Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

Chapter 1 The Retirement Party

The grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were still and quiet on the last day of August. It was almost as if the castle knew that in twenty-four hours it would be overrun with hormonally-charged teenagers preparing for another year of school and was resting up in anticipation. The lake was calm and the Forbidden Forest looked almost welcoming beneath the clear starry sky.

Inside, the castle was polished and ready to receive its students. For the last few weeks, the professors had been working tirelessly, preparing lesson plans and tidying their classrooms for what would undoubtedly be a frantic first week of school. All classroom lights had been extinguished for the night, except one.

The professor at the desk of the Transfiguration classroom was bent over a large book, reading intently. Unaware of the late hour, she was absentmindedly twirling a strand of her long, brown hair around her forefinger. Slowly, she stopped coiling her hair and stared off into space, remembering events long past.

Hermione Granger, 22 years old, hadn’t changed much since she left Hogwarts as a student five years earlier. Tonight she was rereading the chapter in the transfiguration text about Animagi. She knew that her 7^th year classes were keen to learn more about the rare ability that some witches and wizards have to transform into animals. She still remembered the first time she saw a human transform into an animal.

Has it really been 10 years since Sirius and the Shrieking Shack? God, we were young.

Hermione put her head down on her desk and closed her eyes tightly. Sometimes she questioned her decision to return to Hogwarts and all of its memories. When Professor McGonagall had offered her the job of Transfiguration Professor four years ago it seemed like a safe haven — returning home. It would be one more challenge she could throw herself into to keep her from dwelling on the past. She never imagined that periodically and unbidden her memories and emotions would overshadow her logic and intellect. Sometimes weeks went by without painful memories resurfacing. Other times she would be in the middle of a lecture and a question or mannerism of one of the students would remind her of her two best friends and she would stop and lose all train of thought, just as she had tonight.

“Hermione? What are you still doing here?”

Hermione picked her head up from her desk and smiled at her visitor. “I could ask you the same thing, Neville!”

“I was helping Professor Sprout in the greenhouses and saw the light was on in your classroom. I came to remind you about the Three Broomsticks,” Neville replied, settling into a chair in front of her desk. “I, of course, knew you would be up here reading a book! Some things never change.” Neville ducked as Hermione playfully threw a crumpled piece of parchment at him.

Of all the students that had graduated with Hermione, Neville had changed the most. He still had the same sweet, round face and was occasionally prone to clumsiness. But where once was a timid wizard quaking in his shoes under Professor Snape’s leer, was now a confident man. Hermione thought back to their 5^th year and the beginning of the DA as the turning point for Neville. When he returned to Hogwarts for their 6^th year, he was a completely different person. Much to his surprise, and many of his teachers, he had received E’s and O’s on his O.W.L.s that he had taken at the end of his 5^th year. Following in his parents’ footsteps, he decided to focus his studies on pursuing a career as an Auror. Even though he had not received the highest mark in Potions, Professor Snape was persuaded by Dumbledore to allow Neville (and Harry) into his advanced Potions class. At the end of their 7th year, Harry and Neville both were happy to have survived Snape’s class without being poisoned, as he had frequently threatened to test them with their own potions. But with encouragement from each other, and tutoring from Hermione, both had received good marks on their Potions N.E.W.T., much to Snape’s displeasure.

Dumbledore, the summer after Neville left Hogwarts, supplied the final bit of irony. Snape became the professor for the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, which was changed to “Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.” Neville was offered, and accepted, the Potions Master job since the demand for Aurors had fallen after the complete defeat of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Neville appraised Hermione. “Is anything wrong? You seemed to be in a different world when I walked in.”

“Oh, nothing,” she dismissed, waving her hand. “Just the usual pre-term jitters. I keep asking myself, ‘What have I forgotten?’”

“I wish I still had my Rememberall for you to use.”

Hermione smiled faintly as she recalled their first year. Neville’s Remembrall was responsible for Harry becoming the youngest Hogwarts seeker in a century.

As Hermione straightened the papers on her desk lost in thought about Harry, she heard Neville say something, sounding as if he was far away.

“Hmm? I’m sorry Neville, what did you say?”

“Harry. Have you heard from him?”

Hermione looked at him crossly. “You know very well that I haven’t spoken to or heard from Harry in almost five years. He keeps in touch with Molly and Dumbledore, so I daresay you would know much more about his life than I.”

Despite the fact that Harry hadn’t been in contact with Hermione, her lack of knowledge about him was her own doing. When Molly had received her first owl from Harry a year after he left, Hermione had been devastated. The fact that he had sent Molly an owl before sending her one had upset her tremendously, though she didn’t let on to anyone. At that time, she had still been waiting, expecting to hear from him. When days, then weeks went by without word from him, she knew that no letter would come. She didn’t understand why then, and she didn’t understand now.

It was an unwritten rule among Harry’s friends that they would not talk about him or where he was to other people in the wizarding world. And, after a time, people stopped asking. In Hermione’s mind, since she wasn’t receiving letters, “other wizards” included her. She made it clear to Molly and the Weasleys that she didn’t care or want to hear one word about Harry. So his name was never mentioned in Hermione’s presence.

“I can’t believe that you haven’t been in touch with him all these years. He was your best friend, after all.”

Hermione shot Neville her best McGonagall look, hoping it would deter him from pursuing this conversation further. “Neville, Harry has always known how to get in touch with me and has chosen not to. I don’t know why, and frankly, after all these years I don’t really care,” she said icily.

“Don’t you?” Neville replied leveling an equally direct stare at Hermione.

She stared back at him for a moment before getting up to replace her transfiguration textbook on her bookshelf. “So, who is meeting us at the Three Broomsticks?” she said with her back to Neville, hoping to change the subject.

She heard Neville sigh and received her wish. “Hagrid is probably already there, chatting up Madam Rosmerta. Ginny just got a huge shipment from Fred and George and will come after she adjusts the inventory and puts it away. Severus, being his usual friendly self, said if he didn’t have anything better to do he would come. Madam Pomfrey, Flitwick, Sprout and the guest of honor, Madam Hooch, are all coming for sure,” Neville replied.

“Sounds like a lively group,” Hermione quipped. “What about Minerva?”

“Doubtful. The students arrive tomorrow and you know how she gets,” Neville chuckled.

“Right. Well then, let’s go. I can finish this up tonight when I get home.”

“Take a night off, Hermione!” As Hermione gathered her things, Neville turned and muttered under his breath, “It’s not like you haven’t got the entire library memorized by now.”

“What was that?” Hermione asked distractedly while making sure everything on her desk was in the proper place.

“I said ‘We’d better leave now,’” he lied.

---

Business was brisk at the Three Broomsticks for a Sunday night. Hermione and Neville walked in and made their way to the back of the pub where Hagrid had commandeered a table. Madam Pomfrey, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch were already there, sitting around the table talking animatedly. Professor Flitwick had charmed some miniature brooms to zoom around their table and spray multicolored sparks in their wake in honor of Madam Hooch’s retirement. An errant broom would occasionally zoom down the bar causing all the customers to duck their heads to avoid being speared in the ear by a miniature Firebolt.

“’ello ‘ermione, Neville,” boomed Hagrid who, by the glassy look in his eyes, was on at least his fourth tankard of ale.

“Hi Hagrid! I see you started the party without us, and quite early it seems,” Hermione chided as she leaned down to kiss Hagrid's scruffy cheek.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to get ‘ere early enough to get a prime table, and Rosmerta there sat with me for a mo before the place filled up,” Hagrid replied, a rosy tint appearing on the small amount of skin peeking out between his beard and eyes.

“Mmm-hmm,” Hermione smiled and winked at Hagrid as she sat down across from him with her back to the door.

Hermione greeted the others at the table while Neville signaled to Rosmerta for two butterbeers. “I can’t believe you’re retiring! What in the world are you going to do with yourself, Madam Hooch?”

“Absolutely nothing and I can’t wait!” she replied as she toasted Hermione with her gillywater. “Granted, I have loved teaching 30 years worth of Hogwarts students the finer points of flying and Quidditch, but it’ll be nice to go to a Quidditch match and not have to referee it!”

“You probably won’t last a month,” Professor Flitwick squeaked. “You’ll be back on your broom refereeing or teaching in the local under-10 Quidditch league quicker than you can say ‘Quidditch World Cup.’ Mark my words.”

Madam Hooch smiled at the nods of agreement the others around the table offered. “You may be right, but I wouldn’t take odds on it from a goblin if I were you.”

“So, who is going to replace you?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“Poppy, I don’t know. I think Minerva hired someone but she wasn’t forthcoming with the details. All she would say is it is a former well known Quidditch player.”

