted on luring the Mudblood along for this, and if you didn't
notice, she's the ENTIRE REASON HE ESCAPED!”

“By all means continue shouting,” the man said in a bored voice. “It really drives your point home much more effectively
than speaking normally.”

“Just as your arrogant demeanor makes your point all the more successful,” Dolohov sneered back, though he did lower his
voice. “But it's true - you insisted on including the Mudblood, and now Potter is gone. If she hadn't been here, he
would've been ours. I told you the dementors would be all that was necessary for Potter's weak mind!”

The man sighed in a patronizing manner. “Contrary to your belief, Potter's mind isn't as weak as you claim. The only
reason your plot did as well as it did was because of Hermione Granger, not in spite of her.”

Dolohov, for once, seemed confused by this statement.

“That's ridiculous,” he said, though he now seemed unsure of himself. Despite the youthfulness of the man in front of
him, he had proven to possess a wisdom far beyond his years. “Why would the Mudblood have anything to do with this?”

“Because without her presence, Potter wouldn't have been nearly as susceptible to the dementors,” the man said calmly.
“I'm aware you were under the impression that such a vast number of dementors could overcome Potter's Patronus, but I
knew that without her it would have been a pointless endeavor.” He gave a small smile at this point, though it was
neither conceited nor particularly happy. “As you may remember, he never managed to even attempt a Patronus, let alone
produce a corporeal one.”

“And how did you happen to foresee this?” Dolohov said, unwillingly intrigued.

The brown-haired man twirled his wand between two of fingers. “It's of no importance,” he said indifferently.

Dolohov opened his mouth to respond with an angry retort, but the man held up a hand to silence him. Dolohov clapped his
mouth shut, watching as the man's wand became still in his hand.

“I take full blame for our failure tonight,” the man said, his voice still toneless. Even his blue eyes were
uncomfortably empty of emotion. “I made a small… miscalculation. I will be more thorough in the future.”

Without another word, the brown-haired man stood up, effectively putting an end to the conversation. He walked towards
the door, but just as it was about to shut, he spoke once again.

“Dispose of Mr. Sanders as well,” he said. “We won't need him any longer.”

And with a soft click the man shut the door.

Dolohov stared, disgruntled, at the door for several moments, but then turned his head with a cruel smile. After walking
a few steps, he knelt and lifted the chin of a bloodied man who was collapsed in a heap in the corner of the room. The
man was barely conscious, but fear could be detected easily in his half-open eyes.

“But how about we have a little fun first?” Dolohov said, and raised his wand to the man's chest.

***************

Hermione didn't know how long she sat in the clearing, clutching Harry to her, but the sun was beginning to rise before
she finally pulled herself together. The pool of blood around Harry's leg was substantial, and Hermione knew she should
have attended to it sooner.

She gently laid Harry's head down in the grass and moved to examine his leg more closely. There had been no opportunity
to inspect it before, but under the light of dawn she could finally see the extent of the injury.

A large portion of his calf had been blown apart by the force of whatever curse had hit him, and Hermione could see that
the bone was clearly shattered. The sight of the white bone among his ravaged muscles made her feel ill, and she
questioned her ability to heal such an extensive wound.

After a moment of hesitation, she decided to tamper with the leg as little as possible. The most pressing matter right
now was to stop the bleeding; after that, a simple splint would be enough to get him to St. Mungo's for proper healing.

Pointing Harry's wand at the wound, Hermione muttered a spell that would alleviate the profuse bleeding. She did this to
multiple locations on his leg, and when she was satisfied, she used a cleaning spell to rinse the wound clean. Lastly,
she created a splint using a transfigured stick and length of thick string. When she finished, she was relieved to see
that some color had returned to his face and his breathing had become more regular.

As she moved once more to sit at his back, she returned Harry's head to her lap. She loved the feeling of him being so
close to her. A very strong part of her wished she could just stay here, holding him, sitting in the pale glow of the
rising sun. No awkward avoidance, no guilt, no complicated circumstances that could change the balance of their lives
forever.

“If only it could be like this when you're conscious…” Hermione muttered to herself wryly. She brushed his dark, messy
hair away from his forehead, and then leaned down to place a soft kiss on the skin she had exposed. She allowed her lips
to linger for multiple seconds, keeping her eyes shut tightly. She knew that when she opened her eyes, she would have to
face the present, and she was quite frankly terrified of what it would bring.

“Please don't fail me now, Harry,” she breathed against his hair. “Anytime but now.”

She pulled away from him after a moment more and reluctantly stood up, relinquishing her hold on him. Taking a few steps
back, she pointed the wand at his chest and heaved a sigh. She carefully arranged her features and emotions before she
cast the spell.

“Rennervate.”

Harry's next breath was deeper and longer than the previous, and his eyes opened weakly as he exhaled. He was staring at
the sky, and Hermione did nothing to call attention to herself, instead choosing to wait until he sought her out.

He took a few more deep breaths before he turned his head away from her, blankly observing his surroundings. It didn't
seem like he completely recalled where he was, similar to the way you sometimes feel when you awaken in a strange home.
After several seconds he finally turned his head in the opposite direction, towards her. She fidgeted nervously as he
blinked several times, taking in the sight of her, and then she saw recognition appear in his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, cautiously keeping her tone as neutral as possible. She folded her arms protectively
across her stomach. It would be unacceptable to break down now.

Very slowly, Harry moved into a sitting position, but he released a sharp hiss of pain when he went to bend his leg.

“Disregarding the gaping hole in my calf?” He shrugged tiredly. “Okay. Are you alright?”

Hermione jerked her head downwards. “Fine.”

“I take it you got us out of there?”

She jerked her head again. “Yes.”

She was grateful when he didn't press the issue. Instead he looked guilty, and Hermione refrained from the urge to shake
her head. Typical Harry.

His next words confirmed her suspicions.

“I'm sorry, Hermione. It was completely my fault and I should've -”

“Should've what, Harry?” she said, exasperated. “Taken me with you? Left me in the woods instead of by the house? It
doesn't matter. I lived, you lived. You couldn't have done anything, so forget about it!”

She had said it more harshly than she intended, and Harry looked rather startled by the outburst.

“Fine,” he said, his tone slightly angry now. “I'll forget about it.” His face was set into stony determination as he
bent his good leg and pushed himself from the ground. He swayed multiple times as he rose to his full height, but
Hermione couldn't bring herself to step forward and help him. She doubted he would accept her help anyway.

When he had finally gained his balance, he fixed her with a severe look. “Are you coming to the Ministry with me?”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Ministry? You need to go to St. Mungo's and have your leg fixed.”

“It's fine,” Harry said gruffly. “I need to speak to Wahler first.”

Under normal circumstances, Hermione would've insisted he go until she was blue in the face. But these were not normal
circumstances, so she gave yet another jerky nod.

“If that's what you want,” she said.

“It is,” Harry replied. “So are you coming with me or not?”

“I have to,” Hermione answered. “We only have one wand.” She stepped forward to hand over his holly wand.

“Right,” he said, taking it in his grip. “You can get another when we get there, at least until you can go to
Ollivander's.”

“And you'll go to St. Mungo's after you speak to Wahler?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Are you coming with me there?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. I have some things I need to take care of.”

Harry's stare hardened even further as she said this. Hermione instantly realized the suspicion in his gaze and
backtracked.

“I'm not trying to avoid you again,” she said curtly. “I just need to take care of something before we talk.”

Harry seemed incredulous of this, but nodded anyway. “And you'll have it taken care of before tonight?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Great,” Harry responded tersely. “So you should have no problem meeting me at the Leaky Cauldron around four.”

“No,” Hermione said, her own tone taking on a slightly angry edge, “that shouldn't be a problem at all.”

“Excellent,” he said, taking her arm roughly in his grip. “I'll be in room 10.”

Without waiting for a reply, Harry Disapparated, pulling an irritated Hermione with him. She was hoping that their later
conversation would have much more pleasant results, but she somehow doubted it.

**********

After they had appeared in the Ministry and Hermione had snatched her hand back and stalked off, Harry himself stalked
his way to the Auror Department. He noticed that the few people already at work were staring at him, and he figured it
was his staggering walking pattern that was drawing their attention, as well as the rumpled and tattered state of his
robes. For once no one spoke to him, but despite this small favor Harry found their gaping more infuriating than usual.
Why couldn't they just ignore him for a change?

It was only at this intense wish for privacy that he realized what profound thing he had forgotten at the mansion.

“Fuck, the Cloak!” he exclaimed. Thankfully he was alone on the lift, so no one was around to hear his outburst. He
thought furiously, wondering if he could possibly have just left it in the grassy clearing, but felt his heart sink as
he recalled exactly where it was. It had fallen from his grip when he was blasted from the balcony by Krista's spell.
Dolohov had to have discovered the Invisibility Cloak by now.

“Shit shit shit,” Harry groaned, clapping a fist to his forehead repeatedly. “This is the last thing I bloody needed
today. The most dangerous Death Eater out there has possession of one of my family's ancient family heirlooms, which
also happens to be one the most powerful magical objects in the world.” He laughed mirthlessly to himself. “No big
deal.”

The lift opened, and Harry quieted his self-deprecating grumbling as he stepped into the Auror Office. Just as on the
floors below, there were few individuals waiting around, but Harry was hoping Wahler would be one of them. He usually
waited for his Aurors no matter how long their missions took, and Harry figured today wouldn't be any different.

“Alec?” he said, knocking on the door.

“It took you long enough, Potter!” Wahler grumbled from within the room “Get in here!”

Harry cracked the door open and stepped in quietly, trying his best to walk as normally as possible. Unfortunately, the
agonized grimace he made with each step gave him away. Wahler looked surprised at his state.

“Damn it, Potter, what in the bloody hell happened to you!? I send you on a scouting mission and you come back with a
quarter of your leg gone!”

“It's really not as bad as it looks, sir,” Harry said feebly.

Wahler gave a derisive snort. “Bullshit. Is Granger alright?”

Harry nodded as he sat down, appreciating the rest for his leg. “She's perfectly fine. No injuries or anything like
that,” he said.

“That's good at least,” Wahler grunted.

“Glad to see where your preference lies,” Harry said, trying to lighten the mood. “Not that I blame you - she's much
prettier than I am.”

Wahler gave a bark of laughter, which Harry took as a good sign.

“Well, tell me what's going on,” he said, waving his knarled hand impatiently.

“Er, alright,” Harry said. “First off, we found a mansion just a bit north of where you sent us.”

“Suspected as much,” Wahler said as he jotted down a note on a slip of parchment. “What else? Who was there?”

Harry sighed. “Dolohov.”

Wahler sat up straighter in his chair as he surveyed him. “Dolohov? How -”

Harry cut him off. “I really don't know, sir. But he's gotten more allies since the last time.”

Wahler frowned and leaned back in his chair. “Did you hear any names?”

Harry laughed. “Actually, I was pretty much introduced to the lot of them.”

Wahler chuckled as well. “I don't understand how these Death Eaters can be such idiots and still give us so much damn
trouble.”

“Me either,” Harry said. “But he seems to have mostly the same lot except for a few others. Three of them. Curtis
Burkes, and a brother and sister named Xavier and Krista. I didn't catch their last names.”

“I've heard of Burkes before,” Wahler said, writing down a bit more. “He's mainly been up to minor scams so far, but I
guess he's looking to take a step up. I've never heard of the other two though.”

Harry shrugged. “They seemed pretty young, so it's not that surprising.”

Wahler placed his face in his hands and gave a tired sigh.

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “Not really. They didn't discuss any plans for the dementors. I…I actually think that it was all a
ploy to get the Department's attention. I think they wanted another shot at me.”

Wahler gazed at him intently. “Why would you think that?”

Harry hesitated, wondering how much he should reveal. “Before they found me…well, the things I heard them discussing
sounded like they were talking about me.”

Wahler shook his head. “But that seems like a gamble,” he said. “There was no guarantee that you would've been the Auror
that was sent. An extremely low chance. If I hadn't had every other available Auror busy, I wouldn't have sent you.”

Harry felt his leg shaking badly despite the fact that he was sitting. “I don't understand it either, sir, but that's
what I heard. I'll leave you the record of the conversation if you want to review it.”

Wahler gave a vacant nod as he stared at his desk. “Vials are in the cabinet behind you.”

Harry quickly found the vials and placed the memory of the Death Eaters' discussion within it. He ended the memory with
Rowle's discovery of him. Harry was unsure if his boss should know anything beyond that.

Once Wahler had taken the vial, he dismissed Harry.

“Get that leg taken care of and then get some sleep, Potter. I know you need it. And don't worry about your wife either.
We've already informed both her and Ron about your and Hermione's whereabouts. Actually, Weasley's going on a bit of a
mission himself later tonight - probably won't get in until early tomorrow morning. I'm sure he'll will catch her, but
if not, let Hermione know.”

Harry nodded, and then staggered back down to the Atrium, where he promptly Apparated to St. Mungo's.

***************

He didn't have very long to wait at the hospital. He had no more than set foot in the waiting area when a receptionist
dashed in and directed him to the nearest Healer. Usually he would have complained at the special treatment, but he
accepted it gladly today. Harry quickly explained the whereabouts of his injury, and the Healer immediately went about
some diagnostic spells.

Once he was finished, the Healer gave Harry a small apology.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but due to the severe extent of your wound, there may be some lasting effects,” he said
nervously. “Magic can quicken the natural healing of the wound, but it can't change the long term results. We can mostly
repair the muscles and skin, but there'll still be scarring and you may have a bit of a limp.”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “I'm used to scars. It's fine.”

The Healer seemed immensely relieved at Harry's easy-going manner, and efficiently cast the proper spells on his leg.
The shattered bones mended, the muscles reattached themselves to each other, and the skin knit itself together neatly
before Harry's eyes within minutes. He experimentally extended his leg and detected a bit of stiffness, but other than
that there was no extensive pain.

“Thanks,” Harry said. “That feels loads better.”

“My pleasure,” the Healer said, standing up. “The limping should become less troublesome over time. And if you have any
problems, don't hesitate to come back.”

“Sounds good,” Harry said, and raised a hand to suppress the yawn that was about to escape him. He quickly thanked the
Healer again and made a hasty retreat. He still needed to write Tom to reserve a room, and then he would Apparate
straight there. His own bed was sounding absolutely amazing at the moment, but he knew if Ginny was home it wouldn't be
an option. But he still wanted to get a few hours of sleep before he needed to meet Hermione. If their earlier
conversation was any indication, he would definitely need his wits about him.

*************

As the clock on the wall inched closer and closer to four o' clock, Hermione couldn't help but feel herself collapsing
into the numerous layers of her fear. So many things could go wrong…so many things would change…

She frowned as she stared at the ceiling, vacantly rolling her recently required replacement wand between the fingers of
her right hand. After her short morning excursion, she had immediately returned home and lay down on her bed. Sleep
never overtook her, and here she was, nine hours later.

Her brow furrowed as the same thoughts trailed through the already well-worn path in her mind. At first she thought her
worry was unnecessary, that maybe she was overreacting. But she knew that those preliminary notions were completely
untrue. In fact, by this point she was wondering why she hadn't ripped out the majority of her hair and dehydrated
herself from excessive crying.

Surprisingly, not a single tear had escaped her eyes. Hermione speculated whether she was subconsciously saving her
tears for tonight, when she might truly need them.

“I guess I should go,” she said to no one in particular as these depressing images flashed through her head. Harry would
probably think she wasn't going to show up if she didn't leave now. Plus, Ron might be home soon, and then she'd have no
opportunity to leave.

Even after she said this, she took several minutes to actually stand up. But she finally did, and then Apparated to the
Leaky Cauldron before she could succumb to the temptation to sink back onto her bed.

When she arrived in front of the entrance, she slid into the pub and was grateful to find it so busy. There was less of
a chance that she would be noticed. Using this to her advantage, Hermione sidled her way across the room until she
reached the stairs that led to the upper rooms. She cast a discreet glance around the room, and when she thought no one
was looking she quickly ascended them.

The room she was looking for was at the very end of the hallway. The black number 10 stood in sharp contrast to the pale
wooden door, and she stared at it until she was sure she had her emotions under control. However, considering she'd had
herself under control for the last nine hours or so, it didn't take very long. So, knowing she shouldn't delay the
inevitable any longer, she cracked open the door and slid into the room.

As she closed the door silently behind her, she saw that Harry was already there, relentlessly pacing the floor. His
hair was tousled as though he had recently woken up, and this was further amplified by the hand that he kept raking
through the dark locks. She also noticed the pronounced limp that accompanied his steps, and she felt a sharp pang in
her stomach as she watched him.

She hated that after all these years he still had such a burden on his shoulders, and she couldn't help but feel guilty
about adding to it. She wanted it to be the way it used to be, where she could wrap her arms around him and listen to
his problems, and when he could pull her against him and let her cry through her own troubles. That would be almost
impossible now without forbidden memories intruding upon their minds, and Hermione wistfully wondered what it would be
like to just return to being only his best friend.

Better yet, as Harry finally turned his emerald gaze towards her, she wondered what life would be like if they would
have simply acknowledged each other ten years ago.

Hermione crossed her arms across her stomach.

A hell of a lot simpler, that was for sure.

*************

Harry's eyes fell on Hermione, and his furious pacing was stopped cold. He watched as she folded her arms across herself
and met his eyes apathetically.

“Hey,” he said, all of his previous thoughts flooding from his mind.

“Hey,” she said in return. Harry hoped that she would immediately launch into some sort of previously prepared speech
that he would be able to work with, but by the expectant look on her face he determined that he would have to begin the
conversation.

They stared at each other blankly as he tried to gather his thoughts, but they continued to elude him.

“I've been trying to figure out what to say for the past few hours, but now that you're actually here I have no idea how
to start,” he said lamely, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Hermione gave an understanding nod, but still said nothing.

He resumed his pacing for a few moments before distractedly stopping in front of the small table in the corner of the
room.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked as he picked up a dark bottle from the table's surface.

Hermione frowned and gave a small shake of her head, resulting in Harry giving a careless shrug as he poured a liberal
amount into a glass. He raised the glass to his lips and swallowed a few mouthfuls of the bitter liquid before setting
it back down sharply. He saw that he had drained over half the glass and decided to top it off.

As the alcohol neared the glass's rim, he heard Hermione give a small sound of aversion and saw that her frown had
deepened.

“Is this really so disagreeable for you that you have to get drunk just to talk to me?”

The uncalled for anger in her tone immediately set Harry's teeth on edge, and he picked up his glass again to take
another defiant gulp. It burned his throat, but in a pleasant way. The borders of his thoughts were less concrete, and
he felt that he could begin to think more easily. However, when he went to take another drink, the glass disappeared
from his hand, as well as the bottle from the table. Harry turned to Hermione in time to see her replacing her wand in
her pocket.

“I think that's enough,” she said curtly. “You're the one who arranged this, so stop avoiding it.”

Harry gave a small snort. “You would recognize avoidance,” he responded scornfully.

Hermione shook her head. “I've already apologized for that,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “I refuse to let you
make me feel guiltier about it than I already feel.”

“Fine,” Harry said, his voice rising to match hers. “Let's get around to the real matter then, shall we?”

“Finally,” Hermione said nastily.

“Alright,” he said. He stepped closer to her. “Why'd you kiss me?”

The bluntness of his question seemed to momentarily stun Hermione's anger, but she eventually snapped herself from it.
She shrugged her shoulders a bit helplessly.

“Because I wanted to,” she answered.

Harry was rather surprised by the calm honesty behind her words. He had expected her to have come up with an obstinate
and thoroughly logical and thought-out excuse, so her simplistic reply was completely bewildering. However, he needed to
know more.

“That's not enough,” he said, carefully observing her guarded features. “Why?”

“I don't know, Harry! I was drunk, you were drunk - it just seemed like an appropriate thing to do at the time!” Her
voice was disdainful, and had risen even further in volume. She was practically yelling at him now.

“That doesn't answer my question!” he fumed, taking a step towards her. He was infuriated by the fact that she hadn't
budged an inch since she'd entered the room. “I want to know why you wanted to kiss me, not what made you kiss me!”

“Does it honestly matter what I was thinking at the time?” she said furiously. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because before we can move past this, we need to know why it happened!” Harry bellowed. He felt years of frustration
and emotions welling up inside of him, and he grabbed at his hair in anger. “I'm sick of this game we're playing! I just
want you to be fucking honest with me!”

Hermione's eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and the air around them seemed to spark with their built-up rage. “Honesty
works both ways, Harry!” she screamed. “So I think the better question would be why did you kiss me back?”

Harry felt a twitch in his jaw as the unanticipated response caught him off guard. He worked his jaw soundlessly for a
moment before he could sputter out a reply.

“Don't…don't try to turn this around on me!”

“I'll turn this around if I want to!” Hermione shouted. Her arms were still crossed tightly across herself, but her
expression had taken on a frightening edge. Harry didn't think he'd seen her this riled up since she'd set that flock of
canaries on Ron in their sixth year. “Out of all the time I've known you, it's been me that's had to do all the giving!
So I think I have every right to want your answer before I give you mine!” Her shoulders were heaving as she stared him
down. “Why did you kiss me back?”

Harry inwardly winced at her unfortunately true statements. She had given more to him than he could possibly begin to
realize, and he knew that she deserved an answer. But he once again floundered under her penetrating gaze.

“Because… well, I…” he began, stuttering slightly. His mouth all of a sudden felt horribly dry, and he knew his
constricted chest was heaving as much as Hermione's. He swallowed the lump in his throat as she visibly became more and
more aggravated with his hesitance, but he still couldn't bring himself to speak.

Finally, after he had endured minutes of soundless struggling, Hermione gave an infuriated sigh. When she spoke, her
voice was both angry and desperate. “Damn it, Harry, please - because you what?”

Later Harry would wonder what would have happened if he'd simply kept his mouth shut until he could come up with a
legitimate excuse. But a split second is hardly a sufficient amount of time to consider all of the possible consequences
to any of his potential responses, and a split second happened to be all the time that separated Hermione's question
from Harry's rapid and entirely impulsive answer.

He gave an enraged sigh much like Hermione's and roared at the top of his lungs:

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

The words seemed to hang in the air like a dense fog as soon as they burst from Harry's lips, and he and Hermione stared
at each other in pure astonishment as they fell upon both their ears for the first time.

Oh shit did I really just say that? Harry thought frantically as he searched Hermione's wide eyes for some insight to
her thoughts. Even though he had never been able to admit it to himself until this moment, hearing those words out loud
only cemented their certainty into his mind.

After Merlin knows how long, he'd finally told his best friend of fourteen years that he was in love with her.

He felt almost light-headed by the revelation, elated by the lifting of a burden that had been gripping his heart so
tightly for so long. But just as quickly as the burden was raised from his chest, an even greater weight settled into
it, only getting heavier with each never-ending second of silence that passed between them. With four words he had
figuratively chucked himself from the edge of a cliff, and the quiet was like the rush of wind in his ears as he hurtled
into the unknown - he only hoped jagged rocks were not the objects waiting for him at the bottom.

Harry studied Hermione for what felt like an eternity as a feeling of panic took a firm hold on his mind, forcing him to
use every ounce of self-control he possessed so he wouldn't do something he'd regret.

Bolting from the room was out of the question, obviously…Hermione was standing in the way.

So short of barreling over her (which also didn't seem recommended), he was stuck here, frantically waiting for her to
say something, anything. Usually he could detect some semblance of her emotions through her eyes, but for the life of
him Harry couldn't gauge the expression in her flat gaze.

Relief? Happiness? Disappointment? Anger?

He wasn't sure which she was feeling - possibly all of them - but Harry could certainly recognize the one she finally
latched onto as she began to speak.

“You love me?” she said, her voice dangerously low and shaking horribly. “And when did this revelation occur to you?”
Her tone was contemptuous. Harry felt his heartbeat quicken as his panic increased in addition to the cold anger he felt
at her words.

“I don't know,” he said truthfully, struggling to keep his own voice cool and level. “Does it even matter?”

“Sure it does,” she said, her voice scathing in its mocking sweetness. “It would really help to clear some matters up.
Was it just now? Right after we slept together? Since I got married? Since you got married?”

“I don't know,” Harry repeated, his voice rising again as he began to lose his composure.

“Well, why don't you figure it out?” Hermione replied harshly. “I think it's pretty important. Was it earlier than that?
Maybe when we were searching for the Horcruxes? Or back in Hogwarts even?”

She only seemed to get angrier with each question she asked, and even more so as Harry remained silent under her
interrogation.

“Well, come on, Harry!” she shouted. “If it's time to open up, we might as well do it the right way!”

Blood pounded in his ears, and he breathed deeply through his nose. He thought he felt another tic in his jaw.

“I don't know, alright?!” he yelled. “I'm telling you now! Why does it matter how long I've known?”

A rapid reply burst from Hermione's lips, perhaps more immediate than Harry's own had been.

“Because I've loved you for almost ten years!”

Harry felt his jaw unhinge slightly as he stared at Hermione uncomprehendingly. Surely she hadn't just said ten years?

Hermione got a sad look on her face as she observed his expression. “And you still don't realize it,” she said softy.

“Realize - ten - I - how -” Harry sputtered, his mind reeling. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times before he
managed to speak a complete sentence. “Why didn't you ever say anything?”

“When did I have the chance?” Hermione countered, seeming disbelieving that he would even ask her such a question. “By
the time I'd come to terms with how I felt, you were interested in Cho and then Ginny right after!”

Harry shook his head at her logic, clenching his fists. “I broke up with Ginny at the end of sixth year! Hell, Ron was
even out of the picture for a while! We had months to ourselves where you could have said something!”

Hermione gave a short, mirthless laugh. “That's a brilliant idea, Harry!” she said sarcastically. “Why didn't I think of
that? `Hey, Harry, I've been in love with you since I was fourteen years old. Sorry to distract you from this miserable
search we're on and that whole destined-to-destroy-or-be-destroyed-by-the-Dark-Lord thing.'” She gave a short shake of
her head as another humorless laugh escaped her. “Did you really expect me to do that? Besides, when did you ever show
the slightest indication that you felt the same? For Merlin's sake, Rita Skeeter published an article about our supposed
relationship, Viktor and Cho both accused you of having feelings for me, and you didn't show the slightest hesitation in
denying it! There was always such a thin line between you and I, where I thought, just maybe, if I tiptoed across it to
suggest something more than friendship, it could work out. But the circumstances, the people—the timing—was never right.
So why would I put myself and our friendship at risk like that? And besides, it's not like your track record of crushes
indicated that I was even remotely your type.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Harry said, taken aback.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Athletic, specifically at Quidditch, popular, and extremely pretty,” she said, ticking the
traits off on her fingers. “Ginny and Cho both seem to fit the bill fairly well.”

Harry frowned. Did she honestly believe she hadn't been talented or pretty enough for him? “I've dated two women in my
entire life! I hardly think that constitutes me having a `type.' I…” He swallowed, took a small step closer. “I think
you're beautiful.”

Hermione shook her head again at his response and raised her palm to him. Harry knew she would have taken a step back if
she wasn't already so close to the door.

“Harry…” she said. “Just…just don't.”

Her eyes looked tired. Tired of ten years of silence, tired of the sadness, tired of their game. Harry suspected his
eyes looked tired too. Tired of his own silence, tired of this charade, tired of the regret. They shouldn't be standing
like this, across the room from one another in a dingy inn, looking at each other this way. They were supposed to be
sitting with Ginny and Ron, maybe with Ginny snuggled comfortably into his side and Ron's arm slung carelessly over
Hermione's shoulders. That's the way things were supposed to be, the way things had been obligated to be for as long as
he could remember.

“Well…what do we do, Hermione?” Harry finally said, his voice quieter than it had been since they had begun speaking.

Hermione continued to look at him tiredly, but it was clear she had no more of an answer than he did.

“We...we can't go back to the way things were,” he said.

Hermione still said nothing. She averted her eyes slightly, gripped her arms more tightly around her.

“We can't just ignore this.” Harry didn't honestly know why he made himself continue speaking. Perhaps just to fill the
void of stillness that would take its place. “We can't just…”

He trailed off, feeling impatience and renewed anger bubbling in his chest. He waited a few moments, giving Hermione yet
another chance to speak. But all she did was close her downcast eyes, her lips moving soundlessly, seeming for all the
world entirely disinclined to answer. Harry felt his throat burn, but he swallowed to regain his voice.

“Or we could just go back to pretending we don't feel this way about each other.”

He said this rather stiffly, and Hermione raised her head. Her brow was furrowed slightly, as though she were
contemplating the meaning behind his words - waiting for him to continue.

“That would certainly be the easier thing to do,” he said. He waited for some sort of objection, prayed for one, but
Hermione continued to be silent. Perhaps she didn't find his suggestion objectionable. Maybe that's what she wanted.

“Yeah,” Harry continued, his voice coldly casual. “I don't blame you for wanting to take the easy way out. You being
with Ron is the simpler thing to do. Confronting this would change things. A lot less risks if things just stay the way
they are - if we just forget about everything that happened.” His next words already tasted acrid in his mouth. “It was
obviously a mistake.”

Hermione looked as though Harry had just reached across the room and slapped her across the face. Harry felt a grim
satisfaction. He wanted her to cry, wanted her to lose the tough demeanor she'd been emanating since she'd arrived. If
that happened, he would have an excuse to cross the room and pull her closely to him, so she could sob into his
shoulder.

But instead her expression hardened again. Her eyes searched his face for a long time. They stood there, two people in a
tiny hotel room, suddenly looking, really looking, at each other. Reassessing everything that they had once thought true
about the other, redefining every aspect of a fourteen-year-relationship that was now harder to describe than either of
them had ever thought possible. And it became clear to Harry, by the fierce independence in her stance, the sharp look
in her eye, that she would not reveal to him such vulnerability. Not again.

He watched as she finally let her arms fall to her sides for the first time. There was an unsettling emptiness in her
last look at him, an emptiness that was more disconcerting than any of her previous anger. She turned on the spot, her
shoulders set stoically, and pulled the door open. But just before she disappeared into the hall, she paused. She didn't
even glance back at him as she spoke.

“I'm pregnant.”

Then the door shut with a sharp snap, leaving Harry to stare blankly at the pale wood as his mind all but shut down.

He subconsciously managed to stumble over to the bed and sit down.

He released the breath he didn't realize he had been holding, and he opened his mouth to take another breath. Oxygen
seeped into his lungs unwillingly. The air felt like it had thickened, felt almost solid.

His hand shook as he raised it to comb through his hair.

Then he felt overwhelming sadness as intense regret permeated his thoughts. Not just the burning regret of their
conversation, his harsh words, but for Hermione's long unseen silence, for his too-late realizations, for waiting so
long to confront each other, and for giving their hearts to the wrong people.

Harry swallowed at the lump in his throat as it began to burn again, but for once he didn't fight it. As he buried his
face in his hands, he allowed tears to flow unchecked through his fingers.

**************

The next few hours passed in a complete haze. Without really registering his actions, Harry turned in his room key and
went home. He was surprised he didn't manage to splinch himself when he Apparated to the front of Grimmauld Place,
distracted as he was. It took him a few seconds to even realize that Ginny had greeted him until she had wrapped her
arms around him.

“Hey!” she said enthusiastically, giving him a quick kiss. “I missed you!”

“Right,” Harry said, blinking. “Er, I missed you too.”

Ginny released him from her embrace and stepped back, smiling. “Did everything go well?”

Harry blinked again as he tried to focus on her question. “Sort of. There were some…unexpected developments.”

“Well are you at least happy with how it went?” Ginny asked, leading him to the kitchen.

Harry was glad she was not looking at him as she said this - he almost certainly would have averted his eyes.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Great,” Ginny said. “I'm glad you're home on time, I made all your favorites for dinner.”

Harry saw that the dining table was indeed loaded down with many of his favorite foods, including roast chicken,
potatoes, and numerous other sides. There was even a plate towards the end of the lineup heaped with treacle tart.
Although he didn't feel the slightest bit hungry, he managed a weak smile.

“Thanks, Gin, it looks great.”

They both sat down to eat, and Harry only partially heard many of the things Ginny was saying. He pushed his food around
his plate unproductively and gave the occasional nod or murmur of interest, but disregarding this there was no real
communication on his part of the conversation. However, Ginny didn't seem to notice. Even in Harry's preoccupied state,
he could still tell that she was more excited than usual. He wasn't particularly curious about what she was keyed up
about, and figured she would tell him eventually anyway.

Sure enough, as Harry managed to swallow a final bite of treacle tart that he hardly tasted, Ginny let her fork drop
with a clatter.

“Oh!” she said, practically bouncing in his seat. “I wanted to wait to tell you after you'd rested but I can't keep it
in anymore!”

Harry glanced up from his plate, worry settling into his stomach. Surely not…?

Ginny smiled brightly at him and grabbed his hands from across the table.

“I'm pregnant!” she squealed happily.

Harry would have let his hands fall to the table if Ginny hadn't been holding them up.

“You are?” he said, trying to infuse some enthusiasm into his response. He figured he managed it, because Ginny nodded
earnestly, her hair swinging about her face.

“Yes!” she said. “I found out yesterday, but you were gone and I couldn't tell you! Isn't it wonderful?”

“O-Of course it is,” Harry said. “It's…it's fantastic.”

“I know, I can't wait! I hope it's a girl this time,” she said, finally releasing his hands. They plopped down to the
table like rags, just as Harry expected they would.

“And I hope it's alright, but I told Mum. I had to tell someone! And Ron knows as well, he was visiting there for dinner
since Hermione was gone as well.”

Harry perked up for the first time.

“Ron knows?”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, beginning to pick up the numerous plates. “Like I said, he was there when I told Mum. So I bet
Hermione knows by now as well.”

Harry closed his eyes as she took the first batch of dishes to the kitchen, feeling his stomach ache horribly. He
thought of Ron and wondered if Hermione had actually seen him before he left for the night for his night shift. All
Harry knew was that he needed to find out, and soon.

**************

But as Harry stepped into Hermione's bedroom later that night, he knew in an instant that she had seen Ron, and that Ron
had told her about Ginny. Through the dim light sifting from the window, he could see Hermione's frame hidden beneath
the covers of her bed. She was lying on her side, facing the wall, and at first glance may have just been sleeping. But
it only took a moment more to see that she was curled into a ball, her shoulders quivering, and to hear the soft sobbing
escaping her form.

As silently as possible, Harry crept across the room. But the sharp intake of breath and the sight of Hermione's tense
shoulders showed that she had heard his steps.

Harry stopped at the edge of the bed, staring at her back.

“It's…it's me,” he said quietly.

Silence. He wondered if he should just turn around and leave. He was about to do just that when he finally heard
Hermione's similarly quiet reply.

“I know,” she said, her voice quivering with a suppressed sob. “You're footsteps are different than Ron's…softer.”

Harry took her lack of harshness as a good sign, and finally gave into his urge to lie on the bed and comfort her. He
sidled up to her side until his body was cradling hers, and wrapped his arms gently around her middle. She made no move
to push him away, but she continued to cry even as he buried his face into her hair.

“I didn't mean what I said before,” he murmured. “It wasn't a mistake.”

“I know,” Hermione whispered, her voice thick from crying. “I just…I just don't know what to do.”

Harry kissed the back of her head. “Me either. But we'll think of something.”

They fell silent after this comment, perhaps both wallowing in the unlikelihood of finding a true solution to their
predicament, but neither spoke a word regarding this hopelessness.

However, after a while Harry gave a soft chuckle, his face still tickled by Hermione's brown curls.

“This kid's going to have the most untamable hair imaginable,” he said lightly.

He could almost visualize her small smile as her shoulders relaxed, and a tearful laugh escaped her. Harry pulled her
more tightly against his chest. The rational part of his mind was telling him that he should worry, but the illogical
part was falling asleep with his hand splayed across Hermione's not-yet swollen stomach. Tomorrow would bring what
tomorrow would bring, and, like always, they could get through it as long as they were together.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

38. What Is Right

A/N: Okay, so as I mentioned before my supply of chapters is running seriously low. Like two more after this and I'm all
out. Since I'm finishing up my finals tomorrow, I would think I'd be able to write more, but as of right now I have a
summer job that's going to take up the majority of my time, so we shall see…

Anyway, thanks to Mischiefmanaged86, RogueBHS, justduck, Paddy, KamiOnno, time9870, Charlotte, UKwildcat820, Meli,
noorelisa, and the Anonymous person for your reviews!

Chapter 38: What Is Right…

“Hermione, you have to tell him.”

“You don't think I realize that?” Hermione replied, sitting back further in her chair.

“Of course I know you realize it,” Harry said. He also leaned back slightly, a small frown on his face. “It's just
getting more and more pressing the longer you wait. Soon he'll know something's up.”

He punctuated the statement by glancing downward at Hermione's stomach, which was beginning to swell noticeably. She had
recently taken to wearing the loosest clothing she owned, but before long Harry knew it wouldn't be enough.

Hermione caught his glance and crossed her arms over her stomach defensively, a habit that she had acquired since
finding out about her pregnancy.

“I'm fairly positive he's already realized something's up.” She let out a small snort of amusement and gave Harry a
half-smile. “Although his solution to the problem has been to place all of the sweets in the upper cabinets where I
can't reach them. But nonetheless, he is noticing.”

Harry smiled back at her. “I guess it's a good thing that I've been supplying you with goods in the meantime then.”

“Unquestionably,” Hermione said, scooping a large bite of hot fudge-covered strawberry ice cream into her mouth, one of
her rapidly materializing cravings.

In the weeks following their discussion, each day had been more-or-less the same. Harry would either speed through his
work quickly enough to get off a few hours early or use his lunch-break to visit with Hermione. On many of these visits,
he would bring her something she had mentioned off-handedly the previous day. But mostly they tried to talk about how to
rectify the predicament they had landed themselves in.

Unfortunately, they were no closer to a solution than they had been on day one.

Harry suspected that the reason for their unproductive sessions was due to the fact that, probably on day one, they had
realized there was only one possible answer, only one course of action that would give them the results they hoped for.
Sure, they had skirted around this remedy, come in dangerously close proximity to it, been on the very verge of
tentatively bringing the proposition forward…

But neither of them had suggested it, and he was beginning to wonder if either of them ever would.

Harry gazed at the table thoughtfully for a moment, and then opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione suddenly cut him
off. She dropped her spoon in her bowl with a clatter, held up one palm for him to remain silent, and placed her other
palm over her mouth. Her face was quite pale.

“Hold that thought,” she breathed, her voice muffled by her hand. She then stood up from the table so quickly she almost
overturned her chair and dashed from the room, and a moment later Harry heard gasping heaves coming from the bathroom.
He grimaced slightly at the sound, but stood up nonetheless and followed her.

Just as he knew he would, Harry found Hermione kneeling before the toilet, blinking vacantly as she caught her breath.
He crouched beside her and pulled her hair away from her damp neck.

“You alright?” he said.

“Oh, excellent,” she muttered, closing her eyes at the feel of his cool hands on her skin. “I swear, there must've been
a committee of sexist pigs who decided to come up with the side-effects of pregnancy. This is just miserable.”

Harry chuckled. “I wouldn't doubt it,” he said. After a moment he helped Hermione to her feet, who leaned over the sink
as she quickly rinsed out her mouth and began to brush her teeth furiously.

“And the whole business of its name is complete rubbish as well,” she said, her toothbrush still in her mouth. She
rinsed her mouth out again, cleaned her toothbrush, and placed it back in its spot next to Ron's. “I mean, morning
sickness? It's four-o-clock in the afternoon - in whose mind would that be considered morning?”

Harry shrugged as he silently proffered Hermione a small towel, and she took it begrudgingly.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, dabbing at her mouth.

“No problem.”

Hermione sighed as she set down the towel, and then led the way back to the kitchen to continue their conversation.

“Sorry about that,” she said as she sat down again. She pushed aside her bowl and clasped both hands on the table before
looking at him expectantly. “Weren't you about to say something?”

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably under her gaze, and rubbed the back of his neck as he attempted to gather the words he had
wanted to speak earlier.

“Well,” he began. “I was just, er, just thinking -”

That you should tell Ron everything. That I should tell Ginny everything. That we should be together and be able to
raise our son or daughter without worrying about what everyone else will think. That somehow, no matter how far-fetched
it seems, we can manage to do this without destroying the lives of everyone we love…

Merlin, what wasn't he thinking?

Harry extended his hand to cover Hermione's, and he breathed out a quiet sigh through his nose.

“I was just thinking that it was about time for me to leave.”

“Oh. Is it already five?” Hermione said, disappointment evident in her voice.

Harry nodded, mentally berating himself for his cowardice. “Yeah…Ron should be here pretty soon.” He slid his hand from
hers as he said this.

He watched as Hermione's eyes followed the path of his withdrawn hand, and as she clasped her empty fingers together and
flitted her gaze from them to his face and back again. “Alright.”

Harry frowned sadly and scooted his chair back to stand up.

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

He didn't know why, but despite how much he hated leaving Hermione every day, it was at least partially worth it to hear
her ask that simple question. At the beginning, it had been just that - a mere question, clearly meant for information
alone, almost as though she needed to check if it interfered with her schedule. But more recently, the words had been
adjusted slightly, the tone it was asked in tweaked the slightest bit.

It was no longer a question, but a request, and it was one Harry was more than willing to comply with.

“Of course,” he said. “And you know you can call me or owl me anytime you need anything, right?”

“Of course.”

“No, seriously, I mean anything. I don't care if it's getting you a glass of water because you're too comfortable on the
couch to be bothered. I can pop in anytime you need me to, day or night.”

Hermione smiled at his serious sincerity, and stood up from her chair as well.

“I know, Harry. And thank you.”

She placed her hand on his arm as she said this, and he gave a small nod as well. He wanted nothing more than to kiss
her, but they had yet to discuss the boundaries that existed between them. They had come to an unspoken agreement to
leave the matter of their relationship unexamined until they solved their issues, and as a result, Harry felt they were
stuck in a figurative limbo of tentative gestures and touches. Even in private, even after that life-changing
discussion, they were behaving as barely more than very close friends.

Harry knew that it was the proper way to go about things, but it was still frustrating to no end.

“Okay,” he said. “I'll see you tomorrow then.”

But before he could take a step back, Hermione wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest. He
could feel the firm, rounded flesh of her abdomen against his own stomach, and could picture the tiny core of life
growing larger and more distinct inside her with every passing second.

“Really, Harry,” she said, sounding muffled as she had earlier but instead because of the fabric of his shirt. “Thank
you.”

Her fervent gratitude threw him slightly off guard.

“I just brought you ice cream,” he said lightly, though he still pulled her more tightly against him. “I know it's
pretty important stuff, but it's not that big of a deal.”

She laughed and Harry felt his shirt move as she adjusted her head on his chest.

“No, it's a very big deal,” she said. “And it means more to me than you probably realize.”

Harry continued to hug her tightly to him for a moment more, but finally pulled away from her enough to look her in the
face.

“Hermione, I -”

The clock on the wall suddenly chimed before he could finish his sentence, counting the hours abrasively. He allowed it
to finish ringing as he stared at her.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

She looked back at him with equal patience.

As the echoes of the last chime faded into nothingness, Harry dipped his face close to hers. He could hear Hermione's
shallow breathing and felt their noses graze each other. He saw Hermione's eyes flutter shut, and his own eyes closed
unwillingly as an unsteady sigh escaped his lips.

“I should go,” he said softly, his eyes still shut.

“Okay,” Hermione replied just as softly. He felt the small gust of her breath on his neck as she said those two
syllables, and a shiver traveled down his spine.

With an enormous amount of self-control, he directed his lips an inch to the left of her mouth and kissed her cheek.
Then, without looking at her, he released his hold on her arms and vanished before he could prolong their goodbye any
further.

************

As soon as the pop of Harry's disappearance had faded as thoroughly as the damned chimes of the clock, Hermione moved
once more to the kitchen. Her posture was stiff and unwelcoming as she cleaned up the evidence of Harry's visit. Her
gestures were stern as she ran a damp cloth over the top of the table, and she seemed incapable of relaxing the worry
lines that had settled into her forehead after Harry exited.

Had they thought, really and truly thought, this entire thing through?

It was one thing to say that telling Ron was necessary, but it was completely another to actually tell him and deal with
the after-effects. Didn't Harry realize what it would mean for Ron to find out about this?

Hermione's hands shook as she lowered her and Harry's ice-cream covered bowls into the sink, and it took her multiple
tries to turn on the faucet to wash the dishes. The water gushed over her palms, and although the torrent of water
temporarily disguised the trembling, she thought they looked unpleasantly pale and fragile. Her veins stood out in sharp
relief to her white skin, her nails were picked nearly to the quick, and her fingers seemed uncommonly thin and
spider-like, incapable of holding anything within their grip.

She pulled her hands from the now scalding stream of water and noticed with slight satisfaction the blotched pinkness
scattered over the tops of her hands and knuckles. The fierce color gave her hands some semblance of life, even though
they still smarted from the sting of the boiling water.

However, away from the distortion of the water, she thought her fingers looked, if possible, even more frail than
before. After a moment's contemplation, she wondered if the cause of this feeble appearance had something to do with the
rings adorning her left hand. She tilted her hand to catch the reddish rays of the failing sunlight, and the golden
metal glinted deceitfully.

The rings seemed to peer at her innocently, and they held her gaze for a full minute before she quickly submerged them
under the soapy water distastefully. Her fingers were effectively blocked from sight by the thick white suds, and she
was careful to keep them that way as she finally went about cleaning the dishes.

Didn't Harry realize that there would be no turning back from this? That once she spoke those two simple words to Ron…

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin as she felt a kiss on the side of her head.

“Hey, I'm home,” Ron said, stepping back to drop his bag on the recently cleaned table.

“I can see that,” Hermione replied, patting a dry towel against her shirt (where she had just slopped a fairly large
amount of dish-water). “You startled me.”

“I can see that,” Ron mimicked, grinning as he unclasped his cloak. “It's not like I crept up on you or anything. I'm
surprised you didn't hear me come in.”

“W-well I was t-thinking about a few things,” she replied, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks as she continued to dry
her blouse.

“Oh,” Ron said. “That explains it. You must've been thinking really hard about whatever it was for you to completely
zone out -”

“I'm pregnant,” Hermione blurted.

“—like that. What?!”

“I'm pregnant,” she repeated, more weakly this time. She wrung the damp towel in her hands as she watched shock and then
pure elation make its way onto her husband's face.

“Pregnant?” he finally said. “You're completely sure?”

Hermione nodded. “Positive.” Since when did her voice become this flimsy?

“Merlin, Hermione, this is amazing!” Ron yelled, jumping to his feet. He leapt towards Hermione and pulled her into a
bone-crushing hug that left her gasping for breath. When he released her, he was still grinning from ear to ear.

“I'm gonna be a dad!” he yelled in exultation. “I'm gonna be a dad!”

He yelled it even louder the second time, as if wanting the entire street to know of this development, and Hermione felt
her heart beat painfully in her chest. This was worse than she'd ever imagined it would be. Ron's enthusiasm felt like a
punch in her already aching chest.

She watched sadly as he began to pace the room, running his hands through his hair and still smiling like a madman. He
was almost trembling from pent-up excitement.

“This is just - I can't believe this is finally - we've got to tell everybody, Mum's gonna freak! And Harry's gonna flip
too, this'll be -”

Hermione winced inwardly as he said this. “Ron…” she said, interrupting his rambling.

He was surprisingly quick to turn to her, and Hermione wondered if his cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling so
much.

“Yeah?” he said, pausing his relentless movements.

Hermione fidgeted under his happily expectant gaze, and her answer to his inquiry was so softly spoken that he had to
ask her to repeat it. Maybe the insight she had gained into her frail hands was actually just a small glimpse into the
bigger picture…maybe she just was weak.

“I said that Harry already knows.”

Ron's grin couldn't have slid faster from his face if she'd slapped him. His jaw worked soundlessly for a moment, and
then it took another moment for his jumbled speech to form a coherent thought.

“Harry knows? You told Harry you were pregnant before you decided to tell your own husband?”

Hermione did not know exactly how to respond to this accusation, but fortunately (or rather unfortunately) Ron never
gave her a chance to reply.

“What kind of bullshit is that?!” he spat, taking a large step away from her. “Honestly, what the hell were you thinking
when you decided to tell Harry before you told me?”

His voice had risen quite high by this point, and Hermione hated the emphasis he was using on Harry's name. Yes, she had
told Harry, their mutual best friend of fourteen years. She simultaneously felt her own temper rise as well as the
staccato of the beat of her heart, which felt like it had taken up residence in the pit of her stomach. If he was this
angry about simply telling Harry, she couldn't imagine what would happen if he discovered the truth about the baby…

“Harry had absolutely no right to know about this before me! Hell, I know he's our best friend, but his knowledge of it
should've come a few people down the line! Our own parents don't know about this and yet Harry knows all about it -”

Closing her eyes tightly, Hermione rubbed her temples as the reverberations of Ron's yelling echoed through her ears. As
far as she was concerned, she had been shouted at significantly too much in the past few weeks, and she was frankly
quite sick of it. Her brain pounded painfully in her skull and she was becoming angrier by the second…if only he would
shut up for just one bloody -

And suddenly, before she could even finish this train of thought, the room became utterly silent.

Hermione cracked one of her eyes open, expecting Ron to have stormed out of the room in his fit of rage. However, he was
still in the room. The fact that he hadn't left surprised Hermione, but not nearly as much as the fact that, despite the
silence, it appeared that Ron was still yelling at the top of his lungs. His face and ears were the typical Weasley red,
and his eyes had widened until they were practically bugging from his face. His mouth continued to work furiously, the
veins in his neck were straining, and yet Hermione couldn't hear a single word he was saying.

She cracked open her other eye at this point and cocked her head inquisitively at the sight of Ron soundlessly screaming
at her. Crossing her arms across her stomach, she frowned and furrowed her brow. Why couldn't she hear him?

Experimentally, she raised the toe of her shoe and brought it down again against the tile floor, and the responding tap
allowed her to realize that it wasn't her ears that were failing her - it was Ron's voice.