“You don’t think it’s Viktor Krum, do you?” Neville asked mischievously. He grinned broadly at Hermione and gently elbowed her in the ribs. “He has been trying to get a job at Hogwarts for years now.”

Hermione punched Neville in the arm as the others laughed. “I don’t know why you won’t let me and Viktor Krum go already! That is ancient history. We’re just friends.”

“Maybe to you,” Neville said, rubbing his arm.

“God, you sound like Ron,” Hermione responded automatically before she realized what she said. The table got quiet for a moment, before Hagrid, too drunk to notice the uncomfortable silence laughed loudly and said, “Ron always did think Krum was a surly git!”

Everyone at the table laughed thinking about Ron while at Hogwarts. He had become quite popular the final two years, due in large part to his Quidditch skills. He also, surprisingly, became a better student once out of the shadow of Harry’s fame.

Hermione smiled as conversations resumed around her and faded to background noise. Thank goodness no one is offering me condolences or giving me that pitying look I know so well, Hermione thought. It has only taken five years.

She picked up the thread of conversation again and was laughing as Hagrid told a story of one of his more interesting Care of Magical Creatures classes when the atmosphere in the bar changed. Where once there had been lively conversation there was now mumbling, staring and pointing. Hagrid, who was facing the door stopped mid-sentence. His eyes got as big as saucers and he smiled bigger than Hermione had ever seen. And for a half-giant, that is saying something.

Hermione turned in her chair, still laughing, to see who had just walked in the door. A tall, handsome man with his hands casually in the pockets of his chinos was walking through the room. The crowd parted for him without his asking, as he forged a path directly to the table of teachers at the back. He walked up to their table, ducking an errant Firebolt with a somewhat tentative grin on his face. Everyone stopped what he or she were doing and had turned, quite obviously, to stare at the table in the back.

“Hello, Hermione.”

For once in her life, Hermione was speechless. Her mouth, previously gaping open in surprise, shut. Then opened again as she tried to say something. Suddenly, her senses returned along with her anger. Her eyes blazed as she stared at the stranger standing before her.

“Hello, Harry.”

Chapter Two Harry Returns

It was as if those two words released the room from a freezing spell. Slowly, people began to resume their conversations until the pub was once again humming with energy. Hagrid bounded up from the table, nearly knocking it over in his rush to embrace Harry. Neville, grinning broadly, shook Harry’s hand and pulled him into a back slapping long-lost friend hug. Around the table it went. Professor Flitwick, afraid of leaving his precarious perch on his many cushions, lifted his glass in salute to Harry. Professor Sprout waved cheerily to Harry and scooted her chair around to make room for him. Madam Pomfrey, who had mended Harry’s many injuries over the years, hugged Harry and dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief that was ever-present in the sleeve of her blouse. Madam Hooch gave Harry a couple of hardy pats on the back and ordered him a butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta, who had appeared to welcome Harry back to the Three Broomsticks.

The rest of the pub may have been reanimated, but Hermione was frozen in shock. This couldn’t be happening. She was dreaming, fantasizing, having a nightmare; a million wild ideas streaked through her mind in a vain attempt to rationalize the appearance of the man before her. His appearance contradicted the only justification for his absence she had created over the years.

The warmth emanating from her companions didn’t extend to her. Instead, cold fury at Harry’s sudden appearance into her ordered world crackled through her, turning her fingers to ice and draining the color from her face, along with her good humor.

It was with a critical eye that Hermione watched Harry greeting the others at the table, failing to recognize her childhood friend in this unfamiliar person. She couldn’t exactly say that he looked different, although there was the possibility that she could pass him on the street without recognizing him. But it wasn’t the physical aspect of him that was drastically changed; rather a confident, easygoing demeanor had transformed him into a stranger. Harry, who had been stealing quick glimpses of Hermione as the welcoming continued, caught her eye and said, “I see you’ve changed your hair, too, Hermione.”

Furious with herself for being caught staring at him, she flipped her hair over her shoulder, turned her back to him and said, “Yes, but it doesn’t seem I’m making as big of an effort with mine as you are.”

A flush crept up her neck, caused by what Hermione would say was indignation but in actuality was embarrassment. She was surprised that Harry had even noticed her hair. She couldn’t remember him ever commenting on her appearance, save for the Yule Ball. She had to admit her appearance that night had been quite a departure from her usual look. But her hair had been cut in its current style for so long that her bushy, unmanageable curls were a distant memory…almost. Harry’s hair, on the other hand, was very different. In school, Harry’s hair had been messy and tousled. No matter what Harry did, it always looked liked he had just gotten off his broomstick. Now, Harry’s hair was short, very short, but only slightly messy and spiked in a way that could only mean he was using, unbelievably, hair gel.

Hermione looked around the table and saw that the others were concealing grins by taking quick sips from their drinks. She took a deep breath and tamped down her indignation at the fact that her “best friend” thought so little of her that he felt it appropriate to surprise her in a room full of people after a five-year absence.

Hagrid beamed at Harry as he pulled up a chair for him placing it between himself and Professor Sprout. “’ere ya go, Harry. Sit down and catch us up with what you bin doin’ with yerself.”

Harry sat down and looked at the expectant faces of his former teachers. “Well, as I’m sure Dumbledore has told you, for the past few years I’ve been in the States,” Harry started. “The first few months I drove a car across the country as a Muggle.” A couple of gasps from the table greeted this revelation. “Americans call it a ‘road trip.’ Get in the car and go with just a general idea of where you are going and what you are going to do when you get there. Although for me it was called a driving-aimlessly-with-no-idea-where-I-was-going-or-how-I-got-there trip.”

Professor Flitwick squeaked. “What on earth would you do that for?”

Harry shrugged. “It was nice not having anyone to answer to, no expectations. Plus, there are a lot of solitary stretches of road in Middle America. Gave me lots of time to think.”

Time to think. That would be nice, Hermione thought, scrutinizing the label on her butterbeer bottle. She was studiously avoiding looking at Harry. She couldn’t. She was afraid if she did her resolve to hate him would crumble under an avalanche of fond memories. She took a sip of her butterbeer and felt the warm liquid slide down her throat and settle in her churning stomach.

To keep her mind off of the bits and pieces of conversation coming from and directed to Harry, she tried to focus on the history of butterbeer printed on the label that she was peeling off of her bottle.

Butterbeer was first brewed in 1375 by a warlock in Bavaria…

“How on earth did you get money, Harry?” Neville asked. “I don’t think Gringotts has a branch in the States.”

“I used Muggle money.”

The recipe soon spread throughout Europe, undergoing adjustments to fit the taste of the surrounding communities…

“Traveling and staying in motels, even in small towns, isn’t cheap and I ran out of money quicker than I expected…”

The drink soon became a staple at wizarding pubs and inns across Europe…

“…I had to find a way to make money. I held a few odd jobs, my favorite was as a caddie at a golf club in Phoenix.”

Felix Huber opened the first commercial butterbeer brewery in 1759 in Devonshire.

“I was a quite popular caddie. Somehow it seems that whomever’s bag I was on shot the best round of their life. It always helps to have a little magic on your side to make sure the ball goes where you want it to go,” Harry laughed wiggling his eyebrows up and down and nudging Professor Sprout in the side. Professor Sprout giggled and took a sip of her gillywater. “Needless to say, I made a mint in tips.”

In modern times, the desire for individuality has spurred a new wave of boutique butterbeer flavors, with mixed results.

“I played a bit, too. Americans love to bet, so I obliged them. I would lose a little and win a little. I never won so much as to arouse suspicion. Well, there was this one close call…but it was a good way to earn some cash without getting a real job.”

At this statement, Hermione’s head shot up to find Harry looking directly at her. He gave her a grin, going for boyish charm, she was sure. She bolted up from her chair and grabbed her bag.

“Well, I would love to stay and hear all about the great adventure, but I have some work I need to finish before tomorrow. Madam Hooch, will I see you tomorrow before you leave?” Hermione asked.

“Of course, I’ll see you at breakfast,” replied Madam Hooch.

“Great. Good night, then.”

Hermione turned and quickly left the pub without so much as acknowledging Harry. Her irritation grew as she muscled through the teeming pub, furious that the crowd didn’t part as easily for her as it had for Harry. She lurched out the door, the cool night air relieving her flushed face of its warmth. She hurried down the street toward Hogwarts, the events of the night swirling through her mind. She was almost at a run, when she heard someone calling her name. She stumbled but caught herself before she fell and continued walking.

“Hermione! Wait up!” Harry called.

Harry caught up to her and grabbed her arm to turn her around.

“LET ME GO, HARRY POTTER!” she shouted. Stunned, Harry let her arm go and put both of his hands in front of him in surrender.

“Okay. Calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm DOWN? I haven’t heard a word from you since Ron’s funeral. For FIVE YEARS! Then you stroll into the Three Broomsticks like you never even left? What did you expect me to do, Harry? Jump up and down, give you a big hug and say, ‘Ohhh, I’ve missed you so much! Welcome back!’”

Harry gave a sheepish smile and said, “Well, that would have been nice.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’ve got some nerve,” Hermione growled as she turned and stalked away.

Harry trotted along after her. “Wait, Hermione, really. I just want to talk to you for a minute.”

She stopped so abruptly that Harry almost fell over his own feet when he tried to stop.

“What could you possibly want to tell me that you couldn’t have written to me in a letter?” She snapped her fingers in the air and continued, “Oh, that’s right, you never wrote to me like you promised, did you?” She leveled a challenging stare at him for a moment before she turned to continue on to the castle.

Harry ran around in front of her. “Hermione, will you stop being angry for a minute and just listen? Please?”

Hermione stopped and stared icily at Harry, her arms folded across her chest. “Why should I listen to you? What have you done to deserve my attention?”

“Nothing at all,” he replied. “But we were friends once, and I want to be again.”

“Friends?” she laughed bitterly. “Friends? A friend doesn’t leave without a word. A friend would write occasionally, as promised, and keep in touch. You abandoned our friendship a long time ago, Harry.”

“You’re right, of course. I understand why you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. That would imply that I have feelings for you at all. Sorry to disappoint you, but I haven’t thought of you in months, and only then when someone else has brought your name up.”

Hermione was surprised at the ease in which the lies slid off her tongue. She felt a twinge of satisfaction when she saw the pain flicker in his eyes from these comments. She continued to stand in front of him, her head raised high, defying him to disagree with her, to challenge her.

Quietly Harry said, “I guess I overestimated the strength of our friendship.” He slipped his hands in his pockets, leveling a steady gaze at Hermione. “If you don’t want to be my friend, that’s fine. I have to live with that. But would you just give me a chance to explain? Please?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine. Clear your conscience. We want to make sure you have no lingering guilt, by all means,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Harry looked at her as if she was a complete stranger. He shook his head as if to clear it, took a deep breath. “Have you ever wanted to tell someone something so badly that you just don’t know quite what to say? You start a letter, then another, then another. Then you decide, I’ll write the letter tomorrow, I’ll know what to say then. So you try the next day and the next, but it never sounds right. You go over it in your head and it sounds good but on paper it sounds stupid. So you try again the next day. Soon those days become weeks, months and years.”

Hermione looked away, understanding all to well what Harry was talking about.

“That’s what happened with you, Hermione. I wanted to write you so many times and tell you what was going on with me. Not just where I was or what I was doing but what was going on emotionally, why I left. Why I hadn’t returned.” He said the last so softly that Hermione almost didn’t hear him. “It got to the point where I had waited too long and I knew that you wouldn’t understand anything I would write in a letter. I suspected that you might even burn my letter without opening it.”

“You were probably right,” she said, turning to look at him.

When he did not continue, but only stood staring at her, Hermione asked, “So?”

“What?”

”I’m listening. Tell me what you were trying to write to me for all these years.”

Harry paused and kicked at the ground. He looked up at Hermione and opened his mouth to say something and stopped, staring at Hermione with a perplexed look on his face. He had been looking at her for at least a minute without saying anything and her patience was wearing thin.

“Well?”

“It’s complicated. I…I…can’t,” Harry sighed, defeated.

Giving Harry a cold look, she pushed passed him and continued walking to Hogwarts.

---

Harry stood in the middle of the street and watched Hermione walk away. He considered going after her, but didn’t.

Not quite the homecoming you imagined, eh mate? Ron’s voice said inside his head.

Well, what did you expect? It has been five years, Hermione’s voice tartly replied.

“Okay, shut up already!” Harry cried out loud. He was so sick of warring with himself inside his head. It was even more frustrating since the bickering voices were Ron and Hermione’s. Some things never change, he thought.

He rubbed his hands across his face and started walking back to the Three Broomsticks, replaying everything that had happened in his mind. An hour ago, walking into the Three Broomsticks knowing he was about to see Hermione again had filled him with dread and excitement all at once. How would she react when she saw him? He hated to admit it, but part of him had expected her to jump in his arms with a big hug as she had done so many times before. Even though he thought she might be angry with him, he hadn’t expected the indifference she displayed in the pub, nor the open hostility evident on the street. At one point in the Three Broomsticks, Harry looked at Hermione and found her picking off the label of her butterbeer as if it was the most important task in the world. She didn’t seem to be listening to a word he was saying. And on the street, he could tell she had enjoyed hurting him with the hateful things she said. For a moment he had wondered to himself if this was even the same person he had known, if it was even worth it to try to explain and rebuild their friendship. No. If they couldn’t be friends again it wasn’t going to be because of him. He was going to do whatever he could to make things right. The rest would be up to Hermione.

He was certain that she would come around eventually. In the past, their fights or disagreements never lasted long. For some reason, he could never stay mad at her, and vice versa. However, he couldn’t shake the impression that this Hermione wasn’t the same person he had known in school. The look on her face when he confronted her on the street had been pure loathing — a look that he had seen her give frequently to Malfoy. Never in his life would he have imagined that she would direct that stare towards him. That he deserved it was not in question. He knew that he did. That knowledge still didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t prepared for her reaction. He had naively expected a warm homecoming from her, had expected to return to the Hermione that he left and to restart their friendship without missing a beat.

What an idiot I am, he thought. Of course Hermione had changed, as had Harry himself. Suddenly, a frightening thought occurred to Harry that made him stop dead in his tracks. What if they had both changed so much that their friendship wasn’t salvageable? Harry knew without question that he didn’t feel like the same person he was while at Hogwarts. The thought never crossed his mind, until now, that this new person that he had become might not appeal to Hermione. That she might get to know him again and realize that she didn’t want to be friends with this Harry, or he with her.

He rubbed his hands across his face vigorously, willing that idea away, only to be replaced by the one thought that kept repeating itself over and over in his mind for years. Why did I stay away so long?

He turned around and stared at the Three Broomsticks debating if he wanted to return to Madam Hooch’s party. The door to the pub opened releasing a cacophony of sound, dousing Harry’s desire to rejoin the festive atmosphere. Harry watched a couple of drunken wizards spill out of the open door and stumble down the street. He followed them at a safe distance, deciding to reacquaint himself with the village before he returned.

He ambled down street, thankful that the village hadn’t changed much in the five years since his departure. He glanced from left to right, taking in the sight of shops he, Ron and Hermione had visited on their many excursions to Hogsmeade: Honeydukes on his left, the Post Office on his right, further down he could see Dervish and Banges, Gladrags, Shrivenshafts. Next to Honeydukes was a bakery that Harry didn’t remember, but that wasn’t a big surprise since he usually was so full on candy that regular food didn’t hold much appeal for hours after.

He stopped in front of a familiar store whose light still shone brightly through the windows. He smiled at the sign above the door and walked across the street to find the door locked. He peered in through the window as he rapped his knuckles on the glass. He was about to give up when someone came out of the back room so loaded with boxes that their face was blocked from view. As the person walked around the counter and turned their back to the door putting the boxes on the counter, a long mane of red hair was revealed.

“We’re closed,” she cried as she set the boxes on the counter. “If you could just come back in the morning we will have lots of new…” Her sentence trailed off as she turned and saw who was standing outside her shop, framed in the window of her door, waving hesitantly.

“HARRY!” Ginny Weasley cried, running to unlock the door of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. She bounded into his arms and gave him a surprisingly bone-crushing hug for such a little thing.

“Now that’s a greeting a bloke could get used to,” Harry smiled as he returned her hug.

“Wow! Look at you!” she exclaimed, holding him at arm’s length and looking him up and down. “No glasses, new haircut and you’re taller. If it wasn’t for those green eyes, I almost wouldn’t recognize you.”

“Well, it has been a while,” Harry said tentatively as they walked towards the counter.

“Yes it has, Harry Potter,” Ginny admonished, fixing him with a gaze alarmingly like her mother’s. She continued to stare at him, and for an uncomfortable moment he thought she was going to throw him out of her shop. Then, Ginny started laughing and said, “You should see the look on your face! I don’t care how long you have been gone! It is so good to see you,” and she gave him another hug, this one not quite so fierce.

At that moment, a tinkling bell sounded announcing the arrival of someone new. They both looked up, arms still entwined, to see Neville strolling up the aisle.

“Hey, watch it Potter! That’s my girl.” Ginny released Harry and greeted Neville with a kiss.

“Hi, honey. Harry knows he lost his chance with me years ago,” Ginny said, winking at Harry.