He had clearly realized this as well, which was the cause of his dumbfounded expression and overworking throat. Hermione
watched him with a bewildered expression, rubbing a hand absently over her stomach.

Finally, once Ron recognized the fact that his efforts were fruitless, he shut his mouth and simply opted to glare
accusingly at Hermione.

“Alright,” she said more calmly than she felt. “Are you going to let me talk now?”

Ron's ears turned an even brighter shade of red, but he still gave a reluctant nod.

“Good,” she said. “Because I'm not going to stand here and let you shout this complete rubbish at me. Yes, Harry knows.
It wasn't exactly intentional for Harry to be the first one to know about it, okay? It just…slipped out the other day
when I saw him at work. Sometimes I get utterly sick of your jealousy issues with Harry. It's not that big of a deal, so
get over it.”

She gave a small sigh of satisfaction as she completed her small monologue, and she noticed her hands were still on her
stomach. Ron was still staring at her reproachfully, though embarrassment could be seen in his expression as well. She
allowed the silence of the room to continue a moment more and then waved her hand towards him.

“Can you talk now?” she asked curiously.

Ron tentatively opened his mouth and muttered something quietly to himself, and then nodded. “I guess so,” he said,
disgruntled. “What did you have to go and do that for?”

Hermione almost started to tell him the truth, that she had had nothing to do with it, but decided against it just as
she started to speak.

“You wouldn't pay attention to me,” she said instead. “That seemed like the easiest way to make you listen.”

“I guess I can't argue against that logic,” he muttered. “I'd just prefer if you didn't do it again.”

“Sure,” Hermione replied. “As long as you don't act like a prat like that again.”

“Right,” Ron said sulkily as he plopped himself in a chair. “Sorry about that.”

Hermione knew that he was only being so quick to apologize because of the news about the baby, but she was grateful
nonetheless.

“So…” he continued, “I guess we need to tell everybody now? Harry's the only one that knows, right?”

“Of course,” Hermione said.

“Good,” Ron said, sounding relieved. “Then we should probably do it as soon as possible. I guess it's too late to do it
tonight, but I think we can manage it for tomorrow.”

“That sounds fine,” she said.

“Alright then, I'll go owl Mum so she can get hold of everybody for dinner tomorrow night. We can tell her it's about
your transfer or something so she doesn't get suspicious.”

“Sounds perfect,” Hermione murmured.

“Great,” Ron muttered. He rubbed at the back of his neck and stood up from the table again. “I'm…I'm gonna go take a
shower and change.”

He quickly left the room, and Hermione could tell by the tenseness of his walk that he was still agitated.

With a groan, she fell into the chair that Ron had just vacated and buried her face in her hands.

She could already tell this was not going well, could feel it in the pit of her stomach. The second she had told Ron she
was pregnant she knew it was wrong. As the words had escaped her lips, she had (and still) felt that they were horribly
final, sealing her fate more completely than anything else in the world was capable of. And though she had no idea what
fate was being assured, she was fairly confident it wasn't the one she had had in mind.

**********

As Ron and Hermione stepped into the bustle of the Burrow, he finally began to feel that things were falling into place.
He had a good job, a nice place, a great family, a wonderful wife, and a child on the way. He straightened his tie as he
walked into the midst of his siblings, grinning like a madman.

Everyone looked up as they entered the room, and George lifted his bottle of butterbeer good-naturedly.

“Hey, there's the lady of the hour!” he said jubilantly. “Congratulations on the promotion!”

Ron threw his arm around Hermione's shoulders as cheerful exultations of agreement followed his brother's words. He
nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, we're both pretty excited about it,” he said.

“Yes,” Hermione said, sounding slightly distracted. “Very excited.”

“Rightfully so!” Mrs. Weasley said, seemingly in a rare reprieve from her kitchen duties. “You'll be able to change so
many things in Magical Law, dear!”

“Yes,” she replied, still not seeming completely present. Her eyes were darting around the room, calculating. “I'm quite
excited about it. Is everybody here?”

“Well, not quite everybody. In fact, Arthur should be back any second now… Ah, I hear him in the yard now.”

A moment later there were two small squeaks as the front door was opened and closed, and then Mr. Weasley appeared in
the doorway with none other than Katherine Granger in tow.

“Mum!” Hermione said, and for the first time she actually sounded excited. She crossed the room quickly and gathered her
mother in a large embrace, which Katherine returned gladly.

“Hermione!” Katherine responded. “How are you?”

“I'm fine, mum,” she said, smiling happily.

“Oh, I'm wonderful,” Katherine said. “This was all told to me on rather short notice, but Harry insisted that I should
be here tonight.”

Ron felt a small twinge of guilt at these words, and then jealousy at the softened, grateful look that appeared on
Hermione's face. He really should have owled Hermione's mum, but as she said, it had been on short notice…

“I'm glad you're here, then,” Hermione said.

“Yes, I'm so glad you could make it!” Mrs. Weasley said, pushing Hermione slightly to the side to press a glass of wine
into Katherine's hand. Ron shook his head as his mother, talking animatedly, ushered Katherine away from the group. The
Weasley matron very seldom had opportunities to speak to mothers of her own age, so any time Mrs. Granger was in the
vicinity Molly tended to monopolize her time.

As soon as both mothers had vanished into the kitchen, Ron grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her to an available seat
on the couch. He sat down and she sat down next to him, holding her hands in her lap.

Angelina leaned forward in her chair as soon as they were comfortable, smiling widely at Hermione. She held her and
George's youngest daughter in her lap, though the child was squirming restlessly.

“So when do you start the new job?” Angelina asked.

“Um, in a couple of weeks I think,” Hermione said, watching little Roxanne's antics closely. In fact, Ron saw that her
eyes were moving around to every child in the room - Bill's son Louis, who was roughly the same age as Roxanne, as well
as Percy's three-year-old daughter Lucy.

Ron couldn't help but smile at Hermione's observations - leave it to her to want to study up on the way children behaved
before she gave birth herself.

“That's wonderful,” Angelina said, struggling as Roxanne attempted to make an escape. She tried to hold on to the
toddler for a few more moments before finally giving up.

“Fine, Roxy, have it your way,” she said, setting Roxanne down on slightly unsteady feet.

“Be free, Roxy,” George said wistfully. “You're just a restless spirit like your daddy, aren't you? I won't let your Mum
keep you down!”

“Excuse me?” Angelina said, raising an eyebrow.

“I said for Roxy to always listen to her Mum no matter what without exception. Why, what'd you hear?”

“That's what I thought,” Angelina said smugly as Bill, Fleur, Percy, Andromeda, Mr. Weasley, and Ron laughed. Hermione
gave a weak chuckle, and Ron wondered if she was feeling well.

“So where are all the other kids?” Ron asked.

“Oh, zey are in ze backyard,” Fleur said. “'Arry is back zere as well.”

Ron felt Hermione shift very slightly next to him.

“Is Ginny back there too?” he asked.

“No, Ginny is in ze kitchen.”

“No she isn't,” Ginny said from behind them. Ron again felt Hermione shift beside him. “Ginny has emerged from said
kitchen to inform everyone to converge upon the dining area for sustenance.”

“So dinner's ready?” George said.

“Yep.”

“Awesome,” Ron said, standing up. “I'm starved.”

*************

Due to the largeness of their group, dinner was being served outside. As Fleur had already said, the children and Harry
were already there, and Ginny, Percy's wife Audrey, Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger joined them as everyone burst into
the cool night air. The normally frosty mid-October weather had been mercifully abated by a warming charm placed over
the small backyard to make it comfortable.

Hermione and Ron brought up the rear of the group, and a few of the parents went to gather up their children to place
them around the table. Harry was already at the table, situating James into a highchair.

Ron began to move towards him, but then realized that Hermione had already seated herself in a chair at the opposite end
of the table.

“Er, Hermione,” he said, sitting down next to her as everyone else began to choose seats, “why are you sitting here?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, busily beginning to prepare her plate.

“I mean, it's not a big deal, we just usually sit next to Harry and Ginny…” Ron said uncertainly.

“Oh, I wasn't even paying attention,” Hermione said, not turning towards him. “But we're already sitting here, so
there's really no point in moving is there?”

“Well, no…” Ron said. “It's just that you're acting a little weird.”

Hermione paused as she reached for a basket of rolls.

“How so?” she asked, still not looking at him.

“I don't know,” he said, tentatively reaching towards one of the bowls of shephard's pie as he carefully chose his
words. “You've just seemed a little distracted.”

Hermione withdrew her hand without taking a roll and spread a napkin in her lap instead. “Well, I've got a lot on my
mind. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course,” Ron said carefully.

He left it at that as he nervously finished filling his plate. He couldn't quite comprehend the tone of her voice, but
he'd known Hermione long enough to know that she wasn't pleased about something. He imagined she was still riled at him
for his behavior the previous day, and thus made the situation to let her be until after dinner. Maybe she'd be in a
little bit of a better mood once she'd gotten some food in her stomach. That was always the case with himself, after
all.

He certainly hoped so, at least as he shoveled mash potatoes into his mouth.

The thing was, who wanted to announce the beginning of their happy family with the new mother in question in a
disgruntled mood?

*********

Hermione's goal throughout the entire meal was to speak as few words as possible. She tried to ensure limited eye
contact, thus not drawing undo attention to herself, and the occasional inquisitive question directed her way was
answered in a succinct and minimal manner.

She suspected Ron and Harry were the only ones who noticed her unusually taciturn behavior, but thankfully the former
made no comment on it and the latter was too enveloped with his own quiet game to remark on it either. That was
certainly one thing she appreciated about the Burrow - there was never a shortage of individuals to attract unwanted
scrutiny.

After all, this was the first time in months that Hermione had been in the same place as Ron, Ginny, and Harry at the
same time, and it was truly doing a number on her nerves. The few times Ginny even glanced her way caused her to shudder
guiltily in her seat and hastily avert her eyes to her plate. Therefore Hermione was flooded with relief when Molly
ushered the group back inside.

She was on the verge of leaping to her feet and dashing inside the moment Mrs. Weasley stood, but just as she began to
move her chair, she noticed Harry sitting perfectly still among the rest of the bustling Weasleys.

“Are you coming in, honey?” Katherine asked as she neared Hermione.

“Oh, yes, of course. I'm just going to help bring in some of these dishes. Will you tell Molly I've got it?”

“Alright, but do hurry up - I haven't gotten a chance to speak to you all evening!”

“I'll be in in just a minute, Mum…it shouldn't take too long.”

Katherine flashed her daughter a small smile and then brought up the rear of the retreating Weasleys. The door swung
shut behind her, and Harry and Hermione were alone.

They both stood up from the table and crossed the yard until they met at its hedge-lined border.

Harry glanced at her, but she couldn't quite make out his features in the darkness.

“I'm surprised you haven't announced it yet,” he said. He sounded very tired though Hermione knew it couldn't be later
than eight.

“Ron and I never really discussed when we'd tell everyone…I'm sort of just letting him take care of it. It'll be very
soon, obviously.”

Harry chuckled. “Does that have anything to do with why you're stalling out here?”

Hermione pretended to ponder the question although she suspected Harry couldn't see her any better than she could see
him.

“Hmmm…that might have something to do with it.”

“I suspected as much,” Harry said.

Hermione laughed lightly, but quickly sobered as her mind turned to what had transpired the day before. She gave a soft
sigh before she spoke. “Though there is something else as well.”

“What is it?” he asked, and she was surprised at the concern in his voice. Even without seeing her facial features, he
was still able to pick up the subtlest changes of tone in her speech.

“Well…” she began hesitantly. “Did Ginny…er… did she exhibit any…strange forms of magic while she was pregnant?”

Hermione could imagine Harry's lips curving downward into a frown and his forehead furrowing in confusion.

“No…” he said slowly. “Not that I'm aware of, at least. But what do you mean by `strange'? What happened?”

Hermione found herself fidgeting uncomfortably, unreasonably embarrassed by what had happened. It wasn't her fault,
after all.

“I sort of…well, the thing is, I'm fairly certain I had nothing to do with it, but I was just feeling so angry at Ron
and it just happened…”

“What happened?” Harry said more insistently.

“Fine…I guess the best way to put it would be that I made Ronald go mute temporarily.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Harry let out a bark of laughter.

“I wish I could've been there for that,” he chortled.

Hermione giggled a bit as well. “It was rather funny,” she admitted, “but that's not the point. The point is that I
didn't do it. He was yelling at me and -”

“Wait, why was he yelling at you?” Harry interrupted.

“I accidentally let slip that you already knew about the baby,” Hermione said dismissively. “It rather pissed him off,
to put it lightly. But it doesn't matter. As I was saying, he was yelling and my head started to hurt and I was just
thinking how lovely it would be if he'd be quiet, and then suddenly he was.”

Hermione heard Harry pick a few leaves from the hedge in front of him and start shredding them vacantly.

“It really just sounds like accidental magic…are you positive it wasn't you?”

Hermione sighed. “I obviously can't be entirely sure,” she said, “but I just really feel that it was…” She trailed off
and placed a hand on her stomach as she shook her head. “I haven't lost control of my magic since I was ten years old…I
just don't think it was me.”

“So…so you honestly think it was the baby?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “I do.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “Has…has anything like that happened before?”

“I…I think so,” Hermione said uncertainly. “When we were at Dolohov's mansion.”

“Really?” Harry said, taken aback. “When?”

Hermione turned away from the hedges to stare back towards the lighted windows of the Burrow. She could see the darkened
shadows of people in the kitchen and knew she and Harry didn't have much more opportunity to speak.

“When the dementors were swarming us…I'm pretty sure the baby is the only reason I was able to cast a Patronus,” she
said quietly. “I just…I couldn't think of any happy memories and you were dying…but right when I was about to give up I
just felt this…I don't know exactly how to describe it…a warmth, I suppose, in the center of my body, and then I was
able to cast my Patronus.” She glanced back at Harry's silhouette through the darkness. “That's really what made me
realize I was pregnant.”

Before Harry could reply, there was a thud as the door was thrown open and light flooded part of the yard. “What's
taking you guys?” Ron called. “We're all waiting for you in here!”

Hermione heard a crunch of dead leaves as Harry tactfully stepped back from her.

“Alright, we'll be in there in a second,” he called back.

“Well…just hurry up, all right?” Ron said, annoyance lacing his tone, and then the door was shut, enveloping the yard in
darkness once more.

Harry stepped closer to Hermione again, and took her hand as they slowly made their way towards the house. Hermione
wondered if this was what they were reverted to…two people only able to show affection under the cover of darkness.

“Have you heard anything remotely similar to this in anything you've read?” Harry said, his voice lowering as they came
closer to the house.

Hermione shook her head. “Not that I remember… but that isn't saying much, I haven't exactly read volumes on witch
pregnancy.”

“Okay,” he said as they reached the door. “Maybe we should do a little research into this. I mean, this seems harmless
enough…have you noticed anything wrong with your health or anything?”

“No,” Hermione said. “Nothing beyond usual pregnancy symptoms…”

“Good,” Harry said, placing his hand on the doorknob. “Hopefully it stays that way. But we'll look into it in the
meantime, alright?”

“Alright,” Hermione conceded, taking a small breath as he began to push open the door.

Harry glanced downward at her. “Are you going to be okay?”

She turned her eyes to his with a small, cheerless smile. “Do I really have any other choice?”

She saw Harry's throat bob as he swallowed nervously and pulled his gaze away from her.

“I -” he began, but Hermione cut him off. She wasn't in the mood for half-hearted reassurances that neither of them
completely believed in.

“Let's just get this over with, okay?” she said.

Harry looked as though he wanted to say something more, but he merely gave a curt nod and led the way into the
thankfully empty kitchen.

However, the second the door shut they were instantly bombarded by Ron.

“What took you? Come on!” he said, seizing Hermione's hand and dashing into the overly-crowded living room. He pulled
her to sit next to him in the same spot they had sat earlier, and then proceeded to smile appreciatively at his siblings
as they continued their usual line of banter.

Apparently they had been discussing Harry before they entered, because as he slowly entered the room after Ron and
Hermione, they all turned their attention towards him.

“Zere you are, `Arry! We've been meaning to ask you…” Fleur said, “how `ave you been since your aczedent?”

“I dunno,” Harry said uncertainly. “I've been alright, I guess. Just the bit of a limp, really.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Percy said. “What doesn't kill you just makes you stronger!”

Harry snorted. “I disagree,” he said wryly. “Whatever doesn't kill me just really ticks me off.”

“Hear hear!” George said jovially from his position on the ground as the room burst into laughter.

Bill made a gesture to move from the seat closest to Harry to allow him to sit, but Harry waved off the offer.

“No thanks, Bill, I'll stand. Save it for if I actually lose my leg - I doubt I could pull off a fake like Moody could,
so I'd probably be pretty immobile.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, settling back into his chair. “Though you did miss the chance to sit next to my beautiful
wife,” he added, wrapping an arm around a smiling Fleur.

“Hey,” Ginny said, “his actual wife, and your sister I might add, is sitting right here!”

“Oops, didn't see you there, Gin,” Bill said with a wink. “How rude of me.”

“Especially with their child sitting right here as well,” Mrs. Granger commented, referring to James sitting in her lap.
The other toddlers were playing in the center of the room, and the older children had escaped to amuse themselves with
whatever they could find in the upstairs bedrooms.

“Not to mention with the other baby on the way,” Mrs. Weasley added.

George suddenly turned towards his mother so quickly his neck audibly cracked.

“Ow - what the heck do you mean by the `other baby on the way?'”

“Ginny's pregnancy, of course,” Mrs. Weasley said, bewildered by her son's reaction.

“What?! Ginny's pregnant again?” George said. “Why wasn't I informed of this?”

“We thought you were, dear! I owled you and Angelina last week about the news.”

Angelina looked thoughtful for a moment. “Right...” she said slowly. “I knew there was something I was forgetting to
tell you.”

“Oh, thanks hon,” George said sarcastically. He cast a scowl about the room. “So everybody else knows?”

There were murmurs of assent as everyone nodded their heads.

“Oh, ages ago -”

“Yeah, Ginny told us -”

“Goodness, even I know-”

“Well that's just perfect,” George grumbled. He jerked his head towards Ginny and then to Harry as he swallowed some of
his butterbeer. “Congratulations,” he said sourly.

“Ah, don't be that way, George,” Ginny said, smiling at her brother's antics. She stood up to give him a mollifying hug.

“Yeah,” Ron said, and Hermione noted a hint of triumph in his voice as though he had finally found a good opportunity to
interject their news. She had to forcibly resist the urge to cover her face to ward off the attention and embarrassment
that were about to come her way. “Especially since you're hearing firsthand that Hermione's pregnant and all -”

There was a collective gasp around the room, and Hermione wondered when and if the Weasleys would ever overcome the
shock of pregnancies within the family.

Unlikely, she thought as almost a dozen eager faces (and one not so eager face) turned towards her simultaneously. She
even saw Teddy and Victoire poke their heads down from the staircase, delighted smiles on both their faces.

“Another new baby?” Teddy said. “Cool!”

Victoire giggled, seemingly finding Teddy's words rather amusing.

“Are you serious?” George said, leaping to his feet and upsetting the balance of his crouching sister, who promptly
landed on her bum. “Sorry, Gin, but you've already popped out a kid - gotta give the new mommy some attention!”

George was only the first of many to pounce towards Hermione and envelop her in a bear hug. Each woman's tight,
empathizing embraces were followed by one of the men's moderate but firm hugs. They each kissed her cheek and her mother
was practically bouncing around her in excitement, talking a mile a minute as she added to the incessant chatter
enveloping the room.

“Isn't this amazing, Hermione?” Ginny said merrily over the din as she clasped Hermione's arms. “We're both pregnant at
the same time! This will be so much fun!”

It took every ounce of self control Hermione possessed to control the blush threatening to blossom and to meet Ginny's
eyes with a cheerful smile. She managed a moderately convincing version of an enthusiastic nod before Ginny wrapped her
in a tight hug.

Past Ginny's curtain of fiery hair, Hermione could make out Harry sitting blankly on the vacated sofa, observing the
proceedings with a faraway look in his eyes.

And as Ginny released her grip on her, as the evening continued in a turbulent blur, as Ron finally took her home, and
for a long time afterwards, that image of Harry was burned into her mind, and his words to her so many weeks ago
accompanied her thoughts as well.

I don't blame you for wanting to take the easy way out. You being with Ron is the simpler thing to do.

She finally began to wonder if his words were true.

The time had come for her to make a choice between what was right and what was easy, and more than any other time in her
life she began to doubt herself.

Because, although she found nothing about this decision remotely easy, she found even less about it to be right.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

39. Gifts

A/N: Ugh, sorry guys, this one's a little late. I was planning on updating last Saturday (which just so happened to be
my 20th b-day), and I didn't get it done then, and I started a 10-hour a day job this week, so my time has been a little
stretched and I haven't had time to get any writing done. Plus got some minor surgery done on Friday (just wisdom teeth,
nothing big), so I may or may not be up for writing this weekend. Again, I only have one more chapter left, so after I
update chapter 40 the updates will be much slower, at least for a while. The job's only going to be for about six weeks,
so after that I'll have the freedom to write as much as I want thankfully.

Anyway, now that I've bored you with my life right now, please enjoy the chapter and reviews are appreciated as always!
Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last one (see, don't even have time to call you wonderful people out by name! Love
you guys though!)!

Chapter 39: Gifts

“Are you sure you're not too cold?” Harry said, his own teeth chattering as the cold wind blasted against his face.

Hermione shook her head slightly, although she used one hand to pull her coat a bit tighter around her. “I'm fine,” she
said. “We're almost there, anyway.”

Harry nodded but nevertheless pulled her closer to his side as they crossed the street, their clasped hands hidden by
the sleeves of their coats.

Hermione smiled slightly. “I said I wasn't cold.”

“Well I am,” Harry replied. “So you're really doing me the favor.”

“Right,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes, appreciating the warmth Harry provided her.

Ever since her pregnancy, Hermione had taken a strong aversion to both Apparition and Portkey, so walking had become
their primary mode of travel. Unfortunately, the bitter cold of London in late December made this trip to St. Mungo's
considerably uncomfortable, so they were both quite grateful when the saw the glass storefront that indicated the
entrance.

Once inside, Harry quickly ducked his head in an attempt to avoid attention and quickly ushered Hermione past the
welcoming desk and up to the same floor where Ginny had given birth to James. At this particular reception desk,
Hermione stepped forward to speak to the elderly witch that sat behind it.

“Hello, I have an appointment with Healer Clayworth?” she said, fiddling with the strap of her purse.

The receptionist nodded and pulled a clipboard towards herself before looking up at Hermione.

“Name?” she said, her thin lips stretching into a small smile.

“Weasley,” Hermione said, fidgeting even more as she sensed Harry behind her, quietly shifting his feet.

The witch took a moment to look at her clipboard and then gestured down the hallway. “You and your husband can go wait
in room 604 - Healer Clayworth will be with you shortly.”

Hermione was glad the witch didn't glance too closely at Harry, as she didn't bother correcting her statement when she
stepped away from the desk.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, then re-took Harry's hand and led him to the correct room, where they each took a seat as
they awaited the Healer. As the minutes passed, she still didn't release Harry's hand, instead refocusing her fidgeting
from her purse to his fingers. He made no comment as she did so, even when she began to touch his wedding band,
adjusting it and twirling it idly around his finger.

Only when the Healer entered the room did she drop his hand, and she did so quite reluctantly.

Healer Clayworth was a tall man, almost as tall as Ron, with sandy hair streaked with gray and light brown eyes. He was
probably in his early fifties, his eyes and mouth lightly lined.

“Hello,” he said amiably, reaching out and shaking Hermione's hand as she and Harry stood up. “I take it you're
Hermione. As I'm sure you already know, I'm Healer Clayworth.” He then turned and extended his hand to Harry, who shook
it rather stiffly. “And you must be the father.”

“Her husband couldn't make it today,” Harry responded, his shoulders set rigidly. “I'm just her friend. Harry Potter.”

“Harry Potter?” Healer Clayworth said. Hermione was pleased that his eyes didn't dart to Harry's forehead. “My
apologies. I just assumed…well, at any rate it was very kind of you to accompany your friend.”

Harry gave a curt nod in response.

Clayworth seemed a bit uncertain about Harry's cold demeanor, but nonetheless turned to Hermione again with a smile.

“Well then, I suppose there's no point in delaying things with idle chit-chat. I'm sure you've both got plans for the
holidays. Would you please remove your coat and take a seat on the table, Hermione?”

“Of course,” she said. She deposited her purse, scarf, and jacket into the chair she had just been sitting in and Harry
helped her onto the table. He hovered protectively beside her as the Healer went through a series of routine spells to
check the general health of both Hermione and the baby.

“Everything seems to be going rather well,” Clayworth said as he wrote down the results of his final spell. “The baby is
perfectly healthy.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. She reached up
almost unconsciously and placed her hand over his.

“That's wonderful,” she said, smiling brightly at the Healer.

“Indeed,” Clayworth said, returning the smile. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replied. “But there was something else I wanted to ask about…”

“That's what I'm here for,” Clayworth said.

Hermione hesitated. “I was just…have you ever experienced any pregnancies where the baby seemed to exhibit…premature
magical qualities?”

Clayworth frowned. “'Premature magical qualities'? What exactly do you mean? An increase to your own magical ability,
changes to your own qualities…?”

“Well, not exactly,” Hermione said slowly. “It's more like…I wouldn't call it an increase in my own magical abilities,
but it seems as though the baby is causing physical manifestations of magic.”

A look of intrigue crossed Clayworth's face. “Physical manifestations? Random outbursts of magic?”

“Not entirely random,” Harry interjected. “The outbursts seem to be tied to Hermione's emotions.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed.

“Well, to be perfectly honest it seems like a case of accidental magic.”

“That's what I said,” Harry replied.

“But it's different,” Hermione insisted. “I haven't had an incidence of accidental magic since I came to Hogwarts.”

“It is unusual for fully trained witches and wizards to have such incidents under normal circumstances,” Clayworth
conceded.

“Exactly,” Hermione said.

Clayworth remained silent for a moment as he brought a hand to his chin.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “I've heard of infants exhibiting magical capabilities before - that's not wholly uncommon—
but magical outbursts from the womb…”

“Have you heard of anything like it before?” Harry asked.

Clayworth glanced towards him, and nodded. “I've heard of it, but only of two cases within my entire career. I've never
seen it firsthand, however. It's a very rare situation.”

“Well are there any dangers from it?” Hermione asked.

“As there have been so few cases, I can't answer with complete authority, but I'm fairly certain there isn't any true
danger. The baby is healthy and you're healthy - there doesn't seem to have been any adverse side effects. However, I
would like to continue monitoring your condition as the pregnancy progresses.”

Hermione nodded. “Of course.”

Harry helped Hermione stand up from the table and they both shook the Healer's hand once more, thanking him for his
time.

“It was my pleasure,” he replied as he shook Hermione's hand. He chuckled softly. “Again, congratulations. If there's
one thing I can say for certain, it's that you have an exceedingly powerful witch or wizard growing within you.”

Hermione blinked slightly at the Healer's comment, and then glanced sideways at Harry, who met her gaze with a
bewildered expression. Even with the Healer watching, she couldn't help but smile at him.

“Thank you, Healer Clayworth,” she said as they began to leave the room. “I'll be sure to set up another appointment
shortly.”

Once they were out in the street again, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand, interlacing her fingers in his. Despite the cold
metal of his ring, she smiled contentedly as he pulled her closer to him.

*************

Later that night, Hermione couldn't help but allow her mind to wander as she sat curled up on the couch, a blanket
covering her legs and part of her protruding stomach. But then again, her mind had been wandering for many months now.

She and Ron were sitting amiably in the living room of their flat. The television was on, bathing the room in a pale
flickering light, but Hermione couldn't quite force herself to watch whatever holiday special was on. Ron seemed to be
enjoying himself as far as she could tell, but she suspected this had just as much to do with his love of television in
general as the program itself.

After about an hour of this, Hermione heaved herself from the couch with a tired sigh and stretched slightly.

“I'm going to make myself a cup of tea,” she said. “Do you want anything?”

Ron shook his head vaguely. “Nah, I'm alright.”

“Okay,” she said as she moved to the kitchen. “I'll be right back.”

She turned on the light as she passed through the doorway and pulled her favorite mug from the cabinet. After filling
the cup with water, she flicked her wand over the cup and immediately set the liquid boiling.

However, just as she had placed a teabag into the water, she heard a sharp rap on the window behind her. The noise
wasn't exceedingly loud, but it was sudden enough to cause her to spin around with her wand at the ready. Her heart
thumped quickly in her chest as she pointed her wand at the darkened window, but then she noticed the tapping was
continuing. She took a step closer, and furrowed her brow as she saw a small pebble floating innocently on the other
side of the glass. It was the pebble that was knocking against the window, and there was a patterned nature to its
tapping.

She cocked her head as she listened, and after a moment lyrics sprung unbidden into her thoughts:

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us something please…

The absurdity of it caused a disbelieving smile to cross her lips, and she quickly crossed the rest of the kitchen to
quietly raise the sash. When the window was fully open, the pebble hovered in front of her face for only a moment more
before plummeting to the ground below. She followed its path downward, and was uncommonly delighted as she saw it land a
few feet in front of Harry, who stood looking up at her with a wide grin on his face as snow fell softly into dark hair.
She watched as he tucked his wand into the pocket of his dark coat and then beckoned her downward with a quick wave of
his gloved hand.

Hermione quirked her eyebrow at his gesture, curious as to what he wanted but of course unwilling to voice her query for
fear of Ron hearing.

Harry rolled his eyes at her hesitation and simply waved her for to come down once more. She smiled as his insistency,
and rolled her own eyes as she closed the window. What was he up to now?

Thinking quickly, she promptly snatched up the garbage from the bin and stepped into the living room. She held the bag
up slightly as Ron glanced over at her.

“I'm going to take out the trash.”

Ron sat up slightly, squinting at her through the dim room. “You don't have to do that. I was going to take it out in
the morning.”

“That's okay,” Hermione said as nonchalantly as possible. “I wanted to get a little fresh air anyway.”

“If you're sure,” Ron said, sliding back into his original position.

“I'm sure,” Hermione said, and quickly donned a thick coat and shoes before dashing from the house, her feet light as
she flew down the three flights of stairs that would take her to the street. She came to an abrupt halt as Harry
intercepted her at the base of the stairs.

“Rocks on the window?” she said, her lips twitching. “Really?”

Harry gave a small shrug. “What can I say? Moment of brilliance.”

“Moment of incredible corniness, you mean.”

“Given the huge smile I saw on your face when you opened the window, I'd say it's a fair assumption to say you like
corniness,” he said, a roguish glint in his eyes.

“Well…” she said, smiling, “maybe just a little bit.”

A brief pause elapsed before Harry jerked his chin towards the bag she still held in her hand.

“Do you want me to take that for you?”

Hermione glanced down at the trash and nodded as she handed it to him. “It was the only legitimate thing I could think
of to come down here,” she offered as explanation.

Harry didn't reply as he left her side momentarily to place the bag in the trashcan. He returned and shoved his hands in
pockets, a smile on his face.

“That whole rock thing would be a lot easier to pull off if you actually had a house instead of a third story flat.”

Hermione placed her own bare hands in her pockets as well to ward off the cold. “Surely you don't expect to be doing
that very often, do you?”

Harry turned his head upwards to gaze at the sky, his glasses protecting his eyes from the snow, which was already
falling faster than when she had first looked out of the window. “I don't know…should I be expecting to do that sort of
thing very often?”

She scrutinized him quietly for a moment as he returned his eyes to hers. It was a loaded question, and both of them
knew it. She was saved the trouble of replying, however, as Harry shook his head.

“Sorry, cold's just getting to me a bit…How is that going, by the way? The house search,” he added at her puzzled
expression.

“Oh,” Hermione said, trying to arrange her face and voice into a semblance of neutrality. “Ron's still set on the house
in Ottery St. Catchpole…” she said, shifting her feet. “I can't fathom why he can't understand the possible consequences
of living so close to his mother. I think he thrives on the idea of being able to eat meals there on a more regular
basis.”

“He probably likes the idea of being in a village with a higher population of wizards as well.”

“That too,” Hermione said. “But I know you didn't come over here just to ask how house-hunting was going.”

“Very true,” Harry said seriously. “I also wanted to get you out in the street in your pajamas.”

Hermione blushed slightly as she glanced down at her cotton pajama bottoms and pulled her coat more tightly around
herself as she glared at Harry.

“Well if that's all you wanted I guess I can go back inside then…”

“Okay, okay,” Harry said, chuckling. “There's another reason as well.”

Hermione looked at him curiously as he reached into an inner pocket of his jacket, opposite of where he kept his wand.
After a second of blind fumbling, he grasped something and pulled his closed fist out of his pocket. Then he held out
his hand and uncurled his fingers to reveal a small present, pristinely wrapped in gift paper of pale gold.

Hermione stared at the package for a moment before looking again at Harry.

“What is it?”

“It's a present. And here I was thinking you were supposed to be smart...”

“Haha, very funny,” she replied. “Obviously it's a present. But what is it?”

“Usually it's customary for the receiver of a present to actually open the present to find out what it is.”

“But Christmas isn't until tomorrow,” Hermione objected, nervousness creeping into her tone.

“Are you purposely being difficult?” Harry laughed. “It's Christmas Eve - it's only a few hours until the real thing. I
wanted to give it to you alone. There probably won't be an opportunity for that tomorrow.”

Hermione bit her lip for a moment, and finally reached out to pluck the box from Harry's hand. “Fine,” she sighed. “I'll
open it.”

Harry placed his now empty hand back into his pocket. “So enthusiastic,” he said with a smile.

Hermione smiled slightly in return before turning her eyes to the perfect little box with a sense of trepidation. She
suspected its contents, had suspected it as soon as he'd reached within the pocket of his coat, and she was both afraid
and exhilarated at the prospect of finding out.

Very slowly, she peeled back the first corner of the paper, relishing the smooth glossiness of its texture. She repeated
this on each edge, intent on making sure she didn't rip it and soil perfection. Harry didn't comment on her lengthy
procedure, merely choosing to observe her progress with a calm expression.

Finally, even more slowly, she pulled the paper free from the box, and despite her earlier conjecture, she still
couldn't prevent the little leap her heart performed.

Free of the golden paper, and already collecting a sprinkling of snowflakes that stood in stark contrast to its dark
color, was a small velvet box.

Hermione was amazed that such a small, unobtrusive little object could cause a person so many emotions. Her mind was
reeling with so many different thoughts that she couldn't manage to solidly grasp a single one, leaving her in a chaotic
blur of false nothingness, like she had been rendered deaf in the middle of an uproarious rock concert. She blinked as
her gaze rose to Harry's, who was studying her pensively. She glanced down at the seemingly innocent little box, and
then back to Harry, who inclined his head almost imperceptibly for her to continue.

At this small urging, she bowed her head once more over the box, grasped the velvety top with quivering hands, and
gingerly pried it open.

But all of her apprehension flooded from her in a single surge as she looked in wonder at the item in the box.

There was indeed a ring nestled in the silky blue interior of the box, but not in the way she had expected. The ring was
a part of a small silver pendant that was attached to a delicate chain of the same metal. The pendant consisted of a
perfect circle, and suspended within was another circle, although this one was almost teardrop shaped. The two rings
were attached at their upper peaks, resulting in gaps between them shaped similarly to a crescent moon with its tips
pointed upward. Finally, embedded at the bottom edge of the teardrop-shaped ring was a small, dark green gem.

Hermione softly fingered the pendant, which shimmered faintly under the dim streetlights.

Harry finally broke her out of her mesmerized examination.

“Do you like it?”

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, and then opened it again as she searched for appropriate words.

“Harry, it's beautiful…”

He looked quite relieved when she finally spoke. “Good…for a second there I thought you were disappointed or something…”

Hermione blushed slightly. “Well, not disappointed, exactly…politely bewildered, perhaps.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and looked at her knowingly before lowering his gaze. “I'm glad you like it at any rate.”

“I do,” Hermione said sincerely. “I love it.” She immediately pulled the necklace from the box, handing it to Harry
before twisting around as if to prove her point.

“Can you put it on for me?” she asked, pulling her hair away from her neck as she glanced over her shoulder.

Harry smiled slightly. “Of course.”

Hermione stayed perfectly still as Harry carefully brought the chain around her neck. He fumbled somewhat with the clasp
due to his gloved hands and the dim lighting, and Hermione shivered as his warm breath washed over her bare neck.

When he stepped back, Hermione allowed her hair to fall back into place and raised the pendant from her chest,
inspecting it once more. Her eyes lingered on the green gemstone.

“Is there any particular reason you chose this color stone?” she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the necklace.

“Actually, yes,” Harry said. He paused. “It's…well, I picked it for the baby.”

“The baby?” Hermione said, now looking at Harry fully. “What does -”

“It's an emerald,” he said. “Emeralds are the birthstone for May…”

“Which is when the baby is due…” Hermione finished quietly.

Harry nodded mutely.

Hermione's heart swelled in her chest as she moved slightly closer to him, keeping her eyes on his own emerald irises.
“That was…that was very thoughtful of you, Harry.”

She noticed him sidle closer to her as well, closing their proximity. He reached up and brushed away some of the
snowflakes that had fallen onto her face. Hermione laughed slightly and brought her own hand up to sweep away the snow
that continued to fall in his already damp hair. He laughed as well. Both of them were shivering, and they found the
fact that they were prolonging their discomfort for the sake of this secret meeting almost absurdly amusing. Yet they
continued to stand before one another, unmoving.

It was Harry who started to speak first:

“There's something else I -”

But before he could finish his sentence, another voice called out from above them, mingling with and overpowering
Harry's words.

“Hermione, are you alright?”

Hermione jerked her head towards the source of the noise, and both she and Harry almost unconsciously moved closer into
the shadows of the building, where Ron would have less of a chance of seeing them if he looked over the staircase
railing.

“I'm fine, Ron,” she called back. “I just…I'm coming back up now.”

“Okay,” Ron called back. “Hurry up though, you don't need to be out in this kind of cold.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, and was grateful as she heard the door to their flat slam shut. She closed her eyes and opened
them again to see Harry's standing a few feet away from her.

“I'll see you later, Hermione,” he said quietly, and before she could stop him he had disappeared with a soft crack.

She sighed softly as she crossed her arms across her stomach, using one hand to reach up and twiddle the silver rings on
her chest. Then she pushed the chain into her shirt and returned to her flat and her interrupted cup of tea, which she
found had grown cold.

************

“Okay,” Ron said as he slipped on his coat. “I have absolutely everything ready.”

“Really?” Hermione asked incredulously. “So you finished wrapping those last few presents, loaded everything in the car,
picked up the cake we're taking, and went out and bought the groceries your Mum wanted?”

Ron grimaced slightly. “Has anyone ever called you needy?”

Hermione sighed. “I'd assumed as much…I did everything this morning.”

“Oh. Well, then I guess we can go then?”

“Yes, we can go.”

“I still don't see why we have to drive…” Ron grumbled as they left the flat.

“Because Apparating is out of the question and Flooing makes me nauseous,” Hermione said exasperatingly, rolling her
eyes as she opened the door to the passenger side of the car. “I'd rather not arrive at the Burrow and vomit all over
the Christmas tree - I have a feeling it'd put a bit of a damper on the holiday spirit.”

“I get it,” Ron said as he looked at her over the roof of the car, but he didn't appear much happier. “I just don't look
forward to being in a car for the next hour.”

“Fine, Ron!” she said, her temper erupting forth suddenly. She slammed the passenger door shut again furiously. “YOU go
ahead and leave and I'll drive myself there! GO AHEAD!”

Ron blanched as Hermione stormed over to the driver's side. He held up his hands to her in a sign of surrender as she
placed her own on her hips.

“Come on, Hermione, don't be that way! I'm sorry.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and began to lead her over to
the other side of the car. “I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that it's Christmas and I wanna get over there as soon
as possible, you know?”

He opened the door for her and looked at her entreatingly. Sighing, she slid into the car, but didn't respond to his
apology.

The entirety of the ride passed in a similar state of silence. Occasionally Ron would say something to breach the quiet,
but Hermione would only respond with a noncommittal grunt, if she replied at all. Consequently, it seemed immensely
longer than an hour when they pulled up to the fence of the Burrow.

When Ron had turned the car off, he quickly rushed over to her side and pulled open the door like he had before.

“Thank you,” Hermione murmured as she stepped out.

“You're welcome,” Ron said, nervousness in his tone.

Once they had laden themselves with the numerous gifts and groceries from the car, they pushed open the gate and made
the way to the front door, where they were met by Mrs. Weasley.

“Happy Christmas!” she said, pulling them each into a hug despite their burdens. “Oh, thank you dear, I've been needing
those groceries.” She pulled the bags free from Hermione's bundle and led them into the kitchen.

Bill, Fleur, Audrey, Andromeda, and Hermione's own mother were bowed over the counters, cutting, chopping, and peeling
various vegetables. They each stopped what they were doing as Hermione and Ron entered and embraced them as well as they
could without dirtying their hands.

“Hey Mum,” Hermione said. “I see they have you busy.”

“Oh, it's nothing,” Katherine said airily, kneading a piece of dough with her flour-covered hands. “I don't get much of
an opportunity to cook for anyone besides you, Ronald, and sometimes Harry and Ginny. This is a nice change.”

“And unless you'd like to join in, ze boys and children are in ze living room or in ze backyard,” Fleur said as she
returned to chopping carrots and celery.

“As well as Ginny and Angelina,” Audrey added, peeling a potato. “I suspect Harry and George do most of the cooking in
their houses…”

“For Angelina's sake at least, I hope not,” Bill said. “Who knows what George experiments with.”

“I'm surprised you're not out there,” Ron said.

“I actually like to cook if you can believe it, Ron,” Bill replied. He held up a piece of chicken he had just cut with a
grin. “At least while dealing with beef, chicken, or pork.”

“Yes, I notice you don't participate in much of ze baking,” Fleur said with a smile.

“What can I say?” Bill said with a grin, his scars stretching over his skin. “I'm a carnivore.”

The group continued to banter, so Ron and Hermione quietly left the room to greet the rest of the Weasleys.

Most of the family was in the room, including the majority of the children. However, Hermione quickly noticed that Harry
was one of the few absent.

After everyone had cheerfully said the obligatory greeting of “Happy Christmas,” Ron and Hermione deposited their gifts
among the already enormous pile at the base of the lavishly decorated tree and made their rounds of hugging the family
properly. Almost everyone clutched either glasses of eggnog or bottles of butterbeer in their grips and were dressed in
shades of green and red (mostly Weasley sweaters, of course).

Charlie was deep into a game of exploding snap with little Molly, Percy's oldest, but he managed to look up long enough
to tip the neck of his bottle towards the door that led out to the backyard.

“Dad's out that way,” he said vaguely, and then returned his attention to the game.

“Alright,” Ron said, and immediately left the house. Hermione followed as well, hoping Harry would also be outside.

Her hope was quickly fulfilled, but she had to fight down a giggle when she saw him.

Harry was indeed outside, holding James within the additional warmth of his jacket, but he was standing not with Mr.
Weasley or Percy, but with none other than Luna Lovegood.

Ron seemed as amused and bewildered to see Luna as Hermione was. “Mum didn't tell me she was inviting Loony…”

“Ron!” Hermione chastised.

Ron waved his hand nonchalantly. “You know I don't mean anything by it. I'm just surprised she's here.”

“True…I'm surprised your Mum didn't mention anything,” Hermione said, looking back across the yard to observe Harry's
expression. He bore the customary disorientated look that was almost impossible to ward off when in Luna's presence, but
he seemed lighthearted as well, which (Hermione was reluctant to admit) was also a side effect of Luna's eccentricity.
The former Ravenclaw was currently pointing to a dead hawthorn bush with a cautionary air, and Harry seemed to struggle
down a grin as he moved to carefully cover James' mouth and nose loosely with his jacket before bending down to inspect
the plant himself.

“Wonder what they're talking about…” Hermione said with a smile as she started to pick her way through the layer of snow
that coated the grass.

“No doubt something completely barmy,” Ron said as he followed her.

Harry straightened as they approached and took a large step back from the shrub before moving his jacket from James'
face.

“Hey guys,” he said, smiling.

“Happy Christmas, mate,” Ron said, grinning as he looked from Harry to Luna. “Good to see you, Luna. Didn't know you'd
be joining us.”

“Yes,” Luna said, tucking a strand of her long hair behind her ear, which Hermione noted bore an earring shaped like a
small red Christmas stocking. A matching necklace lay on her lime green sweater. “Daddy's very busy in Norway following
up a story on a Umgubular Slashkilter sighting, and Mrs. Weasley was kind enough to invite me here so I wouldn't be
alone for the holiday. It was very thoughtful of her,” she added vaguely.

“That sounds…interesting,” Ron said.

“Yes, quite interesting. I would have gone myself if I hadn't been exposed to a Clabbermonk bite recently…It's very
dangerous to travel overseas with such an affliction, of course.”

“Of course,” Ron said, nodding knowledgeably.

“Well, we're glad you're here at any rate,” Hermione said.

Luna smiled and nodded before she looked once more at the hawthorn bush. “Harry and I were just catching up.”

“Yeah, Luna was just telling me a little bit about Wrackspurts,” Harry said casually. “Apparently they tend to reside in
hawthorn bushes.”

“Although since it's winter the colony has been severely reduced,” Luna said, bending over the plant and gently touching
its dead leaves.

“I think I've heard you mention them before,” Hermione said. “What do they do, exactly?”

“Wrackspurts use the qualities of hawthorn roots to induce a mild sedative effect on their prey as well as predators,”
Luna said. “Gnomes are quite fond of them, which is why I believe the gnomes in this area are a bit clumsier than
normal. Babies can grow very tired from exposure, which is why I told Harry to cover James' mouth before he observed
them. In adults, they can make your mind go very fuzzy, which is what happened to Harry.”

Hermione turned just quickly enough to see Harry avert his eyes from her to the ground, a faint redness in his cheeks as
he cleared his throat nervously.

“Right,” he muttered. “Wrackspurts.”

Luna patted Harry's shoulder sympathetically, although a faint smile crossed her lips, one that Hermione couldn't quite
place. “Don't worry, the symptoms should wear off in a few moments.”

Ron snorted in amusement before pushing his hands in his pockets and addressing Luna again.

“So, this story your dad's following up...Uglublia Skashmisher or whatever it was… is he trying to find out if it
exists?”

“Umgubular Slashkilter,” Luna corrected. “And he's trying to prove they exist.”

“Same thing, isn't it?” Ron said. “I mean, how does he know they exist if he hasn't proven it?”

Luna turned her pale blue eyes on Hermione, and the knowingness within them almost forced her to avert her gaze. But she
continued to stare at Luna until she turned to glance briefly at Harry, and the small smile on the blonde's face as she
turned back to Ron made Hermione's mind spin wildly.

“Just because someone hasn't proven something exists doesn't mean it's not there or that it's not real,” Luna said,
twiddling her necklace as she stared vacantly at the sky. “It just means you haven't seen it yet.”

**********

When the group returned to the house, Mr. Weasley and Percy now in tow, they had barely stepped into the warmth before
Mrs. Weasley shooed them back outside.

“I need you all to go and get rid of all those gnomes in the backyard,” she said. “I can't very well have the
grandchildren out playing in the snow when those little pests are bigger than the majority of them. And it doesn't help
matters that they're attracted to the Christmas lights. Hermione, Luna, you two can stay in of course, but the lot of
you better not dither back there for more than an hour while we finish all the cooking!”

Charlie, Bill, George, Teddy, and Victoire all filed past Mrs. Weasley at this point, bundled in their coats to ward off
the cold.

“I'm going to dither for two hours just to show her who's in charge,” George said once his mother had closed the door.

“Not if I have anything to do about it,” Bill growled. “Search for the damn gnomes so we can get this over with.”

“Plus, we need to show Teddy and Victoire how this is done,” Harry said, ruffling his godson's currently green hair.
“And way to get into the Christmas spirit, Ted.”

Teddy grinned as his hair changed from green to red and back to green. “I was gonna go for red, but I figured that was
already covered.”

Harry, Hermione, Luna, and Victoire all laughed as the red-headed siblings scowled good-naturedly.

“Good one, Teddy,” Charlie said. “Really witty.”

“I thought so,” Harry said. “Why do you think I always wear green?”

“Because it makes your eyes pop,” George said, batting his eyes teasingly.

“Is that supposed to be an impression of me?” Ginny said from behind them as she entered the yard. “Because it's pretty
crappy to be perfectly honest.”

“You recognized it, didn't you?” George said. “But what can I expect? Everybody's a critic these days.”

“Sorry to devastate all your plans of becoming an actor,” Ginny said as she pulled on a hat. “But you're much better at
de-gnoming, so I'd stick to that before Mum denies you food.”

“To eat or not to eat…?” George said, raising his hand to his chin as if pondering the dilemma. Then he lowered it and
dashed off to the nearest bush, shaking it and causing a disgruntled gnome to leap out. “Is that really even a
question?”

Everyone else nodded their agreement and proceeded to move throughout the garden looking for gnomes. Ginny, Luna, and
Hermione walked behind the search party, but didn't participate in the actual de-gnoming.

As Ginny and Luna discussed Luna's theory about the Wrackspurts' influence on the gnomes (Hermione tuned out everything
beyond this), Hermione kept her eyes on Harry and Ron. She didn't know why, exactly, but for some reason she found
herself evaluating - and comparing - their every move.

Many of the differences that Harry and Ron had possessed in Hogwarts were still relevant, but she couldn't help but see
them in a different light. Harry had always been shorter than Ron, for example, although the growth spurt he had had
before sixth year had certainly closed that gap significantly. Still, Ron had a good three, maybe even four inches on
Harry. She noticed how Harry's dark hair was more closely cut than it used to be, perhaps given the fact that he was
less self-conscious about his scar, and Ron's red hair was a bit longer.