“And I’m still not over it,” Harry laughed. “Molly told me in one of her owls that you two were an item and my first thought was, ‘It’s about time.’”

“Well, you know Harry,” Neville said in a macho voice, “I had to play the field a little…OW!” Neville cried as Ginny punched him on the arm. “That is the second time a woman punched me on the arm in the last hour. I’m going to have a bruise!”

“Ponce,” Harry and Ginny said in unison, and they all three started laughing.

“Who else punched you?” Ginny asked.

“Hermione.”

“Oh, well then, it couldn’t have hurt too much,” Ginny giggled. “You must have been teasing her - what about?”

“Krum.”

At the mention of Viktor Krum’s name, Harry started and said, “He’s still around?”

“Amazing, eh?” Neville said. “Hermione hasn’t shown any interest in him in years, but he still has a thing for her. He’s been trying to get a job at Hogwarts since she became a professor. Between us, I think she has threatened McGonagall with her life if she hires him,” Neville laughed.

“What job does he want?” Harry asked.

“The only one available right now is Flying Instructor. McGonagall may have hired Krum this time. She is keeping close to the vest on who it is. All we know is it is a former famous Quidditch player.”

“I wish Hermione would show interest in someone,” Ginny said exasperated. “It’s been years since Ron died and she has only dated a few guys. She doesn’t seem to have moved on and she needs to. All she does is teach and work with the ABMB.”

Neville, who had, evidenced by the roll of his eyes to Harry, obviously heard Ginny’s thoughts on the subject before, tactfully tried to steer the conversation in another direction. “Speaking of Hermione, did she talk to you after you left the Three Broomsticks, Harry?”

“Wait a minute!” Ginny interrupted. “You’ve seen Hermione?”

“Yeah,” Harry said cautiously, a bit alarmed by the tone of her voice.

“Did she know you were coming? What am I thinking? Of course she didn’t, she would have told me.” She narrowed her eyes dangerously. “Please tell me you didn’t surprise her.”

“Er…” Harry began.

“Harry! What were you thinking?” Ginny said, slapping him on the back of the head.

“Ow!” he said, rubbing the spot she hit. Harry looked at Neville for help, who shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that clearly said, “You are on your own here.”

“Well, I…Dumbledore had mentioned about Madam Hooch’s retirement party and I thought I’d stop by and say hi to everyone. I thought that Hermione might be less apt to hex me for the last five years if we were in a roomful of witnesses.”

“She was furious, wasn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah,” Neville nodded.

“She seemed indifferent to me in the pub. Then when we got outside, alone, her anger became apparent.”

Ginny studied Harry for a moment and said, “You don’t know since you’ve been gone, Harry…I’m not getting on your case for not being here,” she said as Harry opened his mouth to interject. “Hermione has had a very tough time. She puts on a good front by staying so busy. She lost everyone she loved after Voldemort was defeated. She lost her parents, Ron and then you when you left. Then you are gone for five years without so much as a word. She is angry with you because she feels you abandoned her when she needed you the most.”

“Did she tell you that?” Harry asked.

Ginny gave him a withering look. “Honestly, men are so thick. Of course she didn’t tell me. She is my best friend and I know her better than anyone. She didn’t have to tell me. She absolutely refuses to talk about you at all, in fact.”

The expression on his face reflected how completely taken off guard he was by the last comment.

Ginny laughed and rolled her eyes. “What did you expect, Harry? She waited and waited for the letter you promised. When it didn’t come, she moved on. Can you blame her? You have to admit that it was incredibly insensitive to do that to your best friend. All I know is you better have one bloody good reason not to have written her.”

“I do. It is trying to explain it that’s hard.”

“Harry, you don’t have to explain it to us. I have a pretty good idea what your state of mind was like before you left.” Ginny said giving Harry a knowing look.

Neville looked at Harry, then Ginny and exclaimed, “Well, I would like to know!”

They laughed at the look on Neville’s face. “What? I would like to know,” Neville said indignantly.

“So, Harry, what brought you back from the States?” Ginny asked, changing the subject.

“Well, after five years I had had my fill of the ‘land of the free.’ I liked it over there, but it was time to come home.”

“So what is the wizarding world like in the USA?” Neville asked.

“The same, just more American.”

Ginny and Neville looked at him quizzically. “What does that mean?” asked Neville.

“Americans are all about celebrity and self-promotion. Sort of like Gilderoy Lockhart with an Engorgement Charm.” Ginny and Neville looked horrified at the thought.

Harry laughed and continued, “American wizards that aren’t famous want to be famous and will do the most ridiculous things to get their 15 minutes of fame. It’s rather disgusting, really.”

“I guess they loved you! The Famous Harry Potter,” Ginny laughed.

Harry looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Actually, no one knew I was Harry Potter,” he said.

“What?” Ginny and Neville said in unison.

“The first year and a half I lived as a Muggle so it was easy to be anonymous. When I finally did get in touch with the wizarding world, I used a different name.”

Ginny and Neville, astounded, stared at Harry.

Harry turned and walked over to the nearest shelf, which contained a new supply of Skiving Snackboxes. “The reason I left England was because I was tired of being the ’Famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Man Who Defeated Voldemort,’” Harry said with disgust.

Harry looked down and continued quietly, “I wanted to be a normal wizard with a normal life.”

After a few moments, Harry turned around to see tears in Ginny’s eyes and Neville looking down at the floor. “Harry,” she whispered, “Did you tell Hermione what you just told us?”

“I tried.”

“You need to try harder.”

“I know,” he mumbled.

In an effort to change the subject, Harry said a little too brightly, “So, why don’t you show me around the shop? Did Fred and George put Zonko’s out of business?”

While Ginny and Neville showed Harry around the shop, he marveled at what great businessmen Fred and George had become. All of their years of being the resident pranksters at Hogwarts gave them unique insight into what students wanted from a joke shop. Their first shop in Diagon Alley had started as a mail order business to serve the Hogwarts students. The discount that Fred and George gave the students was enough that Zonko’s, who had been catering to Hogwarts students for 100 years, began to see its sales decline. Fred and George had been loyal Zonko’s customers for years so, instead of putting them out of business, they made the owners an offer good enough that they could retire. And the second branch of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was born.

After a tour of the shop and a few more stories about Harry’s life in America, Harry decided it was time to go.

“I better get going so you can finish up. I’ve got a house in town so you will be seeing a lot more of me,” he said as he walked toward the door. As he was stepping outside, a thought occurred to Ginny and she called after him. “Hey, Harry? What name did you use in America?”

Harry paused, smiled and answered, “Ron Granger,” as he closed the door.

Chapter 3 Three Conversations About One Thing

Hermione marched up the steep stone steps of the castle not knowing who she was more upset with: herself, Harry or Minerva McGonagall.

She was incensed. She could not recall a time when she had been angrier. How dare he walk right into the Three Broomsticks without any warning and expect everything to be the same as when he left. How dare he surprise her in front of her colleagues and all of Hogsmeade when everyone knew that he had not bothered to keep in touch with her…how humiliating! He should have told her he was coming back. He hasn’t bothered to write me for five years, why would he start now, she thought bitterly.

“Flibbertigibbet,” Hermione growled at the stone gargoyle that hid the entrance to the Headmistress’s office. Hermione stepped onto the spiral staircase that moved silently up to the door of Minerva McGonagall’s office.

As Hermione was about to knock on the door, a familiar voice called from within. “Come in, Hermione.”

Hermione opened the door to the Headmistress’s office to see Professor McGonagall pouring two cups of tea.

“I’ve been expecting you,” the headmistress intoned with a slight smile on her face.

“Minerva, how could you?” Hermione almost shouted.

“How could I what, dear? Make tea?” McGonagall asked innocently.

“You know very well ‘what.’ Why didn’t you tell me that you had hired Harry to be the flying instructor?” Hermione spat.

“Oh, Harry is back in town? How lovely. I wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow.”

“Well, he just breezed into the Three Broomsticks like he owned the place expecting everyone to be blissfully happy he was back,” Hermione snorted as she plopped into the chair across from Professor McGonagall.

“Oh, I forgot about Madam Hooch’s going away party! How was it?”

“I don’t know. I left not too long after Harry showed up,” Hermione said as she blew on her tea to cool it off.

At this, Professor McGonagall leveled a gaze over her square spectacles and asked sternly, “Why on earth would you do that, Hermione?”

Under the gaze of her mentor and friend, Hermione squirmed in her chair. These last few years Minerva McGonagall had become more than a respected teacher to her. She had become family, replacing the family Hermione had lost at the hands of the Death Eaters.

Four years ago, after Dumbledore retired, it was Professor McGonagall’s first job as the new Headmistress to find the teacher that would replace her as the Transfiguration Professor. She knew immediately that there was only one witch with the talent and knowledge to teach the most difficult subject at Hogwarts. She was met with objections from everyone but Albus Dumbledore when she recommended Hermione for the job. Although Hermione had proved herself time and again fighting the Death Eaters, some thought she was too young for such a demanding teaching appointment. Dumbledore and McGonagall knew that what Hermione lacked in experience, she would make up for in intelligence and talent. And ultimately, once Dumbledore approved, there was only one obstacle to overcome and that was convincing Hermione.

At first, Hermione had stared at Professor McGonagall in disbelief when the position was offered to her. A Hogwarts teacher at 18, she thought? The position of Transfiguration Professor, which had previously been held by no less than Dumbledore and McGonagall themselves, was being offered to her. Although the idea of teaching the most difficult subject was daunting, Hermione had no doubt that she could teach the class. Her main concern was not wanting to leave her job with the Association for the Betterment of Magical Brethren. Remus Lupin, her co-founder of the ABMB, suggested that Hermione could take on more of a consulting role and hire someone to do the day-to-day duties she would not have time for. In the end, Hermione had accepted the offer and had proved the dissenters wrong.

Hermione sighed. “Honestly, Minerva, I didn’t want to be around Harry. It was very disconcerting to have him suddenly back, sitting across the table from me at the Three Broomsticks talking about about his exploits across the pond.”

“Yes, Albus told me he picked up the game of golf over there,” Minerva replied, settling herself into her chair. “I’ll have to ask him about that. I’ve always been fascinated by that particular muggle sport,” she said excitedly.

Hermione looked at her in disbelief but silenced her retort by drinking some of her now tepid tea.

“So, did you talk to Harry,” Minerva asked gently, “about why he never wrote you?”

“No. He gave me some pathetic excuse about trying to write, not knowing what to say, too much time passing and something about me burning any letter he would try to send.”

“He was probably right about that,” Minerva chuckled.

“That isn’t the point!” Hermione said and abruptly rose from her chair to stare out the office window. The Quidditch pitch was visible in the distance … more painful memories She turned around to face Professor McGonagall. “Even when he had the opportunity tonight to tell me, he wouldn’t.”

“He wouldn’t tell you or couldn’t tell you?” Minerva asked.

“There isn’t a difference.”

“Of course there is.” Minerva rose from behind her desk and walked over to face Hermione. “You are a brilliant teacher and a wonderful person, Hermione. If I had a daughter, I would want her to be just like you,” she said quietly. “But you have held onto this anger at Harry, Ron and the world for far too long. You are not the only one whose life was changed by Voldemort and his Death Eaters.”

Hermione looked at Minerva, stunned. “Whatever gave you the idea that I was angry with Ron?”

Minerva studied Hermione for a moment before asking, “Have you ever talked to anyone about Ron’s death?”

“Of course I have.”

“Who?”

Hermione looked down at her robes and picked at an invisible piece of lint. She dusted her robe off and smoothed it out before looking up at Minerva and replying. “What is there to say? He’s dead. He died saving me.”

Minerva took Hermione’s hand in her own. “Did something happen before Ron died? Between the two of you?”

Christ, how did we get on this subject, she thought. “Minerva, it doesn’t matter. What good does it do to talk about it? Nothing I can do or say will change history and bring Ron back. I prefer to keep my memories to myself.”

Hermione looked away from Minerva’s compassionate gaze. After a moment, Professor McGonagall released Hermione’s hand and walked briskly back to her desk saying, “Do you know why I hired Harry?”

“No,” Hermione said, surprised that she hadn’t asked herself that question.

“I hired Harry because I believe that your best friend is the only person that can help you move on to the next phase.”

“The next phase of what? My life? This is the next phase of my life — teaching at Hogwarts, working with the ABMB.”

Minerva shook her head and said, “There is more to life than work and ‘causes.’ No, Hermione, the next phase is your life.”

---

Hermione walked down the quiet corridors towards her room, lost in thought. In the span of three short hours her entire life had been turned upside down. She was so shaken by Harry’s return that it was impossible for her to concentrate, to try to piece together what she thought and felt. There was nothing she hated more than not being able to think something through logically, not being able to solve a problem.

Once in her room, she went directly to the bathroom and started the water for a warm, relaxing bubble bath. Crookshanks jumped up on the edge of the tub, purring softly in greeting. Absently, she rubbed under his chin while testing the temperature of the water with her other hand. Once undressed, she slipped into the almost scalding hot water and settled slowly down into the bubbles, letting her muscles relax and the stress leave her body.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, using all her powers of concentration to try to forget the last few hours. Minutes passed with the only sound being the faint crackling of tiny bubbles popping in the air. Crookshanks, who had settled himself on the edge of the tub, let his eyes slowly droop closed in complete relaxation, seemingly mimicking Hermione.

“Shit!” Hermione swore, splashing the water with her hands in frustration. Startled from his reverie, Crookshanks flinched and almost fell into the tub with her. He bared his teeth, gave a hiss and shot out of the bathroom, running under the bed to hide.

“Oh, Crookshanks! I’m sorry!” Hermione cried after him. “Way to go. Alienate your only friend,” she said aloud to herself.

She settled back into the tub and stared up at the ceiling, resigning herself to her inability to close off. She sighed heavily saying aloud to no one, “I hate this.”

Before tonight, Hermione had almost convinced herself that Harry was never coming back, that he had died along with Ron and her parents. That was the only way she knew how to deal with his absence, his apparent lack of concern for her. He was dead; that was the only explanation. The Harry she knew would never leave without saying goodbye. The Harry she knew would never fail to keep in touch. The Harry she knew would never purposely humiliate her, as she had been humiliated tonight.

Obviously, she was wrong. Or this wasn’t the same Harry that she knew in school.

Underneath the initial shock, her instinct when she saw him walk into the Three Broomsticks was to jump up and give him a huge hug. He was back! He wasn’t dead! For a split second it was as if no time had passed, and he and Ron were meeting her for a butterbeer during a Hogsmeade weekend. She looked behind Harry for Ron and was jerked back into the present by his absence. Relief that in fact Harry wasn’t dead, along with the happiness of seeing him again, were quickly replaced by the anger she had harbored against him all these years.

Now alone, she could let these conflicting emotions — relief, happiness, anger and grief — run free.

In spite of herself, she smiled as happiness took over. It had been so good to see him again. In that moment, something had clicked back into place and her world changed slightly. She had thought that her life had been complete, filled with work and friends. Now the realization struck that all of the friendships in the world couldn’t compare or replace the friendships she had shared with Ron and Harry. Ron’s was lost forever, and for it she still mourned. Could she forgive Harry and their friendship? Would it be the same without Ron? She wasn’t sure on either count.

Feeling the temperature of the water start to cool, she turned the hot water on with her foot, bringing her knees up out of the water so as not to get scalded. Absently, she swirled her hands in the water mingling hot with cool, thinking about how different Harry looked from the boy she knew. Harry had always been rather pale and skinny, which had relegated him, at least in her mind, into the ‘cute’ column versus the ‘good looking’ or ‘handsome’ column. He must have lived somewhere warm in the States, she mused. Although you couldn’t say he had a tan, so to speak, he definitely had more color than before. Skinny wasn’t the correct description for his build anymore, either. Thin? Healthy? Athletic? Take your pick, but it was an improvement nonetheless. Maturity, she theorized.

I wonder what happened to his glasses? How different do I look to him?

As bubbles started to completely overtake her, she realized the water was still running and the bathtub was full almost to the rim. She quickly turned off the water and with her other foot, released the stopper to drain some of the water. Hermione saw Crookshanks poke his head around the door and look around warily, as if testing the atmosphere of the room.

“Hi, sweetie! It is safe to come back in, I promise. No more outbursts.” She patted the side of the tub and Crookshanks deftly jumped up and settled himself, purring loudly.

“Guess who is back, Crookshanks,” Hermione said, rubbing under his chin and replacing the stopper in the drain. Crookshanks narrowed his eyes and stopped purring.

Hermione laughed. “No, not Ron! He’s not coming back, unfortunately. Why didn’t you like him? Surely you aren’t holding Scabbers against him after all these years!” Hermione looked at her cat and saw that his expression hadn’t changed. She guessed that, in fact, he was still holding a grudge. “That isn’t healthy. You need to move on.”

She stopped, realizing that what she had just said to Crookshanks was startlingly similar to what Minerva had told her earlier that night.

“Meow,” Crookshanks cried plaintively.

“Oh, right. I didn’t explain, did I? Harry’s back, can you believe it?”

Crookshanks lifted his head a little higher and immediately began purring again, more loudly than before. His eyes took on an alertness that hadn’t been there before, and he gave a decidedly happy sounding “Meow!”