She noticed their smiles as they joked with Teddy. Ron had always been quick to smile, a sincere, ear-to-ear grin, and
it was something that Hermione had always appreciated about him. He never seemed to lose his boyish excitement for life,
and his smile transformed his features. Yet, perhaps he was too quick to smile at times. Ron was obviously excellent at
defusing tension with humor (as most of the Weasleys were also adept at), but he very seldom acknowledged when a tension
needed to be there, when something serious needed to be treated as more than a joke.

And then of course there was Harry's smile. That crooked grin of his that had melted her heart on more than one
occasion. Harry didn't smile as much as Ron usually did, but it only made the times that he did all the more precious.
More importantly, however, there was an enormous difference between the smile he gave in photographs and the one he
reserved for his closest friends and family. If he turned that particular smile on you, you knew you to the deepest
level that you were truly appreciated and cared for. If he grinned at you that way, you knew that he was grateful for
you in a way that was beyond words, perhaps as a result of the childhood he had missed or the future he could have lost.

When they turned towards her and the other girls and waved, she met their gazes earnestly, trying to search them even
from across the yard. Ron's pale blue eyes were often as easy to read as his smile - when he laughed, they lit up with
that same excitement and happiness. When he was angry, they could grow icy with rage, as she had seen on numerous
occasions. Harry's eyes, on the other hand, were as masked as Ron's were open. The fact that she could still read them
just as easily, if not more so, than Ron's was a skill that Hermione had always been proud of. She doubted even Ginny
could see through his defenses as easily as she could.

Hermione continued to watch the pair silently, even as she vaguely addressed Ginny and Luna's attempts to draw her into
the conversation. She very much wanted to stop her thought process, forget her troubles in whatever gossip Luna and
Ginny were discussing, but now that she had begun she couldn't stop herself. She even found herself comparing their
physiques, which of course made her feel guiltily uncomfortable. Both Ron and Harry were rather fit, as expected given
their careers, though in differing ways. Due to Ron's naturally taller and lankier frame, he had leaner, wirier
musculature than Harry. She could even detect some of his personality in his languid, casual way of movement that could
easily be seen in his long, loping walk, the way he stretched when he woke up in the morning.

Comparatively, Harry was slightly stockier, with a stronger jaw, thicker arms, somewhat broader shoulders, and (Hermione
thought with an ill-disguised blush) a more defined chest and stomach that Ron's love of food prevented him from quite
achieving.

In general, due to his upbringing and hardships, Harry was simply rougher than Ron for lack of a better word, from his
masked expression to his more calloused hands…

But then Ginny finally succeeded in breaking through her thoughts with a quick snap of her fingers.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” she asked. “You haven't said a word since I came out here.”

“It's nothing,” Hermione said with a reassuring smile. “I'm just thinking of some things.”

She was quite aware of the thoughtful gaze Luna fixed upon her, but she ignored it determinedly.

“Well stop it then!” Ginny said. “It's Christmas! You should be relaxing, not dwelling on your job or whatever it is.”

“Yes,” Luna said. “Stop dwelling. I'm sure it'll work itself out.”

Hermione glanced at Luna and then back towards Ginny. “You're right, I'll try to stop thinking about it.”

“Of course I'm right!” Ginny said. “It's no good to work yourself up, especially with the baby.”

Hermione nodded as she watched Teddy send a gnome flying over the fence to the appreciative whoops of Harry and Ron and
the enthusiastic clapping of Victoire. She noticed that as soon as the creature had landed with a muffled thump in the
snow on the opposite side, everyone began to pick their way back to the house, leading her to believe that they had
saved the last for Teddy.

However, as Hermione was watching she saw a lone gnome slink out of a bush. The gnome crept up behind the group, and Ron
gave a yelp as it tripped him and sent him flying face-first into the snow. His face red as he spat out mouthfuls of
white powder, he leapt back to his feet and lunged at the gnome, who deftly dodged him and skittered a few feet away,
cackling all the while. Ron shouted curses towards the gnome, which of course drew the Weasley matriarch from the house.

“Ronald Weasley! There are children here! If I hear one more foul word from your mouth I swear you won't be putting a
bite of food into it!”

“Well the bloody thing isn't responding to my yelling anyway!” Ron growled.

“You haven't exactly conveyed an assertive presence with them though, Ron,” Arthur said. “What you need to do is -”

“And don't you encourage Ronald to be more violent with the gnomes!” Molly shouted shrilly. “What sort of example is
that setting for Teddy? We want peace in this house, not assertiveness!”

Arthur seemed to wilt under his wife's angry glare. “Yes, dear,” he said meekly.

Ron rolled his eyes as Mrs. Weasley retreated once more into the house. “Gee, I don't know where I learned that whole
unassertive thing from,” he said with a smirk.

“No,” George said. “He said to be assertive with the gnomes. Being assertive with your wife is suicidal.”

“What's assertive mean?” Teddy asked curiously.

“It means you should probably do almost everything your wife tells you without complaint,” Bill said.

Charlie tucked his hands into his pockets with a grin. “Which is exactly why I will never get married.”

“Right, because dragons are much easier to deal with,” George said sarcastically. Then he raised a hand thoughtfully to
his chin. “Actually…”

“You do realize that we're standing right over here, don't you?” Ginny said.

“Only two of you,” Bill pointed out. “One of which happens to be almost everyone's sister.”

“Fine,” Ginny said. “That means that I'll be taking George down in a snowball fight.”

“Why!?” George said.

“Do I need a reason?” Ginny said as she placed her hands on her hips.

George eyed his sister warily as he took a step back. “If I hadn't been around for her childhood, I'd think she hadn't
been hugged enough.”

“Maybe she was hugged too much,” Charlie pointed out.

“I guess that does seem more likely,” George said. “Apparently hugging has a dark side. But fine - if it's a snowball
fight you want, it's a snowball fight you'll -”

Before he could finish his sentence, a snowball that no one had recollected Ginny picking up smashed into George's face.

“—get,” George said, spitting snow from his mouth. A mischievous grin crossed his face as he bent down to calmly gather
a handful of snow. “Now you asked for it,” he said. “You just wait and -”

“All the food's ready!” Mrs. Weasley called from the doorway.

“I win,” Ginny said cheerfully, and then pranced into the house.

Everyone looked expectantly at George, who gave a shrug as he dropped his newly formed snowball back to the ground.

“I'll get her later,” he assured them.

“Now why does that give me a bad feeling?” Charlie said mock-thoughtfully.

“Haven't the foggiest,” George said casually, and then led the chuckling group back into the warmth of the house.

Dinner was a much more informal affair than usual, if a Weasley dinner could ever be described as formal. All the food
was placed on every available surface throughout the kitchen and everyone simply piled a plate high with ham, turkey,
mince pie, stuffing, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, green beans, rolls, and an assortment of other treats before
resuming their positions within the living room.

Hermione thought is was a quite picturesque scene - Bill, Fleur, and Angelina were seated on one couch, laughing as
Fleur expertly balanced her plate while she fed two-year-old Louis; George sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the
couch, his plate mostly untouched as he struggled to feed Roxanne, who was also two-years-old and who seemed much more
interested in anything but her food; Andromeda, Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger sat on another sofa, chatting amiably
between bites; Arthur, Audrey, and Percy were each sitting in mismatched chairs, seemingly involved in some sort of
job-related discussion as Charlie, who was seated on the floor like George, divided his attention between them and the
other children, who were sprawled all over the ground in front of the Christmas tree, sharing food and laughing happily;
Teddy and Victoire sat slightly away from the younger children, nibbling on their rolls as they played a side-game of
checkers while simultaneously shooting longing looks at the pile of presents beneath the tree.

Hermione, on the other hand, was sitting among Luna, Ron, Harry, and Ginny in front of the fireplace. She couldn't help
but feel jealous as she watched Harry and Ginny's practiced mannerisms. Ginny fed James bite-sized portions of turkey
and beans as Harry consumed his own food, and when James had eaten his fill he was passed to Harry so Ginny could eat.
In fact, Hermione was watching their interactions so closely that she was quite startled when Ginny turned to face her.

“So Hermione…” she began. “Have you picked out any names yet?”

It took a few moments for Hermione to gather her thoughts. “Um…no, not really,” she said. “We haven't talked about it.”

“Yeah we have!” Ron said. “We talked about it the other day, remember?”

Hermione blushed slightly, realizing that she had been referring to herself and Harry. “Right, I forgot,” she said,
smiling weakly. This was absolutely true as well - she couldn't remember a single name Ron had suggested, and she was
fairly certain she hadn't volunteered any names either.

“Well what were you discussing?” Ginny said.

“I mean, I personally like Felicia,” Ron said. “You know, if it's a girl, obviously.”

Hermione shook her head as she recalled a rather cruel girl in her primary school who had been rather fond of snatching
her books away. “No, not Felicia.”

“I agree,” Luna said. “It doesn't have the right aura about it.”

“Fine,” Ron grumbled. “Just an idea.”

“What about for a boy?” Ginny asked. Hermione noticed that Harry had turned his head to look into the fire, a pained
expression on his face.

“Well…” Ron said. “I think I'd like a boy to be named after me.”

Hermione inwardly grimaced as he said this. Now she remembered the conversation.

“Ronald Jr.?” Ginny said incredulously. “You're not serious, right? One of you is quite enough.”

“Yes, I'm serious,” Ron said, the tips of his ears turning red. “What's wrong with naming the baby after me?”

“It just…it just seems like the wrong name,” Ginny said.

“Yeah,” George said from behind them. “Two Rons don't make a right!”

Ginny winced. “Really, George? You really just went with that?”

“Come on, Gin, that was just begging to be said!” George said.

“I know, but it doesn't mean you actually have to say it,” Ginny said.

“You just don't have the comedic eye I do,” George said. “And if you'd like to join us by the tree, we're ready to open
presents.”

“Okay,” Harry said, quickly standing up with his and Ginny's plates clutched in his hands. “I'll just put these up.”

“And I'll put these up,” Hermione added, snatching up Ron and Luna's plates along with her own as she stood up just as
quickly.

Both Harry and Hermione quickly entered the blessedly empty kitchen and dumped the plates unceremoniously in the sink,
where a sponge was already working on other dishes. They both leaned heavily against the counter for a moment before
Harry glanced over at her.

“No matter what happens,” he said, “please, for the love of Merlin do not allow my child to be named Ron Jr.”

Hermione smiled slightly as she gripped Harry's hand reassuringly. “That's a promise,” she said.

Harry flashed her a half-smile, a feeble attempt at the grin Hermione had thought about earlier, and gently dropped her
hand as they returned to the living room. However, before they had crossed the threshold, George gave a shrill whistle
that halted them in their tracks.

“What the hell was that for?” Harry said.

George didn't answer, but simply pointed towards the ceiling above them with an impish grin.

Both Harry and Hermione looked above them simultaneously, already knowing what they would see. And their suspicions were
confirmed as they saw a small sprig of mistletoe suspended from the ceiling.

And just as synchronized as they had looked at the ceiling, the pair lowered their heads to fix their accusing gazes on
George.

“Really, George. Mistletoe?” Harry said.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, mistletoe,” George confirmed. “Good eye.”

“Obviously not good enough,” Hermione said, shooting George a glare. “I didn't see this earlier.”

“That's because it wasn't there earlier,” George clarified. “Special kind that appears randomly. What's the fun in
putting up the normal kind? Maybe one or two pairs get caught and then everyone's on the lookout. This is much more
entertaining.”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said sardonically. “I can hardly speak for amusement.”

“Come on, Hermione,” Angelina said. “Don't be a spoilsport.”

“And this is why I married her,” George said, grinning at his wife, who smiled in return with an amused shake of her
head.

Hermione quickly went to step away from Harry, but she found that she, well, couldn't. An invisible barrier prevented
her from moving more than a foot away from Harry.

“And did I mention you have to snog before you can move away from the mistletoe?” George added.

“No, didn't mention that,” Harry said, a tightness in his voice.

“Surely there's something else that can let you walk away,” Ron said, and Hermione noticed that there was a forced
casualness to his voice. “I mean, if they don't want to do it they shouldn't have to.”

Hermione glanced towards Harry and could sense that he was thinking the same thing she was…that it was quite ironic that
Ron thought they didn't want to kiss when the entire reason they sought to escape the situation was because they did
want to. Entirely too much, in fact.

George waved his hand nonchalantly. “Of course there is, but that doesn't mean I'm talking.”

“Just get it over with,” Percy suggested.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, grinning. “Pucker up and go for it.”

Hermione felt her cheeks redden as all eyes turned to them. She noticed that Ron and even Ginny looked uncomfortable,
and that Luna had that same strange and knowing look about her. Everyone else, including her own mother, simply looked
amused, so she turned towards Harry with a sigh of resignation.

“Don't act so enthused now, Hermione,” George said.

“Yes, `Arry is a good-looking boy,” Fleur said. “Not ze most unfortunate circumstances.”

“Yes,” Bill said. “And Harry, stay away from my wife.”

“I'll do my best,” Harry said, glancing down to meet Hermione's eyes.

Hermione swallowed nervously. “Did you know that mistletoe is a parasite?” she whispered so only Harry could hear.

“The nargles are rather inconvenient as well,” Harry said quietly in return.

Before Hermione could respond, however, Harry had bent down and pressed his lips to hers chastely. When everyone groaned
at the innocence of the display, Hermione couldn't help but silently add her disapproval.

Harry waved them off as he walked back to his seat. “Settle down,” he said dryly. “What were you expecting, a make-out
session?”

“I think Harry was quite wise to not linger under the mistletoe,” Luna said. “Nargles are rather widespread at this time
of year…”

This statement, of course, was met with polite mutters from most of the group before they quickly reverted their
attention to the Christmas tree, or more importantly, the gifts beneath it. The children immediately dove into the pile
of presents, dividing them appropriately among themselves as Bill tossed the adults their respective gifts. Although
Hermione couldn't see the majority of the children's presents, she did hear the delighted squeals of Victoire and little
Molly as they each opened a present to find a Pygmy Puff.

“It's so cute!” Victoire said, tickling her purple fluff-ball as Molly did the same to her pink one. “Thank you, Uncle
George!”

“No problem,” George said with a smile. “You just need to make sure you take care of them.”

“We will!” the two girls said in unison.

Ginny looked at the girls' pets wistfully. “Seeing those guys sure makes me miss Arnold,” she said sadly.

“I'd almost forgotten about him,” George said. “What ever happened to old Arnold?”

“Oh, I set him free at the beginning of seventh year. I didn't think he'd be safe in the castle with all the madness
going on.”

“Right,” George said with a nod. “The Forbidden Forest is much safer. I bet he's shacked up with a giant spider to this
very day.”

“Yeah, didn't think that one through…” Ginny said regretfully.

It was only after this exchange that Hermione turned away from her own gifts (books, a turtleneck knitted by Mrs.
Weasley, Hagrid's obligatory tin of fudge, and a rather intriguing-looking puzzle game from George and Angelina, among
other things) and glanced towards Harry. She had expected to see him smiling just as widely as any of the other
Weasleys, so she was surprised to see him staring down at a parcel in his lap, his eyes dark and his face pale. The gift
was wrapped plainly in flat red paper that obscured the contents.

Then Harry seemed to shake himself from his stupor and quickly replaced the paper over the gift, looking around
furtively. He blinked at Hermione as he realized that she was the only one who had noticed his peculiar behavior.

Hermione cocked her head slightly, furrowing her brow inquisitively. But he simply shook his head, turning his eyes away
from her. Then he abruptly stood and left the room. She heard a thud as the door to the porch was opened and closed. No
one paid much attention to his departure, engrossed as they were in their own gifts, so after a few moments Hermione
stood up as well and sidled quietly from the room.

When she stepped out onto the porch, she saw that Harry had his hands pressed into the railing. If it hadn't been for
the Christmas lights lining the wooden beams, she doubted she would have seen him.

She moved closer to him and eventually placed her hands on the railing next to his, staring out into the darkness just
as he was. They stood in mutual silence for a few moments before Hermione gestured to the package that Harry had placed
between his hands.

“So what's wrong?” she asked.

Harry scowled deeply as he pushed the gift towards her, never taking his eyes away from the barely visible yard.

Curious, Hermione lifted the bundle into her hands. It was rather shapeless and light. She sought out the edge of the
paper and pulled it away, wondering what could have caused Harry to be so angry.

When she saw the contents, it took her multiple moments for her to understand what it implied. Nestled in the red paper
was none other than Harry's own Invisibility Cloak.

“Harry,” Hermione said, astonished. “Didn't you -”

“Lose it at the mansion in Scotland? Yeah, I did,” Harry growled. “Thus my current agitation.”

Just as Harry had done before, Hermione quickly covered the Cloak and placed it on the railing. “But why?” she said.

“I have no idea,” Harry said, shaking his head. “There was no note, no nothing. Oh, here. They returned this as well.”

He extended his hand, and Hermione saw that her wand was resting on his palm.

Gratefully, she took the wand and placed it in her pocket next to the replacement she had acquired after she had lost
the original.

“It just makes no sense,” Harry continued.

Hermione bowed her head thoughtfully. She and Harry had never discussed what had happened that day due to the chaotic
nature of their own relationship, but now it was being shoved to the forefront of their minds.

“Dolohov wants the Elder Wand,” she said. “That's why he attacked you.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “But there has to be more to it than that.”

“Why does there have to be more to it? Isn't it enough to only want to possess the most powerful magical object in
existence? Isn't that reason enough?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “But regardless, I still feel like there's more to it than that. A bigger picture to it all.”

“Maybe he wants all the Hallows,” Hermione suggested, already seeing the fault in logic.

“I don't know,” Harry said uncertainly. “Why would he give my Cloak back if he knew it was a Hallow?”

“Why would he give it back period?” Hermione countered. “It's an extremely useful object even without being a Hallow.”

“I don't know!” Harry said, pounding his fist against the railing. “Nothing about this makes sense. There's just
something very odd about this entire thing. I mean, obviously the reason they didn't kill me is because I know where the
Elder Wand is. But the woman in the group - Krista - she made a comment that seemed very strange.”

“What was it?” Hermione asked.

“Something about…I think she said something like `I could get used to having you around.' What could she possibly mean
by that?”

“I don't know,” Hermione said miserably.

Harry laughed at that. “You don't have to sound so apologetic,” he said with a smile. “You're not obligated to know
everything.”

“I know,” Hermione sighed. “It's just that this is getting more involved than I could have imagined…I guess I'm just
scared for you,” she admitted.

“Well don't be,” Harry said, and he moved his hands from the railing to wrap them around her waist. Hermione gladly
buried her face into his sweater, breathing him in, and closed her eyes. They held each other like that for a while,
until Hermione could hear his heartbeat slow down and their breathing aligned.

“You know,” Harry said softly, “I have a theory about something.”

“Oh?” Hermione said, keeping her cheek pressed into his chest.

“Not about Dolohov or anything,” he clarified. “About…well, about the mark on my chest.”

Hermione nodded, which Harry obviously felt as he continued to speak.

“I think I know why it disappears the way it does.”

“How?” Hermione asked.

“You,” Harry said simply.

Hermione finally moved her head from his chest to look at him quizzically. “Me?” she said incredulously.

“Well, mainly you,” he said. “I think - and I know this sounds incredibly corny - but I think love makes it fade.”

“What makes you say that?” Hermione asked.

“After…that night,” Harry said, the brush of his hand against Hermione's growing abdomen clarifying exactly which night
he was referring to, “I didn't notice it for days because I was so mixed up, but I realized that the mark had almost
completely disappeared. Not a small change, but really noticeable. And it's never done that before.”

“A wound left from the Killing Curse cured by love,” Hermione mused. “Very ironic.”

She smiled. “And yes, rather corny.”

“I thought we agreed that you liked corny,” Harry said.

“We did,” Hermione said, with a small smile. She hesitated before continuing to speak. “And I think I want to share
something with you as well.”

“What?” Harry said.

Hermione felt that Harry's confession should be met with an equally enlightening revelation, so she pointed her wand
into the darkness, and took a breath.

“Expecto Patronum,” she said clearly, and for the second time she saw the large silvery wolf form before her. The
Patronus seemed to know there was no real danger about, so it simply stood and stared at them, blinding against the pure
white snow, before fading into darkness once more.

When Hermione turned her eyes back to Harry, she saw that an astonished air had crossed his features. And she wasn't all
that surprised to see it there. He knew, just as much as she did, that only something very powerful could change the
form of one's Patronus. Just as Harry had revealed how much her love was affecting him, she was able to admit how his
love had affected her… to admit that he had altered not only their relationship, but her very being, the essence of who
she was.

“Hermione...” he said. “I…”

However, instead of continuing, he closed his mouth and reached across the small gap between them and grazed her neck.
Very delicately, he pulled the chain he had just given her away from her skin, and lifted the pendant from where it was
hidden beneath the neck of her white sweater. Wordlessly, he pulled his wand from his pocket and gently tapped it
against the silver rings. Then he laid the pendant against the front of her sweater.

“Touch it,” he said as soon as he'd removed his fingers from the pendant.

Confused, Hermione pressed the pad of her index finger against the necklace and then, at Harry's gesture, lifted it to
her eyes. In the multi-colored spots of light that scattered across the metal surface, she could see that words had
seemingly etched themselves into the ring. She brought it close to her face to make out the words:

Amare sine timore

She repeated the words quietly to herself, liking the way they flowed from her tongue. “What does it mean?” she asked.

Harry met her gaze steadfastly. “`To love without fear,'” he said. “The words will only appear when you hold the
pendant. They'll disappear as soon as you let go.”

Hermione felt an indescribable rush of emotions as words flood to her lips, but they all seemed to catch in her throat,
all far too inadequate to describe how she was feeling at this moment.

But she was saved the trouble of speaking by Harry suddenly moving closer towards her.

“Could you take a step back?” he said suddenly.

“Um…okay,” Hermione said, bewildered. She took a large step away from him, and he quickly closed the gap again.

“And one more.”

Hermione obliged once more, furrowing her brow. “Why are you -”

Then, with that crooked grin that made her melt, he lifted his eyes upward, and Hermione followed his gaze to see
another small sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently above them. This time, however, Hermione welcomed the sight.

“Had to get you under the mistletoe somehow,” he said. “After all, the last one was a bit of a cop-out.”

“Yes,” Hermione said breathlessly. “I agree.”

Then Harry bent down and captured her lips with his. If either of them had been truly logical, they would've at least
made sure no one was in the doorway, or watching from the window, but as caught up as they were in the moment, neither
were overly concerned about being found out. Later, she would wonder if perhaps, subconsciously, deep down, they truly
wanted to get caught. To find a poetic justice to all of this recklessness and be together - it would certainly be
simpler that way.

This was the first time they had kissed since that night so long ago, and everything that those kisses had contained in
passion, this kiss made up for with intimacy. There was a new level of familiarity and understanding between them that
made Hermione's rapidly beating heart rejoice and ache simultaneously. Through her closed lids, she was vaguely aware of
the bright red and green and blue and white of the Christmas lights, which flared more and more brilliantly as the kiss
continued.

But they broke apart from each other quite suddenly when several of the lights went out with a sharp pop, and Hermione's
hands leapt to her belly.

“Harry,” she said, laughing. “The baby just kicked!”

“Really?” he said, his eyes flying to her stomach.

“Yes!” Hermione squealed excitedly. “The first time!” Then she snatched Harry's hand up and placed it against her
stomach, folding her hands over his.

Harry's face instantly lit up when Hermione felt a small pressure and knew the baby had kicked. Their baby had kicked.
Their child, their son or daughter, who would grow up and move on and leave their own impression on the world, despite
what might happen in the coming months and years. This gift, more than any other, made Hermione smile, and seeing the
smile on Harry's face only increased the warmth in her heart.

Maybe it was senseless to want to be near a person so badly, to be with a person so badly, when the very act of being
with them would cause more heartache than anything else. But all Hermione had to do was picture the absolutely fervent
look of pure elation on Harry's face and then nothing in the world seemed more sensible to her.

And then, finally, they were jerked back to reality as they heard a shriek at the same time as they heard a loud thud,
which was quickly followed by resounding laughter. Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance, and then went inside and
entered the living room, only to be met with the sight of a scowling Ginny buried to her neck in a pile of snow.

George appeared excessively smug. “I told you guys I'd get her later,” he said with a smirk.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

40. Waiting

A/N: Hey guys! Here's another chapter for you! Been super busy, and I literally just pulled into a McDonald's parking
lot to use their WiFi to post this chapter. So thanks to all of you who reviewed! You guys are awesome! Keep `em coming!

Oh, and remember that this is the last chapter in my saved supplies, so the next chapter will be longer in coming. Sorry
about that in advance!

Chapter 40: Waiting

“Come on, Jamie,” Ginny cooed, holding aloft a spoon laden with peas. “Come on, you really should eat your veggies.
Don't you want to grow up to be big and strong like Daddy?”

James turned his head away sharply as the spoon neared his mouth, clamping his little lips all the more tightly.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Ginny said, continuing to hold the spoon determinedly in front of her son's face. “You have a
birthday party in a few hours…it would be extremely preferable for everyone involved if you weren't a cranky mess when
we get there.”

James twisted even farther in his high chair, equally determined to keep the peas as far away as humanly possible.

“James Sirius Potter,” Ginny said. “This is your last chance. Eat.”

“No,” James said.

“Fine,” she said, letting the spoon drop to the plate. “Don't grow - see if I care. You'll be sorry later.”

“Right,” Harry said, pushing away his own plate. “I'm sure while he's stuffing his face with cake he's going to be
regretful for not finishing those peas.”

“I'm sure,” Ginny replied. “And I notice you didn't finish yours either, by the way.”

“Well that's because they're gross.”

Ginny rolled her eyes as she cleared off the table. “You're such a good role model.”

“I try,” Harry said. “So when's this party again?”

“I've told you a dozen times already!” Ginny said, her voice growing muted as she entered the kitchen. “It's at two
o'clock! But I told Hermione that we'd be there by twelve thirty to finish setting everything up.”

“And how many people are coming?”

“A fair number.”

“I still don't know how you managed that,” Harry said. “I mean, it's Valentine's Day. Not to mention a Tuesday.”

“So?” Ginny said, returning to the room with crossed arms. “The party will be over by five o'clock at the latest, so it
shouldn't interfere with anyone's plans. As for it being Tuesday, I just asked if a few people could leave work a little
early to come. Do you have a problem with that?”

“I'm just saying it would've been a little more convenient to do it Saturday.”

“It's his first birthday, Harry. I really don't see the problem with wanting his first party to be on his actual day of
birth. Plus, it's not as though you were exactly around for the occasion last year…”

Harry winced slightly, as it had indeed been one year to the day since his first encounter with Dolohov.

“It's not as though I wanted to be in the situation I was in, Ginny,” he said, his voice a bit cold. “And how do you
know that's not a perfectly legitimate reason to not have the party today?”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Do you honestly expect Dolohov to attack a one-year-old's birthday party?”

“Not necessarily,” Harry said. “But it's still a possibility.”

“Come off it, Harry. Just because it's been exactly a year doesn't mean Dolohov would be so stupidly predictable. And
besides, I know for a fact that Ron and Hermione's new place has every possible safety ward. Stop being paranoid.”

“Fine,” Harry said, standing up and scooping James from his high chair. “Are you ready to go yet?”

*******

“Um, move it a little to the right. To the right. Oh come on, Ron, even you should know which direction right is!”

“If you'd shut up for one bloody second I'd move it to the right!”

“Funny, it looked like you were moving it left to me…”

“That looks straight now,” Hermione said.

With a final poke of wand to stick it into place, Ron hopped down from the chair and stood back to admire his handiwork.

The banner proclaiming HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMES in big, bold letters had been the metaphorical icing on the cake to finish
the party decorations, and Ron let out a sigh of relief.

“It's about time,” he said. “I feel like I've put up all of these decorations myself.”

“I would've helped, but you know, pregnant and all that,” Ginny said, pointing emphatically at her stomach.

“Ditto,” Hermione said, already helping herself to some of the chips and dip that had been laid out.

“And I'm shorter than you,” Harry pointed out.

“You were the natural choice,” Ginny said with a shrug.

“Don't I feel special…” Ron said.

Ginny turned to Hermione as Ron continued to grumble. “I know I've said this already, but thank you so much for letting
us throw the party here. Grimmauld Place just isn't all that much of a party location, especially without much of a
yard…”

“It's our pleasure,” Hermione said. “It's more convenient for everyone to get here anyway. Molly and Arthur don't have a
very long walk, and it's even shorter for Luna.”

“Fair point,” Ginny said. “Though I still can't quite belief that you only live a few minutes from Luna. Fate has
certainly been rather unkind to you, Hermione.”

I'm not going to argue with that, Hermione thought, making an effort to keep her eyes solely on Ginny and not Harry.
“Oh, you know I love Luna.”

“Of course,” Ginny said. “But it does help that she's lost a few of her…eccentricities. I still adored her when she was
younger, but you can take larger doses of her now.”

Hermione couldn't very well dispute that point. And besides, she was much more willing, even happy, to have Luna as a
neighbor rather than her father. As Xenophilius Lovegood had almost permanently resorted to wandering the country in
search of news worthy of the Quibbler's prestigious name, Luna had more-or-less permanently inherited the house, writing
and publishing the information her father sent to her as she saw fit. Consequently, and perhaps a little surprisingly,
this resulted in tamer, shrewder editions of the magazine, every now and again stumbling on information that was
unexpectedly accurate, if still a little eccentric. Hermione had even been caught from time to time perusing the pages
of the colorful publication.

“Speaking of Luna,” Harry said, balancing his son on the knee of his good leg, “when will she get here? And everybody
else for that matter.”

Hermione couldn't help notice that he seemed a little tense, although the way he was kneading his upper thigh gave her a
fair hunch.

Ginny seemed to reign in a glare before she answered him. “Two. O. Clock,” she answered through slightly gritted teeth.
“And if you ask me that one more time-”

Harry was saved the trouble of finding out what would occur to him by Luna entering the room, showing her usual knack
for showing up precisely when she is being discussed, as though summoned from thin air. Which for Luna didn't seem that
much of a stretch.

“Sorry, Gin, won't happen again,” he said, standing up with James to give Luna a proper greeting. “I personally blame
the nargles.”

“Oh, you have them too?” Luna said, taking James from Harry. “Infestations seem rampant this year.”

Ginny opened her mouth as if to retort but shut it again, seeming to think better of commenting on nargles with Luna
present.

“Happy birthday, James!” Luna said, smiling. “Auntie Luna brought you the best present!”

Hermione found it somewhat amusing that Luna seemed at her most normal when interacting with children. It would
certainly explain why she and Ron got on at all.

“I'm glad you could make it, Luna!” Ginny said. “I'm sorry if this interrupted any of your plans for tonight...”

“It's okay,” Luna replied. “I don't have anything to do until later anyway.”

Ginny seemed slightly startled at this reply, clearly expecting that Luna hadn't had any plans to interrupt.

“Really? With who?” she asked, her tone trying and failing to hide some of her curiosity.

“His name is Rolf. He's very nice,” Luna said idly.

“That's…wonderful,” Ginny said, her inquisitiveness obviously not quite abated. “Do we know this Rolf?”

“I don't think so…I mean, you may know of his grandparents. Perhaps his grandfather.”

“Who's his grandfather?” Ginny asked, brow furrowed questioningly.

“Newt Scamander,” Luna replied, and Hermione practically dropped her plate of chips.

“Newt Scamander?” she said. “Are you serious?”

“What's the big deal?” Ron said, and Hermione saw that neither he, Harry, nor Ginny had any look of recognition on their
faces. Sometimes it was difficult to be the only bookworm of the group.

“Really? Nothing?” Hermione said.

“Nope,” Harry said.

“Nada,” Ginny added.

“Nothing,” Ron finished.

“He's a really famous author!” Hermione exclaimed.

“I think we gathered that much from your enthusiasm,” Harry said with a smile.

“I would think one of you would remember, though! He wrote one of our schoolbooks!”

“Which probably explains why I don't remember it,” Ron said. “Which one was it?”

“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them!” Hermione said.

Recognition still failed to find its way into her friends' faces, and Hermione sat down on the sofa with a sigh.

“Never mind,” she said, crossing her arms. “I swear, sometimes I think Muggles probably know more about these things
than you people…”

Everyone mostly ignored this final statement, and Ginny turned again with some interest back to Luna.

“So how long have you been seeing this Rolf?”

“Um, that's difficult to say…I think about three months ago. I thought he was very nice-looking.”

“No,” Ginny amended, “how long have you been dating him?”

“Oh. In that case…” She glanced at her watch as best she could while holding James. “In about five hours, then.”

“This is your first date? On Valentine's Day. That's so sweet!” She turned to frown at Harry. “Why wasn't our first date
on Valentine's Day?”

“You do realize that you kissed me -”

“Wait a minute, I think that whole `who-kissed-who' deal is debatable -”

“As I was saying, you kissed me after the last Quidditch match of the season. In May. And considering I was a little
busy the following Valentine's Day, we wouldn't have had a date until…” Harry counted momentarily on his fingers.
“Almost a year and nine months after you kissed me! I'd say your timing was a little off if you expected a Valentine's
Day date.” A somewhat mischievous grin suddenly crossed his features. “Though I can't be all that surprised that you
would have wanted to start off our relationship officially on Valentine's Day…after all, it would have almost been an
anniversary of our first romantic encounter.”

Ginny seemed uncomprehending at first, although Hermione, and by the look of it withheld hysterics on his face, Ron,
knew very well what Harry was referring to. Hermione bit her lower lip as a giggle threatened to escape her.

Ginny clearly saw the looks of glee on their faces and frowned. “I don't see what's so -”

And then she stopped abruptly, blushing furiously, just as George and Angelina burst through the door, Roxanne and
little Freddie is tow.

“Happy Valentine's Day, all!” George said.

“Oh please, Harry, we managed to get through almost fifteen years of not bringing this up, let's not start now -”

“Now how did that poem go again?” Harry wondered aloud, and Hermione could practically see George's remaining ear perk
up as his smiled devilishly.

“Harry, how could you forget such heartfelt, beautiful poetry!” George said, and cleared his throat. “I'll refresh your
memory.”

Ginny didn't seem to find this at all funny. “Oh for the love of -”

“His eyes are as green as - now wait, what was that…”

“I believe what you're looking for is `a fresh pickled toad,'” Harry said.

“That's right! His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad…”

“His hair is as dark as a blackboard…” Ron said solemnly.

“I wish he were mine -” Hermione said, blushing.

“He's really divine -” Angelina sang.

“The hero who conquered the Dark Lord!”

Everyone chanted this last bit, even Luna, and James let out a peal of laughter.

Ginny's ears were tomato-red at this point. “Well that's just great. Even my own son laughs at me. You all do realize
that that poem is the single most humiliating incident that's ever occurred to me in my entire life?”

“Hey, you wrote it,” George said.

“And now that you've all had your fun,” Ginny sniffed, “I've got some things to finish up before the civilized guests
show up.” She turned towards the kitchen and strode towards it without looking back, only calling back to them when she
was out of sight. “And Harry, take out that pile of trash in there!”

George looked to Ron seriously. “I guess you're free to go.”

“How does it always get turned back to me?” Ron said.

***********

The guests started arriving fairly quickly after this, and soon Hermione and Ron's modest three-bedroom home was filled
to the brim with people, some of whom Harry barely recognized. Of course, many of them he did recognize. In addition to
Luna and George's family, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in attendance, as well as Bill, Fleur, Percy's wife Audrey, Neville,
Hannah, Seamus, Dean, Hagrid, Mitch, and even Professor McGonagall. Of course, the kids were all there as well, with the
exception of little Molly, who was sick at home in the care of Percy. Charlie and Andromeda couldn't make it either due
to their hectic work schedules, so Bill had brought over Teddy. Beyond this, however, Harry found that many names eluded
him, a fact that was only exacerbated by his nervousness. And given that every additional guest that arrived intensified
this nervousness, he found himself in a bit of a catch-22.

He tried to relax, of course. Numerous times. But even his half-hearted attempts at mingling quickly morphed into
perimeter scans, which Mitch noticed and jokingly volunteered to assist in. In the first hour of the party alone he
estimated that he had lapped every available space at least eight times.

“So Harry, I couldn't help but notice over the nine times you've passed me that you seem a little distracted.”

Okay, so nine times.

“You've noticed, have you?”

Hermione lifted her hand, holding her thumb and index finger slightly apart.

“Just a bit.”

Harry moved to stand beside her, clutching the same glass of punch he'd gotten at the beginning of the party.

“So is it just me, or do you not recognize half the people here?”

“Besides the Weasleys and the Hogwarts lot? Sure, loads.”

“Name one other person!”

She scrutinized the crowd for a moment before pointing at a man on the opposite side of the room.

“I know that guy.”

“Sure you do,” Harry said. “What's his name?”

“Jonathon. Wait. No, Jackson. Jerome. Yes, I believe it's Jerome,” she said, nodding. “Or maybe Phillip.”

Harry took a sip of his drink. “I can tell the both of you are very close.”

“Incredibly,” Hermione said. “Me and Phil go way back.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Well, he did confess his undying love for me and beg me to run away with him, but I'm still mulling things over. But
don't hold your breath if I don't show up to work tomorrow.”

The man across the room - Jerome or Phillip or whoever - seemed to sense the pair of them looking in his direction and
turned towards them. Hermione waved at him, and he gave a small, confused wave in return.

“See?” Hermione said, lowering her hand. “Undying love.”

“I completely understand now,” Harry said. “You could cut that romantic tension with a knife.”

They both laughed as the man turned away from them, looking rather self-conscious at their amusement.

“Poor guy,” Hermione said. “I'd go and apologize if I had the slightest clue of who he was. But seriously, Harry, why
are you so wound up? I've been trying to get your attention the entire party.”

“I know,” he said. “It seems like every time I get near enough to start a conversation that Ginny pops up out of nowhere
and asks me to set out more drinks or speak to someone or something like that.”

“But I've got your attention now. What's bothering you?”

“It's nothing, really. Just some…irrational paranoia.”

“About Dolohov?”

Harry nodded mutely.

“It's understandable that you're nervous, but I really do think you can relax,” Hermione said. “Do you honestly expect
Dolohov to attack a one-year-old's birthday party? I'm not exactly an authority on Dark wizards, but I suspect they'd
prefer to have a bit more style than that.”

“I told you it was irrational,” Harry said. “I'm just ready for this to be over with…”

“What? The party? Dolohov?”

“All of the above,” Harry said tiredly.

They fell silent momentarily, alternating between glancing around the crowd and staring into the red punch within their
glasses.

Harry cleared his throat.

“So…do you and Ron have any plans for Valentine's Day?”

He hoped he sounded casual to Hermione, because to his own ears the words came across as forced and perhaps even
slightly bitter.

“Just dinner,” she replied quietly.

Silence.

“What about you and -”

“Harry, there you are! I've been looking all over for you! Could you please come and say hello to Gwyneth? She hasn't
seen you in ages!”

Ginny flashed Hermione a smile as she ushered Harry away.

“Sorry to steal him away! We should finished over here soon.”

Hermione was already being swallowed up by the crowd as Ginny continued to push him through the room, and he could
barely hear her muttered reply.

**********

“Sure,” Hermione said softly, faintly annoyed as Ginny and Harry disappeared into the mass of people. “I'm used to it by
now.”

She stood alone in the corner of the room before she was joined by Victoire, dressed in a pretty little pink dress. The
purple Pygmy Puff perched on her shoulder, complete with a tiny lavender bow, made a very pleasant accessory as well.

“Hey, Aunt Hermione,” Victoire said.

“Hello, Victoire,” Hermione said. “You look very nice. I like your dress.”

“Thank you,” the girl said politely, though a certain glumness pervaded her tone.

“Coco looks very nice as well,” Hermione said.

“Yeah,” Victoire said noncommittally, glancing sideways to look at her pet. “Mama thought it'd be nice if she was
dressed up for Valentine's Day.”

“That was a nice idea.”

Victoire nodded, surveying the crowd sadly just as Hermione had been a moment ago, though her significantly shorter
height didn't give her much of a view.

“Is something wrong, Victoire? You seem a little down.”

Hermione saw Victoire's eyes glisten with unshed tears and she lowered her head to stare at her shoes. She was about to
prompt her niece to talk again when she spoke of her own accord.

“Aunt Hermione, do you ever feel sad on Valentine's Day?” she said, turning her tearful blue eyes upward.

For the first time, Hermione noted that Teddy was nowhere to be seen, and she could instantly guess what this was about.

“Oh,” she said. She knelt down as well as her swollen belly would allow. “Of course, honey. I've felt sad on Valentine's
Day before.” Like right now.

Victoire sniffled slightly. “How do you get not sad?”

Hermione couldn't help but smile ruefully. At only five, Victoire had unwittingly stumbled on one of the many questions
that women everywhere asked themselves on February 14.

“Is this about Teddy?” Hermione asked, sidestepping the question. She didn't feel right giving an answer when she was
really no closer to knowing than Victoire.

Victoire's lower lip trembled before a soft cry escaped her mouth.

“He said he didn't want a Valentine!” she wailed.

“So you asked him and he said no?”

Victoire hiccupped and shook her head. “No…he just said it. So that means I can't ask him because he doesn't want one.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “That is a problem,” she said seriously. “But Teddy is only seven…maybe he's just not
ready for a Valentine yet.”

“But I am ready,” Victoire insisted, sounding angry. “Why should I have to wait for him?”

Hermione frowned. Another excellent question. Though she knew the answer to this question, she knew it wasn't the type
of answer a little girl was looking for.

“Well, boys don't grow up as quickly as girls,” she said instead. “So sometimes you have to be patient with them. Maybe
he'll be ready next year.”

Victoire looked rather disgruntled at this news, but nodded in acceptance.

“Boys are stupid,” she grumbled.

“I agree,” Hermione said. “Very stupid.”

Victoire darted off at this point, and Hermione suspected she was off to find anyone to play with but Teddy. She stood
up with difficulty and watched her go, wishing things could be as simple as they were when you were a child.

“Well zat looked like an intense conversation.”

Hermione turned to face Fleur.

“Just a little boy trouble.”

Fleur nodded sagely. “Typical. I was hoping zis wouldn't come up for a few years.”

“Sometimes it can't be helped,” Hermione said with a shrug.

“I zink the cake will be cut soon, so `opefully zat will be a good distraction. So `ow is work going, by ze way?”

“Oh, fine,” Hermione said dismissively, noting that a large cake shaped like a Snitch was indeed being brought into the
room by Harry and Ginny, a single candle protruding from the icing. “I'm working for a couple more months and then I'll
transfer departments after I come back from maternity leave.”

“Zat is a good way of doing it.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, watching as the piece of cake with the candle was cut and placed before an excited James. She
waited until “Happy Birthday” had been sung before continuing, though she still kept a distasteful eye on Harry and
Ginny. “I figured it would be best. I could have transferred earlier, but I'd hate to have to take such a long break
after just starting.”

“Very logical,” Fleur continued, and later Hermione was embarrassed to say that she completely tuned out whatever was
said afterward.

She didn't know if it had something to do with her talk with Victoire, or pregnancy hormones, or the fact that it was
Valentine's Day, or temporary insanity, but she just couldn't stand the sight of Ginny and Harry. Ginny, who didn't look
as if she had gained an ounce of fat anywhere in her body except her large stomach, impeccably dressed even with said
stomach, groomed to perfection, and standing next to Harry as they watched their adorable son dig ravenously into his
cake. Harry muttered something to Ginny, who laughed as if they were in on some inside joke.

Her clenched hand shook on her punch glass, and she wouldn't have been very surprised if Fleur had uneasily inquired
about a twitch in her eye.

She really should calm down. It wasn't healthy to allow her anger to swell up like this, and for that matter she really
didn't have the right to be so angry, even if Harry and Ginny were looking a little too intimate for her tastes. After
all, they were married and - and - she should get her damn hands off of him!

Light bulbs shattered throughout the room, glasses exploded in guests' hands, and the curtain closest to where Ginny had
just pulled in Harry for a kiss burst into flame before Hermione could reign in her rampant emotions.

“What was zat?” Fleur said, astonished as she watched guests frantically attempt to put out the fire.

“No idea,” Hermione breathed, barely conscious of the handle she held, the only thing remaining of her glass, or the red
punch now splattered over her sweater. “Completely mad. Very strange. Better check that out.”

Then she stalked away in the opposite direction of the chaos, slamming the door to her new bloody house as she exited.
She continued to walk even when she was outside, aware of how raving mad she must look as she threw the handle harshly
into the street, where it shattered just as the rest of the glass had.

“Oy, Hermione! Wait up!”

She stopped instantly in the middle of the road, though she didn't bother turning around even when the footsteps neared
her, the sound of the soles of his shoes slapping hard on the pavement coming to an abrupt halt directly behind her.

“What the bloody hell was that about?” he said, though Hermione was irritated at the fact that he sounded more amused
than angry.

“I have no idea what you're referring to,” she said petulantly.

“I know it was you, Hermione.”

“Not really,” she said, finally turning around and pointing to her stomach. “To be more accurate, it was her.”

“She may have been responsible for the magic, but you're the one who pulled the trigger,” Harry said.

“You wound me,” Hermione said acerbically. “What makes you say that?”

“Come on, what's wrong?” Harry insisted, taking her hand.

Hermione jerked her hand away from him, briefly contemplating if she should entertain his question with a response.
However, her hormones rebelled at the concept of remaining silent.

“Do you really have to ask that?” she said nastily. “How do you think it feels to be six months pregnant with your child
and then have to watch Ginny get to kiss you and share these moments with you when every passing day it seems more and
more likely that I'll never get to share that with you?”

She turned away sharply and started storming down the street once more.

“Things would just be so much easier if I wasn't pregnant!”

Hermione heard the sound of his footsteps once more as he ran to catch up to her.

“What are you gonna do, walk it off?” he said furiously.

He grabbed her arm to stop her and turned her towards him.

“Let go of me! You don't know how I feel! You don't understand!”

“You think I don't understand?” Harry said incredulously. “You don't think this hurts me, too? To have to watch you and
Ron together? To know that I may have to watch my own child be raised by him and not me?”

He stared at her intensely, and Hermione felt her lip tremble as she tried to hold back her tears.

Damn it, he does understand.

He pulled her closer to him and hugged her as he saw her tough demeanor fade.

They stayed like that for a few moments before Hermione laughed.

“Of course it had to be my house,” she said, sighing at her own outburst. “Did you at least manage to salvage the
curtains?”

***********

The actual Valentine's aspect of Hermione's day went just as she expected it would. She sat in a nice, quaint little
restaurant at a small round table that was physically incapable of seating more than two people. The room was dim, there
was a lit candle between every well-dressed couple, and the pristine white tablecloth made the blood-red rose petals
scattered delicately across it seem all the darker.

Typical, really.

Everything was just as she knew it should be, perhaps how it had been since the very dawn of this wretched holiday.

She wondered throughout the meal what the other couples in the restaurant were thinking. How many of these couples were
legitimately happy, really? Probably depressingly few. Smiling, laughing, exchanging gifts and compliments only because
an arbitrary date on a calendar dictated it. What was romantic about that?

Very little, Hermione decided.

But she played along, just as the world expected her to. She smiled with the best of them, she laughed as though her
heart was really in it. She acted appropriately delighted when she opened the small box of gold earrings, although she
primarily felt only guilt at the fact that the first thought that popped into her mind was that they didn't remotely
match her necklace, which was tucked safely in her purse until the night was over.

She ate her meal with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, and wished she could have a glass or two (or three or
four) of wine in an attempt to enjoy herself more. Then, of course, she only felt guiltier for thinking any of these
thoughts when Ron was being so nice (as expected of him) and this only increased her longing - the numbness would be
welcome.

But Ron seemed to drink enough for the both of them, and by the time they reached their house he barely had time to
remove his jacket and loosen his tie before collapsing on their bed, and the snoring that followed was almost
instantaneous.

She didn't bother following him into the room despite how tired she was. She kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot
through the house, glad that Ginny had taken care of all the cleaning up after the party.

She made herself a cup of tea and took a sip as she continued to wander, still familiarizing herself with her new home,
not that there was too much to familiarize herself with. Kitchen, living room, laundry room, two bathrooms, her bedroom,
her study, and the untouched room that had been set aside for the baby. She tended to avoid this last room, so instead
she decided to go to her study.

She flipped on the switch, but instead of the lamps turning on, something entirely different happened.

Instead, dozens of candles lit up throughout the room, casting a pale glow on the row after row of books on her shelves.
Rose petals began to fall like snow as soon as the candles were lit, and in the very center of the room a note floated
innocently in midair.

Despite the predictability of such a scene on Valentine's Day, Hermione appreciated the gesture nonetheless, even if he
couldn't be here himself.

Sighing, she walked to the middle of the room, attempting vainly to brush away the rose petals as they fell into her
hair. She plucked the note from the air and opened it:

I'm sorry I couldn't be here.

She sighed once more as she folded the paper, feeling tears prick at her eyes again. Her mind couldn't help but drift to
Victoire's angry outburst from earlier that day:

But I am ready! Why should I have to wait for him?

Why indeed?

Hermione took one last look at the beautiful room, imprinting the scene into her memory, and vanished the candles and
rose petals with a reluctant wave of her wand. Still clutching her untouched tea, she exited the room, shutting the door
softly behind her.

She would wait because it was Harry, because she loved him, and that was all there really was to the matter.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

41. What's In A Name?

A/N: So hi, everyone! I hope you all haven't started hating me for how long it's taken to update…I'm really really
sorry! SO here's the next chapter (finally), and as per usual I appreciate any reviews you have to give me. I believe I
have 9 more chapters planned for this story, and this will be hopping around for a few chapters. I have a long gap of
time to cross, so we'll just be getting snapshots for a bit. Also, the chapter title is in reference to Shakespeare's
line in Romeo and Juliet if you didn't realize.

Chapter 41: What's In A Name?