“I’ve always suspected that you liked Harry better than me, and I think my suspicion was just confirmed,” Hermione said, feigning hurt. Absently, she said to her cat, “He looks good, that’s for sure. As much as I don’t want to be, I’m glad he’s back. I really have missed him. But I’m still angry with him. Surely he can come up with a better excuse than ‘I tried to write but I just couldn’t.’ That’s pathetic. He’d better be prepared to give me some answers next time I see him!”

Hermione stared into space as Crookshanks watched her, swishing his tail back and forth. “Why didn’t he write? How could he not write to me, of all people?” She smiled at Crookshanks, who was looking patiently back at her. “I know, you’ve heard this all one thousand times before. I’m ready for some answers. How about you?”

As if in reply, Crookshanks took his left paw and started cleaning his ears. Hermione laughed. “That’s right. It is time for some answers from Harry Potter.”

---

Harry awoke early the next morning to another clear day. A perfect morning to reacquaint myself with the Quidditch Pitch, he thought excitedly. Harry hurriedly got dressed, grabbed his broom and set off for Hogwarts.

The dew was still on the grass as he mounted his broomstick and pushed off from the ground. Soaring through the air on his broom had always been Harry’s escape. It had not been easy to travel across America as a Muggle with a broomstick and not arouse suspicion. Luckily for Harry, his best friend was Hermione Granger. She had taught him much about Transfiguration, among other things, during their seven years at Hogwarts. He was able to draw upon his knowledge to solve his broomstick issue. It was while searching for an idea to transfigure his broomstick that he discovered the game of golf. Hermione would have been impressed with his ingenuity.

Thinking of Hermione, and their disastrous conversation the previous night, wiped the grin off of Harry’s face. I’ve got to tell her why I left the next time I see her, Harry thought. This is Hermione! Why is it so difficult?

Could it be because you still don’t know if you can tell her everything? Ron asked inside his head. You can’t lie to her. That would be worse than never coming back at all. I really don’t think she was too happy to see you, mate.

“Thanks for stating the obvious,” Harry mumbled to himself.

Don’t be snippy with me. I’m not the one that’s been avoiding the issue for five years. I’m dead, remember? And as such, I am fairly blameless for the mess you have made.

As these thoughts were going through his mind, Harry spotted a familiar figure out for an early morning walk around the lake. Okay, Potter, now is your chance. Don’t blow it, Ron’s voice said.

Harry gently landed a few feet behind Hermione and dismounted his broom.

“Hermione?”

“Oh!” Hermione jumped and turned to face Harry. “You scared me to death! Don’t sneak up on people like that! Where did you come from?”

Harry raised his broom in answer and said, “I saw you walking from the Quidditch Pitch and hoped we could finish the conversation we started last night.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something and quickly closed it again. She stood there staring at Harry and said coolly, “Fine. But can we walk while you talk? I have five more laps to walk around the lake.”

“Five more laps? Are you keeping count?”

Hermione gave him a withering look and said, “As much as I would like to, I can’t magic fat off of my thighs, Harry.” Then she turned around and started walking, briskly.

Harry jogged to catch up with her and said, “You didn’t seem to be walking this fast from my view at the Quidditch Pitch.”

“Did you want to tell me something or complain about my exercise routine?”

“I want to tell you something, but I can’t if you won’t slow down. Can you just stop for a moment, please?”

Hermione stopped and turned to Harry. She crossed her arms and stared at him with the same questioning look on her face from the night before.

Harry took a deep breath and started the speech he had been rehearsing in his mind for five years.

“Do you remember when we first met? You told Ron and me about how excited you and your parents were when you received your letter from Hogwarts. That is exactly how I felt, excited that there was this other world that was going to allow me to escape from the Dursleys. I barely had time to process the fact that I was a wizard — about four minutes to be exact — before Hagrid was telling me the story about how my parents died and I lived. Then I went into the Leaky Cauldron and absolutely everyone in there knew who I was and wanted to shake my hand — congratulate me for something I didn’t even remember doing. I went from being a nobody, wearing hand-me-down clothes four sizes too big, to being the most famous person in the wizarding world with a vault full of gold, all in the span of about 12 hours.

“You know what the next seven years were like. People praised me, then ridiculed me, then loved me again, then thought I was an attention-seeking lunatic, and on and on it went. You and Ron were the only constants in my life. I could not have done any of the things I did without you two helping me.

“Then our last night at Hogwarts, the night Voldemort was finally killed, it all changed again. I was ’The Man Who Defeated Voldemort‘ and everyone wanted a piece of me. All I wanted to do was grieve for my best friend. I wanted to grieve for Arthur, Mad-eye, Sirius, my mum and dad … for everyone that had been affected by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Mostly, I wanted to be left alone.

“When I was in St. Mungo’s after that night, I was flooded with owls from people I knew, people I didn’t know. I think every wizard and witch in the world sent me an owl. People offering me jobs, business opportunities, marriage proposals, you name it. Did you know people came up to me at Ron’s funeral to talk to me about my future? ‘What are you going to do?’ they would ask. ‘Any job you want at the Ministry of Magic, Harry,’ Fudge said. ‘Ever considered playing Quidditch professionally, Harry?’ ‘What about England’s National Team?’ It was truly disgusting.

“I knew I needed to go away, to leave, but I didn’t want to leave you. I wanted to be there for you to help you get through the loss of your boyfriend. But I’ll be honest: I needed you to help me get through the loss of my best friend,” he said, looking down at the ground. “I even thought about asking you to come with me.” Here Harry stopped and looked at Hermione, who was staring at him with her mouth slightly open.

“At the Burrow, after the funeral, I saw you with Ginny and Molly. You were consoling and comforting each other, and it hit me that you didn’t need me like I needed you. I knew that the Weasleys would take you in as a member of their family and be there for you. That is when I decided to leave.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something but Harry interrupted her, saying, “Wait. Just let me finish.”

“I had to get away from being Harry Potter. I needed to find out who I was. Voldemort had defined who I was since I was a year old. It was time to define myself. So I left the next day.

“I’m sure the note I left you was completely inadequate. I’m sorry about that, but I truly did intend to write you. You had been my confidant for seven years and I knew that would continue no matter how many miles separated us.”

Harry continued to look at Hermione, but it was Hermione who looked away. Harry took Hermione’s hands and said, ”I wasn’t leaving you behind; I was leaving me behind.

“Hermione?” he asked softly. “Do you understand why I Ieft? Can you forgive me for leaving?”

Hermione turned to look at Harry yanking her hands out of his, her eyes cold. “Did you even stop to think what effect you leaving would have on me? You didn’t even talk to me before you left! I would have understood. I might have even gone with you. But, instead you decided unilaterally what was best for everyone, like you always did.”

Harry stood there in stunned silence as Hermione continued her rant.

“Then not a word for five years and here you are again, wanting to be forgiven and be friends like no time has passed. I just don’t know how you expect me to react to that.” Hermione sighed and looked out over the lake.

She turned back to look at Harry and said in a quiet voice, “We were best friends, Harry. You were the only person I had left. My parents had been tortured and killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, then Ron was killed. Sure, Molly, Ginny and the Weasleys were wonderful, but you were the closest thing to family I had. After you didn’t write, I wondered if I had done something to make you leave, to make you want to stay away for so long.” Her voice choked on the last words and she started crying.

Harry’s stomach dropped to his feet. He grabbed Hermione in a fierce hug saying, “You didn’t do anything to make me leave, don’t ever think that. You are completely right, Hermione. I should have talked to you, and I should have written. I am so, so sorry. It was all about me. I was so selfish and thoughtless. I realized that after I got to America. I tried so many times to write you…” his voice trailed off as he tried to get the courage to tell her everything. As he held her and felt her continue to cry, he knew that right now wasn’t the time. He also knew that he would tell her eventually, that he would never, ever hurt her like this again. “Hermione,” he said softly. “I am going to do everything I can to make it all up to you.”

Chapter 4 Ron’s Funeral and the Decision to Leave

Harry’s decision to leave England five years earlier had not been as easy to make as Hermione believed. The week preceding Ron’s funeral passed with Harry in a daze. Voldemort’s final demise had occurred with such unexpected celerity, Harry had a difficult time taking it all in. He was still in shock as he walked, holding Hermione’s hand, through the cemetery to Ron’s gravesite.

Harry couldn’t believe Ron was gone. Just like that, in a flash of green light from Voldemort’s wand, his best friend of seven years was lost forever. Harry must have made a noise because Hermione squeezed his hand and smiled at him encouragingly. I need to be supporting her and she is supporting me, Harry thought. He returned her smile grimly, determined to be stronger for her.

The large mahogany coffin, draped in a Gryffindor flag, was flanked on one side by a virtual jungle of magical flowers and plants, forming a protective semi-circle around the family. Molly, Ginny and Hermione were seated with Fred, George, Bill, Charlie and Harry standing quietly behind. On the other side, hundreds of mourners faced the coffin completing the circle. Dumbledore approached the coffin slowly and turned to speak words of comfort to Ron’s many friends and family. Harry watched his mentor, the closest person to a father he had ever known, struggle with his own emotions.

“Today we celebrate the life and mourn the death of a great wizard, Ronald Weasley. The sixth of seven children, Ron always felt he had much to live up to. In his first year at Hogwarts, he and his best friend stumbled upon the Mirror of Erised. When he gazed into it, he saw himself as Head Boy, holding the Quidditch Cup, accomplishing as much and more than the brothers that came before him. This mirror, however, did not show his future, but rather his deepest desire. I do not think anyone would argue that Ron Weasley’s accomplishments, his loyalty to his friends, and his love for others, eclipsed any vision the Mirror of Erised could have hoped to offer him.

“Ron’s accomplishments, in his short life, cannot be measured by mere trophies and honors. Like a true Gryffindor, his courage surpassed his fear. He was instrumental in defeating Voldemort five times. His family, friends, and all who knew him loved him. He loved deeply in return.” Here Dumbledore looked at Hermione, who bowed her head under his gaze. Harry, standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, squeezed them gently in support. He could barely maintain his composure as he felt the gentle hitching of Hermione’s shoulders beneath his grasp.

Harry’s eyes were involuntarily drawn to the coffin before him and Dumbledore’s voice quietly faded away. He thought of his best friend. He remembered his contagious smile and the way his eyes would light up when he proclaimed “checkmate” before Harry could blink. Harry would never see that smile again. He would never hear his laugh; he would never again be able to speak to the only brother he’d ever known. There was so much he never said: so many thanks he never offered, so much appreciation he never gave, so much love he never knew how to express.

The opportunity was gone. Ron was gone.

That should be me in that coffin, not Ron, Harry thought. He had so much more to live for than I do.

Harry looked over at a group of wizards and witches that represented the Chudley Cannons. The Cannons were Ron’s favorite Quidditch team and up until his death, his future teammates. Ginny, Hermione and I teased him incessantly about how his red hair was going to clash with the Cannons’ orange robes, Harry thought with a smile. Ron only joined in their laughter because he was so thoroughly exhilarated to have been signed by the Cannons. It was a dream fulfilled for someone who never thought he’d break free of the long shadows his brothers cast.

Harry looked down at Hermione. She was blankly studying the embroidery of the Gryffindor flag draping the polished mahogany coffin.

I’m so sorry Ron. I should have been the one to jump in front of Hermione, not you.

Harry had spent so much time over the past two years, since learning of the prophecy, preparing himself to die, that he couldn’t comprehend that he had survived. He had been sufficiently vague over the past week when people asked him his future plans. Who could think of the future when you were preparing to bury your best friend? As he stood staring at Ron’s grave, hearing Dumbledore somewhere in the distance extol Ron’s virtues, Harry had no idea what he was going to do or where he was going to go.

Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand, which was still on her shoulder, pulling him back from his thoughts.

“I will leave you now with perhaps my favorite memory of Ronald Weasley,” Dumbledore intoned. “It was the end of his fifth year. Ron, holding the Quidditch Cup tightly in his grip, was being carried off the Quidditch Pitch by a sea of ecstatic Gryffindors, serenading him with a rousing chorus of ‘Weasley Is Our King.’ I will always remember Ronald Weasley as a hero and a champion.”

---

The Burrow was bursting at its seams with the throng of people offering condolences to the Weasleys. An enlargement charm had been placed on the house so it could accommodate everyone comfortably. Still, the mourners had spilled out into the gardens and were mingling around, talking in hushed voices. Children, eager to escape the oppressive mood they could not yet understand, had gravitated towards the area of the yard that the Weasley children had used over the years as an impromptu Quidditch pitch. Theirs were the only voices raised beyond a whisper as they abandoned the solemn mood for a sporting game of tag. Harry, who was looking out, but not seeing anything, could hear squeals and peals of laughter through the open window of the kitchen. He had retreated to the kitchen in an attempt to escape the people who, under the guise of offering condolences, had attended the funeral but were far more interested in Harry’s plans for the future than in mourning the loss of his friend.

“Harry?”

He turned with a start and saw Dumbledore standing with his hands clasped in front of him.

“Hello, Professor,” Harry said.

“Would you care to go for a walk? I daresay I need an excuse for some fresh air.” Dumbledore leaned closer to Harry. “And I’m trying, without much success, to shake a more ardent admirer.” He gave a nearly imperceptive nod in the direction of an extremely old witch that Harry did not recognize.

“Sure,” Harry said with a slight smile.

Harry followed Dumbledore through the kitchen and out the back door. As he was leaving, he glanced around searching for Hermione, with no luck. Dumbledore chose the path that led to the makeshift Quidditch Pitch and walked in silence for a while.

“How are you feeling, Harry?”

Harry’s mind drifted to the bottles of brightly colored potions, nine to be exact, lined up on his dresser at Grimmauld Place — an exotic mini-bar waiting for the party to begin. “Better,” he said tersely, hoping to derail any conversation about his injuries and health before it could get started.

Dumbledore nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Madam Pomfrey was quite beside herself when you were taken to St. Mungo’s instead of the hospital wing. It didn’t matter to her that you had completed your coursework and school had dismissed for the summer. I do believe she is a little territorial when it comes to your health care,” he chuckled.

Harry smiled. “I have been a rather frequent visitor to her part of the castle the last seven years. She stopped by to visit me a couple of times, much to the healers’ dismay. This one poor fellow received quite an earful from her.”

Dumbledore smiled. After a moment he said, “How are you feeling, Harry?”

Although the question was the same, there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that it was a different question entirely, with a much more complicated answer. He walked on, hoping that Dumbledore would take his silence as an acceptable answer, but he knew deep down that Dumbledore would wait, forever if need be, until Harry acknowledged his question.

“Sad. Guilty. Angry. Tired. Alone. Take your pick, any will do.”

Dumbledore stopped and watched the children running around chasing each other without a care in the world. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No,” Harry said flatly. His voice softened a little. “Not right now.”

“When you are ready to talk, you will have an open ear.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Dumbledore turned to look back up the path toward the Burrow. “It looks as if the crowd is thinning. I believe Madam Rosmerta has whipped up a batch of her famous punch and I could definitely use a pick-me-up. Care to join me?”

“No, thank you. I think I’ll stay here for a little while longer.”

Dumbledore patted Harry’s shoulder and turned to walk back up the path towards the Burrow.

Harry stared out at the children and thought back to his childhood, which had never been so carefree or happy. Without even knowing it at the time, Voldemort had been shaping his life, and the person he would become, from the time he was a year old. Now, with Voldemort gone for good, Harry had been feeling as if his identity was gone for good also.

His sole purpose, especially over the last two years, had been the defeat of Voldemort. He had undertaken the responsibility with ferocious zeal, improving his wizarding skills for the ultimate and inevitable confrontation. He had not given a moment’s pause to consider what he would do afterward

In truth, he had not expected to live.

He had been prepared to die — to sacrifice himself freely if it meant the wizarding world and the people he loved would be free of Voldemort and his evil. In the end, the only thing Harry had lost was his scar. The mark the Dark Lord had given him sixteen years earlier when he had killed Harry’s parents vanished with Voldemort’s death.

Harry was left with his life … and an identity crisis.

Uninhibited laughter from the playing children filtered through the murky haze that was his conscience. In an attempt to focus on something other than himself and the disaster that was his life, he turned his attention to the carefree children. Brooms had been commandeered from the broom shed and the older children were taking turns flying around, chasing each other and pretending to win the Quidditch World Cup by catching the Snitch, saving a goal or scoring with the Quaffle. One boy who had just pretended to catch the Snitch was flying around in large, loopy circles, hands raised overhead, screaming ”and the crowd goes wild! Yeaaaaaaahhhhh,” providing commentary, crowd noise and performing the celebratory fly-by. Harry smiled, wondering how many times this same scene had been played out by young wizards and witches across the world. He thought of children in their backyards with their parents, learning the finer points of the wizard sport, playing tag with their siblings or simply walking through the garden on the way to their neighbor’s house. Normal everyday activities that many people take for granted.

His smile slipped from his face as melancholy returned. I am jealous of these kids, Harry thought incredulously. They are normal — as normal as magical children can be, I guess. They will have the opportunity to do all of those things. I was denied that opportunity. I have never been normal.

Depressing himself even more than he already had been, he turned and walked back to the house, determined to find a friendly face in Hermione. However, thinking of Hermione brought on another wave of sadness.