April 28, 2006 - 10:52 pm

Felicity Marisol positively despised working the graveyard shift at St. Mungo's. Generally she quite liked her position
as a receptionist for the hospital's maternity ward, but not under the present circumstances when she was covering the
shift for a friend. At eleven o'clock. On a Friday night.

Felicity buried her face into her hands as she simmered on the cruel fate her friend had bestowed upon her. But a deal
was a deal…Celeste had taken her shift, after all. But those tickets to the Weird Sisters concert were beginning to feel
like inadequate compensation for this agony of boredom.

However, before she could contemplate more on the subject, a door slammed open nearby, and a moment later an attractive
and heavily pregnant red-haired woman rounded the corner, followed closely by an equally attractive tall, dark-haired
man with glasses. The woman was breathing heavily and seemed quite agitated, while the man appeared more nervous than
anything.

As the couple neared her and their features became more distinguishable, Felicity was surprised to note that she
recognized the man. Not that there was anything surprising about recognizing a man accompanying a woman in a maternity
ward, of course. No, Felicity was surprised because every time she had previously seen this man, he had been accompanied
by a different woman. A curly-haired brunette woman, if she remembered correctly. And she figured she did remember
correctly since that brunette woman and the raven-haired man had been through the ward over half a dozen times in the
past few months. What was the woman's name...Weesler? Wheston?

The red-haired woman was quietly bickering with the man, whose name Felicity realized she had never caught, and he
placed a conciliatory hand on the woman's arm as they reached the desk.

“My wife's in labor,” the man said.

Weasley, that was it. She didn't even try to recall the brunette's first name…she knew it was something rather unusual.

“Alright,” Felicity said. “Name?”

“Potter,” the red-haired woman said through her labored breathing. “Ginny Potter.”

Felicity reined in the startled expression that attempted to appear on her face to an innocently perplexed raise of her
eyebrows. Two different names, two different women, and both escorted by who she now realized was Harry Potter. Very
curious, she thought as she quickly filled out some paperwork.

The red-haired woman, Ginny, was now continuing the conversation that her husband had interrupted.

“I really - hee hoo - don't understand - hee hoo - why - hee hoo - you're so opposed to it,” she puffed in an undertone.

“Really, you want to continue with this now of all times?” Harry Potter responded just as quietly.

“Birthday?” Felicity asked.

“August 11, 1981,” Ginny wheezed. “What - hee hoo -better time?”

“When you're not in labor, maybe?”

“No! We have James - hee hoo - and we're about to have - hee hoo - another child. How can you - hee hoo - not think this
would be better?”

“And you've had a baby here before?” Felicity continued, starting to feel embarrassed.

“Yes,” Harry answered. “And because never once in my life have I wanted to just sit behind a desk for the rest of my
career! Yes, I understand that it's not the safest job in the world, but someone has to do it!”

“But it doesn't have - hee hoo -to be you!”

“When did the contractions start?” Felicity said as casually as she could.

“Around nine,” Ginny replied through gritted teeth as she clutched her stomach.

“I'm good at my job, Ginny, and I enjoy doing it. I can't believe you'd ask me to do this.”

“I think - hee hoo - that I'm perfectly in the right - hee hoo - to expect my husband - hee hoo - to be around to see
his children grow up!”

“Room 2 is available,” Felicity said meekly.

“Excellent,” Harry and Ginny said together, and they made their way to the room without waiting for Felicity's
assistance.

Felicity sat back heavily in her chair and ran a hand through her short sandy hair. Maybe the night shift wasn't a
complete bore after all.

**********

“Albus Severus? You really just named your child Albus Severus?” Hermione said incredulously.

Harry had arrived at her house a few minutes previously, looking haggard from a sleepless night, and he and Hermione
were now settled comfortably on the sofa, cups of tea clutched in their hands.

“Why not?” Harry said with a small smile. “My dad, Sirius, Dumbledore, Snape…they were all people who affected my life
so much, who died for me…the least I can do is help their names live on a bit longer. Granted, Snape was still an ass,
but maybe Al can give it a more positive spin than Snape managed.”

Hermione nodded as she moved to take a sip of her tea. She completely understood where Harry was coming from. For
someone like him, who had never gotten to truly know these people, naming his children after them was both a tribute to
their lives and a way to keep a bit of their legacy alive.

“At least he's already shown a more pleasant disposition…how long did the labor last again?” she asked, setting down her
cup.

“We got to the hospital a bit before eleven and he was out and cleaned up before midnight.”

“Figures,” Hermione huffed, placing a hand on her swollen stomach. “Do you think this one will be as easy?”

“Let's see…given our own dispositions, I'd say it's a safe bet to say that the baby could set up camp in there for weeks
if it wanted to.”

“Are you calling me stubborn?” Hermione asked, putting on an aghast air.

“I'm calling us both stubborn,” Harry corrected, lacing his hand with hers. “If the baby doesn't think it's ready, then
the baby will stay in there until he or she is.”

It didn't escape Hermione the peculiarity of so casually discussing the birth of Harry's child with another woman when
she was on the verge of giving birth herself. The casualness in itself caused a sense of worry to gnaw at the pit of
stomach. It had been weeks since they had had a conversation even remotely skirting around the issue of how they would
break the news to Ron and Ginny, and Harry seemed rather content to continue the streak. Not that Hermione was
attempting to bring it up either…for the moment they were alone in an isolated bubble of secrecy, both together and
sheltered from the imminent pain that would be caused by telling their spouses.

“For my sake I hope the baby's ready,” Hermione said after a moment, smiling weakly.

“Everything will be fine, I promise,” Harry said. “Are you worried?”

Hermione thought that maybe in a different situation, if perhaps this was Ron's baby, she might have been. But right
now, she didn't think she had any worry to waste on the act of giving birth. She needed courage to deal with what would
come afterward, which is what she was truly concerned about.

“Not really,” she said truthfully. “You're going to be there, right? No dangerous missions in the near future?”

“Of course I'm going to be there,” Harry said. “I had Wahler reschedule the dangerous stuff in a few weeks. Told him to
save it just for me, of course.”

“Of course,” Hermione said. “Can't let someone else have all the fun.”
“Exactly,” he said as he rested his head against the back of the sofa. His eyes closed, but he continued to hold
Hermione's hand.

“Maybe you should go home and get some sleep,” Hermione said, squeezing his hand.

“I won't be able to sleep at home,” Harry intoned, his eyes still closed.

“Has Albus been fussy? Or James?”

“Not exactly,” Harry said. “And I'm just resting my eyes…”

“Which is why you're a few seconds away from snoring,” she said. She was curious about the slight bitterness in his tone
but let it slide.

“I don't snore,” he protested lightly.

“Sure you don't,” she said, patting his arm.

“Not nearly as badly as Ron, at any rate,” he said, opening his eyes and sitting up. “But you're probably right, I
should go.”

“Okay. I'm sure Ron and I will be over later to see Albus,” she said, disappointed that he was leaving even though she
suggested it.

“Sounds good,” he said. He was still holding her hand, and leaned in to kiss her lightly, but just as his lips neared
hers, the doorknob rattled. Hermione's heart leapt to her throat, but Harry simply extricated his hand from hers with a
gentle tug, and she felt the pull of air on her lips as he Apparated from the living room with a quiet pop.

The sudden shift of weight on the couch caused the cup of tea Harry had balanced precariously on the armrest to fall to
the ground and shatter. Hermione's heart beat rapidly against her chest as the Ron entered the room, adrenaline pumping
in her veins; bitterness coursed through her as well as guilt.

“Woah, careful,” Ron said as Hermione leapt to her feet to clean up the mess. He leaned in to kiss her just as Harry had
less than a minute before, and before she could rein in the unfounded resentment flooding her mind, a sharp crack split
the air as his lips met hers.

Ron leapt back with a howl, clutching his mouth.

“What was that?” he groaned, his eyes watering.

“What was what?” Hermione asked tentatively, feeling the leftover tea from Harry's shattered cup beginning to seep into
her socks.

“You shocked me!” he whined, still clutching his mouth.

“Must've been static electricity from the couch,” Hermione answered nervously.

Ron didn't even bother to ask what static electricity was as he moved away towards the kitchen, still moaning.

As soon as he had left, she cast a quick Reparo on the broken teacup and cleaned up the tea with another wave of her
wand, feeling both a sense of shame at her emotions and pride at the amazing child she was about to meet.

******************

May 1, 2006 - 11:13 am

“Do we really have to go see this guy again?” Harry said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat back in the
uncomfortable waiting room chairs at St. Mungo's.

“Not really,” Hermione replied, placing her hands calmly over her enormous stomach. “But I have a few questions I want
to ask him before the baby comes. Is there a problem with that?”

“No, of course not. I just don't like the guy.”

Hermione laughed, plucking a worn magazine from the table next to her and propping it open on her stomach, a habit she
had picked up over the last couple months. “Of course you don't. You glare at him every time we come here.”

“That's because he gives me funny looks every time we come here! And that receptionist over there has been looking at me
like I've grown another head.”

“And that's because you insist on coming to every one of these appointments. I think that's reason enough to give any
person suspicions.”

“What, a male friend can't accompany his pregnant female friend to the Healer without raising suspicions?”

“Of course he can,” Hermione said, thumbing through a few pages. “Once, maybe twice, but to every single appointment
without once being accompanied by the husband of said pregnant female friend? No, I'm fairly certain that's impossible.”

“I personally find that offensive,” Harry said before rubbing at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Even if he is
rightfully suspicious.”

“Well take it up with Derrick,” Hermione said.

“And that's another thing,” Harry continued. “Since when did you start calling him by his first name? I say we just
stick with some professionalism and call him by his last name.”

“Fine, take it up with Clayworth then.”

“You're only suggesting that because I can't.”

Hermione smiled as she reached over and patted one of Harry's hands. “You might be on to something there. Besides, this
should be our last visit, and then after the baby comes you won't have to deal with him anymore. Though I still think
he's a perfectly sweet man.”

“`Perfectly sweet'?” Harry repeated distastefully. “I take it you'll be wanting to name the baby after him next.”

“Why not?” Hermione said, less because she liked the name than that she found Harry's reaction amusing. “Derrick's a
nice name. Besides, it's not as though you or I have come up with anything better.”

Which was entirely true. Rarely did she or Harry suggest names to each other, and when they did the choices were usually
quickly dismissed. Additionally, given the fact that the only two names suggested by Ron had been Ronald Jr. and
Dragomir (chosen from one of the Chudley Cannons' Chasers and suggested with such seriousness that it disturbed
Hermione), the pickings were rather scarce.

“I'll definitely come up with something to stop that from happening,” Harry said.

“Don't get too caught up with it though,” Hermione said. “If the baby turns out to be a girl you'll have worked yourself
up for nothing.”

Before Harry could respond, the short-haired blonde receptionist at the nearby desk called over to them, her eyebrows
raised.

“Hermione Weasley, Healer Clayworth will see you now.”

Hermione set the magazine she was still holding aside, and Harry helped her to her feet. Both went immediately to the
correct room without being directed, having been there so many times, and settled into their usual chairs. Clayworth
entered the room a moment later.

“Hermione,” he said warmly, walking forward to shake her hand.

“Healer Clayworth,” Hermione said in return, smiling. “I hope you've been well.”

“Excellent,” Clayworth replied, and then turned to Harry.

“Me again,” Harry said, grasping the Healer's hand. “Sorry, her -“

“—husband couldn't make it, yes,” Clayworth said with a smile.

“Right,” Harry muttered, removing his hand from the Healer's grip.

“So,” the Healer said, getting straight to business as he turned towards Hermione. “How are things progressing?”

“Everything's been fine,” Hermione answered as the Healer performed a few basic spells to test her blood pressure and
health. “I've haven't been feeling sick or anything like that.”

“Excellent,” Clayworth said. “And your vitals are within range, which is also excellent. And by the positioning of the
baby, I'd say it'll only be a few more days to go. Have there been any more, er, incidents?”

“They're less often now, but more powerful. Shattered china, set some curtains on fire, nearly electrocuted my husband,
the usual.”

Clayworth nodded with a smile, considering the information. “It's possible that the farther along you've gotten the
better the baby has been able to differentiate between the neurotransmitters released by your emotions and its own brain
activity.”

“But I'm less concerned about these last few days than what will happen after the birth. Will these magical outbursts
last while she's an infant?”

“That's hard to say,” Clayworth said. “As I told you, this situation, while not unprecedented, is incredibly rare and
unpredictable. It's possible. However, given the tests we've performed and the way things have progressed, I'd say that
there's a very good chance that you won't have to worry much about that. The child's magic was able to tap into your own
when you, and thus the baby, became agitated. The mixture of magical signals, especially with one as unstable and
volatile as an infant, allowed for the random bursts of uncontrolled magic. Theoretically speaking, the baby directed
and caused the magic, but it was still channeled through you. So, away from an adept magical core, I'd say that magical
outbursts should be relatively limited. Perhaps more often than the average young witch or wizard, and perhaps at a
younger age, and perhaps more powerful, but it might not be exceptionally different from many other children.”

Hermione nodded, drinking in the information just as she knew Harry was, relieved that it was unlikely for their child
to experience any adverse effects from the premature magic.

“Is that all you were concerned about?” Clayworth asked, correctly evaluating their comforted expressions.

“Yes, that was pretty much it,” Hermione replied, squeezing Harry's hand.

“In that case, I'm glad I could be of assistance,” Clayworth said. He placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder and smiled.
“I look forward to seeing you in a few days.”

Hermione beamed happily at the man and then at Harry, who was also grinning broadly. If his smile and her own ecstatic
expression were any indication, they were looking forward to being there in a few days as well.

******************

May 4, 2006 - 6:26 pm

It was rather saddening to Hermione that her entire career's work could be packaged neatly into a pair of small
cardboard boxes. Granted, her entire career had thus far amounted to less than ten years, but it was nonetheless
disheartening as she arranged her meager belongings into the boxes: a small assortment of files, a handful of worn
quills, a half used bottle of ink, a paperweight given to her by Victoire, a framed Muggle photograph of herself, Ron,
and Harry, a daily planner, a tiny (and rather wilted) potted plant that she had received from her mother when she had
started at the Ministry, a decorative snow globe from some Christmas long past, a light sweater tucked away and
forgotten in the back of her bottom desk drawer since early winter, and a package of what she suspected were incredibly
stale cookies located directly under the sweater.

In fact, all of these items fit rather nicely into just one of the cardboard boxes she had brought, and the other was
filled with a variety of cakes and going-away gifts from other people in her department, or rather what used to be her
department. Although she had not been officially rescinded of her position, Hermione hadn't actually put in a day's work
for about a month now, and had put off clearing out her office until the new head of the Beings Division had been
chosen. If she was being honest with herself, she knew she was feeling rather resentful of this new division leader,
this untried successor who would be sitting in her desk within the walls of her office. Although she would only be two
floors away from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures when she returned to the Ministry,
it was still a bittersweet feeling to leave the only job she'd ever had and to start a new chapter in her life.

Or rather two new chapters, she thought in amusement as she felt a sharp kick within her swollen belly.

After checking each desk drawer once more and casting one last glance over her barren office, Hermione balanced one box
on top of the other and clutched them as close to herself as she was able. Once she felt she had a relatively good grip
on them, she backed out of the room, pushing the door open with her heel. She spun around just in time to avoid backing
into Cecilia Vintreem, although she almost dropped her boxes in her haste to come to a halt.

“Hermione, I'm so glad I caught you before you left! And really, dear, you shouldn't be hauling around heavy boxes when
you're so close to giving birth…Would you like me to shrink them for you?”

“Oh, right, shrinking,” Hermione said. “Slipped my mind for some reason. Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” Cecilia said, and shrank the top box, and then the lower one, in quick succession. Once they were tucked
away safely in Hermione's bag, Cecilia resumed speaking.

“I'm very sorry to bother you so late in the day, but would you mind terribly if I asked you to give our new head an
overview of some of the more prominent projects on our agenda before you go?”

“Of course I wouldn't mind, but is it really all that practical given the fact that I haven't been involved for so
long?”

“Well, dear, given the fact the you, in fact, set into motion most of the existing projects, it's only logical that you
give your side of things as well. It won't be only you, of course, other people from the division are here as well. You
really might not have to say much at all if the other officials explain things well enough. I just want the transition
to go as smoothly as possibly, especially given the problems other divisions have been having. It took so long to find a
suitable replacement for Sanders after he quit so suddenly from the Spirit division. Placed everyone in a bit of a
pickle, and of course as you know when one division is in chaos, we all tend to feel it in some manner.”

“I understand,” Hermione said, withholding a tired sigh. “In your office?”

“Yes, and it should only take a moment,” Cecilia said, and quickly ushered Hermione towards their destination.

Besides the man who would be replacing Hermione, three other officials from her division were in Cecilia's office, as
well as Dirk Cresswell, head of the Goblin Liaison Office, and Gregory Hathord, head of the Centaur Liaison Office.
Hermione sat heavily among them.

Once introductions had been made, Hathord launched in an explanation of the steps that had been taken thus far to
finally place centaurs in the Beings division, and Hermione listened politely, despite having achieved the most crucial
aspects of the proposal.

“It's really quite exciting,” Hathord was saying. “We're extremely close to selecting an ambassador among the centaurs,
the first that this division has ever had, and we are strongly hoping…”

What they were strongly hoping, Hermione didn't quite catch, because all of a sudden a sharp pain erupted through her, a
pain that spread from her stomach to her lower back and took her breath away with its intensity. She clasped her eye
shut against the pain, but after a moment the pain receded slightly, leaving a dull ache. When she opened her eyes,
everyone in the room was staring at her.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione said a bit breathlessly. “Please continue.”

“Are you sure?” Cecilia said, looking worried. “You can leave if you aren't feeling well.”

“No, I think I'm fine for now. I'll let you know if I need to leave.”

Once Cecilia had nodded, Hathord continued for a few more minutes, leaving Hermione to wonder if that first pain had
been a fluke.

“…Of course, we have to wait for a final ruling from the Wizengamot, but we're feeling very confident that things will
go well,” he concluded.

“Yes,” Cresswell interrupted, “and we're also in the midst of negotiations with the goblins in regards to some of the
propositions we have for employees of Gringotts. Although it isn't strictly your division, you'll work closely with us
to…”

The second pain that shot through her was if anything more painful than the last, and when Hermione, gasping, finally
un-gritted her teeth and opened her watery eyes, she looked to Cecilia apologetically.

“Sorry, I think I need to leave now.”

******************

May 4, 2006 - 7:18 pm

It was only when Harry had reached the maternity ward of St. Mungo's that he realized Hermione's note was still crumpled
tightly in his clenched fist. The message written hastily on the slip of parchment was short and to the point:

Baby coming. Already sent Ron note. See you soon.

Love, Hermione

After he was quickly referred to the correct room by the familiar blonde receptionist, he all but ran down the corridor
and burst through the door.

Hermione was lying in the bed, already dressed in a hospital gown with a thin sheet covering her from the waist down,
and a single thin wire clamped to the end of her finger led to a small machine next to the bed. She looked up in a
slightly bemused fashion as Harry closed the door behind him.

“Wow, that was fast,” Hermione said. “I sent that owl from the Ministry less than twenty-five minutes ago.”

“I would have been faster, but I sent a quick owl to Ginny. Besides, I was already at the Ministry,” Harry replied,
moving forward and placing a kiss on Hermione's temple before sitting in one of the chairs by her bed. “How are you
feeling?”

“I'm fine right now. Temporarily between contractions, and Healer Clayworth said he could give me a numbing potion soon.
And what were you doing at the Ministry on your afternoon off?”

“It's not important,” Harry said hastily. “Just some things I had to discuss with Wahler.”

Hermione peered curiously into his face, and Harry glanced away, feigning interest in the bland nature prints on the
hospital wall. The small amount of motion in them made the pictures appear Muggle at first glance.

“It's more than that. Does this have something to do with why you and Ginny are -” She paused and screwed her face up in
pain, gripping Harry's hand in a viselike grip when he wrapped his fingers around hers, causing him to wince as well.
After a moment her grip loosened and she let out a pent-up breath. “—fighting?”

“Hermione, this really isn't important right now. Just focus on having this baby, alright?”

Hermione raised her eyebrow. “I'm focusing just fine on this, thank you. I really want to know.”

Harry sighed. “It's nothing, really. I was just putting in my request to stop field work, it's not a big deal.”

Hermione dropped his hand abruptly, and Harry noted the frown that appeared on her face. “Ginny asked you to stop,
didn't she?”

Harry rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, wishing he wasn't having this conversation. “She might have suggested
it, yeah. She just thinks it's the safer move right now.”

“Of course it's the safer move. Hiding away in Grimmauld Place is a safe move as well, but that doesn't mean you're
going to do it,” Hermione replied, agitation evident in her voice, as well as a certain hint of distress that Harry
couldn't quite understand.

“It's really not a big deal, Hermione. It'll be higher pay, and -”

“—and you'll be bored out of your mind.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “Sure, it'll take some getting used to, but it's -”

“—`not a big deal,'” Hermione recited, and again Harry heard the distress in her voice.

“What do you want from me?” Harry said. “It's just a small career change - you just made one, too. Why are you upset?”

Hermione bit her lip and fixed him with a calculated stare. This time Harry didn't look away, intent on acquiring some
clue about what was going on in her head, and after a moment it was Hermione who averted her eyes, swallowing loudly.

“I'm upset because -“ she began, but before she could say anything more, the hospital door opened once more.

“Hermione!” Ron said, hurrying forward and giving her a quick kiss. “I came as soon as I got your owl.”

He appeared fidgety and nervous, but a huge grin spread across his face - the perfect image of a first-time father - and
Harry felt a hard ball of guilt and jealousy form in the pit of his stomach. He stood up, and Ron immediately took his
vacated seat.

“Thanks for filling in, mate,” he said, taking Hermione's hand. “I can take it from here.”

Harry nodded mutely at his words, trying to meet Hermione's eyes. However, she wasn't paying much attention to him,
merely continuing to bite her lip with a furrowed expression, obviously deep in thought. Her expression soon contorted
into one of pain, and she clenched Ron's hand as well as a fistful of the blanket covering her, hissing through her
teeth. Ron blanched at the ferocity of Hermione's grip, a barely audible yelp escaping him before he reined it in.

Clayworth walked in just as this particular contraction wore off, and walked forward to shake Ron's hand as soon as he
was able to pry it from Hermione's.

“Mr. Weasley, I presume?” he said.

“You would presume correctly,” Ron replied, gingerly clasping Clayworth's hand.

“Pleasure to finally meet you,” the Healer responded, his eyes glancing towards Harry and back to Ron. “And how are you
feeling?” he asked Hermione.

“Okay,” she said, wiping the back of her hand across her brow.

“Pain potion still holding?”

“As well as can be expected,” she said.

“Excellent,” Clayworth said. He passed his wand over the machine next to Hermione's bed, surveyed the results the slid
out on a small slip of parchment, then passed his wand over Hermione in a series of diagnostic spells. Once this was
done, he looked apologetically to Harry.

“I'm afraid I need to ask you to leave now, Mr. Potter. There are a few more things that need to be done, and only one
visitor is allowed at the moment. Things could progress very quickly.”

Harry would have liked nothing more than to refuse, to blatantly tell the Healer that he had more right than Ron to be
in the room, that he was the father, that this was his baby being born, but what could he do? Hermione sat silently in
the bed, staring at her hands clasped over her stomach, and he jerked his head in acknowledgment. He glanced back in
time to see Hermione staring after him, her brow again burrowed.

“Good luck,” he said.

She gazed at him a moment, her eyes sad, and then nodded.

“Yes,” she murmured. “See you after.”

“Yeah, see you,” Harry replied, the emotions in the pit of his stomach making their way up to his throat. He had barely
shut the door behind him when Ginny rushed up.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, adjusting the strap of her purse more securely. “Mum just got to the house to watch the
babies.”

“Everything's fine so far. I don't think we can go back in there until after,” he said, pointing his thumb behind him.

“Oh, okay,” Ginny said, disappointment lacing her tone. “Hopefully this goes by quickly, then.”

Harry nodded in agreement, although a part of him felt he needed all the time he could possibly get before the moment of
truth came.

“Guess all we can do is wait.”

******************

May 5, 2006 - 4:33 am

The more time that passed, the more Harry hated that he couldn't be in there, hated that Ron was in there instead, hated
this corridor, hated its pallid blue walls, hated the stubbornly still door of her room, hated the ticking of the clock
that broke the silence.

He had long ago lost track of how many times he had paced the hall, passing again and again and again by the chair where
Ginny had dozed off hours ago. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes, knowing that they must be bloodshot. Blinking frequently
to ward off his exhaustion, he continued to walk, much more slowly then when he had begun.

The first streaks of dawn were just beginning to lighten the sky when, finally, a rattle came from the doorknob. Ginny
jerked awake at the sound and Harry bolted to the door just as Clayworth stepped out.

“Everything went fairly smoothly,” he said.

“On what planet is a nine-hour labor smooth?” Ginny asked, yawning as she stood from her chair.

Clayworth smiled. “Sometimes it just takes a while. But I'll just leave you two to visit,” he said, and strode away down
the corridor.

Just as he was out of sight, the door opened again and Ron poked his head out. There were bags under his eyes, and his
hair looked something akin to Harry's, but the grin on his face was the widest that Harry had ever seen.

“It's a girl!” he pronounced happily, opening the door wider.

Harry felt light-headed at his words. A girl, he thought. His first baby girl, his first daughter. He was simultaneously
giddy and terrified at the thought. But those feelings were nothing compared to what erupted in his chest as Ron ushered
them into the room.

It amazed him that, even though he'd done this twice already, he could still experience such an intense thrill at seeing
his newborn child for the first time. The perfect little face, the knowledge that he had somehow leant to this image of
perfection. His heart seemed to swell in his chest as he took in the sight.

And what was more, Hermione was holding her; Hermione Jean Granger, his best friend, his soul mate, her face shining
with perspiration, her hair in disarray, but never looking more beautiful in Harry's eyes. He watched as she, with a
small smile, angled their daughter towards Ginny, who fawned over the baby's tiny features as Ron stood nearby, his arms
crossed proudly.

Harry didn't know how long he stood there, soaking in these feelings until they filled him to the brim, and only when he
was broken from his reflections by Hermione's voice did he realize she had said virtually nothing since they had entered
the room.

“Ron, could you go get me some ice, please?”

Ron seemed a bit surprised by this request, as though this mundane task had no place in the realm of such an
extraordinary day, but he smiled and nodded nonetheless.

“Sure, of course.” He bent down and kissed the crown of her hair, and then exited the room, assuring them he would
return quickly.

The door had barely closed behind him when Hermione looked at Ginny apologetically.

“I actually meant to ask Ron to get me some pumpkin juice as well. Would you mind…” she trailed off somewhat bashfully.

“Oh.” Ginny glanced between him and Hermione so quickly that at first Harry thought he'd imagined it. “Of course,” she
finally said after a moment, though there was a tone of reluctance in her voice that confused him. She looked as though
she were going to say something more, but instead she flashed Hermione a overly bright smile before turning on the spot,
her ginger ponytail swishing out of sight as the door clicked shut.

And just like that they were alone.

Harry shuffled his feet for a moment, unsure of what to say or do, uncertain if he should speak first or allow her to.
She seemed nervous, shy almost, eyes darting this way and that before finally focusing on him.

“Are you going to come and hold her or not?”

She hadn't even completed her sentence before he was across the room, standing with eager anticipation by her bed. As he
bent over to scoop the baby from her arms and into his own, he knew he must've been grinning like a madman.

His daughter had a thick head of fair hair, and she peered solemnly at him with almond shaped eyes, the irises the
inscrutable blue typical of many newborns, just as they were with Albus. He wondered what color they would be in a few
months.

So you're the person that was causing all the trouble, he thought to himself, still smiling.

The baby blinked innocently, and Harry ran a hand gently over her hair.

“She's perfect, isn't she?”

Harry nodded at Hermione's words, and glanced towards her.

“She is,” he agreed. “Just like her mum.”

Inexplicably, she frowned and her eyes darkened.

“I'm not perfect,” she said. “I'm—I'm far from perfect.”

Harry furrowed his brow at her denial and her clear agitation to his statement. He sat down next to her on the hospital
bed, their arms pressed together as he continued to hold their daughter.

“Well, let me rephrase since you seem so opposed to that…” he said, turning his head slightly to meet Hermione's eyes.
She too had her head angled towards him, and swallowed as she returned his gaze.

“You're perfect to me, at least, so as far as I'm concerned your opinion, for once, is completely wrong.”

He leaned over slightly, just enough to close what little gap remained between them, and kissed her softly. He felt her
respond hesitantly and then place a hand on the side of his face, cupping his jaw.

It was a small moment, a small piece of calmness and normalcy that he was grateful he was able to share with her.

Perhaps this is why he was so surprised to see her face shining with tears as he pulled away from her.

“What's wrong?” he said, startled.

Hermione shook her head, her damp curls bouncing listlessly. She still cradled his face with one hand, and the other she
feverishly dragged across her eyes.

“Why do you have to make this so hard?” she said, and the tears she had just wiped away were immediately replaced with
fresh ones. “I can't - I just can't do this.”

Harry's heart immediately took residence somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He blinked as Hermione attempted to stem
her flow of tears, and his daughter suddenly felt heavy in his arms, just as Hermione's hand on his cheek suddenly felt
less than soft - at least in his mind it did, though at the moment he was sincerely doubting it was capable of any sort
of coherent thought.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally cleared his (very dry) throat and asked the question that he already knew
the answer to.

“Can't do what?” he managed to say, although it came out much more quietly than intended.

“Do I really have to say it?” she said, letting her hand fall from his face as he turned away from her.

Harry figured his lack of reply was response enough. He heard rather than saw her take a deep breath.

“I can't break things off with Ron…” she said quietly. “I can't…I can't tell him or Ginny or anyone else about her.” She
placed a hand softly on the blankets enveloping their baby. “I can't…”

“You can't be with me,” Harry concluded for her. There was no bitterness in his voice, no anger. There was really no
emotion in his voice at all as he said it, but there was an ache in his chest that he doubted was fleeting.

Hermione remained silent next to him, which was all the answer he needed.

They sat in silence for several moments as Harry watched his daughter fall asleep.

“Why?” he asked. He knew there were reasons, plenty of them, but he was curious which of them had driven her to this
decision. “Is this about what people would say to us?”

“No,” she said quickly, “that's not it at all. It would have been so hard to tell Ron and Ginny, to hurt them like that,
but…I could...I know I could deal with that. With the stares and the whispers and the gossip…I could even stand being
hated if that's the way things turned out…”

“Then why?”

“Because we've been selfish for the past nine months. We were thinking about ourselves and our feelings and never more
than a day ahead of us -”

“And why shouldn't we be able to do that?”

“I sort of thought that as well.”

“When did that change?”

He finally glanced over at her again, and saw that she already had her head turned towards him, ready to meet his gaze
steadfastly.

“About half an hour ago,” she said, and both their eyes fell upon the bundle in Harry's arms.

He nodded, accepting.

“I just…after seeing her, I can't imagine doing something that would hurt her in any way possible…and if I asked you to
do that to James and Al…I would never be able to forgive myself.”

She laid a hand tentatively over his, and he made no move to remove it.

“And I don't think you would be able to forgive yourself, either. The fact that you were willing to give up a job you
love for Ginny, today of all days…I think, on some level, you knew you needed to make things work with her for James and
Al's sake.”

“Hermione, I would walk out of here right now and tell them everything if that's what you wanted.”

Hermione smiled sadly at his words. “I know you would, but that's just it - it's not about what I or you want anymore.
It's about the obligations we've made…it's about James and Al and her. Besides…it's not as though we're unhappy with Ron
and Ginny, right?”

He didn't know if she was trying to convince him or herself. Maybe both.

“Are we really willing to sacrifice the happiness of everyone around us just so we can be just a little happier?”

Harry felt inclined to petulantly respond in the affirmative, but he knew she was right. She was always right. Though he
had never realized that is was possible to be so right and so wrong at the same time.

“So she'll never know?” Harry said, looking down once more at their daughter, who had fallen asleep. “She'll never know
I'm her dad?”

Hermione started to silently cry again, and she gave a jerky nod.

“Not until she can handle it, at least…” she said, and he knew it was more for his benefit than the truth. By the time
she could handle it, it would turn her entire world upside down, and both of them knew it.

Hermione placed a hand gently on the baby's soft hair.

“I want you to name her,” she said.

Harry murmured in assent although he figured it would be incredibly difficult to focus on something like naming a child
who would never truly be his.

But it somehow wasn't difficult. Almost as soon as he looked down at the baby with the purpose of deciphering a proper
name, it came to his mind so effortlessly the name might as well have been imprinted across her forehead.

“Rose,” he said quietly.

“Rose,” Hermione repeated, as though tasting the word on her tongue.

Harry finally stood from the hospital bed, feeling significantly older than he had when he had sat down.

“You can pick whatever middle name you like. Maybe after your mum.”

He knew it was slightly underhanded to continue a family tradition by naming his daughter (Hermione's daughter) after a
flower, and he felt as though he were secretly staking a claim over her, a tiny reminder for himself every time she was
praised or chastised. Not that he needed a reminder.

And so much sooner than Harry was ready for, Ron entered the room. In the small infinity that transpired as Ron crossed
the room, Harry took the opportunity to look, really look, at his daughter for that last moment that she would truly be
his daughter. What had been his daughter for nine months and the half hour since her birth was now Ron's daughter. Harry
hungrily took in the sight of her, like a starving man, drinking in every feature he could possibly notice of the
sleeping infant in his arms. He learned the curve of her tiny seashell ears, imprinted in his mind the shape of her
constantly moving mouth, memorized the color and texture of the pale brown down on her head. He torturously found
himself searching her features for some sign that could be interpreted as Ron, and in her sleep Rose clutched at his
index finger while he conducted his broken, envious examination. As he had done with James and Al, he marveled that this
tiny person, so new and indistinct, could so utterly secure the love and sanity of a fully-grown man. He could
practically feel a bit of his soul crumble as he handed Ron the baby.

As he relinquished his hold on Rose, and stood back to fully take in the scene before him, Harry was suddenly forcibly
reminded of something Dumbledore had mentioned long ago…a room locked at all times, containing a force at once more
wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature.

Never before had Harry so accurately felt this force in all its variable forms, roiling throughout his body in
unforgiving waves of torture as he met Hermione's sad gaze and watched his daughter being placed in her arms by someone
that wasn't him.

Because despite out beautiful it can be, you can never quite escape the thorns.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

42. Remembrance

A/N: New chapter! Hope you guys enjoy it! And thanks so much for all the reviews for the last one --- believe there were
just under 30 of them, which is AWESOME. So continue to be awesome and drop me a review for this one.

Chapter 42: Remembrance

Damn it, I am going to be SO late.

Hermione dashed from room to room, her hair still damp from an extremely hasty shower, a fistful of wrinkled papers in
one hand, and a wailing infant in the other.

“It's okay, baby,” she cooed, soothing the best she could with one arm. “Mummy just really needs to get these cases sent
back to work, so please stop crying.”

She found herself doing this quite often when she was stressed - trying to logic with her months-old child. She was
disappointed to discover that it rarely worked.

This must have been the third time she circled the house. Where in Merlin's beard were those data reports? When had she
had them last? When had she become so disorganized? When - ouch, please don't tug on Mummy's hair - had she ever been
known to lose anything, let alone important work documents? When - wait, she remembered looking over them while she was
feeding the baby…nope, not on the table. Maybe by the sink…negative. Oh bloody -

“Mummy?”

Hermione paused her frantic search and looked down at her daughter, who stood peering at her with large eyes, dressed in
a pristine powder blue dress. The final few pages of her case were clutched in her tiny hands.

“Rose!” Hermione said in astonishment as she took the slips of parchment. “Where did you find those?”

She smiled and pointed over by the couch, where the diaper bag had been overturned.

Hermione sighed at her own stupidity.

“Thank you, sweetie,” she said. “Just in time too.”

She was just on the verge of attempting to bind the pages with a bit of string when Ron - finally - came through the
door.

“Daddy!” Rose squealed, scampering towards him.

“Rosie!” he replied, grinning widely as he knelt down to hug her.

It still amazed Hermione that the simultaneous pleasure of seeing Ron with Rose could coincide so neatly with the agony
of knowing what she did.

But no time to reflect on that now. Merlin knows she'd done it enough already.

“Here,” she said, business-like as she handed Hugo to his father. “Could you please feed him? I have to send these files
back to work and I still haven't done a thing to get ready. The bottle's already made and everything.”

“Sure,” Ron said. “Bottle's in the kitchen?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered, already bundling up all her paperwork into her arms and moving towards the sofa to arrange
them more neatly. Once this was accomplished, she rolled them into a scroll, sealed them, and cast a few privacy charms
to ensure only the proper people would be able to receive them. The moment this was completed she stood up and moved to
the backyard, where she hoped Marcellus would still be. At this point she wouldn't be surprised if he were off hiding
somewhere with all the work she had given him lately.

Fortunately for her, the owl flew down from his perch on a branch high in trees, and alighted upon her raised arm. He
ruffled his feathers in resignation at the scroll in her hand.

“I'm terribly sorry, Marcellus,” she said, tying the parchment to his leg. “These need to get to the Ministry as soon as
possible. But this will be the last time this week, I swear.”

Marcellus blinked at her disbelievingly before nipping her finger affectionately and taking off, his snowy wings
clipping her hair.

She sighed as she watched the owl disappear among the clouds. This really was beginning to be a bit much. It was her own
fault, of course. She was the one who had insisted upon maintaining her still relatively new work responsibilities. But
that was the price she had to pay to spend time with her children. After all, Hugo was still so young…she still needed
some time before going back to work completely. She was frankly a bit surprised they hadn't replaced her yet…she had
barely set up her office in Magical Law when she found out she was pregnant again. She considered it a blessing, in a
way. Leaving Rose alone with Mrs. Weasley for the first time had been heart-breaking, and having an excuse to be back at
home with her, even for a brief period, was wonderful. Besides, her primary job at the moment was analyzing case files
and research where needed…more or less the equivalent of a Muggle paralegal. While it was more difficult to do at home,
it was at least manageable.

As she continued to stare at the spot in the clouds where Marcellus had disappeared, she finally jerked herself back to
reality. She still hadn't done a thing to get ready.

She spun around and stepped into the kitchen, and the moment she did she wished she hadn't. She groaned as she saw Hugo
soaked thoroughly in formula and Ron holding the mostly empty bottle aloft helplessly.

“The, er, top of it kind of fell off,” he said unnecessarily.

Sighing, she moved forward and scooped Hugo from his arms.

“Can you just get ready to go, please?” she said, already moving towards the nearest bathroom. “At least one of us
should be on time.”

She didn't hear his reply as she used her wand to instantly fill the bathtub with about three inches of warm water and
quickly stripped the formula-soaked clothes off Hugo. However, the moment he came into contact with the water he began
to wail, writhing as well as his two-month-old body would permit.

“Oh, Hugo, please, not today!” she said, cradling him in one hand as she used her other to rinse his tuft of red hair.

He continued to bawl, and suddenly the lights began to flicker on and off, plunging her in darkness continuously. She
turned her head sharply, anxious to see if something was wrong with Rose. However, Ron appeared each time the lights
came back on, grinning as he flipped the switch by the door incessantly.

“Will you stop that!” she hissed. “It's not helping!”

“Sorry,” Ron said, “thought it added some drama.”

“Why aren't you getting ready?” Hermione replied, ignoring his statement as she lifted the still crying Hugo from the
tub.

“Oh, right,” Ron said. “Harry's here. Just let him in a second ago.”

Hermione wrapped Hugo in a fluffy blue towel and nodded. “Alright. I take it he has Rose, then?”

“Of course. Since Daddy becomes old news when `Uncle Hawwy' is around,” Ron said, imitating Rose's pronunciation as he
rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

She smiled tightly at his statement. “Well, tell him I'll be out in a minute. And you'd better get ready in the
meantime.”

“Fine, fine, I'm off,” he said, and disappeared into the next room.

Hermione sat down on the edge of the tub, slowly and methodically drying Hugo until he quieted down, which only took a
few moments. He was generally a very good baby…both he and Rose were. The primary difference had been the length of
their fits. Hugo tended to get upset more frequently, but he was just as quick to settle down. Rose, on the other hand,
had rarely cried, but the times that she did could go on for hours. Not unlike their fathers in that respect.

She stood up after a few minutes and exited the bathroom, keeping Hugo wrapped in the towel until she could dress him.
As she entered the living room, she instantly spotted Harry standing by the couch, Rose squealing happily as he tossed
her into the air. As he caught her again, Hermione couldn't help but admire his attire.

He was dressed in official Auror uniform, the type only worn to the most special of occasions. Although the uniform was
still technically a set of robes just as any other Ministry-sanctioned attire, it was only obvious from the waist down,
where the back billowed out like a cloak. The top half of the robes could have been mistaken for military dress,
double-breasted and featuring a raised collar. It fit more closely to Harry's torso, and was as black as his hair,
allowing the silver trim and buttons to stand out brilliantly. To complete the look, three different badges were pinned
to his chest: a small blue emblem featuring interlocking M's for the Ministry of Magic, a golden medal that Hermione
recognized as the Order of Merlin, First Class, and a small silver triangular badge, proudly declaring Harry as the Head
of the Auror Department (the youngest ever appointed at the age of twenty-seven).

Needless to say, he cut a very impressive figure.

“I must say,” she began, causing Harry to whirl around with Rose, “you clean up quite well, Mr. Potter.”

He grinned at her statement, if possible making him look even more dashing.

“Oh, this old thing?” he said, wiping at the crisp shoulder of his robes with his free hand as though wiping away
imaginary dust. Rose promptly swept at his other shoulder with her tiny palm, eliciting an even larger smile from Harry.

Hermione always loved seeing them like this. Harry was always in his element around his children, and seeing him share
that bond with Rose was a source of immense gratification to Hermione. She would be lying if she said the past two years
had been painless. Especially in the first month after Rose had been born…in that first month it was like she had ceased
to exist in Harry's eyes. After he had stepped out of the hospital room, she hadn't seen or heard from him for weeks.
She had been left agonizing over her decision, clinging desperately to the hope that this would not be permanent, that
Harry wouldn't become a virtual stranger to her, only to be seen on the occasional family holiday. But then one day in
the beginning of June, he had shown up alone at her house and wordlessly taken Rose from her arms, cradling the infant
against himself fervently, looking as though he would never set her down again. After that day, it was a rare occurrence
for more than two days to go by without Harry appearing on the doorstep. Sometimes he had the kids, sometimes Ginny
accompanied him, and sometimes it was just him alone. It seemed she and Harry had made a silent decision to never let
whatever feelings, good or bad, that lay between them to interfere with their relationship or the relationship, however
limited, that Harry could have with Rose.

And things had become easier then. Not easy by any means, but easier. She still fretted almost daily about her choices,
but Rose served as a life-raft that kept her from drowning in her emotions. In Rose, something of her former life
remained, her last link to the person she had been for such a brief period of time two years ago. In her daughter - in
the shapes of her eyes and her nose, the set of her jaw when she was upset - she could see Harry. In fact, against
reason, she had almost been upset when it became obvious that Rose's hair and eyes would both be brown, not black and
green. She knew that what she was doing was dishonorable. Dishonorable, deceitful, and shameful on so many levels it
sickened her. And of course spectacularly unfair to both Ron and Harry. But already Hermione saw the sacrifices a mother
had to make, and if virtue was one of them, then so be it.

Hermione was dragged from her thoughts as Harry moved to set Rose down.

“Off you go, Rosie,” he said as she tottered off to her pile of toys in the center of the living room. Harry gave
Hermione a quick up-down as she shifted Hugo into a more comfortable position in her arms. “I dunno, Hermione, I don't
think my robes stand up to your outfit.”

She rolled her eyes, as she was clad in khakis and a formula-stained shirt. “Right, I'll be the belle of the ball,” she
said sarcastically. “I haven't had time to get dressed yet.”

“Cutting it a little close, don't you think?”

“Well, it'll only take a moment if -”

She stopped as she heard the bedroom door open and close.

“Ready,” Ron said, entering clothed in dark blue dress robes. He also had a Ministry pin attached to his chest, as well
as a silver Order of the Merlin, Second Class. Hermione herself had one of these stashed somewhere around the house. He
looked quite dashing as well, although not quite to Harry's degree.

“Excellent,” Hermione said crisply, and deposited the towel-wrapped Hugo into his arms. “Get him dressed while I get
ready. His clothes are already laid out in his room.”

“Er, yeah, sure,” Ron said. He and Hugo looked quite the pair with their matching sets of red hair. Ron walked off in
the direction of Hugo's room - the room that had so recently been her study - and Hermione turned back towards Harry.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on Rose for a moment?” she asked, for propriety's sake more so than actually seeking an
answer.

“Of course,” Harry replied. His eyes searched the room and he let out a bark of laughter as his eyes turned towards the
kitchen.

Hermione turned her eyes toward the kitchen as well. At first she didn't see anything, but then her eyes lowered to the
ground. Their daughter sat on the floor with a cookie pot wedged between her knees, munching contentedly on a fistful of
ginger snaps.

“Oh, Rose,” she groaned. “I thought you hadn't seen me put that on the upper shelf.”

******************

As soon as Ron had emerged from Hugo's room, Harry had reluctantly left the house, knowing he was purposefully
procrastinating showing up. He knew Ginny would be there with James and Al already, and he had simply felt the need to
see Hermione and Rose beforehand.

But now he couldn't put it off any longer, and it was with a heavy heart and an exhausted sigh that he entered the Great
Hall.

The sound that bombarded him the moment he pushed open the doors was almost enough to make him turn and high-tail it all
the way to Hogsmeade. The Great Hall was more packed than he'd ever seen it, including during the Yule Ball. The only
tables present were pressed against the wall and held a small array of hors d'oeurvres and punch bowls. Immediately
Harry moved towards the nearest of these tables, hoping his entrance hadn't been noticed and intent on soothing his
suddenly parched throat. He noted that one of the punches was spiked with firewhiskey, and promptly filled a glass with
the red liquid. The first sip burned his throat satisfactorily, and he downed the rest of it in two quick gulps.

“Seems a little early to be hitting the booze, don't you think?”

Harry quickly turned, empty glass clutched in his hand, to find Mitch standing behind him with a grin. His blonde hair
was slicked back over his head in a good imitation of Draco Malfoy, and he wore deep red dress robes.

“Yeah, a bit early,” Harry conceded, relieved that it was only his partner.

“Nervous, I take it?”

Harry shrugged noncommittally. “Among other things.”

Mitch clapped him on the shoulder as he moved to get himself some punch as well.

“It's just a speech, mate. It'll be over before you know it.”

Harry nodded tersely, scanning the people around him.

Mitch followed his example and inspected the crowd, and frowned after a moment.

“You're not still worried about Dolohov, are you?”

Harry glanced sideways to meet Mitch's gaze. He would be lying if the thought wasn't still nagging him. He had been over
the security for this event time and time again, and Mitch knew more than anyone how anxious he had been about it.

When Harry didn't reply, Mitch pressed the fresh cup of punch into his hand. “Just relax, will you? There's no way
Dolohov or any of his goons are getting anywhere near here. Trust me, forget about him for once.”

The certainty in his voice surprisingly eased his mind somewhat. He took a drink of the punch to ease it a bit more.

Mitch suddenly waved at someone behind him. “Family unit approaching from twelve o'clock,” he said with a grin.

Harry took another long gulp and shoved the almost empty glass back into Mitch's hands before turning towards Ginny.

“Merlin, I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever show up!” she exclaimed. She straddled Al awkwardly on her hip and she
had a tight grip on James' hand as he walked beside her, seemingly flabbergasted by the sheer number of people around
him. The flowing nature of her dark green dress managed to somewhat disguise her swollen stomach. James quickly slid his
hand from Ginny's when he spotted his father and darted towards him eagerly.

Harry scooped his eldest son easily into his arms and Ginny seemed relieved as she used her now-free hand to hold onto
Albus as well.

“Hey, little man!” Harry said.

“Hey, Daddy!” James replied. “Are all the people here to see you?”

He seemed astounded at the idea, and Harry couldn't help but smile. At least his own son didn't know how famous he was.

“No, all the people aren't here to see me. I'm just going to talk to them for a little bit later on. Other people are
going to talk too.”

“Oh,” James said. He paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Do you get to talk first?”

“I don't think so,” Harry said seriously. “I think the Minister gets to talk first.”

“Oh,” James said again, and nodded at his father. “I bet you'll talk better.”

“Let's hope so, pal,” Harry said.

“Speaking of the Minister, I'm pretty sure he's about to suffer from heart failure if you don't let him know you're
finally here,” Mitch said, jerking his thumb towards the front of the hall.

“That's probably a good idea,” Harry conceded.

“Do you want me to watch James?” Ginny asked.

“No, I'll bring him with me. It'll only take a second.”

The trek took longer than expected given the sheer amount of people he had to fight his way through. Luckily Kingsley's
height made him tower over almost everyone else in the room, and Harry had no trouble finding him. The look of relief
that crossed Kingsley's expression as Harry approached was almost enough to make him chuckle - rarely did the Minister
ever exude any emotion short of calm and collected.

“Harry,” he said, excusing himself from his conversation with a peaky-looking wizard with fluffy white hair. “Punctual
as always, I see.”

“Of course,” Harry replied congenially, inwardly smirking at Kingsley's jibe.

“And I see the young James Potter is in company as well,” Kingsley said with a smile. He extended his enormous hand to
the three-year-old, and James only hesitated in the slightest before gamely pressing his tiny palm into the minister's
and giving it a firm shake.

“Good man,” Kingsley said. “I'll be expecting to see you in the department sometime in the next fifteen years.”

James nodded importantly.

“I'm hoping he'll consider a less brutal job before following in his dad's footsteps,” Harry countered.

Kingsley let out a booming laugh and clapped Harry on the shoulder. “We can always hope. At any rate, now that you're
finally here, we'll start the proceedings shortly.”

“Alright,” Harry said. “In the meantime I should be getting back to my wife.”

“Probably a good idea,” Kingsley said.

If it was possible, the trip back to Ginny took even longer. Not only was she considerably shorter than most and
consistently became lost in the crowd, but Harry was stopped frequently along the way. Hagrid had intercepted him and
clapped him heartily on the back, nearly causing him to drop James, but had quickly stepped aside when he actually did
knock over two innocent bystanders. Harry had barely gone another yard before Oliver Wood appeared before him, looking
as though his nose had been broken a number of times over the past few years and expressing his new manager position on
Puddlemere United's Quidditch team now that he was officially retired. When he was finally dragged away by Alicia
Spinnet, the recently-engaged Luna Lovegood approached him with her fiancé Rolf in tow. At some point along the way he
had set James down due to his aching arms and now simply clasped his hand. He was much more enthused by the next person
who stopped him.

Hermione looked quite splendid in a simple pale blue dress, although she looked practically out of breath as she reached
him. The delicate silver pendant he had bought her lay against her chest, and Harry was strangely pleased to see it
displayed instead of hidden beneath a blouse, as it usually was. She held Rose, who was still clothed in the dress he
had seen her in earlier, causing her to nearly match her mother.

“Uncle Hawwy!” she said, waving enthusiastically to Harry as though she hadn't seen him less than an hour ago.

“Hey, Rosebud,” he said, grinning. “Long time no see.”

“Thank Merlin we made it in time,” Hermione said, pushing a few strands of hair from her face.

“Close to a photo-finish,” Harry said. “Kingsley's about to start everything. You look very nice, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, only the slightest tinge of pink coloring her cheeks. “As I've already said, you look quite
dashing as well.”

“I've always liked you in blue,” Harry said. “If it wasn't for the kids, we could be at the Yule Ball right now.”

Hermione's blush deepened a bit at Harry's remembrance of what she had worn in fourth year, but she smiled nonetheless.
She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off as someone around them spoke.

“I agree, you have always vorn blue quite vell.”

Harry and Hermione both turned their heads sharply towards the instantly recognizable voice, Hermione's jaw practically
dropping open in the process.

“Viktor!” she said in delight.

“Hermy-own-ninny,” Viktor Krum replied, smiling. “It is nice to see you again. Same vith you, Harry.”

“Yeah, it's great to see you too,” Harry replied, a bit thrown off by the Bulgarian's sudden appearance.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” Hermione said.

“It vos a bit of a last minute decision,” Viktor said. He paused as he surveyed James and Rose. “These are your
children?”

Harry and Hermione nodded.

“Vell, they are beautiful children.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said just as Harry uttered his thanks as well.

“How long have you been together?”

Both Harry and Hermione stared blankly at him a moment before understanding dawned on them.

“Oh!” Hermione said.

“No, we're not together,” Harry said hastily.

“He's just Harry's,” Hermione added, gesturing to James. “He's not mine.”

Harry found himself grateful when she didn't describe his affiliation to Rose - or lack thereof.

“Oh, I apologize,” Viktor said. He seemed mildly embarrassed. “I just assumed ven I saw you vith the children. I
vondered if you and Ron had not vorked out. And you always did talk very fondly of Harry during the Tournament…”

“Right…” Hermione said, clearing her throat. “No, Ron and I are still married.”

“Speaking of, I think I see him and my wife over there,” Harry interrupted. “If you'll excuse us…”

“Of course,” Viktor replied, looking relieved. “It vos vonderful to see you, Hermy-own-ninny. And you, Harry.”

“It was wonderful to see you as well, Viktor,” Hermione said for both of them, smiling.

He immediately slumped away, disappearing easily into the crowd.

“It still bugs me that he figured it out before I did,” Harry muttered as soon as he was gone.
“And Rita Skeeter,” Hermione pointed out. “And Cho Chang. And Ron.”

“Don't remind me,” Harry grumbled.

“Did you really see Ron and Ginny?” Hermione said, unable to scan the crowd with her height.

“I didn't a minute ago,” Harry said, his eyes focused behind her. “But they're coming over now.”

Ginny appeared a moment later with Albus, and Ron appeared holding Hugo.

“Everyone's heading outside,” Ginny said without preamble. “We should go and get our seats.”

Harry quickly agreed and followed her out of the hall as Hermione fell into step beside him. The cold feeling of anxiety
he had momentarily forgotten settled once more in the pit of his stomach, his insides squirming unpleasantly.

******************

The chairs by the lake were set up very similarly to the way they had been set up for Dumbledore's funeral, though there
were considerably more of them. Hermione was almost disappointed when Kingsley ushered her and Ron to the front - she
really had no more right than anyone to deserve a place of honor. Yes, she had helped Harry, but he had done the main
bit. He was the reason they were here. And as she glanced over at him, sitting straight as a rod in his seat next to
her, she could tell that such a concept (however true) was mostly just sickening to him. He still looked incredibly
dapper in his uniform, but his face was considerably paler than it had been just moments ago in the Great Hall.

James sat on Harry's other side, sandwiched between his father and mother, and Ginny had Albus settled in her lap much
as she had Rose settled in her lap and Ron with Hugo. Hermione couldn't help but think that the four of them (five if
you considered Ginny's pregnant belly) made quite an attractive display. The father, impressive in his uniform, the
mother, radiant and glowing, and the two sons, practically Harry in miniature with their identical mops of jet-black
hair (which happened to set off Ginny's vibrant red hair brilliantly), and Albus even more so with his bright green
eyes.

Yes, quite the statement indeed.

Hermione glanced over again and saw that Harry's right hand, the one nearest her, was fidgeting, fingers tapping
relentlessly against his leg. She leaned over and nudged him slightly with her shoulder. The tapping stopped instantly,
although the way he fisted his fingers told her that he was having trouble keeping it that way.

“Nervous?” she whispered to him. The soft rumble of the crowd behind her, as well as Ginny and Ron's respective
conversations with McGonagall and Neville, ensured they wouldn't be heard.

“Not especially,” Harry said. “Do you think they'd notice if I transformed into a wolf and ran madly into the Forbidden
Forest?”

“It's a possibility,” Hermione admitted solemnly. “Especially because I'd have to take off after you as a fox, and that
would lead to even more of a fuss.”

“Not to mention that Rose would probably rat us out if we somehow managed to get away undetected,” Harry added.

“I think we're safe there,” Hermione said, smiling down at her daughter dozing in her lap.

Before either could say anything else, a hush spread through the crowd immediately followed by a rustle of people
twisting in their seats. Hermione followed suit, and saw Kingsley approaching the podium that was set in front of the
seats. Sunlight sparkled like diamonds on the surface of the lake and provided a perfect backdrop for the ceremony.
Hermione could also see Dumbledore's tomb, crisp against the sky, on the opposite side of the lake. She was more morose
in thinking that this was appropriate as well.

When the minister reached the front of the group, he turned and surveyed them for a moment. Even the lake seemed as
unmoving and silent as the vast group of people sitting beside it.

“Good evening,” Kingsley finally said, his magically magnified voice reverberating over the crowd. “Today is a momentous
occasion. Today we come together, after ten years, to this revered place. Today we both celebrate and mourn as we
remember.”

Hermione allowed the minister's deep tone to wash over her. The unseen people behind her were entirely still, the
silence only broken by the occasional sniffle. She noted in the periphery of her vision that Harry had bowed his head
and closed his eyes.

“Today we remember our sons, our daughters, our relatives, our friends….ordinary people with extraordinary courage,”
Kingsley continued. “We do this because today is May 2, 2008, the tenth commemoration of our final battle against the
tyranny of Lord Voldemort.”

Hermione was pleased when she heard no sharp intake of breath from the people behind her.

She watched as Kingsley waved his wand, and suddenly there was a monument that became visible in the grassy area next to
the podium. It was a monolith made of the same white marble that Dumbledore's tomb was made of, and carved with names of
those who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts.

“With this memorial, we commemorate those who died. We honor each of the fifty-four men and women who were killed that
day, and we stand with the families who love them still.”

Hermione felt a burning in her throat, a prickling feeling in her eyes as she heard a sob or two finally break the
stillness. She knew one had emitted from Molly Weasley. She knew better than to think she'd hear a sound from George,
sitting a row behind her with the rest of the Weasleys and staring blankly. No matter how much time passed, she knew
that his pain was of the sort that simply transcended something as uncomplicated as tears.

She also thought of Teddy, surprisingly solemn, hair mousy-brown as Tonks' had been when she was feeling down. He was
sitting next to his grandmother and mourning the parents he had never gotten to know, the parents who would not be able
to see him off to Hogwarts next year, would not be able to see him grow into a young man. There was something so
inherently Harry-like about his demeanor that it made her heart ache. Victoire sat next to him as well, holding his
hand, doing her best to comfort him. Hermione suddenly remembered that it was the girl's eighth birthday, and felt sorry
that it fell on such a sad day.

She thought of Katie Bell, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Parvati and Padma Patil, Neville Longbottom, Hannah Abbott,
Lavender Brown, Cho Chang, and her numerous other classmates who were here to honor everyone who wasn't.

She even thought of Draco Malfoy. She had seen him, knew he was here. She had a strong suspicion that he sat in the very
back of the crowd, next to his wife, Astoria, holding his son, Scorpius, who Hermione knew was around Rose and Albus's
age. Hermione knew that it must have taken an incredible amount of courage and humility to show up to this ceremony, and
for that alone could forgive him for the horrible things he had done as a child.

So engrossed was she in her thoughts that Hermione didn't realize she had stopped listening to the minister until she
registered a change in the pitch of his voice. She guiltily returned her attention to Kingsley's speech, but then
realized that there really was no need to feel guilty. They were here to remember, just as Kingsley has said. And that's
what she was doing - remembering.

“…and so,” Kingsley was saying, “it is with great pleasure and admiration that I invite the Ministry's Head Auror, the
Boy-Who-Lived and the Vanquisher-of-the-Dark-Lord, Harry James Potter, to come up and say a few words.”

Hermione instantly winced at Kingsley's use of Harry's many monikers, but Harry seemed to take it in stride as he stood
from his seat and straightened his robes. He was still terribly pale, but by the determined set of his jaw Hermione knew
he would be all right.

When Harry reached the podium, he and Kingsley shook hands professionally as though they were not close friends, and
then he and Kingsley exchanged places, Harry facing the crowd as the minister sat between Hermione and James. The
minister gave Hermione a small smile and a nod as he sat, and then gave James a quick wink. The small boy blinked as he
craned his head to take in the enormous wizard, and then jutted out his hand as his father had. Kingsley chuckled as he
gave the hand a tiny shake. Then James turned his head to look towards his father, as if concluding his business with
the minister.

Hermione smiled at the exchange, then turned to look at Harry as well. When he met her eyes, she smiled more brightly
and nodded in encouragement. He had managed to avoid much of this sort of thing in the days after the battle, and she
knew he was anxious. But she knew he would do fine…they had practiced the speech so many times he should know it by
heart.

He took in a large breath and expelled it before beginning to speak.

“Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt, for your words,” he began courteously, nodding towards Kingsley, who nodded back.

Harry opened his mouth to continue, paused for a moment, and then chuckled nervously.

“As you'll probably find out in a moment, I'm absolute rubbish at giving speeches,” he said, eliciting light laughter
from the crowd. “In fact, if it wasn't for my friend Hermione I probably wouldn't have had anything prepared at all -
still finishing my homework for me, thank Merlin.”

The crowd laughed again, especially since the majority of them had been witness to Hermione's role in Harry and Ron's
schoolwork. Hermione blushed slightly and smiled. A line into his speech and he had already charmed them.

As the laughter faded off, Harry turned solemn once more, though he seemed calmer than he had a moment ago.

“Despite what some of the press may have you believe, this day isn't about me. This day isn't really even about
Voldemort. This day is to remember the sacrifices of everyone who faced him and his followers. That includes almost
everyone sitting in this crowd, as well as those we wish were here sitting with us. It's here we feel the depth of your
and their sacrifice.”

He paused as he scanned the crowd, his green eyes taking in everyone before him.

“This is also a day to look forward,” he continued. “The sacrifices that were made ten years ago would mean nothing if
we forgot the work that was done to win, and the lessons we learned. It falls to us, and every generation afterward, to
carry on that work. To keep moving forward and overcome a sometimes painful past as we continue to strive for our
ideals.

“Everyone who was a part of the war - because it was a war - did so by choice. We volunteered. And we fought with as
much bravery and honor as any before us. And after the battle was fought and won, we did something more - maybe more
important than the war itself. We looked after one another. We cared for one another. Many of us were hurt after the
war, and not all of us physically. And we understood that and helped each other.”

He paused and looked downward to the people in front of him. He met her eyes again and gave a small smile, which she
knew was meant not only for her, but for Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys.

“And now, ten years later,” he said, looking back up, “we remember that this will forever bind us, whether you fought in
the battle or were too young to be shaped by it. It is important that our children understand the sacrifices that were
made here a decade ago…that for them, this battle will be more than just a name in history books.

“I know the wounds of war are slow to heal. We know better than most. But today we take another step. The task of
telling our story continues. Decades from now, I hope other young Hogwarts students will see this monument and reach out
and touch a name - someone she never met, who fought a war she never knew - and in that moment of understanding and
gratitude, your legacy will endure. For you, and every name on that monument, are all true heroes that deserve to be
remembered.”

And as Harry concluded his speech, his voice catching a bit at the end, Hermione could attest to how accurate his words
were. She could practically see them around her, not just those who died in the battle, but everyone who had died in
defiance of Voldemort. At the very least she could certainly feel them, conspicuous in their absence…Fred sitting next
to George, cutting up and whispering conspiratorially about some prank or joke product for their shop; Colin Creevey,
snapping away frantically on his Muggle camera; Dobby, in his brightly colored socks and hats, chattering away to Harry;
Snape, still intimidating the students who had graduated ten years ago even though they knew better now; Remus, sitting
by Teddy and tousling his hair affectionately; Tonks on Teddy's other side and changing her appearance to amuse him;
Sirius, making a few light-hearted jabs at Remus, his dark hair falling in his face as he grinned wolfishly; James and
Lily, sitting in the front row with Hermione, proudly watching their son; Dumbledore, standing beside Harry and clapping
his shoulder, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.

She swallowed the lump in her throat at these thoughts, and barely registered Kingsley standing up and Harry sitting
back down.

He let out an exhausted sigh and glanced over at her.

“Did I do okay?” he muttered.

She nodded, blinking away tears.

“Yes,” she said. “You did great.”

******************

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Slight side note: I'm aware that Lavender Brown was attacked by Fenrir Greyback in the 7th book,
and according to Harry Potter Wiki she was one of the deceased during the Battle of Hogwarts, but given that it was not
explicitly stated in the book (or by JKR herself as far as I know) that she died, I'm going to assume she survived. If
someone is aware of an interview or something where JKR affirmed Lavender's death, please let me know. But otherwise I'm
going to be an optimist and say she's alive and well.

Aaaannnd cue reviews.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

43. Chapter 43: Suspicions

A/N: As always, I must apologize for the delay with posting. I was working on a short story for a class last year for
literally like seven weeks of the semester and then holidays came up, etc. Not to mention I just started a Jane Austen
course, the reading for which is taking up quite a bit of my free time. Regardless, I do hope to have this story
completed within the year. Not too lofty of a goal or anything but still.

So to start, thank you to everyone who reviewed last time. Despite my less than consistent updating schedule, I am still
always blown away by your words, so thank you so much! I hope you all enjoy this one, and continue to leave feedback!
Just as a warning, there will a big time jump after this chapter.

Chapter 43: Suspicions

Hermione batted almost subconsciously at one of the flying memos that threatened to embed itself in her mane of hair.
When the second one did the same, she wrapped her fingers loosely over her vinewood wand and murmured Finite, causing
the tiny paper memos to collapse limply upon her desk.

She swiped the memos to the side until she could finish the report she was reading.

It was early Saturday at the Ministry of Magic, and as such there were few people milling about. By all rights she
shouldn't have been there either, but there had been a few very important cases she had wanted to complete before she
could fully enjoy her weekend. The files themselves contained little of value - they were mostly blank, at least to her
eyes - but certain elements of the files were required to achieve approval from the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement. The reports, being from the Department of Mysteries, were of utmost secrecy and only revealed things on a
need-to-know basis. In fact, she found that more often than not she could remember very little of what she had just read
when the file was out of her sight. The procedure was more for show than anything, and once they got the faux-approval
from the DMLE, the Unspeakables would send the final project summary to the Minister himself.

However, Hermione knew that the Unspeakables could be an impatient lot when it came to beginning a new project, and she
wanted to complete the reports as soon as possible.

Hermione yawned as she flipped the file shut and tucked it into the box on her desk.

Her career track had been a little hectic since she had switched departments, and the changes occurred so rapidly she
was usually just becoming accustomed to one role when it would be exchanged for another. Or worse yet, another role
would simply be added to her other responsibilities. Less than three years ago she had barely been more than a glorified
intern in the Department, and now she was a high-ranking official for the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. She liked to
think her quick climb through the ranks had nothing to do with her friendship with Harry, but she suspected it was a
contributing factor. But she knew her skills and dedication were also being noted. As Harry had informed her, there was
even a rumbling of her being offered a position with the Wizengamot, a rare enough offer to a witch of -

“Is there any particular reason you're here on a Saturday? And on your birthday no less?”

Hermione looked up from one of the memos she had pulled before her and raised an eyebrow at Harry, framed within the
doorjamb of her office.

This was one of the perks of having switched departments. Hermione was both unspeakably pleased and mildly flustered at
having Harry a few doors down from her. By working on the second level, it was fairly common for her to see not only
Harry, but also Ron, Arthur, and Mitch at regularly intervals throughout her workday. Hermione had to admit that it was
a very pleasant work environment, even if it was a little distracting.

“A few reasons, actually,” Hermione said, returning her attention to one of the memos detailing a dispute between two
goblin clans over ownership of a particular vault in Gringotts. “Namely the whole employment thing.”

“Ah, that,” Harry said, stepping into her office. “A bit of a drag if you ask me.”

“It pays the bills,” Hermione said. “And you're one to talk. When was the last Saturday that you didn't come into work?”

“Well that's what happens when you're a Division Head,” Harry said. “As you should also know. I won't be here much
longer, though. Birthday party to attend.”

“Is that your way of implying I should speed things up so the guest of honor will actually be there?”

“Something like that,” Harry said. “So how does it feel to be thirty?”

“Great,” Hermione said, sliding the second memo towards her. “I've never felt better.”

“So it's sort of a delusional thing?” Harry said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yes, luckily,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes slightly as she felt her lips curve upward as well. She looked down at
the memo, squinting a bit to see the tiny print, and heard Harry snort with amusement a moment later.

“What's so funny?” Hermione said, her eyes still on the parchment.

“Nothing really…it just seems like all those years of reading are finally catching up with you. Should I read that memo
for you or would you like to borrow my glasses?”

Hermione glanced up as she realized she was holding the memo about a foot from her face. Harry slid his glasses off his
face in a swift motion and, before she could object, hooked the glasses over her ears and took a step back.

She blinked rapidly as her vision turned sharply blurry, causing Harry's features to fade into hazy ambiguity.

“Harry, my vision may be fading a bit, but it's nowhere near this caliber. Merlin your sight is awful!”

“I guess it doesn't help matters that I'm near-sighted,” Harry replied.

“Can you even see me right now?” Hermione asked as she slid the glasses down her nose to peer over the rim. Harry's
features again came into focus, and Hermione thought it was odd how strange he looked without his glasses.

“Not especially,” he said, squinting his eyes slightly.

“How close do you have to be to something to see it clearly?”

“Pretty close,” he said. “I can see you clearly about…”

He stepped around her desk and bent down until his face was as close as the memo had been a moment before.

“…here,” he concluded.

Hermione felt her pulse quicken and leaned back in her chair to decrease their proximity slightly.

Harry reached forward and lifted his glasses from her face, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort, and replaced them on
his own nose. He straightened and stepped away again, and Hermione let out a pent-up breath.

“So are you ready to go or do I have to drag you out of here?” Harry asked.

“I just - I just need to take these down a few floors,” Hermione said, tapping the side of the sizable box of files.
“I'll be ready after that.”

“I have to grab something from my office anyway,” Harry said. “I guess we'll meet up in the Atrium?”

“Sure,” Hermione said. “Sounds good.”

Hermione began binding up the box as soon as Harry left the room, and once that was completed she hefted the box into
her arms. It was a little heavy, but not so much to warrant a levitation spell.

She met no one on the way to the lift, and the lift itself was empty of inhabitants as well. Hermione fluidly rode the
lift down seven floors, never once being jolted to a halt by the interruption of a new passenger.

“Department of Mysteries,” the cool voice announced as she reached her destination. The golden grilles of the lift slid
apart and Hermione stepped onto the black floor, gripping the box a little more tightly. Even though it had been over
thirteen years since she, Harry, Ron, Neville, Luna, and Ginny had come here in that reckless attempt to rescue Sirius,
she still felt extremely uncomfortable when she had to come down here.

Her shoes clacked echoingly through the corridor as she hurried toward the far door, the noise amplified by the lack of
all other sound. Already she could feel a smattering of gooseflesh coat her arms and an irrepressible shiver ran down
her spine, as if a cold breeze had just swept by her. A sudden urge came over her to glance over her shoulder,
overwhelming her better judgment until she finally gave in.

As she knew would be the case, there was no one behind her - only blackness.

Gratified and mentally berating herself, she turned her head forward. Intent as she had been on what lay behind her, she
didn't realize someone was in front of her until she collided with him.

She let out a yelp of mingled surprise and fright as the box began to fall from her arms, but the man in front of her
balanced it between them.

Hermione felt slightly embarrassed at being so easily startled, but her heartbeat continued to race.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” she said, trying to regain her grip on the cardboard. “I almost bowled you over!”

“No apology necessary,” the man said, still holding a corner of the boxes as well. “I should have been watching where I
was going.”

Hermione peeked over the top of the box to see who she had run into. The man was very good-looking, with high cheekbones
that tapered down to a thin but angled jawline. His dark brown hair was perfectly coiffed, and the lack of alarm in his
gaze seemed to suggest he didn't appear remotely flustered at almost being knocked flat.

“Hermione Weasley, right?”

“Yes, that's right,” Hermione said, jostled from her intense scrutiny. There was something about him that seemed
familiar to her, but she couldn't place what it was or why it seemed familiar. She was fairly positive she had never
seen him before.

She wished he would let go of the box.

“Excellent,” the man said, his lips parting to reveal straight, pearly white teeth that would have made her parents
swoon. “I was just being sent up to see about your progress on these files.”

She felt a tug as he began to pull the box away from her, but she tightened her grip.

“I haven't seen you around before,” she said.

“I'm fairly new,” the man replied. “That's why they're sending me on these little errands.”

He smiled again, a small smile, polite. It disarmed her as much as it gave her chills.

“Thank you for saving me the trouble, Mrs. Weasley. I'll make sure they get to the proper officials,” the man said. He
pulled the box again, his blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on hers, and this time Hermione allowed it to slide from her
fingers.

Without another word, the man turned and strode toward the black door at the end of the hall, his robes swishing behind
him. His footsteps made no sound as he walked, and he soon disappeared into the next room, leaving Hermione standing
alone in the corridor.

She stood, shivering, and stared at the door for a moment, trying to assess why such an innocent encounter had left her
feeling so ruffled. Swallowing, she turned and practically ran back to the lift, allowing it to take her up to the
Atrium.

Harry greeted her as she stepped onto the polished wooden floors. He immediately picked up on her uneasiness.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Oh, it's nothing,” Hermione said, as much to convince herself as him. “Just feel a little light-headed. I probably just
need to eat something.”

“Well, you're in luck because I'm sure Molly made plenty,” Harry said. He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Hermione smiled, dismissing her thoughts as she looped her arm through his.

******************

Mrs. Weasley had taken the reins wholeheartedly when Harry (to Hermione's annoyance) had surreptitiously mentioned
Hermione's upcoming birthday. While Hermione had made a few feeble attempts at dissuading the plans, it had soon
spiraled out of her control. In the end, Hermione had simply insisted that it be held earlier in the day - with half a
dozen children under the age of five present, she felt an evening party was asking for trouble, and Harry quite agreed.

He was even more inclined to agree when he and Hermione Apparated just outside of the Burrow's gates. The noise
bombarded them instantly, and Harry had absolutely no trouble believing that all twelve of the Weasley grandchildren
were present in full force.

The children were all darting madly about the yard, and Harry grinned as he saw Albus and Rose chasing each other in an
ungainly imitation of their older cousins. A fair portion of the adults were milling about as well, seated at numerous
picnic tables and talking loudly in an attempt to be heard over the kids. Harry spotted Neville, Hannah, Charlie,
Arthur, Bill, Percy, Audrey, Angelina, and a few Ministry acquaintances of Hermione's and waved his greeting when the
group noticed their arrival. Hermione likewise greeted them, warmly thanking them for coming. As soon as these
pleasantries were exchanged, Harry and Hermione both went inside to find their spouses.

Hermione was instantly delighted when they entered the house due to the sight of her mother conversing with Ron and
Ginny. She dashed forward and embraced her earnestly, leaving Harry to approach at a more subdued pace.

Over Hermione's shoulder, Harry could see that Katharine was holding Hugo, and Ginny was holding Lily. Just as Hugo's
flaming red hair made him a miniature of his father, Lily's identical mop of hair made her a miniature of her mother. In
fact, this similarity in looks caused Harry's daughter to be referred to more often as MinGin than her actual name. The
nickname, for the time being, had stuck, a habit that Harry was somewhat grateful for. Even now, a year after she had
been born, he was still marginally aggravated that Ginny had been so adamant on naming their daughter after his mother.
James had been enough, in his opinion, but he couldn't very well have expressed the aversion to Ginny at the time. The
most he could do was hastily tack on “Luna” in an attempt to polarize the choice, and though Ginny had been a bit taken
aback by the suggestion, both she and Harry were pleased at the idea once it had been brought forward. Luna, of course,
had been even more pleased.

“Happy birthday, sweetie!” Katharine said as Hermione broke away.

“Thanks, Mum,” Hermione said. “I'm so glad you came!”

“I couldn't have missed your thirtieth birthday!” Katharine said. “And I haven't seen my grandbabies in ages! Hugo
wanted to spend the day with his grandmummy! Isn't that right?”

She directed her last question to Hugo, who grinned at the attention and blurted out a brief and incoherent garble.

“See? He's positively delighted!” Katharine said.

“Clearly,” Harry said. “He obviously has great taste.” He threw in a wink for good measure.

“I'm standing right here, you know,” Ginny said, putting on an air of shocked affront as Katharine, Hermione, and Ron
laughed.

“Oops, sorry Gin, I didn't see you there behind our daughter,” Harry said.

“Hey, she's my mum! If anyone should have reserves about this it's me,” Hermione said, trying to remain serious through
her laughter.

“Oh, don't listen to them, Harry,” Katharine said. “I, for one, am downright flattered.”

“See? Katharine doesn't mind,” Harry said. He winked again at her, and Katharine winked back.

“Hey, now,” Ron said. “How about we leave the flattery to the son-in-law, eh?”

There was a beat of silence before Katharine let out a laugh, which seemed a bit forced to Harry's ears. He also noticed
a flash of discomfort in Hermione's eyes as her eyes shot to him and back to Ron.

Just as Katharine's laugh faded, Hugo began to cry, and both Granger women seemed relieved.

“He probably needs his nappy changed,” Katharine said quickly.

“I'll take him,” Hermione said, reaching for her son.

“No, I'll do it,” Katharine said, retaining her hold on Hugo. “Where should I go to change him?”

“This way,” Hermione said, turning and already walking from the room. “Molly always keeps a few nappies upstairs.”

Katharine fell in quickly behind her daughter, and they disappeared from the room. Harry knew they had most likely begun
speaking the moment they were out of sight, and was extremely curious as to what they were discussing.

Fleur swept in at that moment with a tray of various sweet tarts.

“'Arry!” she said, flouncing forward and kissing Harry's cheek. “I `ad no idea you were `ere! Would you like a tart?
Zere are treacle, Molly and I made zem just for you!”

Harry immediately plucked one of the warm sweets from the tray, thanking Fleur profusely. Ginny also picked one, a
cherry-flavored, and then wafted it beneath Ron's nose.

“How about you, Ron? Would you like one?”

Ron glared at his sister and shook his head tersely.

“No? Are you sure?” Ginny said.

“Zey are quite delicious, Ronald,” Fleur added, holding out the tray.

He shook his head again, though his gaze was locked on a particularly bulky apple tart. Fleur shrugged and swept back
into the kitchen.

“What was that about?” Harry asked Ginny, furrowing his brow.

“Oh, Ron didn't tell you?” Ginny said. “Ickle Ronniekins is on a diet.”

“It's not funny,” Ron grumbled, shoving a hand into his pocket.

“It's a little funny,” Ginny said. She took a large bit into her tart, and made an exaggerated eye-roll as she chewed.
“Mmmmmm. It's hard to pick the best cherry tart I've ever had, but this one is definitely in my top five.”

“Ha ha ha, you're a real comic,” Ron said.

“It's so delicious though…I just wanted you to know what you were missing,” Ginny said. She waved the tart in front of
him again, and he batted it away.

“If this torture isn't against the law, it should be,” Ron said.

“Hey, this was your decision…you can't have your cake and eat it too,” Ginny said, her lips twitching.

“Lay off, Gin,” Ron said, although he seemed mildly amused.

“Okay, okay, I'll shut my pie-hole,” Ginny said.

“You know, instead of teasing a little motivation would be nice,” Ron said.

“Fine,” she said, adjusting Lily so she could pull her wand out of her pocket. She brandished it at him threateningly.
“How about if you eat anything I'll hex you to within an inch of your life. Would that be motivating?”

“I don't know,” Ron said, finally giving in to a small grin. “Would I get a last meal?”

Ginny laughed. “Touché, Ronald. Now, if you'll excuse me, Lily and I are going to round up some more snacks.”

“I guess I'll just stay here, shall I?” Ron said.

“That would be for the best,” Ginny said, and left for the kitchen.

Harry said nothing during this exchange as he was curiously observing Ron. While he could see that Ginny's statements
hadn't hurt his feelings, there was a level of discomfiture in his countenance that Harry didn't quite understand. Even
with Ginny gone, he looked marginally distracted and pensive, swirling his bottle of butterbeer by its neck as he looked
towards the door Hermione had just exited through. Furthermore, Harry couldn't exactly see why Ron would be on a diet.
While his lanky frame had certainly filled out over the past few years, and even more so since his children had been
born, it wasn't necessarily excessive.

“So,” Harry said after a moment of silent contemplation on both their parts. “How long have you been on this, er, diet?”

Ron blinked as he broke away from his thoughts, seeming to have forgotten Harry was there.

“Oh. Just a few weeks,” he said. He took his hand out of his pocket, exchanged his butterbeer to his other hand, and
then pressed his other hand into his other pocket.

Harry felt extremely uncomfortable as he shoved his own hands into his pockets as well. He felt obligated to ask why Ron
felt the need to lose weight, but considering the likelihood of the response he would get, he wasn't exactly keen on it.

Luckily (or perhaps rather unluckily), he was saved the trouble of asking by an abrupt outburst from Ron, although it
gave Harry his answer nonetheless.

“Has Hermione seemed a bit off to you?” Ron said.

Taken aback, Harry took a moment to answer.

“No…” he said. “Not especially. What do you mean, exactly?”

The tips of Ron's ears turned a bit red, and he took a swig of his butterbeer.

“I...well, I guess I just thought she might have mentioned something to you.”

“Like what?” Harry said.

“Just…something. Something that was bothering her, I guess,” he said, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red. “We
just...we haven't exactly been, er…talking much.”

Harry remained silent as he considered Ron's words. He could appreciate how difficult it was for Ron to admit to him
that he and Hermione were having marital issues. He could especially appreciate the admission given Ron's history of
jealousy and insecurity involving Hermione's relationship with him. But this did nothing to prevent Harry's own feelings
of awkwardness and guilt on the matter. Harry truly had no idea what to say, especially because he had no idea what the
actual problems were. Had they simply been arguing a lot and were avoiding each other? Had their respective work
schedules prevented them from seeing each other? Or were they just drifting apart?

Harry had no idea, and, if he was being honest with himself, he was too close to the situation to have the right to
offer advice.

The seconds of tense silence seemed to drag on.

And then the lights began to flicker, and there was a sound of a glass vase shattering as tiny Rose burst into the room,
a particularly loud bawl escaping her lips. Angelina followed closely behind her.

“Uncle Harry!” she cried, running up to him.

Harry winced that her outburst was directed at him instead of Ron. He crouched down and allowed her to run into his
arms. Her thick curly brown hair brushed his nose and he couldn't help but want to smile despite her distress.

“What is it, Rosebud?” he said as she continued to cry and the lights continued to flicker.

“She lost something,” Angelina explained, clearly hoping Harry could soothe her as quickly as possible and prevent any
more minor destruction. “She said you would know where it was.”

“Ella!” Rose bawled, and several books on a near shelf shot outward and tumbled to the floor.

“Oh no,” Harry said. “You lost Ella?”

Rose nodded fervently, still crying. “Where is she?”

“I don't know, sweetie. Did you bring her here?”

“Yeah, she did,” Ron said. “It has to be somewhere around here.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but who's Ella?” Angelina said.

“Her elephant,” Harry said.

“Wow, then I'm surprised we haven't found her yet. She shouldn't be hard to miss,” Angelina said.

“Her stuffed toy elephant,” Harry said. “I bought it for her when we went to the zoo.”

“Oh, that makes much more sense,” Angelina said, smiling.

Harry returned his attention to Rose. “So she's not outside?”

“No,” Rose said, shaking her head.

“Did you give her to someone?”

Rose seemed to ponder this for a moment as she sniffled quietly.

“Rox,” she finally said.

“Roxy and Lucy were playing inside earlier,” Angelina offered. “They probably went upstairs at some point.”

“Excellent,” Harry said. “It sounds like we have a search on our hands, Rosebud.”

This concept seemed to intrigue Rose, and her crying quickly ceased. The lights also stopped flickering.

“A search? What are you looking for?”

Harry looked up to see a very pregnant Luna, dressed in a brightly striped dress. Her stomach looked quite like a beach
ball.

“Hey, Luna,” Harry said. “And Rose lost her stuffed animal.”

“Oooh, can I help?” Luna said. “I'm very good at finding things, you know.”

Harry grinned at her cheerfulness and nodded. “Sure, the more the merrier,” he said. “We're looking for a stuffed
elephant named Ella.”

“Ella the Elephant,” Luna said serenely. “That's a wonderful name.”

Rose beamed at the compliment.

Harry stood up from his crouched position, stretching his cramped muscles, and hugged Luna.

“Where's Rolf, by the way?” Ron asked.

“He's at some function or another,” Luna said vaguely.

Luna had been married to Rolf since June, and had announced that she was pregnant soon afterward. Suspiciously soon,
really. So far, Harry hadn't taken much of a liking to Rolf, who, while very intelligent and attentive to Luna's
eccentricities, was quite pretentious at times and had a surprisingly lackluster personality. But he was nice enough,
and as long as Luna remained happy with him, Harry would keep up an effort. Ron especially seemed to dislike the
magizooologist, who he claimed could recognize a joke about as well as Percy.

“That's too bad,” Angelina said.

“Yes,” Luna said. “He really wished he could make it.” She turned her eyes to Harry. “Where should we start looking?”

“Well,” Harry said, “Ella could be anywhere around here, really. How about I look in the house and you look outside?”

“Okay,” Luna said. “I can check the Wrackspurts colonies while I'm at it. Mrs. Weasley really should get rid of those
hawthorn bushes…”

“Right,” Harry said. “Rose, do you want to come with me or Luna?”

“Wacksurts?” she said, looking up at Luna.
“Wrackspurts,” Luna corrected. “I can tell you about them if you'd like.”

Rose nodded and reached up to grab Luna's hand.

“I guess I have my answer then,” Harry said, amusing himself with thoughts of how exactly that conversation would likely
go.

Luna led Rose from the room, and Harry decided he would begin his search upstairs as Angelina had suggested and strode
in that direction.

“Hey, Harry?” Ron said.

“Yeah?” Harry said, looking back.

“Can you…could you talk to her?”

He spoke tentatively, almost timidly, and if there was one thing he would never describe Ron Weasley as, it was timid.

“Sure, mate,” Harry said. What else could he say, really?

******************

Harry managed to find Ella in a very short time. He started with the first bedroom on the first floor, which had
belonged to Ginny, and found the stuffed elephant submerged in a pile of other toys that looked like a failed
construction site.

Pleased, he quickly left the room and walked downstairs, avoiding the living room and exiting the house through the
kitchen.

Harry noted that Mitch had joined the party, talking animatedly to George. Harry was disappointed to see that Mitch's
wife Becca was nowhere to be seen. He felt like he hadn't seen her in ages. Andromeda had also arrived, and Harry
thought that she seemed a little misplaced. It had only been two weeks since Teddy had left for his first week of
Hogwarts, and she was having difficulty adjusting. Harry couldn't blame her - this was the first time she had been truly
alone since her husband and daughter had died. Anyone would have trouble adjusting to that. He also noted that Mrs.
Granger was speaking to her, and by the watery smiles on both their faces had little trouble realizing what they were
discussing.

He noticed Hermione in the crowd as well, sitting next to a subdued Victoire, who was also having trouble adjusting to
Teddy's absence. The young girl was quite upset that she couldn't accompany Teddy for another two years. Percy's
daughter Molly was also nearby, and Victoire's purple Pygmy Puff, Coco, was playing with Molly's pink one.

Rose and Luna were only a short distance away from Hermione, examining the hawthorn bushes with interest. Harry
immediately weaved his way to them, suddenly feeling a bit silly holding a stuffed elephant under his arm.

Rose spotted him as he drew nearer and dashed towards him, squealing in delight. When she was a few yards away, the
elephant seemed to leap of its own volition from Harry's arms and zoomed towards Rose, who caught it happily.

“Ella!” she said, squeezing the elephant tightly to her chest as she ran the last few feet to Harry. “You found her! You
found her!”

She then tried her best to wrap her arms around Harry's legs while still clutching the stuff animal, hugging them both.

Harry grinned and ran his hand over the crown of his daughter's hair affectionately. When she stepped back, Harry knelt
and kissed the tip of her nose. She flashed him one last overjoyed smile, and then took off to rejoin her cousins.

Luna had reached Harry by that point.

“She seemed pleased,” Luna said.

“Every now and then I feel that my existence is justified,” Harry said, still grinning like an idiot as he watched his
daughter.

“Yes, destroying Voldemort wasn't a very existence-justifying act, after all,” Luna said. She then patted him on the
back. “You're a good dad, Harry.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, feeling a little confused as he glanced at Luna.

Luna, however, was just gazing dreamily towards the house. “I suppose I'll go speak with Neville…” she said. “It looks
like Hermione wants to talk to you about something.”

She then patted him on the back again and wandered back towards the picnic tables.

Hermione arrived by his side a moment later.

“Why do you kiss Rose's nose?” she asked quite abruptly. “You don't do it with Al or James or Lily, but you do it all
the time to Rose.”

“I dunno…I guess it reminds me of you,” Harry replied truthfully.

“Why?” Hermione asked. “She doesn't have my nose. She has your nose.”

“Exactly,” Harry said. “She's practically a carbon copy of you in every other way. I guess I just like seeing that
little bit of me in her.”

“Ah,” Hermione said.

A beat of silence.

“Do you think you'll have any more kids?”

Harry couldn't help but feel mildly refreshed by the frankness of her questions. Perhaps being another year older made
her wish to be more forthright. Merlin knew they had already spent enough time beating around the bush.

“I don't think so,” Harry said. “I think Ginny still wants more, but…I feel like I already have enough kids to give my
attention to.”

There were more reasons, like the fact that the more kids he had the more people he could potentially hurt if things
didn't work out with Ginny in the end, but he felt like enough of an ass for thinking those thoughts, let alone speaking
them out loud.

“What about you?” he added, as Hermione had not contributed her own opinion.

“No, I'm done,” Hermione said. Again, a strong level of bluntness, perhaps even to a degree of harshness. Maybe Harry
just thought it seemed harsh after his conversation with Ron.

“And Ron?” Harry prompted.

“He hasn't mentioned anything,” Hermione said.

Harry looked towards the picnic tables and saw Ron near its edges, looking towards him and Hermione with something akin
to hopefulness in his gaze. Harry tugged at his collar uncomfortably.

“Did you…er…did you know Ron's on a diet?”

This seemed to arouse Hermione's interest, and she looked at Harry with transparent curiosity.

“Really? When did he tell you that?”

“Earlier,” Harry said. “He told me he'd been on it for a few weeks.”

Hermione seemed genuinely surprised, and then her cheeks colored at her ignorance of her own husband's habits,
especially one as close to Ron's heart as food.

“Why would he do that?” Hermione asked. “Did he say anything to you?”

“Nothing…specific,” Harry said slowly, beginning to quite dislike the job of mediating Hermione and Ron's love life. He
felt like he was back in Hogwarts, except the situation was grimmer and the stakes higher. The awkwardness, however, was
still there in full force.

“Well, what did he say?” Hermione said, clearly becoming impatient.

“All he said was that you both haven't really been talking to each other,” Harry said, and then he grimaced slightly.
“Although I assume it's more than just not talking that has Ron thinking he should lose weight.”

Hermione blush deepened considerably.

“I don't exactly think that's any of your business,” she said.

“That's perfectly fine with me. Trust me, I really don't want to hear about it,” Harry said. “Although by your defensive
tone I can gather that it's been a while.”

Hermione looked uncomfortably towards her feet and Harry knew he had guessed correctly.

Harry let her stew in her own embarrassment for a moment before continuing.

“So why haven't you been talking?” he asked.

Hermione looked up again, and though her cheeks were still slightly pink she had mostly regained her composure.

“We just haven't,” she said simply. “We go to work, we come home, one of us makes dinner while the other watches Hugo
and Rose, we eat together, we put the kids to bed, and then we occupy ourselves with our respective hobbies before we go
to sleep.”

“And only to sleep,” Harry said, and Hermione punched him in the arm.

“Quit that!” she said. “This is a serious conversation!”

“Sorry,” Harry said. “But I guess it's good you haven't been arguing or anything.”

“That's just it,” Hermione said, crossing her arms across her chest. “We hardly ever argue now, but it's all still
there, you know? I get so frustrated with him when he lets Rose stay up too late or gives her too many sweets or wakes
up Hugo from a nap when I just got him to sleep. Obviously he means well, he just wants to have fun with the kids and
what not, so what can I say? It's like we've become overly polite roommates…like we don't want to upset each other so we
don't confront anything that would make us upset.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Our marriage has turned into a game of
how not to make each other unhappy.”

Harry sighed. “I take it neither of you are exactly winning the game.”

Hermione nodded, her eyes glassy.

“Who would've thought that all that bickering in Hogwarts was your method of communicating with each other,” Harry said,
giving her a small smile.

Hermione laughed, wiping at her eyes and sniffling.

Harry didn't say anything else on the matter. He knew there was nothing else he could say to help the situation, and
false words of comfort would get Hermione nowhere. No, Harry knew this was something that Hermione had to work out for
herself, and the less involved he was in her decisions the better.

By unspoken agreement, they turned to rejoin the party. As they were walking, Harry noticed Luna watching them. She
smiled at him serenely when she caught his eye.

Harry nudged Hermione's shoulder as they neared the group.

“Do you ever get the feeling that Luna knows about us? Or Rose?”

Hermione seemed surprisingly unruffled as she answered him.

“Sometimes,” she said. “Or at least that she suspects. And of course with Luna, a suspicion is as good as a fact in her
mind.”

“Does it bother you?” Harry asked.

“Not really,” Hermione said. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Harry said honestly. “I mean, it's Luna.”

Before Hermione could reply, James ran up to them, dragging an old Cleansweep of George's behind him.

“Daddy!” he said. “Can you take me up? Charlie's gonna take Freddie up and I wanna play too!”

James was practically jumping up and down in excitement as he waited anxiously for his dad's reply.

“Sure,” Harry said, and took the broom from his son. “As long as it's okay with Aunt Hermione. It is her birthday, after
all.”

James immediately turned his brown eyes entreatingly to Hermione. “Pleeeaase, Aunt Hermione? Can I?”

Hermione put a hand to her chin and made an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose I could spare the both of you for a little
while,” she said. “But make sure you come down before we cut the cake.”

James' face lit up at the mention of cake, and he bobbed his head up and down enthusiastically. “We will!”

“Alright then, be careful,” Hermione said.

“We will!” James said again.

With that, Harry threw his leg over the broom and pulled James up as well, seating him in front and wrapping his arms
securely around his torso before gripping the wooden handle. Then Harry kicked off, soaring swiftly into the air and
leaving Hermione waving after them.

******************

The stillness of the Black Lake was shattered as a stone was thrown into its inky depths.

Caius watched the ripples the stone created move gently to the shore, flowing over the rocks at his feet.

One action creates an outcome that influences another outcome…he thought, until it is allowed to drift away into
nothingness.

He tossed another pebble into the dark water and watched as more ripples were created, counteracting some of the waves
and making others twice as large.

Another action, enacted at just the right time and place, can create an even bigger outcome. But to miss that time and
place could mean the collapse of all.

Caius waited patiently for the water to return to its previous tranquility.

He knew Potter was still alert, still aware of a threat, but he also knew that the longer they waited, the more
complacent he would grow.

Caius turned his back to the lake and returned his attention to the object of his previous scrutiny.

The white marble tomb stood out vividly from the night, the sharp edges slicing through the darkness with ease. Caius
approached the grave and ran his hands over the smooth surface, as he had done numerous times before.

He knew the Elder Wand was still here, still well protected. He had tested for the wards himself.

Harry had not come for it as Dolohov had suspected. Caius had known he wouldn't, not even when he returned his
Invisibility Cloak. Dolohov had been biding his time, waiting for a sign to make his move, and Caius allowed him to sulk
in his impatience. Caius, for one, had plenty to do in the meantime.

And if the Wand hadn't been collected by the time his task was completed…well, something could always be done about that
when the moment came.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

44. A Beginning and An Ending

A/N: Hey guys! As I mentioned in the last chapter, a very considerable time jump has taken place in this one. The jump
is more for the sake of getting to the canon epilogue so I can finally throw all caution to the wind and move the
back-plot along. Oh, and for those of you who have not read my one-shot “The Letter,” I suggest you do it now before
beginning this chapter, as it will be brought up briefly towards the end. Or after would probably be fine too. The full
contents of the letter are in that one-shot, so I won't bother including it here as well. Also, just a note, I think
including Hermione as a member of the Wizengamot is the only liberty I've taken with her career path as described by
JKR. She is supposed to have a “high-ranking” position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and this fits that
description, so I went with it.

So I hope you enjoy it! Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time! Please continue to do so and Happy Easter!

Chapter 44: A Beginning and An Ending

August 31, 2016

Harry almost fell from his broom as a particularly hard throw of a Quaffle knocked him off balance.

“Come on, Dad! I thought you were supposed to be good at Quidditch!” James shouted, his shaggy black hair whipping about
in the brisk wind.

“Just trying to even the playing field,” Harry yelled back to his eldest son, angling his broom toward the assigned goal
of the Burrow's makeshift Quidditch pitch. “If I let all my prowess come out at once the other team wouldn't stand a
chance.”

“That's the point, though - to make sure the other team doesn't stand a chance.”

“But where's the fun in that?” Harry quipped, speeding his broom towards the end of the pitch.

“Winning!” James said with a grin, evading Teddy and Hugo with relative ease.

Harry threw the Quaffle towards James and he snatched it from the air, hugging it to his side as he raced towards his
brother, who was the acting Keeper for the opposite team.

Albus seemed to grimace at his brother's quickly approaching form. Harry watched as James zoomed in closer to the hoops,
Teddy and Hugo in hot pursuit. Before either could catch him, James hurled the Quaffle forcefully towards the left hoop.
Albus managed to zip over and catch the ball just before it entered the hoop, but the force of it almost sent his small
frame through the hoop instead.

“Good one, Al!” Rose shouted from the other end of the field, where she was also Keeping.

“You looked nervous for a second there,” James said. “And you're not supposed to compliment the opposing team!” he added
in a shout to Rose.

“That wouldn't be very sportsmanlike,” Rose called back. “You're just sore that he blocked another one!”

“Hey, I've gotten as many as he's blocked,” James grumbled.

“How about we just say you're both excellent players and call it a day?” Harry said.

Despite his somewhat scolding tone, Harry was truly quite proud at how adept they were at Quidditch. James was shaping
up to be an impressive Chaser, while Albus had shown a good instinct for Keeping. And while Hugo hadn't quite developed
enough grace to determine if he'd be a help or hindrance to a Quidditch team, Rose's innately observant nature gave her
a natural ability for Seeking (a fact that never ceased to please Harry).

“Ruddy brilliant if you ask me,” Teddy said. “Toss it here, Al.”

Albus threw the Quaffle to Teddy, who caught it and began bouncing it between his palms. Teddy was a decent Chaser as
well, although he had decided against playing for the Ravenclaw House team during his seven years at Hogwarts.

“So are you going to try out when you get to school?” Teddy said.

James paled slightly at Teddy's question, and gave a small shake of his head. “I don't think so,” he said. “Not this
year, at least. I don't think I'm good enough for the House team yet.”

“If you're fishing for compliments it's not going to work,” Albus said.

“I'm not!” James said defensively. “I know I'm pretty good, but I don't think I'll be able to compete with a bunch of
sixth or seventh years!”

“It's still worth a shot,” Harry said. “You should try out anyway. Even if you don't make the team, you'll still be in
the players' radar for next year.”

“That's easy for you to say, Dad. Not everyone can make Seeker in their first-year without even trying out,” James said.

“He's got a point,” Teddy said, sweeping his teal bangs away from his eyes.

“Are we going to keep playing or not?” Hugo asked, clearly tired of such talk.

“Sure, Hugh,” Teddy said, and threw the Quaffle towards him. The young redhead made an ungainly catch. “Go see if you
can make a goal on Rosie.”

Hugo nodded eagerly and immediately sped off towards his sister.

Unlike Albus moments before, Rose seemed unperturbed at the sight of Hugo hurtling towards her. But, unlike Albus, Rose
clearly didn't care whether her brother made a goal or not. Although she was fiercely competitive in most situations
(unsurprising given her parentage), Rose knew she was an unexceptional Keeper. As a result, she was often more pleased
at Hugo scoring on her than managing to block a Quaffle through what would most likely be luck.

When Hugo was close enough, he feinted toward the right. Rose darted in the same direction, and Hugo threw the ball
threw the left hoop.

Hugo gave a whoop of pleasure as James shook his head.

“Al gets to Keep on my team next time,” he said.

Rose shrugged. “No skin off my back. I hate being Keeper.”

She started to drift down to the ground to collect the ball, and Harry saw that Lily stood on the rain-drenched ground
holding it in her arms. To Ginny's dismay, Lily had little inclination towards Quidditch, and had spent the last hour or
so entertaining herself with a few of the presents she had received days earlier for her eighth birthday.

“Mum said dinner's almost done!” she yelled.

Hugo gave another whoop at his cousin's announcement and flew to the ground immediately, closely followed by Harry and
the other players. They quickly tossed their brooms aside and cleaned their muddy feet before entering the kitchen,
where Ginny was busily stirring a pot of stew and looking very much the younger counterpart of her mother, who was just
as busily chopping vegetables between intermittent checks of the bread in the oven. Both their faces were flushed from
the heat of the stove and the unseasonably warm weather.

“Good, you're done with the game,” Ginny said. “Al, could you and Rose get some plates and go set the table? And Hugo,
grab the silverware and napkins. You can take out the pitchers, James.”

The kids promptly set about their instructions and had soon exited the kitchen.
“What about me?” Lily said, bouncing on the balls of her feet and causing her vibrant red hair to swish about.

“You can start taking out some glasses, sweetie,” Ginny said.

“Okay,” Lily said, immediately grabbing two glasses from the counter. She frowned as she noted the ten other glasses
that still remained, but the frown was quickly exchanged for a smile as she looked entreatingly at Teddy.

“Could you help me with these?” she said sweetly.

“Why of course, Lilypad.”

Teddy pulled his wand from his pocket and gave it a small wave. The glasses lifted upwards, hovering obediently over the
counter.

With his free hand, he gestured courteously to Lily. “After you, miss.”

Lily immediately marched through the door, holding her two glasses aloft as Teddy followed, the line of glasses floating
in single file behind him.

“And what would you have me do, m'lady?” Harry said as soon as the duo was out of sight.

“I don't know,” Ginny said, wiping at her brow with the back of her hand. “You could help Mum with those vegetables or
something. We've got everything mostly under control now.”

“Here, Harry dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, handing him the knife she had been using to slice tomatoes and cucumbers. “I
really need to get the bread out of the oven…”

“So what happened to Hermione and Ron?” Harry said as Mrs. Weasley bustled past him. “I thought they were helping out.”

“Oh, they were,” Ginny said irritably. “Helping me get a bloody headache.”

“They were having a few disagreements,” Mrs. Weasley said mildly, stooped down in front of the oven.

“About what?” Harry asked, chopping the vegetables up into chunks that little resembled the neat slices Mrs. Weasley had
prepared.

“I have no idea,” Ginny said. “Just a lot of snide comments exchanged on both sides as far as I could tell. They weren't
exactly in high spirits when they came in the first place. They're off somewhere finishing their row.”

Harry frowned as he finished his task and scooped the vegetables into a bowl of lettuce Mrs. Weasley had already placed
before him.

He was painfully aware that the last few years had been taxing to Hermione and Ron's relationship, privy as he was to
both of their feelings. As the mutual best friend, Harry was informed regularly of the small attempts on either side to
bridge the gradually widening chasm between them, just as he was frequently called upon for advice or encouragement when
the attempts fell short of their goal. Unfortunately, his counsel could extend only so far, and he often left such
conversations with a cord of misery twisting about in his stomach at the thought that he could very well be witnessing
the disintegration of not only his best friends' marriage, but of their friendship as well.

He was pulled from his reveries as James, Hugo, and Lily came bursting back into the kitchen in the usual manner of
children—that is, by creating far more noise than the act required.

“Is dinner ready yet?” James said immediately. “Because I'm famished.”

“Me too,” Hugo said, picking up an empty bowl from the counter and holding it to his ear. “Wow, I think I can hear my
stomach roaring!”

Ginny rolled her eyes as she gave a snort of amusement. “You are so like your father.”

“And dinner will be ready in a moment, dears,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“How long is a moment, exactly? I need details—a minute, five minutes, ten minutes?” James asked.

“James, it'll be ready when it's ready!” Ginny said. “Just go outside and be patient.”

James leaned against the counter in a show of fatigue. Hugo and Lily followed his example, slumping their shoulders in
exhaustion. “I don't know if we'll be able to make the walk,” he said.

“Oh, you three get out of here,” Mrs. Weasley said. “You can take a roll to hold you over.”

The three children instantly perked up and dashed forward to snatch the rolls from the proffered basket.

“Thanks, Gramma!” they said in unison.

“You're welcome, dears. And take a roll out to the other two as well. Oh, and a third for Teddy.”

James immediately seized the extra rolls and led the way from the kitchen, already stuffing his own into his mouth.

“Those rolls better make it out to Al and Rose!” Harry shouted after him, although he was fairly certain the slamming
door had drowned out his warning.

“I swear, that boy acts more like Ron than you half the time,” Ginny said to Harry, shaking her head but smiling in
amusement nonetheless. “You'd have thought he'd get more of your temperament.”

“A decade sleeping in a cupboard might have something to do with it,” Harry said. “Do you think an hour or two in one
would mellow him out a bit?”

A sharp punch to the arm announced Hermione's arrival.

“That's not even remotely funny,” she said, frowning.

Harry held up his hands in defense. “Sorry, just a joke.”

“About something we'd all rather not be reminded of,” Ginny said firmly before turning towards Hermione. “So did you and
Ronald finish off your little spat?”

“I don't know,” Hermione said calmly, taking it upon herself to doll the stew into a serving dish. “Why don't you ask
him? He's probably pacing about in the front yard.”

“I'll take that as a no, then,” Ginny said, taking Hermione's cue and gathering up the salad.

“I suppose I'll let him and Arthur know dinner's ready,” Mrs. Weasley said with a sigh. “Harry, would you take out that
bread, please?”

“Sure,” Harry said, promptly picking up the basket.

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, removing her apron as she bustled from the kitchen.

“Now, be prepared for the likelihood that our children will be passed out from hunger,” Ginny said to Hermione as they
also turned to leave the kitchen.

“Or at least for the likelihood that Al and Rose are, if James had anything to do with it,” Harry said.

Luckily, all five children were quite conscious when they arrived and fell upon the food like rabid wolves as soon as
Ron and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had joined them. Before long, the first helping had been devoured and a slightly more
sedate second helping was distributed. James, either through hunger or the knowledge that this would be his last
home-cooked meal for months, served himself a third helping.

Once everyone had eaten their fill, they each sat back in their chairs, contentedly observing the quickly descending
dusk. In spite (or perhaps because) of the fact that Hermione and Ron had scarcely spoken a word to each other during
the meal, it had been an enjoyable evening, made all the better as Mrs. Weasley presented a large chocolate cake to the
group with a flourish.

The children, receiving a burst of vigor by the appearance of dessert, were temporarily distracted from any semblance of
discussion as they delved into the cake. The adults, however, were marginally less entranced, and the conversation
continued, albeit at a reduced pace. Harry had made his way through a third of his piece with no interruption when
Arthur turned to him with a look of recollection.

“Harry, I've been meaning to ask you—have you heard any of the rumors about yourself that have been swirling about the
office?”

Harry shrugged as he scooped another bit of cake onto his fork. “I've heard plenty of rumors, but I doubt any of them
are what you're referring to.”

“I haven't heard anything, either,” Hermione said. “Aside from something silly about Harry quitting his job and
purchasing the Chudley Cannons.”

“That intern really needs to stop listening in on our conversations,” Ron said. “And it was just a suggestion—team's
looking really good this year.”

“And obviously I need to work on my sarcasm,” Harry said. “Apparently when I said it sounded like a great idea, it
sounded as though I actually meant it.”

“No, nothing like that,” Arthur said. “You've heard, I assume, that Kingsley intends on retiring soon?”

“Of course,” Harry said.

“Well, there have been rumblings—more than rumblings, really—that you're going to be approached about putting in a bid
for Minister of Magic.”

There was a beat of silence, in which even the children turned their eyes towards Harry. He glanced among them, amused
by the array of sentiments displayed—shock, delight, intrigue—before a snort of laughter burst from him.

“What's so funny?” Teddy asked, bemused by Harry's reaction to such momentous news.

“You don't want to be Minister, Daddy?” Lily asked, cocking her head curiously.

“Yes, Harry, you don't want to be Minister?” Hermione asked, her lips quirking.

Harry continued to chortle as he popped the last morsel of cake into his mouth. “There aren't enough Galleons in
Gringotts to make me consider that position,” he said.

“Not even to consider it?” Ron said with a grin. “I could even be your campaign manager!”

“Great idea,” Ginny said. “You could even revamp the lyrics to `Weasley Is Our King' to play at all the events.”

“Exactly,” Ron said. “There's no way we could lose.”

“And you should probably make some sort of reference to defeating Voldemort,” Ginny said. “People tend to forget these
things, and it might make you appear more qualified.”

“Because of course I'd need to pull the wool over their eyes about how completely unqualified I am,” Harry said.

“So you're not going to be Minister?” Albus asked, clearly seeking a solid confirmation after the abundance of mockery.

“No, Al. At least not in the foreseeable future.”

“Then can we go play Quidditch now?”

James and Rose nodded rapidly in concurrence.

“Sure, go on then,” Harry said. Pulling out his wand, he scattered a dozen white orbs of light among the field to
brighten the area, although the moonlight was fairly sufficient.

“Thanks, Dad!” Albus said, and he immediately leapt up.

“What are we playing to?” James asked.

“The usual…first team to score ten points…or until Hugo gets hurt,” Albus said with a grin and promptly sprinted away,
his feet squelching in the mud. He was followed closely by James and Rose; Lily and Hugo scampered after them a moment
later, the latter shouting after his cousins to stop taking the mickey.

“Is it just me, or did they seem a bit anxious to get rid of us?” Ron said.

Everyone agreed that it seemed to be the case, and then went about cleaning up the dishes so they could retreat inside.

Arthur withdrew into the living room to read the paper, and Teddy left for home soon after. The rest sat around the
kitchen table as they allowed the dishes to go about the task of washing and putting themselves away in the cupboard.
Mrs. Weasley alone remained bustling about the kitchen.

“I think I'll send some of this to Luna for the boys,” she mused as placed what remained of the cake into a box.

“How are they, by the way?” Ginny asked.

“As well as can be expected,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“Luna brought the boys over just the other day for a play-date with Hugo,” Hermione said. She frowned after a moment and
bowed her head, examining her folded hands with a furrowed brow. “It's sad to see her like this,” she said after a
moment. “She's—she's probably better than most would be after a divorce, but it's Luna.”

Harry nodded in understanding, a frown also settling upon his lips.

Luna had very recently separated from Rolf Scamander, leaving her to care for their six-year-old twins sons, Lorcan and
Lysander, on her own. While she had not shown an overt amount of melancholy over the incident, there had certainly been
a subdued nature to her naturally lively countenance. For lack of a better term, she had at least temporarily lost much
of her eccentricity, and everyone present was quite anxious to see her back in better spirits.

“I never did like that guy,” Ron said, crossing his arms.

“We've heard, Ronald,” Ginny said, flicking her wand towards the sink to shut off the water.

Ron grumbled an incoherent reply before standing up abruptly. “I'll take that over there, if you'd like,” he said,
gesturing to the cake.

“There's really no need, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I can always send Pigwidgeon.”

“It's not like it's much of a walk,” Ron said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It'd save Pig a trip, and I'm sure
Luna would appreciate it.”

“That's true…” Mrs. Weasley said.

Ron stepped forward and took the box from the counter.

“I'll be back in a bit,” he said, and exited the house without another word.

No sooner had the slam from the front door faded into silence than the back door burst open, heralding Lily's rapid and
mud-spattered arrival.

She skidded to a halt before the adults, who peered at her curiously as she hunched over, placing her hands on her knees
and gasping for air.

“Hu...Hugo,” she panted, pointing behind her. “He…he's in…got stuck…”

Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the adults waited patiently for the tiny redhead to catch her breath. She was clearly
not too distressed by whatever she'd dashed inside to tell them, so they were at least moderately calm as they watched
her regain her composure.

“What is it, honey?” Ginny asked.

“Hugo,” she finally said, still breathing slightly heavily. “He flew…his broom into the tree…got stuck.”

“Merlin,” Hermione said, rubbing her face as she stood.

“Lily, run out there and make sure James or Albus or Rose don't try to get him out,” Harry said, also standing. “They're
probably more likely to make him fall, and those brooms aren't meant for two anyway.”

They heard a yell a moment later and a muffled thump. Fortunately, the thump was followed not by a cry of pain, but by
angry shouts that appeared to be coming from Rose.

“Too late,” Lily said.

Rose's shouting seemed to ease Hermione's quickly rising panic, but she dashed out hurriedly into the darkness
nonetheless. She reappeared a few moments later, frog-marching a muddy, disheveled, but unharmed Hugo before her. Unlike
Lily's slightly mud-splattered shoes and pants, Hugo was covered from head-to-toe in grime, although he seemed
unbothered by the fact. Rose, on the other hand, who stomped in behind her mother, did seem quite bothered by the
equally copious amounts of mud coating her clothes and hair.

The dishes on the drying rack quivered as Rose stormed past, clanking as the plates and glasses tapped against each
other.

Hermione shot a look over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at her daughter.

“Calm,” she said.

Rose crossed her arms, splattering mud as she did so, and took a deep breath. As she exhaled, the dishes immediately
stilled.

“Good,” Hermione said.

Rose had grown much more effective at controlling her outbursts, and Harry knew that she must be pretty mad to have
caused any reaction at all.

“Hugo, I think you've had enough fun for tonight,” Hermione said sternly. “You're lucky you're sister caught you when
you fell.”

“Bloody lucky,” Rose muttered, plopping herself, mud and all, next to Harry.

“Language,” Harry and Hermione said together.

They paused awkwardly before Hermione turned back to Hugo.

“I was just trying to catch the Quaffle,” Hugo said defensively.

“You could have seriously hurt yourself,” Hermione scolded.

“Sorry, Mum,” Hugo said, looking down at his soaked shoes.

“And your sister,” Hermione said.

“Sorry, Rose,” Hugo said, looking apologetically at his sister as he brushed his sodden bangs from his eyes.

Rose waved her hand in a gesture of submissive absolution.

“And now you're going to go upstairs and take a bath,” Hermione said.

“I don't think there are any towels in the guest bathroom,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I'll fetch some.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said, and once more frog-marched him from the room, leaving a trail of mud in their wake.

“And I'll go fetch Al and James,” Ginny said, seemingly more amused by the proceedings than anything. “Are they still in
the back?”

“Should be,” Rose said. “They were chucking the Quaffle at each other the last time I checked.”

“Why would they do that?” Ginny asked.

“I find that it's better to only ask boys what they're doing—never why.”

“Wow, those are quite wise words for one so young,” Ginny said, smiling.

“She has lived with Hermione for a decade,” Harry pointed out.

“True,” Ginny said.

Harry and Rose sat in silence for a moment after Ginny had left. Rose propped her chin in one hand while she used the
other to drum the tabletop, staring diligently at Harry all the while.

“Would you like me to clean those for you?” Harry finally asked, twirling his wand between his fingertips.

“Thank Merlin,” Rose said, knocking her chair back with a clatter as she stood up. “I was wondering when someone would
offer.”

Harry flicked his wand wordlessly towards Rose's sodden clothes. In an instant all traces of mud had vanished.

“Much better,” Rose said, examining her dry clothes in satisfaction. “Thanks, Uncle Harry.”

“No problem,” Harry said, inwardly cringing.

Both he and Rose glanced towards the door as they heard the creak of the staircase, and a moment later Hermione came
into view.

“Hey, Mum,” Rose said.

“Hey, Rose,” Hermione replied. She paused in entryway and glanced around the kitchen, as if to see if the room held any
other occupants.

“Your Dad just got back,” she said after a moment. “As soon as Hugo comes downstairs we're leaving.”

“Okay,” Rose said. “I'll just go say bye to Al and James, then.”

As Rose spoke, Harry was struck—as usual—by the resemblance that she bore to her mother. From the long, wild brunette
hair to the warm brown eyes, she could have easily passed for the eleven-year-old girl Harry had met on the Hogwarts
Express so long ago. The observation also allowed Harry to see how distracted and exhausted Hermione appeared. Her skin
held an almost sickly pallor, accentuating the darkness under her eyes and the slight hollowness of her cheeks.

Rose gave Harry a quick hug before darting away to find the boys, and only then did he allow his expression to settle
into concern.

“Hermione, are you okay?” Harry asked.

“Of course,” Hermione said. “I'm perfectly fine.”

“I don't believe you,” Harry said, but her unenthusiastic tone had suggested she hadn't been attempting to deceive him
in the first place.

“I know,” Hermione said.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She crossed her arms across her stomach, holding herself. Her eyes were incredibly sad as she looked past him.
After a moment, she focused her gaze on his. “I…I've just had a lot on my mind. There's really nothing to discuss.”

“Does it have anything to do with your fight with Ron?” Harry asked.

Hermione frowned. “Not exactly. And I really don't want to talk about it, Harry, so can you please drop it?”

“Er, sure,” he said. She already seemed to be receding back into taciturn contemplation. “I'll be around if you do
though…you know, want to talk about it.”

She allowed him a brief, weak smile as she turned away.

“I know,” she said, and was gone without another word.

******************

The next morning arrived bright and crisp as Hermione strode through King's Cross Station, her sleepy-eyed family
following in her wake. She heard Ron yawn behind her, and fought to suppress one herself as she rubbed blearily at her
eyes. She knew she must look absolutely dreadful, but could not bring herself to care.

“Which one is it again, Mum?” Rose said as they continued to pass the platforms. Although she had already been to the
station before to see a few of her cousins off to Hogwarts, her imminent attendance in the next year made her more alert
than she had been in the past.

“Just up ahead,” Hermione said.

“Nine and three-quarters,” Rose said.

“Exactly,” Hermione said, smiling through her weariness. She wondered how this felt to her daughter and son, and
considered how different their feelings must be to what hers had been upon stepping through the barrier to see the
Hogwarts Express for the first time. She wondered if they felt anything akin to the magic that had caught in her veins,
the sheer awe that she had tried so hard to disguise at the sight. She certainly hoped they did, but then she couldn't
quite expect it of them—after all, she had been a Muggleborn.

“Here,” Hermione said as they reached the barrier.

She grasped Rose's hand as Ron did the same with Hugo, and they all walked briskly toward the wall. Hermione heard Rose
gasp involuntarily as they passed through the barrier.

“I hate that,” she said.

“Yes, it is rather difficult to get used to,” Hermione commiserated. She immediately removed the long coat she had been
using to disguise her plum-colored Wizengamot robes, knowing she would Apparate to the Ministry as soon as they saw
James off.

“Do you think they're here yet?” Ron said as he and Hugo appeared through the barrier a moment later, the latter shaking
his head in disorientation.

“I don't know,” Hermione said, scanning straggling families in the steam-filled station.

“It's almost a quarter till,” Ron said, checking his watch. “Seem to be cutting it a little close.”

Hermione couldn't help but snort an amusement at that statement. “Yes, because you were always quite early to board the
train.”

“Of course, I've always been one for punctuality,” Ron said.

“Speaking of, do you think George and the others have already been through?”

“Seems like it,” Ron said. “Do you think they have enough Weasleys there yet?”

“Roxy's in second year, Lucy and Louis are in third,” Rose said, ticking off her cousins on her fingers. “Molly,
Dominique, and Freddie are all in fifth...”

“And Victoire's in sixth,” Hermione said. “Yes, it does seem as if Hogwarts has quite the multitude of Weasleys.”

“I suspect they've quite reached their limits,” said a voice as a figure approached them through the steam.

Victoire Weasley smiled brightly as she neared them, already clad in her Hogwarts uniform. A bright blue prefect's
gleamed on her chest, and her long blonde hair was tied back into a neat ponytail.

“Victoire!” Rose said in delight, breaking away from her mother to envelop her eldest cousin in a hug.

“Hello,” Victoire said. “What are you all doing here?”

“We came to say goodbye to James,” Rose said.

“Oh, that's right, it's his first year, isn't it?”

“Yes, although if he doesn't hurry he might have to start next year,” Hermione said. “Shouldn't you already be on the
train?”

“I…I was just doing my last round out here,” Victoire said, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in her pristine robes.
“But I suppose I'll wait here with you all until Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny get here.”

They did not have to wait long, as a moment later the entire Potter clan came rushing through the barrier.

“—told you to keep Aspen in his cage,” Harry was saying, his eyes on his watch as he guided James' trolley.

“Look, a greeting party,” Ginny said, catching Harry by the sleeve to stop him from barreling into Ron. “And Victoire as
well!”

“It's good to see you, Aunt Ginny,” Victoire said, embracing her. “And you too, Uncle Harry.”

“Same to you,” Harry said. “Sorry we're late. We had some owl-catching to do this morning.”

“Sorry,” James added meekly, clutching the cage of a small tawny owl. The owl hooted at the group surrounding him,
clearly unconcerned with the ruckus he had caused.

“Teddy was right behind us,” Ginny added. “Parking that awful motorcycle Harry was so kind to give him…”

“Godfather to godson trade-off,” Harry said with a shrug, using his wand to load James' luggage onto the train. “If
you'd prefer, I could give it to James instead.”

“That won't be necessary,” Ginny said hastily.

When Teddy appeared, his hair altered to a dark brown to avoid attention, Hermione failed to miss the brief flash of
elation that crossed Victoire's features. The young Ravenclaw had composed her features in as rapid a manner as they had
been allowed to deviate, but Hermione was an expert on hiding her feelings. The part-Veela was good, but Hermione was
better. It was hard not to be better with two decades of experience in the practice.

“Hey, Teddy,” Victoire said, prudently retaining her position by her aunt.

“Hey,” Teddy replied with a smile. “Here to escort James off?”

“Of course,” Victoire said, although the faintest of blushes further tipped Hermione off to a different motive.

“The both of you better get on the train, then,” Ginny said. “It's about to leave you behind.”

“And unfortunately we don't have a flying car to send you off if it does,” Ron said, his mouth twitching as he glanced
at Harry.

Harry smirked as well, but quickly sobered as he stood before his eldest son, who was growing paler with each passing
moment.

“Don't get into too much trouble,” he said, placing one hand on each of his son's shoulders. “We might have to bring you
home if that's the case, and as scary as it seems now, you'll never want to leave once you get there.”

“Almost never want to leave,” Ginny corrected. “He'll still want to see his mum every now and again.”

“And me and Al!” Lily said, sniffling.

“Right,” James said, a small quiver in his voice.

“If you need anything at all, you can send Aspen to us,” Ginny said.

“And we'll send Fitz if we want to send you anything,” Harry said.

“Or Aurora,” Albus said, referring to his large barn owl.

“Yes, either one,” Ginny said, and ushered her son away from Harry to envelop him in a hug. “We'll write to you every
day if you want us to.”

“No way, Mum!” James said, evidently aware of the eyes of his siblings and cousins upon him. Hermione smiled as she
caught James' whisper of “Just three times a week” into his mother's ear.

“And as long as you don't get in Slytherin you'll have at least one cousin to help you out,” Teddy said once Ginny had
given a quick assurance to her son.

“And Neville will be more than glad to help you if you need anything. I would say that McGonagall could do the same if
she hadn't retired last year,” Ginny continued, ignoring the brief flash of panic that crossed James' features at the
thought of being in Slytherin.

“I believe `just in time' were her words,” Harry said. “I suspect she just wanted to make sure Teddy finished his
schooling without getting expelled.”

“That woman secretly loves me,” Teddy mused, shoving his hands in his pockets as he glanced wistfully at the train. “I
wasn't even in her House and she was always the one to give me detentions.”

“The boldness of a Gryffindor and the intelligence of a Ravenclaw does not a well-behaved student make,” Victoire said
with a smile.

“Not to mention the mischief of a Metamorphmagus and the restlessness of a half-werewolf,” Ginny said.

“And the natural predisposition for pranking instilled by being the son of a Marauder and being raised around the
Weasleys,” Harry said.

“Face it, mate, you were fated to be a troublemaker,” Ron said, clapping Teddy on the back. “Tough break.”

Teddy was saved from replying as the Hogwarts Express emitted a shrill whistle.

There was a brief flurry of activity as James was passed quickly among his relatives, embraced affectionately by each,
until he reached his father, who hugged his son more tightly than anyone.

Between this sight of separation of father and son, Victoire's seemingly impulsive embrace and unheard whispers to an
oblivious Teddy, and her own private and tumultuous reflections, Hermione was bombarded with enough emotion to render
her speechless as she watched Victoire and James board the train. She barely managed to raise her hand in farewell as
the train disappeared from the platform.

“He's going to be alright, isn't he?” Lily said, clutching her mother's hand and looking up at her tearfully.

“Of course! And he'll be back for the holidays before you know it,” Ginny said cheerful, although her eyes were also
glassy from pent-up tears.

After a moment of silence, Teddy excused himself from the group and vanished through the barrier. He was closely
followed by Ginny, who clutched each of her remaining children's hands in an almost possessive manner as she vanished as
well.

“I guess I'll be off as well,” Ron said. “I'll get the kids situated at the Burrow, and then meet you at the Ministry.”

“Sounds good,” Harry said. “Although I'm sure Ginny wouldn't mind if Rose and Hugo want to spend the day at Grimmauld.
I'm sure Al and Lily could use the company.”

Ron agreed to this plan at the enthusiastic promptings of his children and then was gone as well, leaving Harry and
Hermione standing alone on the platform.

“I think we're getting old, Hermione,” Harry said, continuing to gaze after the long-departed train.

“Speak for yourself,” she responded as she observed his profile. “You're the one with gray hair.”

Harry smiled at that, running his hand through the offending locks at his temple.

“Barely. And I wouldn't sound so amused about it if I were you,” Harry warned. “You'll be next, especially since we
can't count on Ginny or Ron going gray on us.”

“True,” Hermione said, attempting to keep her tone light-hearted.

Harry sighed after a moment of silence. “Well, no point in hanging around here. Heading to the Ministry?”

“No, I just like to wear purple robes for the fun of it,” Hermione said.

“I thought as much,” Harry said with a grin, offering his hand in a wordless gesture for Side-Along Apparition. “No need
for sarcasm, Granger.”

Hermione accepted his hand as wordlessly as he had given it, for once not making the slightest attempt to correct him
with a quietly muttered Weasley before they disappeared.

******************

It truly was a morose evening at the Potter household.

Both Lily and Albus were forlorn at the loss of their brother, however temporary, and Harry and Ginny were equally
somber at the strangeness of James' absence. As a result, all four seemed inclined to turn in early that night, as much
from exhaustion at the emotional morning as from the desire to start the next day afresh.

Harry retired to his bedroom almost as soon as Albus and Lily were asleep. Ginny was already in bed, jotting down notes
on a pad of paper by the light of the lamp on her bedside table.

Harry perched himself on the edge of the bed as he began to unlace his shoes.

“Did you tell Lily she could sleep in her new boots?” he asked as he kicked off one of them.

“Yes,” Ginny said absently as tapped her pen thoughtfully.

“Not that there's any problem with it, but why would you let her?” Harry asked curiously, kicking off his other shoe.

“She said they were comfortable, they kept her feet warm, and that she loved them more than anything in the world,”
Ginny answered, scratching through a note on her paper.

“And those were good enough reasons for you?” Harry said, removing his socks as well.

“Well, those happen to be the reasons I sleep with you,” Ginny replied with a grin, nudging Harry with her foot.

“I'm glad to be of some use to you, then,” Harry said, smiling as well.

He slipped under the sheets on his side of the bed a few moments later, vaguely aware that one of his hands had
unconsciously reached to cover the small patch of darkened skin on his bare chest.

“I'll be done with this article in a bit,” Ginny said, continuing to jot notes. “It needs to be sent to the Prophet
tomorrow afternoon. Is the light bothering you?”

“No,” Harry said. “Take your time. I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” Ginny asked.

“Just wondering if James is okay.”

“He'll be fine,” Ginny said. “He's probably in his dormitory right now, getting to know his roommates and completely
unconcerned by the fact that he starts classes in the morning.”

“Do you think he got in Gryffindor?”

“Undoubtedly,” Ginny said. “He's probably even in your same dormitory.”

Harry grinned, pleased at the notion.

“Aspen will probably show up tomorrow with a letter letting us know how his first day was, anyway. So don't trouble
yourself too much about it.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

Within ten minutes, Ginny had completed her article and flicked off her lamp.

“Now move over,” she said, settling herself more comfortably underneath the covers. “You're hogging the bed.”

******************

In the Weasley household, Hermione alone could be described as morose.

However, as she was used to doing, she managed to mostly hide the symptoms of her distress. Her haggard appearance gave
the only insight into the maelstrom of her emotions, and this could easily be disregarded as lack of sleep to any but
the most perceptive of observers. As neither Harry nor her mother was present, she felt mostly safe in this regard.

Presently, as she read aloud to her children, she had little trouble disguising her feelings. This had become a favorite
ritual among them, and Hermione loved nothing more than to share her love of books and stories with Rose and Hugo. She
sat propped against the pillows in her daughter's bed, with Rose on one side and Hugo on the other, and could scarcely
describe how tranquil she felt.

It had been Hugo's choice tonight, and he had requested a few stories from a book of fairytales. The Tales of Beedle and
the Bard, needless to say, were nowhere to be seen.

“And then the marriage of the King's son with Briar-rose was celebrated with all splendor, and they lived contented to
the end of their days,” Hermione said, finishing what she felt had been a spirited rendition of “Sleeping Beauty.” Or at
least as spirited as could be managed through her own desire for sleep.

“Read `Ali Baba' again,” Hugo said immediately.

“I have no idea why you like that story so much,” Hermione said as she closed the book. “Although I imagine the violence
may have something to do with it.”

“Swordfights and treasure!” Hugo said enthusiastically.

“I prefer that story too,” Rose added.

“You never have been one for princess stories, have you?” Hermione said with a tired smile.

“Fairytales in general, really,” Rose said. “I mean, they're interesting, but they aren't very realistic, are they?”

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at that. Leave it to her magical daughter to find fault in stories almost entirely
surrounding magic. “Which part, exactly?”

“I don't know…” Rose said thoughtfully. “Well, take `Cinderella,' for example.”

“What about it?” Hermione asked.

“First of all, the so-called fairy godmother should never have helped Cinderella in the first place. She was clearly a
witch, and showing off to a Muggle should have gotten her in a lot of trouble.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, nodding in amusement. “Statute of Secrecy and all that. Go on.”

“So if you can ignore that obvious flaw in the plot, the Transfiguration itself is very impressive. But then, if the
witch is powerful enough to create all that, why would all the magic disappear? And at midnight, no less. Unless the
fairy godmother died or just wanted to be a jerk to Cinderella, the Transfiguration should have lasted longer, right?”

“Right.”

“And then, after all that, you find out that not all of the magic disappeared—that a pair of glass slippers, of all
things, doesn't disappear. And to top it all off, we're expected to just accept the fact that Cinderella has such a
unique shoe size that the glass slipper will not fit the foot of a single other person in the entire kingdom? It's
ridiculous!” Rose concluded.

“You're completely right,” Hermione said seriously. “Not to mention the fact that the slipper would have broken to begin
with.”

“That too!” Rose said. “Especially if she was dancing around in them!”

“Oh, Rose,” Hermione said with a sigh as she slid from the bed, prompting Hugo off as well. “I fear that you've been
around me far too long, love.”

Rose giggled, and Hermione bent to kiss the crown of her daughter's thick brown hair.

“Can I get a glass of water before I go to bed?” Hugo asked.

“Sure,” Hermione said. “Would you like one, Rose?”

“No, I'm okay. Goodnight, Mum.”

“Goodnight,” Hermione said, and flicked off the light to her daughter's room.

Hugo led the way down the hall, through the living room where Ron was perusing a Quidditch magazine, and into the
kitchen. Hermione held back a groan of exasperation as she followed her son into the last room—pots and pans were still
scattered about the stove, the sink was overflowing with dirty plates and glasses, and the leftovers from dinner
remained sitting in dishes on the counter.

“Ron, I thought I asked you to clean up the mess in the kitchen!” Hermione called, her agitation causing her voice to be
shriller than she had intended.

Silence followed her rebuke. Then:

“Sorry, must've slipped my mind.”

Although she couldn't see him, she didn't think he sounded particularly sorry about it.

Hugo, now clutching a glass of water, stepped into the living room. Hermione followed once more, bringing Ron into her
sight. He continued to staunchly stare at his magazine.

Hugo, quite used to seeing such typical bickering between his parents, took a sip of his water.

“Yeah, Dad, stop being so lazy!” he said jokingly.

Another moment of silence.

“Hugo, it's not your place to criticize your father,” Hermione said quietly.

“Yes, you're infringing on your mother's territory,” Ron replied, his eyes immobile on the magazine.

Hermione felt her shoulders tense involuntarily as cold anger roiled about in her chest.

“It's time for bed, Hugo,” she said evenly.

Hugo glanced between his father and mother curiously. Then, without another word, her son vanished down the hallway, the
door to his bedroom clicking shut a moment later.

“That was entirely uncalled for,” Hermione said tightly.

“Look, I'd rather not get into this tonight,” Ron said, his tone just as crisp.

“Really? Because your comment would suggest otherwise,” Hermione said, crossing her arms.

“Maybe you're wrong,” Ron answered, finally looking up from his magazine with a glare. “Did you ever consider that?”

“I suppose that it would be a nice change of pace for me to be wrong, wouldn't it?” Hermione said, not finding it within
herself to reign in her anger.

“Right, because I'm bloody wrong all the time, aren't I?” Ron ground out, finally tossing his magazine away from him in
anger as he stood up.

Hermione bit back her next mean-spirited retort and turned her back on her husband. Her hip nudged the edge of a rickety
table placed beside the couch as she walked a few paces away, and lunged forward to still the lone vase on its surface
as it wobbled precariously.

“Maybe you're right,” she said softly, moving her hands slowly away from the vase. “Maybe we shouldn't get into this
right now.”

Hermione heard a long sigh as Ron paced away as well.

“Sure, why not?” he said sourly, and Hermione heard him fumbling about with the books on the shelves.

Hermione would later wonder what Fates had to be in play to result in what happened next. Wonder at what had possibly
possessed Ron to fumble about on her bookshelves for something to read when he had rarely messed with them before.
Wonder why he selected the book he did. Hermione did not remember which book he chose though. It was arbitrary, really.
The significance of it came when he pulled the book roughly from the shelf, causing the book next to it to fall forward,
landing with a thump on the ground and falling open to a very precise page, where a small, worn piece of parchment was
heavily folded.

Realization only dawned on Hermione as Ron set aside the book he had chosen, bent to lift the fallen leather tome into
his arms, and plucked the parchment from its crease. When that realization did hit her, it did so so forcibly that she
couldn't prevent a gasp of horror from escaping her lips.

Ron might have ignored the parchment had she been able to control herself. After all, a scrap of old parchment in an
Ancient Runes dictionary would more than likely be some scrawled note from class. But her gasp told a different tale,
and instead of tossing it aside, he glanced at Hermione curiously, then back to the folded parchment with renewed
interest.

“Give that to me,” Hermione said, a whine of panic rising in her mind and a blush rising in her cheeks.

Ron didn't reply, instead fixing her with a hard stare. She could see his thoughts churning, and by the time she had
crossed the room to snatch the parchment from him, he had clearly made up his mind to do no such thing. He held the
parchment out of her reach and instead shoved the open dictionary into her arms.

“What is it?” Ron asked. There was no malevolence in his tone, only a burning curiosity.

“It's—it's just some notes I took in classes,” Hermione said, setting the dictionary on the couch.

Ron cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. “I'm not that much of an idiot, Hermione.”

“Well, then, it's none of your concern,” Hermione said firmly. She made another snatch at the parchment, and Ron jerked
it once more out of her reach.

“Would you stop treating me like some schoolgirl?” Hermione snapped. “Just give that back to me!”

But Ron was already unfolding the parchment—unfolding the letter—and Hermione continued to struggle vainly to grab it,
to take it away from his prying eyes, even as she knew that it was too late. He hardly seemed aware of her efforts after
a moment, and she stopped trying after a moment more.

She backed away from him and collapsed onto the couch, hardly able to force herself to watch him as he absorbed every
word she had written, as he read it through a second time, as his brow contorted and the set of his mouth grew rigid.

When he had clearly had enough, he methodically folded up the parchment and with a twitch of his wrist sent it flying
into her lap. He then turned his back on her and bowed his head.

The silence that reigned between them at that moment stretched on into more moments, and still neither Hermione nor Ron
said a word. Despite her guesswork, Hermione could never appropriately describe what she supposed Ron was feeling during
that span of stillness, and, for once in her life, she was unsure if this was knowledge she wanted to be privy to.

Hermione, with equal amounts of guilt, dread, and apprehension, was the first to break through the silence. And breaking
it was all she managed.

“Ron, I—”

“You what?” Ron cut her off so bitingly that she cringed in alarm. “You can explain? Is that what you were about to say?
What is there to explain? The two of you clearly made a fool of me. End of story. What more needs to be said?”

“Ron, you don't understand—”

“Oh, what a surprise! Something else that Ron Weasley can't understand!”

Hermione hastily cast a Muffliato charm as his voice escalated.

“Would you look at me, Ron! That letter is nothing recent! I wrote that when I was sixteen!”

“It doesn't matter that you were sixteen! It's the fact that you lied to me!”

“What would have been the point in telling you?” Hermione asked. “I never even showed that to Harry! It was just…it was
just a fleeting crush, Ron.”

Strangely, Ron did not seem at all mollified by this.

“That just makes it worse, doesn't it?”

He no longer shouted at her, but the soft way he spoke struck Hermione as significantly worse. He finally faced her, and
Hermione was startled to see tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“It's not about the fact that you wrote it when you were sixteen, or that you were just writing about a crush. It's
about the fact that you've never said anything like this to me. That apparently as a sixteen-year-old you could feel as
strongly as this about Harry when you obviously don't feel this way about your own husband.”

Hermione paled at the unwelcome veracity of these words and immediately averted her eyes.

“I…I don't know what to say, Ron.”

“I guess that's the point, isn't it?”

Hermione heard Ron sigh as he sat down on the couch next to her.

“So,” he said, and the word seemed to extend farther in her mind than any single-syllable word had the right to do.

“So,” Hermione echoed.

“Is this it, then?” he said.

The matter-of-fact way he said it rendered her breathless—it felt as though steel bands were tightening, constricting
her heart and lungs, and she gasped for air as the tears finally flooded to her eyes.

“I guess so,” she managed to choke out.

“It wasn't—it wasn't all bad, was it?” Ron asked, fiddling with the edge of his shirt.

“No, of course not,” Hermione said tearfully. “You're still my friend, Ron, and nothing could change that.”

And that was it. There was no open declaration of defeat, no exclamation of failure. She knew she had been unfair to
him, that they had been unfair to each other, and had been too good of friends to admit that they just didn't work. She
also knew that he deserved someone better than her, a person that could love him as unreservedly as he deserved to be
loved and make him happier than she could ever make him.

As she turned to observe Ron, she didn't see her thirty-six-year-old husband, but saw past that to the lanky, red-haired
teenager she had met at Hogwarts. And as they pulled each other into an embrace, she knew she was not hugging her
husband.

She was hugging her friend, and there was a bittersweet rightness in that small consolation.

“I love you, Ron,” she said as they broke apart.

He gave her a small, regretful smile.

“I love you, too,” he said.

Then he left the room, leaving Hermione alone.

She pulled the Ancient Runes dictionary towards herself when he was gone, intent for some reason or another to replace
her worn letter back within its pages. It was still open to the place it had opened to, and Hermione glanced at the
contents of the page as she wedged the parchment securely into the binding.

“`Ehwaz,'” she read, tracing her finger down the runes.

It means partnership, not defense.

She snapped the book shut ruefully.

“Still can't believe I missed that one,” she muttered, and tossed the book on the table next to the couch.

She immediately regretted this act as the vase on the table fell instantly to the floor and shattered.

“Of course,” Hermione said, hardly alarmed by the development.

Ron returned to the room at the sound of the breaking porcelain.

“Vase fell?” he asked unnecessarily.

“Yes. It doesn't matter, I knew it would happen eventually.”

“Then why didn't you stop it?” Ron asked, bewildered.

And it was such a simple question.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

45. No Second Chances

A/N: So…finally, right? Needless to say, I was not on my game over the summer with updates. However, hopefully the fact
that the next chapter will be updated in exactly one week (yes, just one) will make up for it. I would have updated this
last month sometime, but I really thought the next chapter needed to be completed first. And before you start reading,
two notes: One, thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter. You guys are absolutely awesome and thank you so much
for sticking with my less-than-frequent updates. And two…don't be mad at me. Oh, and I apologize in advance if the
chapter doesn't upload properly…keeps trying to cut off the text part of the way through the chapter.

Anyway, enjoy! We've finally gotten to the Epilogue!

Chapter 45: No Second Chances

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year.

However, despite the absence of the dense summer heat that had plagued them for months, Dolohov still appeared
distinctly uncomfortable, tugging at the sleeves of his robes as sweat clung to his brow.

“And you are sure this is the only way?” he said, his thin face sallow in the poor lighting of the room.

Caius heard his so-called leader's discomfort as easily as he could see it.

Coward.

“Yes,” Caius answered. “You are as aware as myself of the setback that has delayed our plans. Despite our promptings,
Potter has not yet retrieved the Wand, and the wards placed upon it are as strong as ever.”

Caius noticed the twitch of Dolohov's eye, the barely suppressed curl of his lip as he reflected upon the frustration.

“Why have you suddenly decided now is the time to strike?” Dolohov said. “You have insisted upon restraint for this
long…what have you discovered that has changed your opinion?”

Caius gave Dolohov a rare smile.

“I have discovered much, Antonin.”

It took little explanation to bring forth the avaricious gleam in Dolohov's eyes.

“This is news indeed,” he said, drumming the tips of his fingers against the worn wooden table before him. “You have
shown impressive foresight in this matter, and I apologize for any...impatience I have exhibited.” A wide smile revealed
crooked yellow teeth quite unlike Caius'. “Can you imagine the possibilities this entails?”

Caius gave no answer. He could, of course, imagine the possibilities quite vividly.

“All of this wasted time will be quite worth it if we succeed,” Dolohov continued, careless of Caius' taciturn nature.
“We'll need to proceed carefully, of course. One miscalculation could mean the end of all that we have worked for…but
yes, I believe you are right. It's time we pay Mr. Potter a long-delayed visit.”

He paused, leaning back in his chair and clasping his arms behind his head as he gazed upward contemplatively.

“I would imagine you've given some thought to the circumstances of our next encounter.”

Dolohov fixed his dark eyes upon Caius, and Caius stared back, another thin-lipped smile on his lips.

“I might have a suggestion.”

******************

September 1, 2017

It seemed as if no time at all passed before it was time to return to King's Cross.

The bustle of the London streets outside of Hermione's flat compounded the flurry of activity caused as Rose bounded
through the rooms, searching for any last-minute items to pack. Thanks to Hermione's efficiency the night before there
was little left unaccounted for, and Hermione knew Rose's darting about had more to do with nervous anticipation than
anything.

Hermione simply sat on the sofa as she observed her daughter, her limbs feeling abnormally heavy as melancholy settled
into her heart. She was truly happy for Rose and the opportunities she would have at Hogwarts (what parent wouldn't
be?), but that didn't mean she couldn't feel sorry for herself.

Rose's leaving for Hogwarts would add an unpleasant bump to the life Hermione had only recently settled into. Once her
children had accepted the circumstances of her and Ron's separation, which had understandably taken some time, Rose and
Hugo had been an undeniable comfort, her one constant in the turmoil her life had become. Hugo, being both younger and
of a more easy-going temperament than his sister, had been confused at first. Rose, on the other hand, had been angry at
the news, uncertainty causing her to continually place one or the other of her parents to blame, and her long bouts of
surly muteness were rarely broken by anything but clipped remarks to direct questions. But kids are nothing if not
adaptable, and a few months and many long (and often one-sided in Rose's case) conversations had eased them into the
numerous adjustments to their lives.

After Hermione had insisted Ron keep the house in Ottery St. Catchpole (the idea of living down the road from her
ex-husband's parents held little appeal), Rose and Hugo had helped her pick the three-bedroom flat that would become
their second home. They had both been surprisingly eager to help her decorate, and Hermione had even allowed Hugo to
have his bedroom painted Wimbourne Wasp yellow—she figured anything was better than Chudley Cannon orange.

However, despite the separate living arrangements, Hermione and Ron did try to keep things as normal as possible. To
minimize the inconvenience to Rose and Hugo, they alternated weeks with their children—one week in Ottery St. Catchpole,
one week in London. Additionally, they all ate dinner together on most nights, with the task of cooking falling upon
whomever the kids were staying with. As a result, Ron's expertise in the kitchen had risen considerably in the past
year. Needless to say, Molly Weasley's aid in this department had been more than welcome.

The rest of the relatives had seemed to have a harder time adjusting. In as large and stable of a family as the
Weasleys, the idea of divorce was all but a foreign concept. In the first few weeks after the announcement, Mr. Weasley
had been awkward in his uncertainty of how to behave around his son's ex-wife, at times normal and then abruptly formal
as though he had briefly forgotten the state of things. Mrs. Weasley had perhaps taken longer than anyone to adjust,
torn between loyalty to her youngest son and the woman who had practically been her daughter even before the two had
dated. Ron's brothers had been an immense relief to the disorientation of the earliest family get-togethers—Bill's
composure eased much of the social clumsiness, and George's well-timed humor lightened any unfortunate lapses that
happened to occur.

Ginny's reaction had perhaps been the strangest of all the Weasleys. At first she had been similar in behavior to her
parents, caught in the uncomfortable position of sticking up for her brother without accidentally tarnishing the
character of her husband's best friend. But this behavior had rapidly transitioned into something Hermione could only
describe as smothering. It was as though Ginny had suddenly taken it upon herself to be Hermione's one-woman support
group and, consequently, rarely abandoned her side when they were in the same vicinity.

And then there was Harry, who had been…well, Harry.

Hermione had told him first. He had seemed even sadder than Ron at the development, both unsurprised and dazed that his
friends' marriage had deteriorated to this point, but had been surprisingly quiet as he listened to her. He didn't prod
her for more details than she gave, but his furrowed brow and unsettled expression spoke for the question that troubled
his mind.

This isn't about you, she had told him.

Which was the truth.

At least mostly the truth.

She was not leaving Ron for Harry, after all, but she occasionally wondered how deeply Harry had influenced the
dissatisfaction that had led to divorce. If not for Harry, would she have ever realized she had reason to be discontent,
even considered the possibility of leaving Ron? Ron had been the only relationship she had ever had, and she had never
had anything to compare it to until those brief, stolen moments she had shared with Harry when she was pregnant with
Rose.

Oddly, she liked to think that, with or without Harry, the end result would have been the same.

But she would never know for certain.

Even if it had been about Harry, she wouldn't have told him anyway. He had enough guilt to burden him without the added
encumbrance of breaking up a marriage.

Hermione had unfortunately found it necessary to convince Katherine Granger of the same thing. She hadn't seemed to
believe her, but Hermione had more important things to deal with than a skeptical mother.

“Mum,” Rose said, skidding to a halt before Hermione and interrupting her thoughts. “Do you know where that
Self-Correcting Ink you bought me is?”

“In your trunk,” Hermione said, sighing.

“And those treats we got for Sable?” she asked, referring to her new calico kitten.

“Next to her carrier.”

“And that bag of Canary Creams Uncle George gave me?”

“Hidden from both you and your brother.”

“Aw, you're no fun!” Rose said. She was already dressed in her pristine Hogwarts robes and practically bouncing in
excitement.

“Is that everything?” Hermione asked. “Because your father should be here any minute.”

“I think so.”

“You can always write if you think you've forgotten something. I can send Marcellus with it,” Hermione said.

“Okay!” Rose said, already turning to bound away again, but she hadn't even made it out of the room before a loud honk
sounded from the streets outside.

“That would be your father,” Hermione said, shaking her head at Ron's laziness.

Rose cringed slightly as she peeked out of the window. “Are you sure you can't drive us?”

Hermione shrugged helplessly. “He insisted he wanted to do it. He did pass his driving test, sweetie.”

“A passed driving test does not an experienced driver make,” Rose replied, crossing her arms as she continued to peer
down at her father's car.

Hermione smiled at this. “True. But don't worry so much—I'll make sure he doesn't screw up too badly.”

Rose feigned wiping sweat from her brow and then continued to dash away, shouting for Hugo as she went.

“HUGO! DAD'S HERE!”

As Rose fetched her brother, Hermione cast a Featherweight charm on her daughter's trunk. Had they been at the Burrow,
she would have cast a Levitation charm, but she suspected that a floating trunk might not go over very well with the
Muggles of London.

Rose and Hugo emerged from their rooms a moment later, the former clutching a mewling kitten to her chest and the latter
hopping forward as he pulled an unlaced sneaker onto his foot.

Hermione waited patiently until Rose had placed Sable in her carrier and Hugo's feet were fitted snugly into his shoes.

“Everybody ready?” she asked.

Rose and Hugo quickly nodded their assent and then led the way out of the flat.

Excellent, that makes two of us, Hermione thought glumly, and cast one last glance through the room before shutting the
door quietly behind her.

******************

Harry would have been a bit ashamed to admit to Hermione how chaotic his own home was in comparison to the relative
tranquility of her flat.

He would have thought that, having done this once before with James, the second time around would be considerably
easier. He had been confident he could avoid the mistakes that had delayed the Potters last time, and was consequently
convinced the atmosphere would be considerably more relaxed.

However, this morning had made multiple things clear to Harry:

One, he had been quite mistaken in his assumptions.

Two, doubling the amount of children preparing to leave for Hogwarts doubled the amount of packing, yelling, stampeding
up and down the stairs, and the severity of the migraine pulsing somewhere behind Harry's right eye.

And three, much of this stemmed from the fact that he was absolute rubbish at planning and organizing without Hermione
hovering over his shoulder, and Ginny wasn't much better.

Harry massaged his temple as the cacophony of his sons' shouting, Ginny's even louder shouting, Lily's wailing, and the
owls' screeching bombarded his senses.

“Harry, what are you doing!?” Ginny said, poking her head into the living room as a distraught Lily clung to her sleeve.
“Would you please get up and help James and Al? We're going to be late if we don't leave soon!”

Harry sighed as he heaved himself from the soft cushions of the couch, wondering if there was some elixir that may help
his brain pound a little less viciously against his skull.

“Okay,” he said, despite knowing that it was unlikely Ginny could hear his reply.

He followed the noise of shouting upstairs until he reached James' bedroom, arriving just in time to hear an outburst
from Albus.

“Would you just shut up, James?” he said.

Harry could hear the pronounced annoyance in his youngest son's voice, and almost collided with him as Albus tried to
storm from the bedroom.

“Woah,” Harry said, halting Albus' progress by placing his hands firmly on his shoulders. “What's going on up here?”

Albus glared downward, his face pale, and seemed to grit his teeth.

“James is just being a jerk,” he muttered.

“Is that so?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow as he glanced up to James framed in the doorway, bearing a slightly guilty
expression. Harry knew his sons well enough to know that James could occasionally take a joke too far, and that it took
an exceptional amount of needling to rile Albus up to this degree.

“Care to share, James?” Harry continued.

“Not especially,” he replied, scuffing his foot on the wooden planks beneath his feet.

Harry continued to stare expectantly.

“Fine,” James said after a moment of tense silence. “I was only telling him that there's a chance he could be Sorted
into Slytherin. He took it all personally for some reason.”

“He said that he'd disown me if I was Sorted into Slytherin!” Albus interjected, seething.

“James!” Harry admonished.

“I was just joking!” he said defensively. “I just mentioned that no one in our entire family had ever been Sorted into
Slytherin.”

Albus shot James another glare before turning back to his father. Once his back was to James, Harry saw Albus' anger
melt into anxiety. Before Harry could say anything, Albus pushed past his father and went to his own bedroom.

“James,” Harry scolded again once Al was out of earshot. “Lay off, will you? It's clearly bothering him.”

“He should learn how to take a joke,” James muttered. “But okay, I'll lay off a bit.”

“That's all I ask,” Harry said. “Now, are you finished packing? Because we'll have bigger things to worry about if we're
not downstairs in about three minutes.”

“'Bigger things to worry about' meaning Mum?”

“Smart boy,” Harry said, ruffling his son's hair.

******************

“Do you think Al and James are here yet?”

Rose peered up the platform nervously as she spoke. Understandably, Hermione could see that boarding the Hogwarts
Express for the first time without backup was a daunting prospect for her daughter.

“I don't think so,” Hermione said.

“How unlucky of them,” Ron grumbled as he waved at the retreating figure of his brother. “Had they been ten minutes
earlier, Harry could have listened to Percy's rousing discourse on broomstick regulations…I may just have to fill him in
when he gets here.”

“Don't do that!” Hugo said, yawning widely. “That means we'd have to hear it all again!”

“Fair point, Hugh,” Ron said. “That would be cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Hey, there they are!” Rose said suddenly, pointing.

A group of five people emerged from the thick white steam obscuring the platform, their faces coming into focus as they
drew near. Al was the first person visible, looking quite pale as he pushed his trolley forward. His barn owl, Aurora,
was in a cage perched on top of his trunk, and she hooted a greeting to the group. Harry, Ginny, and a tearful Lily
followed directly behind, and James was nowhere to be seen.

“Hi,” Albus said as he neared them, sounding immensely relieved.

Rose beamed at her cousin, clearly as relieved to see him as he was to see her.

Hermione flashed Harry a smile, which he returned wearily.

“Parked all right, then?” Ron asked Harry immediately, causing Hermione to shake her head amusedly at his eagerness. “I
did. Hermione didn't believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you? She thought I'd have to Confund the examiner.”

“No, I didn't, I had complete faith in you,” Hermione said, although in truth she had had her doubts about the written
portion of the exam. She had even been lenient enough to ignore Ron when he actually did Confund the examiner—he had
only forgotten to look in the wing mirror, and Hermione knew he would use a Supersensory Charm for that anyway.

As Harry and Ron lifted Albus's trunk and owl onto the train, Hermione glanced towards Lily and Hugo, who were
animatedly discussing what they thought Hogwarts would be like. Rose and Albus were also bunched together, speaking in
much lower tones and seemingly drawing fortitude from each other's presence as they took turns glancing furtively at the
scarlet train.

“Lily seemed upset a moment ago,” Hermione said.

“She wants to go to Hogwarts with her brothers,” Ginny replied with a shrug, smiling as she observed her daughter.
“Something I can obviously relate to.”

“At least she and Hugo have each other for company while the other kids are at school,” Hermione said.

“True. Neither of them have ever been alone without their siblings before.”

A moment later, Harry and Ron reappeared, the former looking amused and the latter looking slightly sheepish. The two
men approached the group just as Lily and Hugo speculated which House they would be Sorted into.

“If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you,” Ron said, “but no pressure.”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded, shooting him a glare. She guessed that Al and Rose didn't need the added anxiety of being
teased, and their solemn expressions supported her conjecture. Lily and Hugo's laughter didn't help matters.

“He doesn't mean it,” Hermione and Ginny said simultaneously. To Hermione's ire, Ron was no longer paying attention.
Instead, he was looking pointedly at Harry, clearly trying to catch his eye. Once he'd succeeded, Ron nodded covertly to
a point some fifty yards away.

Hermione followed his gaze, and once the steam had thinned, three people stood in sharp relief to the shifting mist.

“Look who it is,” Ron said, smirking.

Draco Malfoy was standing there with his wife and son. Although his white-blonde hair had receded somewhat, thereby
emphasizing his pointed chin, the dark coat buttoned up to his throat gave him a striking air. Hermione couldn't help
but smile when she saw that the boy by Draco's side resembled his father as much as Albus resembled Harry.

Draco suddenly stilled, apparently aware of being watched, and was gratified by the sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and
Ginny staring at him when he turned his head. Hermione could see Draco immediately hone in on one person in particular,
and she knew for a moment his ice blue eyes met Harry's emerald ones.

Then he gave the group a curt nod and turned away.

His son glanced towards them for a moment too, clearly interested to see what had drawn his father's notice, but jerked
his gaze away rapidly when he saw they were still looking.

“So that's little Scorpius,” Ron said under his breath. “Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you
inherited your mother's brains.”

Harry caught Hermione's eye, and the corner of his lips twitched upward as he tipped his head obligingly towards her as
if to say, Well, it's true.

“Ron, for heaven's sake,” Hermione said, half stern, half amused. “Don't try to turn them against each other before
they've even started school!”

“You're right, sorry,” Ron said, but unable to stop himself, he added, “Don't get too friendly with him, though, Rosie.
Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood.”

Hermione inwardly cringed at the idea of her daughter marrying into the Malfoys, but had no chance to respond to Ron
before her oldest nephew came bounding towards them through the steam, evidently bursting with news.

“Hey!” James said breathlessly, and pointed back over his shoulder. “Teddy's back there. Just seen him! And guess what
he's doing? Snogging Victoire!”

Hermione felt a twinge of delight at James' words, but she certainly couldn't say she was surprised. Harry, Ron, and
Ginny seemed equally unsurprised, and James was evidently disappointed by the lack of reaction.

“Our Teddy!” James clarified. “Teddy Lupin! Snogging our Victoire! Our cousin! And I asked Teddy what he was doing—”

Hermione outwardly cringed now, embarrassed for Victoire's sake.

“You interrupted them?” Ginny said, voicing her similar disbelief as she shook her head. “You are so like Ron—”

“—and he said he'd come to see her off! And then he told me to go away. He's snogging her!” James added as though still
worried he had not made himself clear.

“Oh, it would be lovely if they get married!” Lily whispered ecstatically. “Teddy would really be part of the family
then!”

“He already comes round for dinner about four times a week,” Harry said. “Why don't we just invite him to live with us
and have done with it?”

“Yeah!” James said enthusiastically. “I don't mind sharing with Al—Teddy could have my room!”

“No,” Harry said firmly, “you and Al will share a room only when I want the house demolished.”

They all fell quickly into silence as the whistle of the train split the air. Hermione grew solemn as she saw Harry
check the battered old watch on his wrist.

“It's nearly eleven,” he said, “you'd better get on board.”

Rose immediately moved back towards Hermione and Ron as Al and James migrated to Harry and Ginny.

Hermione heard Ginny tell James to give Neville her love as she hugged him. Ron had already enveloped Rose in a bear
hug, his eyes looking misty.

“We'll miss you, Rosie,” Ron said, clearing his throat. “Don't know what Hugh and I will do without you to keep us in
line.”

“Don't worry,” Rose said, also swallowing a lump in her throat. “I'm sure Mum can take a few extra shifts if you guys
need the help.”

Ron laughed and gave Rose a final squeeze before releasing her to go to say goodbye to her mother. Hermione saw him wipe
at his eyes quickly when Rose turned away.

Hermione tried to smile reassuringly, but then her eyes began to tear up and she jerkily pulled Rose into a tight hug,
trying to contain her emotions. Rose didn't seem to mind, though—her eyes had also seemed to be getting watery, and a
mother's shoulder is as good a place as any to disguise tears.

“I love you, Rose,” Hermione said in a choked voice.

“I love you too, Mum,” Rose replied emotionally, her voice muffled by her mother's robes.

“You study hard,” Hermione said, “but have fun, too. You're going to meet so many people and have so many adventures…”

Hermione was briefly tempted to mention that there was a chance she'd meet her future husband on the train, but she knew
Rose was nervous enough without putting such an awkward idea in her head.

Over the crown of Rose's wavy hair, she saw James aim a kick at Albus and thought she heard some mention of thestrals,
which seemed to instantly vex Al. Then in rapid succession James permitted Ginny to kiss him, gave Harry a fleeting hug,
and leapt onto the rapidly filling train to search for his friends. Their attention was quickly turned to Albus once
James had disappeared.

“And you and Al watch out for each other,” Hermione murmured to her daughter as she watched Harry crouch before his
youngest son. Al looked so like Harry at that age it made her heart melt.

Hermione held her daughter tighter as she considered what else to say. She had thought of so many things, and it was
unlike her to forget something so important—she should have made a list.

“Don't talk back to your teachers unless you have a really good reason,” she said. “Don't forget to feed Sable. Don't
worry too much if you don't become instant friends with your roommates, and remember that you have lots of cousins there
to help you if you need it. You can talk to Hagrid or Neville if you need to discuss something with a teacher, and you
can send one of the boys' owls home if you need anything at all. Marcellus should be a frequent visitor if you want to
send a letter with him.”

She paused, wondering if there was anything else she should mention.

“Just…be brave, alright? Don't be afraid to take a risk…I don't want you to miss out on something you'd regret, because
that's one of the worst feelings in the world.”

“Okay,” Rose said, pulling away from Hermione and straightening her robes in an attempt to compose herself. “And Mum?”

“Yes?”

“Keep Hugo out of my room, please.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, smiling.

“I'll see you at Christmas, then,” Rose said, and she boarded the train.

Hermione exhaled slowly as her daughter left her side. She noticed Ginny wave cheerily to Rose as Harry continued to
speak quietly to Albus, and Rose waved back. Happiness had already settled back into her features, and she redirected
her wave to Hermione as though to reassure her.

See, Mum? I'll be alright!

Hermione waved back, already anxious for the letter she would receive tomorrow.

Albus jumped into the carriage a moment later as the doors began slamming all along the scarlet train, and Ginny closed
their carriage behind him.

Hermione had been so absorbed with saying goodbye to Rose that, until now, she hadn't notice the great number of faces,
both on the train and off, that seemed to be turned towards Harry. Harry also seemed oblivious, although that may have
had more to do with practice than ignorance.

“Why are they all staring?” Al demanded as he and Rose craned around to look at the other students.

“Don't let it worry you,” Ron said. “It's me. I'm extremely famous.”

Albus, Rose, Hugo, and Lily laughed. The train began to move, and Harry walked alongside it, smiling and waving to Al
and Rose, whose faces were already ablaze with excitement. Hermione knew he must have been feeling just as torn up as
she was as they watched their children glide away from them…

The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. Then the train rounded a corner, and they were gone. Harry's hand
was still raised in farewell as he stared after the scarlet engine.

“He'll be all right,” Ginny murmured as she approached him. Hermione, Ron, Lily, and Hugo were just behind her.

As Harry looked over at them, he lowered his hand absentmindedly until it had reached the lightning scar on his
forehead.

“I know he will,” he said, letting his hand fall to his side.

Hermione wondered what he was thinking about. She knew Harry's scar had not pained him for nineteen years, since the day
Voldemort had been killed. But nostalgia could prey easily upon them on days like this, emerged as they were in an
environment that could have been plucked directly from any of their memories and played before their eyes like a film
strip. The wistfulness fell even harder upon the observation that the chaos of the platform, of the students boarding
the same train that had borne them so many times, could proceed just fine without them. And Harry would, of course, be
imagining how close he had come—how close they had all come—to not having the pleasure of seeing their own children
experience the same thrill of excitement that had burned through them so many years ago.

But here they were, almost two decades later, doing just that.

All was well.

At least for the moment.

******************

Harry had barely let his hand fall to his side when Teddy appeared among the group, looking marginally dazed and
thoroughly pleased. His tousled teal hair was almost fluorescent in intensity, and the extra bounce in his step could
have alerted Harry to his godson's activities even without James' earlier proclamation.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” Ginny said, smiling knowingly.

“Sorry,” Teddy said, not looking particularly sorry at all. “I got a little…held up.”

“So we heard,” Harry said.

“And you could at least try to look a little more shame-faced,” Ron said. “She is my niece, after all.”

Teddy worked his jaw furiously in a visible effort to reign in his grin, but the end result was hardly better than when
he had started.

Although all of the adults were smiling at Teddy's obvious happiness, Harry noticed that Hermione looked exceptionally
delighted, no doubt due to the suspicions she had long held about the two teenagers.

Right yet again.

“Well, I seem to be failing miserably at this,” Teddy said, relaxing his jaw and allowing his features to settle firmly
into a grin. “I've got to go, anyway—interview at St. Mungo's. Sorry I missed Al and Rose.”

“You're not the only one,” Harry said, glancing up the rapidly emptying platform.

“Yeah, where is Mitch?” Ron said, following Harry's example and peering toward the entrance to the platform.

“He must've gotten caught up with something,” Harry said. “We were going to leave from here to catch lunch before he
went to check on a few leads.”

“He's probably just running late,” Hermione said. “And speaking of late, I need to go. Ron, please remember—”

“To drop off Hugo at Luna's for a play date with the twins and to pick him up around five because you'll be late at the
Ministry,” Ron quoted, waving his hand flippantly at his ex-wife. “I got it.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said gratefully, stepping over to hug Ron and peck his cheek with a quick kiss. She then knelt and
hugged her son as well. “Be good for Luna, alright?”

“I will, Mum,” Hugo assured her.

“Have fun, then,” Hermione said, kissing the crown of his fiery red hair. “I should be back in time for dinner.”

“I'll make sure Mum sets something aside for you if you're running late,” Ginny said.

“Good idea,” Ron said, patting his stomach appreciatively at the thought of his mother's cooking. “Between me and Hugh,
I can't guarantee anything will be left by the time you get there.”

“I appreciate the thoughtfulness,” Hermione said with a good-natured roll of her eyes.

Harry was always pleased to see Ron and Hermione on good terms, their friendship largely unaffected by their divorce. In
the first few months, he knew (through many long and divided outings) that Ron had been bitter that Hermione had
initiated their separation, while Hermione had been guilt-ridden and uncertain about her decision. Not to mention the
added anxiety both felt over their children.

Harry was hesitant to mention it to either Ron or Hermione, but now, a year later, he could easily discern how much
happier his friends were. From the casual set of Ron's shoulders to the relaxed expression on Hermione's face as she
gave Hugo one more hug, they both seemed the better for the separation, removed from the worry of whether a word or
action would set the other off. Harry wished he had the time to speak to her about Rose's departure…while both had had
their fair share of seeing off a copious number of nieces and nephews, seeing off your own child, especially your
firstborn, was another matter entirely. He knew she must be feeling emotionally disoriented, just as he had been with
James (and truthfully now as well), but she was hiding it well behind a business-like demeanor.

Hermione met Harry's gaze as she straightened, as though conscious of the fact that he had been thinking of her. He
shoved his hands into his pockets and offered her a smile, which she took only a moment to return before turning away.

“I'll see you all later,” she said.

A small pop sounded as she turned and vanished from sight.

“Same here,” Teddy said as soon as Hermione had gone. “I'll try to swing by for dinner if I can.”

A moment later he too had disappeared, although he exited through the barrier to King's Cross, undoubtedly to retrieve
his motorcycle.

Ginny looked towards Harry then, an eyebrow raised.

“Are you going to wait for Mitch?”

“Yes,” Harry replied as he fished around in his pocket for his car keys, which he placed into Ginny's outstretched hand.
“At least for a bit. I'll probably just head to the office if he doesn't show up soon.”

“Okay,” Ginny said. “And Ron, why don't I take Hugo to Luna's for you so you can keep Harry company?”

Ron looked as if he would decline Ginny's offer until he caught the mischievous look in her eyes.

“I…sure, you can take him,” he said. “Save me a trip.”

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked. “I didn't know if you and Luna had anything to discuss.”

“No, not a thing,” Ron said casually. He added a shrug after a moment for good measure.

“In that case, you both have a nice time at work,” she said with a smile.

She reached up to kiss Harry before stepping back and grasping one of Lily's hands in her right and one of Hugo's in her
left.

“Bye, Daddy!” Lily called over her shoulder as they began to move toward the barrier, both her and Ginny's vibrant hair
swishing back and forth on their backs.

“Bye,” Harry called back, and a moment later the three redheads had vanished.

The platform continued to empty of its few remaining occupants as Harry and Ron stood silently by the tracks. Within
minutes they were alone.

“So what was that about?” Harry said, although Ginny had already filled him in thoroughly on her suspicions.

“It's nothing,” Ron said gruffly. “Your wife being a pest. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Harry grinned. “That pest happens to be pretty perceptive about a lot of things.”

“I hope you haven't told her that,” Ron said. “She's annoying enough without an ego boost.”

“I think she figured that out on her own,” Harry said.

When Ron didn't offer anything but stony silence, Harry continued.

“So there isn't anything going on between you and Luna?”

Ron jerked his head rapidly to look at Harry.

“Ginny's talked to you about this?” he said.

“A bit,” Harry said.

“Has she talked to anyone else?” Ron asked, nervousness edging his voice.

“I doubt it,” Harry said. While Ginny rarely held anything back from Harry, she wasn't one to spout off gossip. “Why? Is
there actually something going on?”

“I…I don't know,” Ron said. He seemed quite uncomfortable. “Sort of, I guess.”

“Sort of?”

“I mean, there's something there,” Ron said, quickly adding, “But nothing's happened. Not yet, anyway.”

Harry didn't reply immediately, intrigued and thoughtful as he was by the idea of Ron and Luna as a couple.

“You don't think it's too soon, right? For Hermione to know?”

Harry furrowed his brow as he glanced at his friend. His expression was still one of discomfort, and Harry couldn't
exactly blame him. They had never been ones to discuss their relationships with each other—between Ron marrying Harry's
best friend and Harry marrying Ron's sister, any conversation of the sort would be awkward at best, and mortifying at
worst. And now…now Ron was uneasy not only about how Hermione would feel about him dating, but about how Harry would
feel for Hermione's sake.

“I can't really speak for Hermione,” Harry said after a long moment's deliberation, “but I think this is exactly what
she'd want for you. It's been a year…the point of ending things was to find someone who would make you happier than you
made each other, right? If Luna makes you happy, then I think Hermione would be happy for you.”

“You think so?” Ron said.

“Yeah, I do,” Harry said honestly.

“How do you think I should tell her then? I don't know—”

But Harry didn't have the opportunity to hear what Ron didn't know as the sound of rapid footsteps burst upon them as
abruptly as Mitch materialized through the barrier wall, an inexplicably panicked expression on his face.

Before either Harry or Ron could sufficiently process this, before Mitch could utter a single word of warning, another
figure swept onto the platform, his wand held aloft and a jet of light already surging from its tip toward Mitch's back.

Mitch was thrown through the air by the force of the spell, landing in a breathless heap at Harry and Ron's feet.

“Tried…to tell you…” he wheezed.

Ron knelt next to Mitch as Harry, adrenaline pumping through his veins, lifted his wand and trained it on the wizard who
had attacked his partner. However, to Harry's intense ire and unease, four other wizards had joined the assailant during
the course of the last few seconds.

His grip on his wand tightened as he surveyed the men before him. He blinked repeatedly, hardly allowing himself to
believe what he was seeing. Although he had not laid eyes on the wizards in years, their features were unfortunately all
too effectively ingrained in his memories for the years of aging to matter.

“Dolohov,” Harry said, his mouth dry, as Ron heaved Mitch to his feet.

“Potter,” Dolohov replied, nodding his head courteously.

“I see you've brought your cronies along too,” Harry said.

The other Death Eaters lurking behind their leader sneered in response, their stares uncomfortably eager as they aimed
their own wands at the trio of Aurors.

“Of course,” Dolohov said. “I wanted to have a chat and I needed your attention.”

“You've definitely got my undivided attention,” Ron growled, brandishing his wand while continuing to support Mitch, who
was still attempting to regain his wind. Nevertheless, Mitch's eyes were alert and his wand was pointed amongst the
Death Eaters as well.

“Ronald Weasley, correct?” Dolohov said. “The last time Harry and I spoke, I had the good fortune of seeing your wife—or
ex-wife, if my sources are accurate—but it's been considerably longer since I've met with you.”

“Can't say it's a pleasure,” Ron said, his wand arm twitching.

“Hold it, Ron,” Harry murmured, his eyes moving rhythmically among the group.

“Yes, I wouldn't try anything rash if I were you,” Dolohov said, gesticulating behind him to both the Death Eaters and
the barrier. “There may be only five of us here, but there are a number of us among the Muggles as well. We'd rather not
cause a scene.”

Harry's stomach roiled as he continued to assess his predicament. Mitch had finally recovered from his fall and was
standing ready next to Ron, although his breathing was ragged. That brought Harry's defense to three, a number that was
not at all to Harry's liking. He hadn't particularly liked the odds when he thought there were only five of them, but
now…there was no knowing how many Death Eaters waited in King's Cross. Besides Dolohov, three of the wizards Harry
recognized from their last encounter—the dark-skinned Nakul, the ratty, gray-haired Burkes, and the tall, bearded man
called Watts. The fifth was a thin-limbed man with wispy, pale-blonde hair whom Harry was fairly certain he had never
seen before.

That left, at minimum, Rowle, Krause, the dark-haired twins Krista and Xavier, and the unnamed blue-eyed Death Eater
unaccounted for, some or all of which could be prowling beyond the barrier. And it was very likely there were more.

Harry turned his eyes back to Dolohov, thinking hard. There was little to no chance of the three of them holding back a
group of ten or more Death Eaters on their own, simple as that. As much as Harry hated to admit it, their best option
was simply to retreat—to Disapparate from the platform as quickly as possible before things got out of hand. Questions
battered about in Harry's mind, demanding answers, commingling with the dull pounding of anger to generate a deplorable
mentality for cool and rational thinking. After one too many ill-considered encounters with Dolohov, Harry at least had
the presence of mind to recognize this.

He couldn't risk Ron or Mitch's life for his own reckless curiosity.

Harry breathed in deeply through his nostrils as he signaled a retreat to Ron and Mitch, and before he could change his
mind, Disapparated from the platform.

However, just as he began to feel the familiar pressure of Disapparition pushing down upon his body from every
direction, the force vanished as suddenly as a tightening rubber band being snapped in half.

The relentlessly steadfast walls of the platform continued to stare doggedly at him, ridiculing him as much as the sight
of the Death Eaters still standing before him.

“Harry…” Ron muttered, fidgeting in the periphery of his vision.

Dolohov smiled. “Is there a problem?”

Harry remained silent, his fingers white-knuckled around his wand.

“No?” Dolohov said languidly. “Excellent, for a moment I thought you had tried to leave before we could have a chance to
talk. In any case, I placed an Anti-Disapparition ward over the platform before we entered. Rest assured that the exit
behind us is the only way out.”

Harry's right arm lowered almost involuntarily as he sighed. “Fine, you have my attention.”

“Don't act so downtrodden, Potter,” Dolohov said. “I truly just want to discuss a matter or two with you.”

“And what is it exactly that you want?”

“You know what it is I want.”

“I could guess,” Harry said. “But that doesn't explain what you're doing here now. You've flown under the radar for the
past decade—done nothing. Why now? What's changed?”

“A number of things, really,” Dolohov said. “Since you've taken to sitting behind a desk and a title for the majority of
your work, today was the only time I could be sure you wouldn't be cooped up at the Ministry.”

“And how did you know I would still be here? After the train was gone?”

“You don't expect me to reveal all my tricks, do you?” Dolohov said. “Although I will say that an Imperius on your
friend there did help matters along nicely.”

Mitch scowled as Dolohov gestured in his direction.

“Anyhow, your promotion has only been a small part of the problem,” Dolohov continued. “More than anything, your lack of
action has drawn significantly on my patience.”

“How so?”

“You never collected the Wand,” Dolohov said simply. “Despite our promptings, you have never gone to take it from
wherever you have hidden it, neither for its protection nor your own.”

“Why would I?” Harry said, not bothering to be coy. “It's safest where it is. Even if you killed me, its wards would
shield it.”

“Possibly,” Dolohov said. “I'm sure such wards would be powerful, but once the Wand's allegiance to you was broken I'm
sure they would not be unbreakable. Its whereabouts are still the primary priority. I would rather not be too hasty and
kill you and have the Wand lost forever.”

“So, what, you've been searching for it all this time? That's why you've stayed hidden?” Harry asked, finding it hard to
believe that a group of a dozen or more Death Eaters couldn't determine its location.

“Yes and no,” Dolohov said. “While I have dedicated some time to searching for the Deathstick, I was also given some
advice by one of my colleagues to refrain from taking action too soon. Luckily, some new information was brought to my
attention that indicates such advice was well-founded.”

“New information?” Harry said.

“Yes, information that quite changes the game. Or rather, quite improves the stakes.”

Dolohov spread out his arms, his hands open except for the wand he rolled avidly between his thumb and index finger.

“The Elder Wand alone seems like such a paltry reward when compared to all three Deathly Hallows, doesn't it?”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face, and his mouth felt drier than ever.

He cleared his throat, intent to say something, anything, to refute his connection to the Hallows, to laugh off
Dolohov's implication as ridiculous, but before he could even begin to formulate a coherent statement, Dolohov spoke
again, as if he had just read his thoughts.

“Don't bother trying to deny it, Potter. It would simply be a waste of your breath and an insult of my intelligence.
Your notorious Invisibility Cloak, the ring that Albus Dumbledore so arrogantly displayed before his death, which no
doubt made its way to you…all these things point to you as Master of Death.”

Harry considered Dolohov warily, anxiety permeating his thoughts as well as confusion, primarily in regards to his
returned Cloak. However, he pushed away such thoughts as Dolohov looked at him expectantly.

“So what if I am?” Harry said, all he could think to say.

“Well, that brings us to the entire point of this encounter,” Dolohov said. “I'd like to offer up an ultimatum of
sorts…to give you one last chance to relinquish the Wand as well as the other Hallows from wherever you've been hiding
them.”

If the situation had not been so serious, Harry would have laughed at the audacity of such a proposition. Instead, a
sickening kind of fear flooded his mind, making it hard to breathe.

“I refused to give you the Wand before…” he said. “What makes you think I'd give up the rest of the Hallows?”

Dolohov raised a single eyebrow as contemplated Harry. “I think you'll find that I can be quite…persuasive…if you
refuse. Let me be perfectly clear, Harry Potter. I am done playing games and my patience ran dry long ago. There will be
no second chances from here, and the consequences will be worse than you could imagine.”

This was said bluntly, with no adornment, no patronizing smirk. The undisguised neutrality lacing through Dolohov's tone
and lined face left no room for dispute or snarky responses, and Harry was left once more with little ability to say
anything due to the tormenting visions his imagination was already formulating in his mind.

“So?” Dolohov said, still unsmiling. “Will you hand over the Hallows?”

Harry wished there was any other possible response to this question.

“No,” he said quietly.

A small sigh of disappointment escaped Dolohov's lips.

“I had expected nothing less,” he said, “although I'd be lying if I said I hadn't hoped things would turn out
differently. It would certainly be easier for both of us.”

As Dolohov took a step backward, he ran one long-fingered hand down his face, tapering down to his scraggly chin.

“This really is all very regrettable.”

Harry took a step forward to maintain their distance, and he heard Ron and Mitch do the same.

“Well, Potter, I guess there isn't really much more for the two of us to say. It seems we have reached an impasse, and I
hope you aren't overly repentant for your decision when its ramifications are brought to light…”

Dolohov raised his wand upward and stared at Harry with shadowed eyes.

“…which may be sooner than you think.”

Before Harry could react, a piercing light flashed through the platform, blinding him. He rubbed furiously at his eyes,
his knuckles knocking against the rims of his glasses, and a snarl escaped him as he heard the sound of retreating
footsteps. Oblivious to the pain in his eyes, he stumbled forward, intent on reaching the barrier.

With a lunge, he staggered through the portal, almost colliding with a group of Muggles who eyed him irritably.

Harry ignored them, squinting about King's Cross for any sign of Dolohov.

But he was gone.

******************

By the time Harry, Ron, and Mitch had finished searching the train station for traces of Dolohov's escape, a slight
quiver had set in to Harry's hand.

By the time they had reached the Ministry and Harry had given orders to the department to focus all available resources
on capturing Dolohov, the quiver had worsened so that he could hardly grip his quill.

By the time Ron mentioned he had to leave to pick up Hugo, he felt a tightness in his stomach that made the thought of
eating repugnant.

And by the time that Luna had Flooed to his office, asking when Lily was going to be picked up or if she should just
stay over due to the late hour, the tightness became excruciating, gripping his rib cage, crushing his lungs and heart,
clenching his skull until it seemed as though his vision had gone blurry.

After an incoherent response to Luna and the clatter of his chair to the ground, he was in his backyard, grass springy
under his feet, a few old brooms almost hidden among the green blades.

A panicked whine reverberating through his mind, Harry sprinted to the door, bursting into the darkened kitchen with
Ginny's name on his lips, hardly a thought registering for his own safety.

He shouted her name once more into the darkness, and heard it echoed back to him in the stillness. He stepped forward
and heard the frail crunching of glass beneath his feet.

Then he saw the small, pale, delicate hand lying still within the doorway of the next room, saw the flyaway strands of
fiery red hair spilled across the floor, and Harry's worst nightmare had come true.

In his dazed frenzy to reach his wife, Harry was oblivious to the rest of the porcelain shards strewn across the tile,
as well as a single scrap of parchment that had seemingly fluttered to the floor from the opened package sitting on the
counter.

No second chances.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

46. Always

A/N: Another update! Special thanks to all of you who reviewed last week! And just to mention once more, this story
should still be coming to a close by Chapter 50 or so. Three chapters and an epilogue.

Anyway, I'll let you get to it.

Chapter 46: Always

Being who he was, Harry Potter had more reason than most to wonder what exactly fate was, and he was uniquely suited for
a broad and ever-changing perception of its role in his life. At times, he was inclined to believe that fate was in fact
a very real and very powerful force that intruded into his existence on a whim…for better or for worse, an inescapable
paradox that capriciously dealt the cards from which people were obliged to build the precarious framework of their
lives.

Harry suspected many were inclined to lean toward this idea. After all, people were almost invariably disposed to blame
anyone or anything but themselves for the failures within their lives. Fate, after all, was an easy choice for a
scapegoat. Therefore, it was often not `I was to blame' for this or that misfortune, but rather `fate was cruel' to have
brought this or that misfortune into my life.

Although Harry, after all he had been through, was reluctantly prone to having a similar view of fate, he did not delude
himself into thinking fate was in any way cruel. Because fate was not cruel. Fate was an unbiased dealer of
circumstances, and this is where its interference ended. What you chose to do with what you were dealt was where things
could go right or terribly terribly wrong.

When you fold too early and miss out on the chance of a lifetime.

When you go all in and lose everything.

So no, fate is not cruel. It seems ruthless only when you play the game wrong and wind up with your pockets empty,
merciless only when you call a bluff and fail, like a shepherd who refuses to run from a wolf and winds up between its
jaws.

Harry felt all of this with a deep certainty, and thus felt an even deeper sense of self-loathing as he took in the
shambles of his life and knew it was his fault. Knew it was his fault that his wife of almost fifteen years lay
withering away in a bed at St. Mungo's, a distorted imitation of what she had once been a mere three and half months
ago. She had been kept alive this long only through the substantial and extremely expensive efforts of highly trained
Healers, and of course specialists in everything curse-related.

He remembered the first few weeks very vividly, perhaps because it had been so early, when Ginny was still mostly
herself, when there was still hope that the shattered remains of the porcelain figurine would reveal their secrets and a
cure.

There had been no such luck.

And so here he was, signing papers to discharge his wife from the Wizarding hospital so she could be at home for
Christmas—her last Christmas, as his unwilling thoughts were too ready to remind him.

Harry dropped the quill once his final signature had been firmly inscribed on the last sheet of parchment and
immediately strode back through the corridor to Ginny's room, past the smiling receptionists that had become as familiar
to him as his co-workers at the Ministry, and past the pair of towering Aurors that had been stationed on either side of
the door since Ginny had taken permanent residence there. Just as there were Aurors stationed around his home, around
the Burrow, around Ron's house, around Hermione's flat. Each had been reinforced with every ward imaginable, but Harry
was done taking chances.

Two female Healers were already within the room—one was Ginny's typical, very experienced Healer Atwell, and the other
looked as though she had come here straight off the Hogwarts Express. The older witch was performing a final, routine
set of spells to okay Ginny's return home. After months of watching the procedure, Harry had grown quite adept at
analyzing the information the spells revealed, and had been privy to the gradual decline of his wife's vitals.

The younger witch, curly blonde hair swinging about, was performing a simple spell to test for heartrate by pressing her
wand to Ginny's pale wrist, from which her darkened veins stood out vividly. Harry, as he noted what seemed to be a
small, portable radio settled on the girl's hip, discerned a strange conglomeration of noises filling the air as she
went about her spellwork. Listening as he approached Ginny's bedside, he detected the sounds of a babbling brook, the
chirp of crickets, the rustling of fallen leaves, and the occasional whistle of a songbird.

Harry also noticed that Ginny was also examining the girl, a look of perplexed intrigue on her haggard face.

“What's that supposed to be?” Ginny asked, her voice coarse, as she gestured to the radio.

“Oh!” the blonde girl said, lifting the device off her hip for Ginny to observe more closely. “You mean the music?”

“Yes, the music,” Ginny said, although her tone of voice suggested calling the cacophony of noises `music' was quite a
reach. “What is it?”

The girl let the radio fall back to her hip and smiled, seemingly pleased Ginny had asked. “I'm doing an experiment to
test if peaceful sounds can lower a patient's heartrate,” she said. “Muggles use it all the time—listen to things like
the ocean and what-not while they sleep. This one emulates the sounds of a forest. It's supposed to relax you.”

“What if you're afraid of bears?” Ginny said, raising an eyebrow.

Ginny's primary Healer chuckled as she exchanged her wand for a notebook she withdrew from her robes.

“And that, Landry, is why we marked `cheeky' on her chart,” she said, smiling at the bewildered blonde intern as she
jotted down a few figures. She directed her attention to Ginny as she tucked it away once more. “Well, that's it—you're
good to go home. We've arranged for a Portkey, just as you requested.”

“Thanks,” Ginny said as she leaned forward with effort. “For everything.”

“It was my pleasure, Ginny,” Atwell said, genuine warmth and a touch of sadness in her voice. She shooed her intern out
of the room before pressing a small, lime-green orb inscribed with St. Mungo's crossed wand-and-bone emblem into Harry's
palm.

“Activate it and count to ten,” she said emotionally, and then bustled from the room.

Harry turned to Ginny, who was tiredly attempting to tie her dry, lifeless hair into a ponytail. Her lethargic, clumsy
fingers made this simple task take twice as long as it would under normal circumstances. When this was done, Harry
assisted her in swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing.

“Are you sure you want to take the Portkey?” Harry said, his arm wrapped firmly around Ginny's waist. “We can still
drive, if you'd like.”

“No, I want to get home as soon as possible.”

“Okay,” Harry said, knowing that would be her response. He laid the orb on Ginny's bed before extricating his wand. Then
he tapped the lime-green sphere, replaced his wand, and picked up the Portkey, holding it out for Ginny to touch as
well. The familiar sensation of being pulled by the navel overwhelmed him, and then they were gone, leaving the empty
hospital room in their wake.

******************

The next few days leading up to Christmas passed in an emotionally-draining blur for Harry.

The flurry of visitors to see Ginny would have been overwhelming under less stressful conditions, but now it became
almost unbearable to everyone involved. It was soul-numbing to watch the various Weasleys trail through the house like a
depressing parade, always beginning with a strained sort of joviality before descending into inevitable tears.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were always the quickest to break down, the prospect of burying yet another child—their baby girl—a
burden they could hardly face.

Then there was George, lifeless, as he was re-submerged in that dark place he had occupied in the months after Fred's
death, that had loomed just out of sight ever since.

Bill, with whom Ginny had always been especially close, often made the bravest attempts to be strong, but was especially
inconsolable once his sister was out of sight.

The endless procession of nieces and nephews, most recently home for the holidays, and almost all faced for the first
time with death.

Percy and Charlie.

Teddy and Victoire.

Luna, Neville, and Dean.

And, always, the guilt, dense as lead in Harry's gut as he watched it all.

The few moments that Harry was away from Ginny were just as challenging to the flimsy state of sanity he clung to.
James, Albus, and Lily each presented their own unique manner of dealing with their mother's illness, and Harry found
himself at a loss of how to help any of them. James was feverishly angry in the way only a teenager can be; Al was
practically mute from the effort of bottling up his emotions, seemingly willing to talk to no one but Rose; and Lily,
the only one of the children to have been around for all three months of Ginny's decline, was heartbreakingly confused.

Harry could understand the rage, the numbness, the turmoil, but he felt fiercely inadequate to help his children process
them, especially when he was so directly involved in causing them.

And so here he was, sitting in the hall just outside the living room, paralyzed by his inability to do anything of use.
He had just left Ginny there, lying on the couch in front of the fireplace, with the excuse of fetching tea for the both
of them. He didn't know if it was the strange quietness of the house, the lack of chattering guests and continuous
footsteps, but he had suddenly become overwhelmed by the prospect of that emptiness, that haunting silence, following
him long after Ginny had gone.

So he sat, his arms draped across his raised knees, his forehead pressed into his forearms, the tray of tea-things lying
forgotten next to him.

When Hermione arrived an hour later, Rose and Hugo in tow, the tray still sat on the floor, the tea long-gone cold. But
Harry was nowhere in sight.

******************

Hermione picked up the tray, frowning.

“Rose, why don't you take Hugo up and see what Lily and the boys are up to. I'll go check on Aunt Ginny.”

“Okay,” Rose said, grabbing Hugo's hand and immediately beginning to climb the staircase.

Once the two children had disappeared onto the first landing, Hermione stepped into the darkened living room, the
blazing fireplace casting a pulsating golden glow over the furniture. She glanced about the room, still clutching the
tray, until a stirring movement drew her attention to the sofa.

“Harry?”

Hermione stepped further into the room, into the light of the fire and into Ginny's line of vision. Ginny was lying
lengthwise on the sofa, reclined slightly by a stack of pillows, and an afghan covered her legs.

“Oh. Hello, Hermione. And you've brought tea. Excellent, I've been waiting for some.”

Hermione glanced down at the teacups and quickly set the tray down.

“Waiting how long?” she asked, pressing one of the teacups into Ginny's frail hand.

“About two hours,” she said, taking a sip. “It's a bit cold.”

Hermione immediately pressed her wand to the other teacup, warming it before exchanging it for Ginny's icy brew.

“Where's Harry?”

“No idea,” Ginny said. “He went out for tea and haven't seen him since.”

Hermione sat down in the overstuffed chair opposite the sofa, and flicked on the lamp on a nearby table. The room was
not significantly brighter, but it provided a steady, dependable source of light to observe Ginny's expression, which
was surprisingly neutral. She looked unperturbed at Harry's absence, and even seemed mildly gratified by Hermione's
company.

“Did Ron come?” she asked.

“No, he's at home. I thought I'd bring Rose and Hugo by for a few hours before heading over there.”

“You didn't have to do that. It's Christmas Eve; we'll see you tomorrow.”

Hermione shrugged carelessly. “Either way, it seems I came in the nick of time—clearly you were in desperate need of
tea.”

“If you had arrived in the nick of time, my tea would've still been hot,” Ginny said, a weary smile blossoming on her
gaunt face.

“I stand corrected,” Hermione said, also smiling.

A moment of silence stretched between them, the crackling and occasional sharp pop of burning lumber the only noise
permeating the room. It was a peaceful moment, and Hermione felt herself sinking further into her armchair, relishing
the sight of the flickering flames as much as their warmth on her skin.

But the fire could only keep her attention for so long. She glanced away, towards Ginny, and was met by the sight of her
bright brown eyes, undiminished by illness, focused intently on her own. Her brow was furrowed in contemplation, and
Hermione felt slightly exposed under her scrutiny.

“Do you need anything, Ginny? More tea?” she asked, although she could see the first cup had barely been touched.

“I…well, there is something.”

“What?” Hermione asked, bracing her hands against the arms of her chair as she moved to stand.

“No,” Ginny said quickly. “Don't get up.”

Hermione blinked, perplexed, as she sank back into her chair, although she sat up a bit straighter than before.

“Then what is it?”

“There's something I need to talk to you about. Just you. And I don't know if I'll get another moment to do it.”

The gravity of Ginny's tone caused Hermione immediate discomfort.

“What would you like to talk about?” Her throat was suddenly dry, and she reached over to grasp the delicate handle of
the second teacup, gulping some down before remembering that it was ice-cold.

Ginny hesitated, her eyes drawn to the cherry-red embers of the fireplace. “I'm not exactly sure where to start.” She
glanced to Hermione again. “I suppose cutting straight to it would be best.”

Hermione didn't reply, instead reaching forward to set her cup back on the tray.

She heard rather than saw Ginny's deep intake of breath; her words came in a single expulsion of air.

“I know about Rose.”

If Hermione had really cared, she would have been grateful that she had almost set down her teacup as Ginny spoke,
resulting in the loud tinkle of china against china as she dropped it instead of the even louder sound of shattering
porcelain.

But in that moment she couldn't have cared less. In fact, broken china would have probably been preferable right now,
given her an excuse to do something besides sit there, frozen, her hand still extended over the tray.

When she could move, she did so slowly, easing herself back into the armchair with a forced casualness that she was sure
seemed anything but casual.

“What about her?” she asked.

Hermione finally turned to Ginny as she said this. Any trace of good humor or hesitancy had vanished from her face, to
be replaced by a chagrined, although not overtly hostile, expression.

“Don't do that, Hermione. Don't…don't play dumb. We both know you're not.”

Ginny glanced downward as she drew her afghan higher, enveloping herself more tightly in its folds. When she looked up
again, Hermione saw a fierce determination in her eyes.

“We both also know that I don't have time for beating around the bush. Or the patience for it.”

“Ginny,” Hermione began, “you've got it wrong, Harry and I are just—”

“Just what? Just friends?” Ginny laughed, real amusement hiding an undercurrent of frostiness.

“Yes,” Hermione insisted, her heart thundering in her chest. “He—he saved me from that troll and we've been best friends
ever since…”

“And you fell for him before or after the troll?” Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No! We've never—”

“Give it a rest, Hermione!” Ginny snapped as she sat up, her voice surprisingly strong as she cut her off. “Stop trying
to feed me excuses and lies! I know! I saw you on the porch that Christmas, I saw the looks you gave each other! I know
about the affair, I know about Rose, I know!”

Ginny stared hard at her, her chest heaving, before falling back against her pillows, seemingly exhausted by her short
outburst.

“I know,” she said once more, much more softly. “And I think the least you can do, the least you owe me, is a little
honesty. Can you do that much for me?”

Hermione gazed back helplessly, feeling as though she were strapped to her chair by the truth of Ginny's words. She
swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat, fighting to control the haze of tears that threatened to spill
down her cheeks.

She didn't deserve to cry.

“Yes,” she finally breathed, her voice quavering. “Ginny, I can't begin to tell you how sorry—”

“No,” Ginny said, raising a hand. “I really don't want to hear it. I don't need to hear it. I know you're sorry. I bet
you hated yourself for it, just like I hated you for a long time afterward. But I didn't bring this up to get an apology
from you. Yes, I was angry when I realized what had happened, when I figured out that my husband and best friend had
betrayed me like that, had betrayed my brother like that. Or when Harry would leave work early to see you. When I'd sit
at home, wondering if I'd brought this on myself, hadn't done enough, hadn't been enough for him.”

Even through the horrible, sickening guilt (which Hermione had not experienced in such concentration since that
sweltering August night over a dozen years ago), she could not help but be mesmerized by the calm neutrality of Ginny's
words, even if the content itself made her want to close her eyes, press her fingers into her ears, and hum until she
could drown out their validity.

“But I've…I've had a long time to come to terms with it,” Ginny continued. “I know—or at least I think I know—nothing
happened after Rose was born.”

“It didn't,” Hermione interjected quickly, eager to absolve herself and Harry of at least this much shame, little as it
was.

“Well, regardless,” Ginny said. “I had to stop dwelling on it. It just hurt me more than I cared to hurt. So, I guess
what I'm saying is that, as hard as it was, I forgave you. I had to forgive you, if only to maintain my sanity.” She
paused, fiddling with a hole in her afghan. “I had to forgive you…because I had to forgive him.”

Ginny stopped messing with the blanket and instead laced her fingers tightly together before fixing her eyes on Hermione
once more.

“And now I'd like it if you could forgive me.”

Hermione stared at Ginny, astonished. “What for?”

Ginny smiled sadly. “For taking him away from you.”

Hermione continued to stare, uncomprehending and utterly confused.

“I don't understand.”

Ginny was beginning to look agitated again, as though she would have preferred to not have to spell it out for Hermione.

“Look,” she said. “Whenever I came to terms with everything, I realized that, in an odd, indirect sort of way, I had
brought it on myself.” She shot Hermione a sharp look. “That obviously doesn't remotely begin to excuse you for what
happened, of course.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, inclining her head slightly.

Ginny's look dulled then. “But, nevertheless, it's true,” she said. “It's true because—even though Harry may have been
too thick to realize it until it was too late—I could see you felt the same way about him that I did…that you felt even
more than I did. I may have had a crush on him for forever, but you loved him. Really loved him. In a way I didn't know
how to for ages.”

She seemed to momentarily lose her train of thought as she cocked her head, peering quizzically at Hermione. The shadows
cast by the fire played over her face, accentuating the hollows of her cheeks.

“Since you were…fifteen?”

“Fourteen,” Hermione murmured, a faint blush creeping to her cheeks.

“Fourteen,” Ginny repeated. “Anyway, you never said it, but I knew. Practically everyone knew at some level, I think.
But I never said anything. I never encouraged you to go after him, never even asked if you were really okay with me
going out with him. I almost did ask you a few times. But I didn't. I never let you both have a fair shot.”

She smiled faintly, glazed eyes gleaming brightly in the light of the fire.

“I knew it should've been you. Deep down. But I still didn't say anything to you. I wanted it to be me that he needed,
so I convinced myself it was.” She shook her head, brushed at her eyes. “There's no reason you should ever forgive me
for that, but I want to ask now because…”

She trailed off.

“Because what?” Hermione asked.

Ginny laughed suddenly. “Because nothing. I'd like you to forgive me, but I don't expect you to. I kept you and Harry
apart. I realize that now…that even though it hurt me so much for you to steal that moment from me, I stole so many more
from you.”

The tears began to spill, and she pressed the heels of her hands hard to her eyes as if to stem the flow.

“Merlin, I've said this so many times in my head, I can't believe I'm really doing it. Like I said, I could see it was
supposed to be you two. As far back as I can remember. But I kept you apart, and I'm not even asking you to forgive me
for that…it's not what I'm after right now. I just want you to put it right, to fix what I messed up for you.”

“Ginny…” Hermione said, overwhelmed by the implication of her words.

“I just want you to be there for him, Hermione… like you've always been there for him.”

In a surprisingly quick motion, Ginny reached across the gap between them, clasping one of Hermione's limp hands in a
vice-like grip, her gaze entreating.

“He's…he's just so angry right now. Angrier than I've ever seen him. Pouring everything he can into finding Dolohov.
That rage…” Ginny trailed off, her grip decreasing slightly. “He can't go on that way. And I need you to tell him
that…well, after. That I forgive him. For everything.”

Her thin fingers tightened over Hermione's hand as she gave it a squeeze.

“He needs you. If he has you, I know he'll be fine. Eventually.”

Then, after Ginny had finally allowed Hermione's hand to fall from hers and fallen back into her mass of pillows, she
turned her face to the fire and closed her eyes.

“It's not too late.”

She spared no further glance for Hermione, who sat like a statue, her own eyes frozen on Ginny's serene features no
matter how much she wanted to look away.

And so their conversation ended. In the hour or so that passed after that, there were no further words spoken between
the two. Partly because Ginny was exhausted, drained by their talk, but also because there was a mutual sense that they
had done enough serious talking for one day. Or at least Ginny had done enough serious talking. As for Hermione, she was
reluctant to press the issue any further, worried that this tentatively delicate understanding between them would
shatter. She wasn't exactly sure how Ginny was feeling, but for Hermione, once all the strong emotions had settled, once
the fire had faded into dying embers…she was feeling okay. She felt as though something that had been hanging over her
for ages had finally gone, even if things were still far from sorted out. She wasn't elated by any means, but there was
something good there, a small shaft of light from a door that had been cracked opened.

A door that led to somewhere better.

******************

Once Hermione had left Ginny and dropped Hugo and Rose off at Ron's house, it took her over an hour to track down
Harry's whereabouts. She searched as many Muggle pubs as came to mind, as well as the Leaky Cauldron and the Three
Broomsticks. In each, she was met by the sight of a few older, scraggly men, sitting hunched in the corner and staring
into the depths of their tankards. For this reason, when she was met by the sight of another such drunkard in the corner
of the Hog's Head, she almost turned away before realizing it was Harry. His thick woolen cloak sat heavily upon his
shoulders, and his face was so hidden in shadow that only an errant glint of a lit candle on his glasses made Hermione
approach.

She plunked herself into the chair across from him and, when he didn't glance up from the table, flopped her bag onto
its surface, causing the sharp-smelling contents of his drink to slop over the glass's rim.

“Hermione,” he said, peering up at her with glazed eyes as she removed her gloves. His voice was mildly slurred, and the
H of her name was almost lost. “Fancy seein' you here. You wanna drink?”

“Sure,” Hermione said. “How about I take this one?”

She slid the half empty tankard from his loose grip, and he gave a shrug.

“Suit yourself. I'll jus' order another.”

He made to signal to Aberforth at the bar, but Hermione grabbed his hand before it had fully risen from the worn wooden
planks of the table. Gently, she lowered it to rest between her palms.

He gazed at Hermione, blinking repeatedly as though he were seeing her through a fog.

“You have snow in your hair,” he said vacantly.

“Well, it is snowing outside,” Hermione said.

“That'll be it, then.”

Silence fell between them, and the only sound came from the occasional thunk of a glass at the bar. Hermione removed her
hands from Harry's and instead interlaced her fingers tightly around his drink.

“Where's your Auror?” she asked after a moment.

Harry waved a hand carelessly as he sat back as well.

“I have the Cloak,” he said. “Still not sure about that, by the way. Besides, I should be asking why you don't have an
Auror. No one's really after me, remember? They can't kill me yet. Everyone else is free game, but I'm good. I get to
see it all happen, though. Cheers, right?”

He raised an invisible glass, and Hermione frowned.

“We were wondering where you got off to,” she said. “Ginny and I.”

“Oh, sorry about that. It was too quiet in there. I had to get out.”

“That was rather selfish of you.”

She spoke matter-of-factly, and Harry gave a snort of derision as he made to pull his tankard from Hermione. She let
him.

“Right you are,” he said, taking a swig. “That's what it comes down to, isn't it? Me being a selfish prick. If I'd just
left her alone, let her marry some other bloke, everything would be fine. Now she won't even get to see her daughter off
on her first day of Hogwarts…” He gave a strange half-sob, half-bark of laughter. “It's bloody ironic, isn't it? That I
broke up with her to protect her from Voldemort, and then he's gone and I marry her, and she's dead anyway. Because of
me!”

With little warning, he hurled his tankard away from him. It shattered on the wall, and what little remained of its
contents dribbled down onto the floor.

Then he buried his face into his hands, pressing his heels into his eyes in a manner not unlike Ginny's a few hours
previously.

“Harry,” Hermione said. She reached over to tug at one of his hands. “Would you just look at me, please?”

He finally did, his glazed eyes shinier than ever as he allowed Hermione to pull his hand into hers once more.

“She's not dead yet,” she said, squeezing tightly. “You should be with her.”

He used his free hand to run down his face, and then did the same to his unkempt hair.

“It's just so damn hard, Hermione.”

“How?”

“Because I can't think about anything else but how it's going to be when she's gone,” he said, his hand twitching in her
grip. “When I'm busy…with paperwork, or the kids, or Dolohov…I have to throw myself into it nonstop, because if I stop
for even a second, I started wondering if I'm doing enough to save her. And then I always realize I can't.”

Tears were flowing unchecked now, and he gave another strange laugh.

“I can't even start a real conversation with her,” he said. “Because every time I try I start wondering if we'll be able
to finish it properly.” His eyes darted to the shards of his tankard, as though regretting he had been so hasty to
dispose of it. “Morbid, right?”

He shook his head, swallowed at the lump in his throat.

“She deserved so much better than me.”

In that moment, as she contemplated Harry's hunched shoulders, his downcast eyes, his quivering hands, Hermione thought
she had never seen him so utterly broken.

“In a lot of ways she deserved better than both of us,” Hermione said. “But that's not the point, Harry. You love her.
And she loves you. So much.”

“Pity for her, then,” Harry mumbled.

“Don't just brush that off, Harry,” Hermione said, lowering her head as she tried unsuccessfully to reacquire his gaze.
“People die every single day, and so many of them will have never found a fraction of what Ginny had with you. You gave
her that. And if she died today, I think she would be content with that.”

Harry closed his eyes as he bowed his head, and Hermione continued, leaning in closer.

“You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, Harry, but you do have some choice in who you let hurt you. And
I think she's alright with her choices.”

They sat that way for some time: Harry with his bowed, dark head, his hands stretched across the table to rest in
Hermione's grip, the melting candle beside them flickering faintly as the wick sank farther into the yellowed wax.

Then, with an abrupt but resolute squeeze of his hand, Harry stood up. Without another word spoken between them, Harry
put his arm around Hermione's shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned and walked away from the
table, out of the pub and into the gently drifting snow.

******************

The snow had begun to fall in earnest when Ginny heard the raspy creak of the stairs.

Unruffled, she continued to watch the white flakes dance past the window, swirling in and out of her sight in what she
assumed was a brisk wind. The silky sheets of her bed curled about her, caressing her skin, barely shifting against the
light flutter of her chest as she breathed, and the thick comforter sheltered her thin frame like a tent, cocooning her
in its warmth. Despite her frequent naps, she felt drowsy, a not uncommon ailment that plagued her waking hours as
thoroughly as the curse that polluted her veins. But despite this, she felt comfortable, more so than she had in weeks.

The door scuffed across the carpet as Harry entered, and Ginny finally angled her head away from the window.

“Hey,” she said. “Long time no see.”

Harry said nothing, his frame silhouetted against the faint light of the hall.

“It's okay, you know,” Ginny said. “I don't blame you if you needed a break.”

She could see him shake his head, and a strangled chuckle escaped him.

“I wish you wouldn't try to make me feel better,” he said. His voice was hoarse.

“That's what I signed on for,” Ginny said. “For better or worse, right? Granted, this may be one of those latter
moments, but I'm personally sticking it out. I've got too much time invested in this thing.”

Harry chuckled again, more genuinely this time, and stepped further into the room. He settled himself on the edge of the
bed, gently, trying not to jostle her. The mattress creaked as he swung his legs atop the comforter.

As soon as he had nestled his head into the well-formed indentation in his pillow, Ginny reached over and slid her hand
into his loose fingers. She angled her head towards him and saw that his eyes were closed beneath his glasses, his hair
falling more scruffily than usual upon his brow. Without opening his eyes, he brought her hand upward, pressing it
against his lips, and then rested it, palm-down, against his chest, just below his collarbone. He covered it
possessively with one of his hands, hiding it completely with its breadth, and then overlapped it with the other,
enveloping her fingers in layers of warmth just as the sheets did for her weary body. She felt his heart beat strongly,
drumming, energetic, against her own feeble pulse, lending a simulation of life, insisting upon a match of vitality.

It was a lifeline for him if not for her.

“I feel like I'm dying, Gin,” he said. His eyes opened slowly as his neck twisted, just as slowly, to meet her gaze.

She smiled a little bit. “What a coincidence.”

A spasm spread through his hands and into hers, which he attempted to cover it up by a stroke of his thumb. Back and
forth, back and forth against her papery hand.

“Sorry,” Ginny said. “Too soon?”

“Way too soon.” He paused, long enough to draw in a deep breath and roll on his side to face her more fully. She did the
same. He still held on to her hand, although he let them rest on the bed in the gap between them.

“Why aren't you angry with me?”

He did not elaborate, and she didn't need him to.

“Because I don't blame you, Harry. I don't,” Ginny said. “You're my best friend and I wouldn't trade our years together
for anything. Besides…I don't want anger to be the last thing I feel.”

She shrugged as she said the last bit, a half smile on her face.

Harry reached over and traced a path through her fiery hair, from her brow, behind her ear, down to where it lay limply
at her collarbone. Then he pulled her (gently, always gently) to nestle against him. His heart beat even more firmly in
her ear as she rested her head against the cotton of his shirt.

His chest swelled and shrank as he pressed his cheek against her hair.

“I'm going to miss you, Gin. Always.”

Her chest swelled and shrank as she fought the fierce burning in her throat.

“Same to you, Potter.”

Always.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

47. Chapter 47: Simple

A/N: So yeaaah…I feel terrible for taking almost a year to update, but in my defense I've been incredibly busy. To hit a
few high points, since I last updated I graduated from college with a B.S. in Biological Sciences, had two nephews
introduced to the world, started veterinary school, and have already taken six tests in said school. Again, I apologize,
but it couldn't be helped. That being said, I'm still fully committed to completing this story, so THREE UPDATES left.
That's my intention, anyway. We'll see how these next few chapters develop. Enjoy and please review!

Chapter 47: Simple

Rose pushed her spoon glumly about her oatmeal, scraping the sides of her bowl as she mixed the mushy substance to an
even mushier consistency. It had long gone cold, but she continued to sit stubbornly on the wooden bench, trying to
appear oblivious to the continual looks being shot in her direction.

Al, who she was willing to bet was actually oblivious to the gawking students, sat next to her, his own breakfast in an
even worse state than her own. He prodded mindlessly at his sausage and eggs, blending ketchup and congealed yolk into
an increasingly unappetizing concoction, while James, a little ways down the table, seemed to be eating enough for the
both of them, shoveling eggs and bacon and toast into his mouth with abandon. Both needed haircuts; their dark shaggy
hair fell heavily on their brows, accentuating the mutual sullenness of their expressions.

They had barely been at Hogwarts a week, and Rose already felt her patience with her fellow students dwindling into
nonexistence. James and Al were having a rough enough time as it was without the constant pity sent their way. True to
his disposition, Al handled the attention more gracefully than his brother, who simmered in his anger and lashed out at
all but the simplest commiserations. Al was far more polite, but Rose could easily see he disliked the pity at much as
his brother.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rose noticed a group of Hufflepuffs muttering amongst themselves, shooting furtive glances
towards the Potters and herself. A Ravenclaw nearby craned her neck to peer at James, and the whispers of a trio of
Gryffindor girls were loud enough to drift to Rose's ears.

“…know how long ago it happened?”

“A few weeks ago, I think…maybe a month…”

“I heard it was a curse…the Prophet never gave any details though…”

Rose stirred her oatmeal more viciously, fuming at the nosiness of her peers. It was none of their bloody business what
had happened to her aunt…

“Chill out, Rose,” Al said quietly, tapping his fork against his plate to draw her attention before whirling it vaguely
in her direction. “Doesn't matter.”

There was a loud clatter as Rose's fork and knife dropped from where it had been hovering inches above the table's
surface.

“Sorry,” Rose muttered, creating an additional clatter as she deliberately dropped her spoon. Pushing away her bowl, she
placed her hands in front of her and decisively interlaced her fingers into a tangled web. “I just wish they'd lose
interest. They should all keep their noses out of where they don't belong.”

Al shrugged, a listless rise and slump of his cloaked shoulders. “It'll ease up sooner or later.”

Rose was about to reply, but remained quiet as she sensed the approach of someone behind her. Glancing covertly beneath
the crook of her robed arm, she could see a pair of pitch-black, heavily shined and very expensive loafers trod closer
to their table, sidling, hesitant. A few seconds of brief consideration enlightened her to the likely resident in the
showy footwear. A brief glance over her shoulder confirmed it.

“Scorpius,” she said coolly.

And under most circumstances, cool was as cold—and as warm—a temperature as she ever directed to the young Slytherin.
The extensive and largely unpleasant history that existed between her family—especially her parents and uncle—and the
Malfoys predicated a polite formality towards Scorpius as much as it inhibited further affability. Frankly, she was
unsure of what her opinion of him would be if she didn't know his last name. He was not entirely unappealing in
appearance, if a little ostentatious in his demeanor, and she knew him to be of at least moderately above-average
intelligence, especially in Charms. Her knowledge of him basically ended there, and even that knowledge was viewed
through a lens of neutrality that left little room for personal opinion.

But today was not what she qualified to be most circumstances, and the sight of the boy standing there, not a blonde
hair out of place, his grey eyes darting between her, Al, and his stupidly pricey and stupidly fidgeting shoes bugged
her excessively. Not to mention the increased and rapid whispers from her classmates that created a droning in her ears;
it certainly didn't help matters.

“What do you want, Scorpius?” Rose snapped, angling herself very suddenly to face him, and was gratified to see the boy
flinch slightly at her outburst. Al, who had been unaware of Scorpius' approach, shot her a look before he angled
himself towards the Slytherin as well. Rose ignored Al's unspoken reprimand, instead choosing to glare at the unwelcome
intruder.

Scorpius continued to look uncomfortable as he looked between Al and Rose, although he thankfully spared his loafers
further scrutiny. He even shot a glance towards James, who was observing the interaction with vague interest.

Finally, his eyes settled on Al.

“I just…I just wanted to say I'm sorry,” he said, speaking just loud enough for James to hear as well. “About your mum.”

Rose eyed Al as Scorpius spoke, and Al eyed Scorpius, his emerald irises dark and calculating beneath his furrowed brow.
She was a bit surprised at Al's silence, the lack of the obligatory gratitude for Scorpius' commiserations, but after a
moment she realized why. Of anyone in the school beyond their cousins, this boy, the son of Draco Malfoy, would have
heard the most about Ginny Potter. Or, more accurately, he had heard the most about Ginny Weasley, the young, vibrant
girl who had walked these halls, perhaps sat on numerous occasions where Rose was sitting now. The thought gave her
pause, and she was fairly certain this is what gave Al pause as well. What had Draco Malfoy deigned to say to Scorpius
about Al's mother? What adjectives, which memories had he chosen to ascribe to the youngest Weasley? What had he
selected to illustrate her core, her very being, to a boy who had never seen more than a glimpse of her? And
furthermore, according to her Mum and Dad and Uncle Harry, Draco Malfoy had never liked any of the Weasleys…even the
mere possibility that he had slandered Aunt Ginny in any way set Rose's skin crawling. She wouldn't stand for that,
family truce be damned. Al's defensive posture betrayed a similar line of thinking.

Scorpius seemed to sense the tension that had descended so rapidly upon the situation, stretched tautly between them and
liable to snap at the smallest loafer-clad misstep. He smoothed a hand over his pale blonde helmet of hair and glanced
towards the Slytherin table longingly, clearly rethinking his decision to confront them.

“I…” he started again, uneasy under Al's expectant stare. “I just…I know our parents didn't get along, but my dad's told
me about her. Your mum, I mean. Said she was really funny. Really good Chaser, too.”

He paused, seemingly unsure of whether he should leave it at that. Rose knew it wasn't his fault, but it all felt
so…inadequate.

She was surprised, then, when Scorpius chuckled.

“What?” she asked, furrowing her brow in confusion. What could he possibly be laughing at?

“Sorry,” he said. “It's just that my dad said one of the worst things that ever happened to him in school was being on
the business end of one of your mum's Bat Bogey Hexes.”

And just like that, the expressionless mask Al's features had arranged themselves into so persistently was gone. He
blinked a few times, as though adjusting to sunlight after being in a darkened room for too long. A small grin blossomed
on his lips.

It was James who spoke up first.

“Saw her use that on Uncle George once,” he said, smiling as well. “He says he still has nightmares about it.”

Al gave a laugh, weakly, as though the ability had atrophied after a month of disuse.

“She used to threaten us with it when we got into a fight,” he mused. “She always said whatever we were arguing about
would seem pretty unimportant when we had bats popping out of our noses.”

“And she always said that if it was worth all that to keep fighting—”

“—`then by all means,'” Al finished, shaking his head fondly as the memory enveloped him.

Scorpius smiled a bit more widely at Al and James's positive reactions to his words.

“Seems like sound logic to me,” he said.

Al was still smiling faintly as he reached up to briefly massage his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. When he opened
his eyes again, they were brighter than before, but Rose thought that he looked more like himself than he had in weeks.

“Yeah,” he said. “It does.”

Al glanced down, and then back up as he nodded to the Slytherin.

“Thanks, Scorpius,” he said. “Tell your dad thanks as well, would you?”

“Sure,” Scorpius said. “Of course.”

He stood there awkwardly a moment more, and then turned on expensive heel and strode back to his table, where his
friends were peering at him with open curiosity and more than a few with smirks.

Rose and Al watched Scorpius's retreating back thoughtfully until Al, with a sudden burst of liveliness, swung back
towards the table.

He reached towards a jug a pumpkin juice as he jerked his head towards one of the platters on the table.

“Could you pass me a piece of that toast, Rose?”

Rose smiled as she angled herself back to the table as well.

“Gladly.”

******************

Hermione grimaced as she sipped at a scalding and excessively bitter mug of coffee. In her sleep-deprived haze hours
earlier, she had mindlessly shoveled far too much of the dark, fragrant grounds into the greedy maw of the filter,
resulting in a barely tolerable brew of which she had nonetheless consumed four cups. Not that she could rightfully
complain…she had wanted to wake up, and the caffeine-induced thudding of her pulse indicated the effort was an
undeniable success.

Of course, over-caffeination was not entirely to blame—the crumpled newspaper on the table before her also lent a great
deal to her agitation. Its contents were nothing new, nothing that hadn't been said countless times before, but that
didn't mean it didn't rankle her nerves any less today than it had a month ago.

POTTER CONTINUES SEARCH FOR KILLER

Head Auror Harry Potter, better known as the Boy-Who-Lived and the vanquisher of the Dark Lord Voldemort, continues
relentlessly in the search for Antonin Dolohov, a high-priority suspect in the murder of Potter's wife, Ginerva, who
succumbed to a curse-related illness shortly after the New Year. Although further details about the case are being kept
under wraps, sources indicate that, despite the time and resources placed at Potter's disposal in apprehending the
suspect, little headway has been made in discovering Dolohov's whereabouts.

Below this block of text was a large photo of Harry and Ginny that had been taken years ago at some Ministry event that
Hermione had quite forgotten the purpose of. Harry was dressed crisply in dark charcoal robes, his hair tamed for once,
and Ginny stood at his side, her fiery hair cascading about her shoulders and her jade green dress popping nicely
against her husband's dark attire. They both beamed up from the newspaper, happy, dreadfully oblivious to the caption
their photo accompanied.

Hermione's hand quivered more fervently as she continued to stare at the smiling couple, and she hissed in pain as a bit
of the scalding contents of her fifth cup sloshed over the rim of her mug, setting the skin of her right hand ablaze and
blurring the print of the Daily Prophet. She didn't even bother with her wand to clean up the mess—she really didn't
want it within her power to read the paper anymore, to flip as she undoubtedly would have to the story Continued on page
6, and thus allowed the coffee to seep through page after page until the entire issue was sodden.

Only when this was done did she lift the bundle of ruined paper and dump it unceremoniously into the trash.

Hermione had just finished wiping her kitchen table clean when a knock resounded at her door. Tossing the dishtowel
aside, she moved to open the door and, guessing who was behind it, was glad she had thrown out the paper away when she
had.

Sure enough, her guesswork was correct: Harry stepped over her threshold, a thick jacket covering his shoulders, and
Lily clutched his hand, bundled in an even thicker jacket, scarf, and woolen cap.

As soon as the door had shut behind them, Lily immediately began to shed her numerous layers, first picking the gloves
from her hands finger by finger. Next came her brightly patterned blue scarf (courtesy of Mrs. Weasley), and the
matching hat soon followed, unveiling the full length of red hair that Hermione was sure still gave Harry a pang of
distress. Hermione couldn't help but feel it herself.

When Hermione moved to help her from the coat, she finally noticed that Harry remained enveloped in his own jacket and
gloves and showed no inclination to remove them. In fact, he stood decidedly by the door, clearly intent to make a
speedy exit if at all possible.

Ushering Lily towards the kitchen, Hermione looked expectantly at Harry.

He remained where he was, but nodded his head towards her attire.

“Nice sweatshirt,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching very slightly.

Hermione glanced down and couldn't help but smirk slightly as well at the fluorescently bright orange sweatshirt she had
thrown on.

“I was cold,” she said, crossing her arms over the Chudley Cannons logo emblazoned across her chest. “Aren't you coming
in?”

Harry looked towards the doorway, then towards Lily walking about in the kitchen.

“I was only dropping by to ask if you could watch Lily for a bit,” he finally said. “I have somewhere I need to go and I
can't take her.”

Hermione considered him for a moment before reaching forward and clasping his gloved hand, pulling him towards the
kitchen.

“Of course I can watch her,” she said. “But only if you'll just sit for a few minutes before you leave; you look as
though you're about to fall over.”

And he did look like he was about to fall over. As she practically shoved him into a chair next to his daughter, she
could easily discern the hollowness of his cheeks, the dark shadows brimming his eyes, the way his coat seemed to
swallow his frame. These observations struck her with special ferocity given the photo she had observed scarcely ten
minutes before. That visage and the person before her were hardly comparable.

“Lily,” Hermione said, breaking herself away from these thoughts. “Would you like anything? Tea, cocoa?”

Lily's eyes brightened at the latter suggestion, and Hermione had already moved towards the correct cupboard before the
young girl had even given voice to her selection.

“Harry?” she asked as she went about preparing the drink.

“I can get—” Harry said, adjusting his chair as though to stand.

A sharp look from Hermione stilled him, however, and a moment later he docilely stated, “Coffee would be great.”

“I have to warn you, it's pretty strong,” Hermione said.

“Stronger the better.”

“I bet you'll say differently in a moment.”

After pouring the remnants of the coffee pot into a mug, she set both steaming beverages on the table before their
respective recipients. Harry and Lily simultaneously reached forward and wrapped their hands about the cups; both were
seemingly content to let warmth leach into their fingers. Their behavior deviated upon taking a sip, however—Lily's
delighted grin contrasted nicely with Harry's surprised wince.

“You weren't lying,” Harry said, smacking his lips. “That's a bit on the strong side.”

“I did warn you,” Hermione said, moving to fetch some cream and sugar.

“It's alright,” Harry said, taking a more liberal sip. “I imagine it'll get the job done.”

“And if the first one doesn't, the second or third will probably do the trick,” Hermione said.

“I'm guessing you speak from experience?” Harry said, quirking an eyebrow as he accepted the cream and sugar from her
shaky hands.

“Possibly,” Hermione said, smiling slightly.

Further conversation was mostly impeded as Harry poured a generous portion of cream into his coffee and proceeded to
drink it at a rate indicative of his eagerness to leave. Hermione continued to observe him quietly, and Lily was just as
silent as she sipped her cocoa.

Harry stood even as he was draining the last remnants of his mug.

“I guess I'll be off, then,” he said. He bent and kissed the crown of Lily's hair. “I'll be back soon, alright?”

She nodded mutely at his words, and Harry immediately started towards the door. Hermione was right on his heels, and she
managed to step in front of him before he could reach towards the doorknob.

“Thanks for watching Lily,” he said. “I really won't be gone long.”

“Where are you going?” she asked quietly, mindful of Lily being within earshot.

“I'd rather not say,” Harry said.

“You aren't about to do anything rash, are you?”

“Rash? No, I've thought about it quite a lot, actually. Besides, what exactly can I do that's rash? Go after Dolohov?
It's not like I know where he is.”

Hermione had to concede to the veracity of these words, but it didn't do a terrible lot in easing her mind.

Harry apparently saw the doubt on her face.

“I'll be fine, Hermione…I'd just rather not talk about it until it's done. Seriously, don't worry about me.”

“Somebody's got to,” Hermione murmured, and Harry smiled wearily.

She reached up to cup his pale cheek, and his eyes seemed to droop at the contact. He leaned into her touch and closed
his eyes fully, and looked as if he could very well fall asleep just as he was, standing upright with her hand as his
pillow.

After a few moments, in which his features relaxed and his breath settled into a gentle rhythm, he opened his eyes
again, and Hermione felt the already rapid thud of her heart evolve into thunder under his stare.

She swallowed nervously, and proceeded to lower her hand.

“You…you should take better care of yourself,” she finally said, feeling flustered.

Harry averted his eyes for a moment as he stepped past her, but paused with his hand on the doorknob as he glanced at
her once more.

“Soon enough, maybe.”

He opened the door, and the cold rush of wind that preceded his exit caught her breath.

“I'll be back soon,” he said once more, and the door clicked shut, separating her from him and the harsh wind.

She certainly hoped so.

With a sigh, she returned to the kitchen, where Lily waited expectantly. Her mug was empty, and Hermione mechanically
deposited it in the sink.

“I'm sorry Hugo isn't around,” Hermione said. “He's with his dad for the day.”

“That's okay,” Lily responded. “Dad told me he'd only be gone an hour or two.”

“Well…what would you like to do in the meantime, then?”

Lily shrugged noncommittally. “Doesn't matter. I might just go up to Hugo's room.”

Hermione pursed her lips as she considered alternatives to this, intent on not allowing Lily to cloister herself off.
She knew she wasn't a substitute for the role Ginny would have filled, not by a long shot, but she hoped her presence
provided some semblance of comfort.

“You could…” she mused, “but I was actually planning on baking strawberry rhubarb tarts to send to James for his
birthday. I could use some help.”

Lily gazed down at the table for a moment, and Hermione felt certain that her offer was about to be rejected. However,
when she looked up, she appeared merely thoughtful. “Could we make some treacle ones for Dad too?”

Hermione smiled at Lily's concern for her father. “Of course we can. If we start now they should be ready by the time
your dad gets back.”

“Alright,” Lily said, standing up and moving towards the counter. “What should I do first?”

“You could get the butter from the fridge.”

Lily obediently went about her task, and Hermione took the time to gather sugar and flour from the cupboard. Once the
ingredients were spread along the counter, Hermione rolled up her orange sleeves and Lily followed suit, pushing the
cuffs of her sweater above her elbows.

“Grab a handful of flour,” Hermione instructed, “and sprinkle it over the counter.”

Lily obeyed immediately, digging her fist into the flour and scooping out a large portion. As she delicately used both
hands to meticulously dust the flour over the counter in an even layer, Hermione used her wand to slice the cold butter
into cubes.

“Good,” Hermione said once Lily had finished.

Measuring out double portions of flour and sugar, Hermione added a dash of salt before pushing half of the mixture to
Lily, and immediately crumbled the butter over each.

“Now mix it,” Hermione said. “We'll use your half for your dad's tarts.”

“But what if I mess it up?” Lily asked.

“You won't,” Hermione assured her, pressing her hands into the flour and savoring the silky dryness of the powdery
mixture against her fingers. “It's really quite easy and basically impossible to mess up. I wouldn't mess with it
otherwise—I think we can leave the more complex recipes to your grandmother, don't you?”

The corners of Lily's mouth lifted just slightly in acknowledgment before she thrust her own hands into the flour.

They both kneaded at their mixtures silently until Hermione was satisfied with the texture, at which point she poured
cold water among the flour.

“It was a good idea to make these for your dad,” Hermione said. “He'll love them.”

Lily's hands continued busily over her dough as the flour absorbed the water.

“Where did he go?” she asked after a beat, her eyes never leaving her hands.

Hermione's hands were the ones that momentarily stilled, but she recovered soon enough.

“He just had some…business to take care of,” she said, pressing her hands into her own dough. The iciness of the added
water made her palms sting.

“Is it dangerous? The place he went to?”

Hermione slowly set to work on the dough, kneading and kneading as she turned the question over in her mind.

“I don't know,” she said, opting for the truth. “He didn't say.”

“Does that mean something's going to happen to him? Like Mum?”

“No,” Hermione said instantly, repeating aloud the same answer she gave when she asked herself that question.
“Absolutely not.”

Lily didn't immediately respond with another question, but turned her brown eyes (so like Ginny's) to Hermione with an
expression of tentative hope.

“How do you know?”

“He's…” Hermione began, dusting her palms with more flour and doing the same to Lily's, “he's him. He always manages. No
matter how bad of a situation he gets into.”

“But he usually has help, doesn't he? Like you or Uncle Ron?”

“Yes,” Hermione conceded, “we've helped him before. If he needed it. Luckily, he's still got us to help him.”

“If he needs it,” Lily said.

“If he needs it,” Hermione confirmed.

“But…but he's scared, isn't he?”

Hermione's first instinct was to deny this, to present Harry as the pinnacle of fearlessness, the unbreakable hero, the
storybook champion. The words settled on the tip of her tongue, but they fell away silently as she parted her lips to
speak. To give voice to such a description would be an injustice to Lily. And to Harry.

“Everyone gets scared sometimes,” Hermione finally said. “Even him. But it's okay to be afraid of something as long as
you can face it at the end of the day.”

She glanced over at Lily then, and leaned in closer as though to reveal a secret.

“And between you and me, your dad has always been pretty excellent at that.”

Hermione straightened, and casually reached for a rolling pin, which she began to work over the surface of the dough.

“Did your Dad or Mum ever tell you about the time he saved her in our second year at Hogwarts?”

Lily shook her head, which Hermione was not terribly surprised at. Just as the details of the war were often skimmed
over when it happened to come up, many of the darker elements of their time in Hogwarts had failed to make themselves
known to their children, at least as of yet.

“Well,” Hermione said, “when we were in our second year at Hogwarts—your mother was in her first year—a monster was
released in the school.”

“What sort of monster?” Lily asked, intrigued.

“A basilisk,” Hermione said. “An enormous snake that can paralyze you with a single look.”

“Really?” Lily said.

“Really. It happened to me, actually. And a couple of other students. The entire school was completely terrified. Even
the teachers. But Harry didn't let that stop him. When he heard your Mum was in trouble, he found the lair of the
basilisk, he took the legendary sword of Gryffindor, and he battled that snake to save her.”

Lily's eyes were wide in surprise as she gazed at Hermione raptly. The dough was completely forgotten, although her
hands were still immersed.

“Just like a knight in a storybook!” she said in wonder.

Hermione smiled and tapped Lily's nose with one flour-dusted finger.

“Precisely like a knight in a storybook,” she said.

******************

Hermione had just pulled the trays of tarts from the oven when a knock sounded at the door.

“Just in the nick of time,” she said. “Will you go open the door for your dad?”

Lily complied immediately, sliding from her chair and darting from the kitchen.

A moment later she gave a shout of delight.

“It's Victoire!” she called to Hermione.

“Yes, it's me,” Victoire announced as the pair entered the kitchen. She was dressed as warmly as Lily had been, and her
long blonde hair was impeccable despite the wind. A smile enhanced her already lovely features, and although she was
typically in a good humor, Hermione thought it may have been a tad too broad for an everyday sort of cheerfulness.

“You certainly seem pleased about something,” she said, removing her oven mitts.

Victoire blinked in surprise, and tried in vain to hide it. But her open and honest features prevented such artifice,
and she quickly gave up the effort.

“You're no fun,” Victoire said. “I had an entire bit prepared and you go and spoil it at the first moment.”

“Well, you may as well come out with it then,” Hermione said.

Victoire was eager to comply, and thrust her left hand forward. The silver band encircling her finger glistened brightly
as she held it before Hermione's eyes, and the facets of the small diamond seemed to flash more brilliantly than the
kitchen's soft lighting should allow.

The unspoken surprise must have shown in Hermione's features, because Victoire immediately tucked the hand close to her
body, fiddling with the ring with her right hand as she gave an embarrassed laugh.

“I know it's kind of sudden, but we've known each other for so long…there didn't seem to be much of a point in waiting
once it—”

Victoire's hurried explanation was momentarily interrupted as Lily darted between them. Hermione's gaze followed her
path and rested on Harry as Lily threw her arms around him. She hadn't heard him enter, but she noticed that his
appearance was decidedly tousled: his hair windswept, his scarf barely clinging to his shoulders, his face pale with
cold, and his eyes even wearier than before. But he seemed relieved to have his daughter with him again, and the brief
flash of comfort softened his features as he returned her embrace. Hermione scarcely heard the conclusion of Victoire's
sentence, absorbed as she was in observing Harry.

“—clicked.”

Hermione turned towards Victoire long enough to give her a small smile and nod, reassuring the young woman of her
understanding. Victoire smiled in return, still shielding her left hand with her right.

“Hello, Uncle Harry,” Victoire said.

“Good to see you, Victoire,” Harry greeted in return as Lily tugged at his arm.

“Daddy, you've got snow in your hair,” she said, pointing.

Hermione furrowed her brow as she watched Harry brush at the offending locks. Although the wind was as fierce as ever,
she was sure it wasn't snowing. A cursory glance toward Victoire's hair and dark jacket further confirmed her certainty.

“That's okay,” Harry said as he gave his hair a final tousle. “It hides the gray.”

Lily grinned before pointing to the tarts cooling on the counter.

“Aunt Hermione and me—”

“Aunt Hermione and I,” Hermione corrected, unable to help herself.

“Aunt Hermione and I,” Lily repeated, “baked tarts for you. Treacle ones. And strawberry ones for James since it's
almost his birthday.”

“Sounds like you stayed busy while I was gone,” Harry said.

“Uh-huh. I did everything Aunt Hermione told me to do. I don't know if they're very good,” she added candidly.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Hermione said.

“I'm sure they're delicious,” Harry assured Lily and Hermione.

“But they've got to cool first,” Lily said sternly. “You can't have one yet.”

Harry snapped his fingers. “Pity. I'll have to try one out after dinner.”

“You might not have to wait all the way until then,” Lily said. “I want Victoire to try one before we leave so they need
to be cool enough by then.”

“Great, Victoire can be our guinea pig,” Harry said.

“Way to throw me under the bus,” Victoire replied.

“What happened to `I'm sure they're delicious'?” Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she leaned against the counter.

“Nothing,” Harry said. “Victoire just gets to confirm.”

“And why do I get that pleasure?” Victoire said.

“Well,” Harry said with a weary smile, “by the way you're hiding your left hand, I'd guess that you should get that
honor.”

Victoire blinked in brief confusion as she continued to clutch her left hand, and then shook her head, letting her hands
fall to her sides.

“I presume Teddy discussed this with you beforehand?”

Harry shrugged. “He may or may not have asked for my opinion.”

Hermione smiled at that. Harry was the closest thing to a father that Teddy had, and it was only fitting that the young
man had asked his godfather for such important advice.

Victoire crossed her arms, flashing her lovely smile as she drummed the fingers of her left hand against her coat.

“And I take it you approve?”

“It took some time, but I came around to the idea,” Harry said. He paused, growing slightly more serious. “Teddy
couldn't do better.”

Victoire smiled, moving forward to embrace Harry.

“Thank you, Uncle Harry,” she said. She pulled away after a moment, still beaming as she gave her ring a twist. “I think
I'm doing pretty well too.”

Harry nodded and cleared his throat before stepping back.

“I think I'll leave you and Hermione, then,” he said. “Lily, get your things.”

“But the tarts!” Lily said, gazing entreatingly at her father.

“They're still pretty hot, sweetie,” Hermione said. “I might have to package them up and send them over later.”

Lily frowned, clearly displeased, but obediently moved to the living room to begin the process of enveloping herself in
her winter clothes. Victoire followed to assist her young cousin, leaving Harry and Hermione standing alone in the
kitchen.

Hermione took advantage of the momentary beat of privacy and stepped closer to Harry, peering up at him expectantly.

He met her gaze steadfastly and just as expectantly.

“Well?” Hermione whispered, softly enough to avoid attention from Victoire and Lily. “How did it go?”

“How did what go?” Harry whispered back.

Hermione had neither the time nor the inclination to beat around the bush.

“The Wand. You got it, didn't you?”

Harry seemed unsurprised at her conjecture, but took a moment before he nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “But it doesn't concern you.”

“Anything that concerns you concerns me,” Hermione replied. She glanced towards the door and saw that Victoire was in
the process of winding Lily's scarf around her neck.

She returned her gaze to Harry and raised a finger to tap to his chest.

“We don't have time to argue about this right now, but I presume that you intend to get the Stone now that you've gotten
the Wand. And I'm going with you when you do.”

The old Harry would have likely grown angry at this statement, indignant that anyone would try to involve themselves in
his problems, and raged at the mere suggestion of Hermione placing herself in danger for him. But Hermione was reminded
once more of how different this downtrodden version of Harry was as he reached up to press her hand to his chest, his
green eyes fierce.

“I won't lose you too, Hermione.”

It was said just as softly as the rest of their whispered conversation, but the intensity and conviction behind it
startled even Hermione.

But she recovered quickly, and placed her other hand over the top of his, so that both of her hands were over Harry's
heart.

“And you won't.”

“You don't know that,” he said.

“Of course I don't. Just like I don't know if I'll lose you, or Rose, or Hugo, or Ron…We don't know what's coming. We
can't know. But I refuse to be sidelined. I don't know how or where this all will end, but while I can, I will help
you.”

Harry was silent as he observed her, calculating her words, her expression.

His reply came just as Victoire and Lily approached, the latter thickly cocooned in woolen layers.

“Fine,” he said.

Hermione released his hand, partially in response to Lily's approach and partially out of sheer surprise at Harry's easy
acquiescence.

Harry took his daughter's hand as he nodded towards Hermione.

“Thanks again for watching her.”

“Yes, thank you, Aunt Hermione,” Lily said. “Don't forget to send the tarts!”

“Of course,” Hermione said. “And it was no trouble.”

“Alright, then,” Harry said. “It was good to see you, Victoire. Congratulations again.”

Victoire expressed her thanks once more, and Harry turned to leave.

"Harry?” Hermione said just as he opened the door. “We'll talk later, right?”

Harry barely glanced back to her as he gave a small nod, and then he was gone.

Satisfied, Hermione turned away from the door, only to meet Victoire's openly curious expression. As casually as she
could manage, she brushed past Victoire and entered the kitchen.

“So tell me more about this proposal,” Hermione said, as she bustled about the kitchen in a manner that would have made
Molly Weasley proud. “Harry interrupted you. It did all happen very suddenly, didn't it? How did he do it? I imagine
Teddy would have come up with something fairly clever, knowing him, but it—”

“Aunt Hermione, you're rambling,” Victoire said.

The circular motion of the rag that had made its way into Hermione's hand slowed.

“Yes,” Hermione admitted.

“Why?”

“Because I saw the expression on your face and knew you were very possibly going to ask me something I'd rather not talk
about.”

“You got all of that from my expression?” Victoire said, smiling as she seated herself at Hermione's small kitchen
table.

“Yes, you've always had a very open face,” Hermione said, smiling as well as she replaced the rag by the sink. “For
example, it's very obvious that you're going to ask me either way.”

Victoire averted her gaze and stared at her hands for a moment. The fingers of her right hand tapped just out of reach
of her left, speaking to her urge to twist at the sparkling band adorning it.

Finally, she looked up again, and peered at Hermione for just a moment before smiling and shrugging her shoulders in a
rueful fashion.

“Aunt Hermione, can I ask you something?”

Hermione sighed as she seated herself across from Victoire.

“If you insist.”

Victoire shook her head, her curtain of blond hair bouncing about her shoulders.

“No, I won't ask you if you really don't want me to. That's why I asked permission.”

It was now Hermione's turn to stare at her hands as she mulled over Victoire's words. Despite the considerable disparity
in their ages, Hermione felt a kinship with Victoire that she had rarely felt with another witch, and she was surprised
to realize that she did want Victoire to ask. Whether it was because she wanted to get a fraction of this burden off her
chest, or simply because she wanted someone to give voice and recognition to this thing that had for so long been
voiceless and buried, something inside her wanted the question asked…no, something inside her demanded the question be
asked.

She looked up just as Victoire had done a moment before and nodded.

“Go ahead.”

Victoire drew in a breath at Hermione's acceptance, and glanced toward the ceiling as she exhaled slowly, clearly
gathering her thoughts. Hermione allowed the brief pause, glancing outside as she gathered her own.

“Do you—are you—and Uncle Harry…” Victoire finally began, sounding more like a hesitant ten-year-old than the
self-assured eighteen-year-old that she was.

Hermione smiled, still staring out of the window. She couldn't help but be amused by the girl's discomfort.

“Are Harry and I what?” she said, glancing over at Victoire.

Victoire fixed her with a glare. “Don't tease me! I'm trying to be serious. And if you know what I'm going to ask, you
may as well just go on and answer.”

“But I really don't,” Hermione said. “I honestly don't. I'm fairly certain of the…essence of the question you have in
mind, but there are many facets to that.”

“Fine,” Victoire sighed, still seeming incredibly uncomfortable. Hermione couldn't blame her. “Are you and Uncle
Harry…in love with each other?”

Hermione couldn't help the bark of laugher that escaped her throat.

“I'm sorry,” she said in reply to Victoire's look of bewilderment. “It's just that you surprised me.”

Victoire blushed. “I…was I completely off base?”

“It's not that,” Hermione said. “I'm just surprised at the…bluntness of the question.”

“Well, what exactly were you expecting?”

“I'm not entirely sure. Obviously not that… Perhaps I was expecting something more along the lines of, `Are you
interested in each other?' or even `Are you attracted to each other?'”

“Are you?” Victoire countered.

“What makes you think that we are?”

Victoire appeared increasingly disgruntled at Hermione's side-steps, but Hermione felt vindicated in her responses.
Despite her relief at speaking to Victoire, she had held these secrets for decades…she was reluctant to give up her hand
without some effort on Victoire's part. Besides, she really didn't even know how to go about it in the first place. Of
the already extremely select group of people who knew the depths of her feelings for Harry, she had only ever
articulated them to Harry himself. This was, in many regards, completely uncharted territory, and she was as curious
about her own responses as Victoire.

“I don't know,” Victoire said, sighing. “It's just…the way that you are with each other. A lot of little things. The way
that you look at each other sometimes. Sometimes when one of you isn't even aware—I've seen both of you do it,” she
added in response to Hermione's blush. “Even when I was younger, I noticed it. You both seem—have always
seemed—completely at ease around each other. I've seen you storm into the Burrow, completely fuming about a case or a
ruling, and then Harry would show up and within minutes it's like nothing ever happened. Or he would be in a mood about
something and you would sit with him for a while and he'd be fine. Sometimes you wouldn't even speak to him...”

Victoire trailed off, and Hermione blinked.

“Don't look so surprised,” Victoire said, smiling. “You aren't the only perceptive one.”

“Clearly,” Hermione said. “I had no idea you were so…observant.”

Victoire shrugged. “Is that sufficient for you to answer my question now?”

Hermione bowed her head for a moment. “Actually, no. There's one more thing I'd like to ask you.”

“Which is?”

Hermione looked back up to Victoire, and as she met the girl's gaze, she felt every ounce of vulnerability and
uncertainty well to the surface.

“What…would you say if I said yes?”

Victoire furrowed her brow. “Why?”

“It's important to me to know what you would think. If we were.”

“But…I don't see why it matters.”

Hermione peered at her incredulously. “You honestly don't see why your perception of Harry and I being…romantically
interested in each other would matter to me?”

“No, I understand why you're interested in hearing what I would think…” Victoire said. “I just don't understand why
it…matters.”

Despite the weight of the conversation, Hermione was inclined to laugh once more.

“Because it's more complex than you're seeing it,” Hermione said. “You're only eighteen, Victoire. Newly engaged, just
beginning your life. I don't see things that way anymore. I can't afford to. Surely you see how many variables there are
to this?”

“Yes, but—”

“How do you think Molly and Arthur would feel about me sweeping Harry up months after their daughter died?” Hermione
replied, her tone deceptively neutral. “And of course that's after I've already done the damage of leaving their son.
Speaking of Ron, how hurt and angry do you imagine he would be when he realized he lost his wife to his best friend?”
Her voice was quivering a bit now, but she could manage. “And Rose? What do you think she would say to me when she
thinks I left her father for her uncle?” Her voice was really shaking now, and she could feel tears flooding to her
eyes, blurring her vision. “And Merlin, can you imagine how James and Al and Lily would feel about their aunt coming
into the picture and trying to replace their mother?”

She hadn't been aware of standing up, but suddenly she was, and staring down harshly at Victoire.

“That's why it matters,” Hermione breathed. “Because I'm not the only one involved. There are so many people that could
be hurt if I said yes to your question. Harry and I…we both have obligations to our families, to our children, and to
ignore that would be utterly selfish.”

She let the words hang between them. Victoire, rather than appearing upset or even remorseful, peered at Hermione in an
openly contemplative manner, one hand cupping her chin. She sat like that for several moments before leaning back,
crossing her arms across her chest as she did so.

“So what?”

The bluntness of the remark momentarily stunned Hermione, and Victoire immediately took advantage of the silence.

“Look, I understand that this is complicated. Actually, complicated doesn't even begin to cover it. It's a mess,
complete and utter madness. Yes, this could potentially hurt a lot of people. And yes, you do have an obligation to
those people. But don't you have an obligation to yourself as well? To Harry?”

Victoire was standing now as well, squared off against Hermione and looking very much like Fleur in her indignation. “I
may only be eighteen years old, but I'm old enough to know that you deserve happiness just as much as anyone else. Why
should your happiness come after everyone else's?”

Hermione was already shaking her head, her brown curls brushing against her face.

“Victoire, it's not as simple as you make it sound…”

“Only because you're making it difficult,” Victoire snapped. “At this point it goes without saying, but I want to hear
you say it anyway. Do you love him?”

“Victoire—”

“Answer.”

Hermione glared at Victoire, provoked by her insolence, but she deflated just as quickly. She sank back into her chair,
and Victoire followed suit.

“Yes,” Hermione finally said. “Yes.”

Victoire smiled then, and reached across the table to squeeze Hermione's hand.

“Then that's what should matter. You and Harry…have both have been through so much. Together and apart. If being
together would make you happy, then you should be together. Simple as that. Even though Aunt Ginny's gone, and even
though things didn't work out between you and Uncle Ron…that doesn't mean you both can't have a second chance at love.
It just so happens that it's with each.”

The familiar sense of uncertainty flooded Hermione's senses as much as the significantly less familiar exhilaration of
possibility surged through her veins, fighting for supremacy.

Sensing Hermione's internal struggle, Victoire plunged on.

“This is not a betrayal,” she said. “It'll take time, but the others will come around. Merlin, some of them may even
feel happy for you.”

Hermione laughed, and would have brushed at her eyes if both of her hands were not clasped in Victoire's.

“So don't feel guilty about this,” Victoire said. “You fell in love.”

She shrugged, a smile gracing her lips.

“Sure, maybe it's not under the best circumstances, or with the most unproblematic person, but that can't be helped at
this point. This is still just one person loving another person in its purest form.”

She released Hermione's hand, and smiled fondly at her engagement ring.

“And if there's anything in the world you shouldn't feel guilty about, it's that.”

******************

Hermione sat in the kitchen long after Victoire left, poring over their conversation (or as she saw it, Victoire's
one-sided pep talk) with an academic intensity. And as she went about the rest of her day—completing a file for work,
wrapping two separate packages of tarts to send to send to James and Lily, picking up Hugo from Ron's and putting him to
bed—she pondered. As the sun sank and the moon rose, the words continued to swirl about her mind.

The hours ticked by, and when the moonlight beckoned her, she obediently abandoned the warmth of her home for the
freezing night air. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, she tugged mindlessly at tufts of cold grass. Although she had
had the presence of mind to drape a blanket about her shoulders before leaving the house, her thoughts rendered her
unconcerned of the biting cold.

After so long ignoring her feelings, denying the possibility of more, surrendering herself to a way of living she had
long stopped believing would change…

Could that just…end?

Nothing had ever been easy between herself and Harry, and it still wasn't, not by far. But was Fleur right? Was she
overcomplicating things at this point? Denying herself the happiness she had craved for the sake of sparing other
people's feelings?

She had no doubt that she still loved Harry. Not in the exact same way as before, but still as fervently, still as
unconditionally.

And if Harry felt the same…

Was it really that simple?

And in that moment, with no further prompting than the blank face of the moon, Hermione decided that it was.

Seized by her moment of clarity, Hermione dusted her hands free of grass blades before grasping at the neck of her
sweater. As her fingers closed around the familiar silver chain, she drew it forward, feeling the teardrop pendant slide
against her collar before being exposed to the night air. In the brightness of the moon, she could just make out the
words as they etched their way across the silver surface:

Amare sine timore

As she clasped the necklace between her thumb and forefinger, she used her right hand to pick up her wand, which lay
beside her in the grass.

Then she took a deep, steadying breath before tapping her wand to the pendant, and unlike previous years, she did not
immediately tuck the necklace away, but rather set it deliberately to her chest, where it openly gleamed in the light,
scant as it was.

And as she removed her hand, she didn't need to look down to confirm that the etched words did not vanish as before, but
endured, permanent and plainly visible for all to see.