Harry lost his best friend. Hermione lost her best friend and her boyfriend. She lost the man she loved. Although he and Ron never talked about it, he knew that Hermione was the love of Ron’s life. He fully expected to one day witness the marriage of his two best friends. Now, Ron would never live to have a family and grow old with Hermione. And she was alone.

Harry stopped in the doorway of the parlor and saw Hermione sitting on the sofa between Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. All three were crying and holding hands, giving and receiving soft words of encouragement to each other, as only women can do. Harry felt, at that moment, the realization that he was woefully inept at this facet of grief — the need to give comfort to the ones you love. His solution to emotional turmoil had always been to withdraw inside himself and not express his emotions. Except with Hermione. She had always been able to get Harry to open up, however reluctantly. But he always held a little back, even from her. He was certain that now he would not be able to close off completely, that all of his emotions could come rushing out like a tidal wave. She has enough to deal with; she doesn’t need to be burdened with my problems, too, Harry thought to himself. He turned from the door and ran right into Dumbledore.

“Professor, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“Quite alright, Harry. I was just coming to say goodbye.”

“Are you going back to Hogwarts?”

“No. I am meeting with Cornelius at the Ministry tomorrow. Then I am going to go on a much needed holiday.”

Harry nodded his head. “You deserve it. Thank you for today. Your eulogy was beautiful.”

“Ron was a great man. I will miss him.”

As Dumbledore turned to go, Harry suddenly grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Would you stop by Grimmauld Place tomorrow? I would like to take you up on your offer.”

Dumbledore smiled at Harry. “How does 2 p.m. sound?”

“I’ll see you then.”

---

Harry sat in the drawing room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place waiting for Dumbledore.

He looked at his wristwatch: 1:30. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, questioning his decision for the one-hundredth time.

You still have time to change your mind.

“No,” he said aloud and opened his eyes.

He stared across the room to the curio cabinet that he, Ron and Hermione had helped Mrs. Weasley and Sirius decontaminate three years before. He chuckled to himself when he thought of how Ron had become conspicuously absent when the spiders had been discovered. They all had their fears, and for Ron it had been spiders. For Harry, it was dementors. For Hermione, Harry guessed, it was bad marks.

The thought of Hermione with bad marks made him laugh out loud. He doubted that she had ever made so much as an O, the second highest grade, on anything. For Hermione, only the highest marks were acceptable. It had been no surprise to anyone that she had finished Hogwarts one week ago with the highest marks in their year. She had numerous job offers from prestigious magical institutions and think tanks. She was considering continuing her education at a magical university (they had all offered her full scholarships). He was not aware that she had accepted any offers. He had the impression that she was waiting for something, for an opportunity that would ignite her passion and curiosity and spark her intellect. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t think even she knew what that opportunity would be, or if it even existed.

The day before at the Burrow, Hermione had found Harry sitting on a stone bench in the garden, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, staring into space, lost in thought.

“Harry?”

He looked up, saw her, and felt himself smile genuinely for the first time in a week. “Hey,” he said as he scooted over to make room for her on the bench.

She sat down, draped her arm across his back, leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed heavily. “I am so tired.”

“I know. Me, too.” He held her other hand in both of his and they sat there in silence. She rubbed his back in small circles and whispered, “I can’t believe he is gone. Don’t you expect him to come bounding out of the house shouting for you to come play Quidditch?”

Harry smiled at her and nodded his head. He felt a twinge in his side and grimaced, straightening up. “Are you okay?” Hermione asked, concerned.

“Yeah, just a muscle spasm. They should go away in a week or so.” He looked at her and saw such concern on her face that he almost broke down right there. He quickly looked down before he started crying and took a deep breath. “I’m going to London tonight to stay at Grimmauld Place. Are you staying here tonight?”

“Yes. Tomorrow I’m supposed to meet with my parents’ lawyers to go over their estate. I put it off all year while I was in school. I can’t put it off any longer.”

“Then what?”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I don’t know.”

“Me either.”

They sat there in companionable silence for quite a while, both too tired to move. Finally, Harry rose and extended his hands to help her up. “I need to go.” He pulled her into a fierce hug which she returned. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear.

“I love you, too.”

Harry heard the door open and close and was startled out of his memory. Dumbledore walked into the drawing room waving his wand to turn on the lights. “Why are you sitting in the dark, Harry?”

“No reason.”

Dumbledore noted Harry’s trunk on the floor beside Harry’s chair and Hedwig in her cage on top of it. “Going somewhere?”

“Holiday.”

Dumbledore nodded his head. “That seems to be a popular idea.”

“You gave me the idea yesterday.”

“Did I, now?” He walked around and sat on the sofa opposite Harry. “And where are you going?”

“What do they call it? The land of the free? The home of the brave?”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “The States?”

“I thought the ’land of the free‘ sounded like a good place to go, seeing as ’free‘ is not something I have ever really been.”

“Harry, it is not good to wallow in self pity.”

“I believe I am stating a fact. I wouldn’t exactly consider the time I spent living in a cupboard with the Dursleys as ‘freedom.’ And I’ve been saddled with expectations from the moment I learned I was a wizard. I think a little ‘free time’ is just what I need.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Expecting to have to convince Dumbledore, Harry stared at him dumbfounded. “You agree?”

“Of course. Remember, I am also going on holiday. It does a body good to have a little rest and relaxation. Not too bad for your mind either.” Dumbledore smoothed his robes over his crossed legs and asked, “When are you leaving?”

“As soon as possible.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know.”

Dumbledore paused as if not expecting that answer. “You don’t know? Is this holiday indefinite?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders slightly in response.

“What does Ms. Granger think of your plans?”

Harry squirmed in his chair. “I haven’t told her I’m going.”

“Do you think it is wise to leave without talking to your best friend?”

At this question, Harry paused, deciding that the truth was always best with Dumbledore since he could read Harry’s mind anyway. “I’m afraid if I talk to her I will change my mind,” Harry said, looking straight into Dumbledore’s eyes.

Comprehension of Harry’s deeper meaning flickered across Dumbledore’s face. “I see,” Dumbledore said. He rose from the sofa. “I expect you will be needing transportation?”

“I was hoping you could help me with that.”

“As a matter of fact, I can.” He waved his wand at Harry’s trunk, “Locomotor trunk,” and he led Harry out of the house and down the steps. “I assume you have left everything in order.”

“Yes, sir. I have made arrangements to deed Grimmauld Place over to Remus. I don’t particularly need it, and he does. I have also opened an account at Gringotts with a substantial sum in your name.”

At this Dumbledore stopped in his tracks and turned to Harry. “Money is not something I need or want, Harry.”

Harry smiled and said a little sheepishly, “It isn’t for you. I would like to give the money to Remus, but he would never take it. So I am leaving it for you in hopes that you will be able to find a way for him to have it without him realizing who it came from or why he’s receiving it.”

Dumbledore shook his head and continued walking across the square in front of Grimmauld Place. “Harry, I have known you for years and you still somehow manage to surprise me. I would be happy to be part of your benevolence and I have just the idea to make it work.”

Harry smiled. “I knew I could count on you.”

Dumbledore stopped in the street in front of a car that looked suspiciously familiar to Harry. “What do you think?”

“I think it looks amazingly like Dudley’s car.”

”Really? What a coincidence,” Dumbledore said with a trace of a smile.

“What is it doing here?” Harry asked.

“It is your portkey.”

Harry’s mouth opened in astonishment. “You’re joking, right?”

“On the contrary. Transatlantic travel is not easy. You cannot apparate because it is too far. Portkeys are limited by their size, the smaller the portkey the shorter distance. The larger the portkey…you get the idea. The biggest challenge with a large portkey isn’t the magic; it is the uncertainty of where the portkey will land. Even the greatest of wizards will allow for a bit of a — how should I say — margin for error, when transporting something hundreds of miles.” Dumbledore extended his wand to the car. “Portus. This should get you to the eastern United States, most likely Maine.”

The slight twinge of guilt that Harry felt about stealing Dudley’s car, his pride and joy, quickly faded upon remembering the abuse he suffered for years at the hands of Dudley and his aunt and uncle. Harry peered inside the car admiringly. Uncle Vernon had spared no expense in regards to his son’s first car and as a result, the interior was top of the line: soft camel-colored leather seats, state of the art sound system, and many other features that Harry didn’t know how to use or even what they were for. But he would be traveling in style at least.

“What are the chances it doesn’t quite make it and I land in the ocean?”

Dumbledore considered for a moment. “With this distance? Fifty/fifty.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide as Dumbledore opened the boot of the car to load his trunk and Hedwig’s cage. He opened the driver’s door and motioned for Harry to get inside. Harry, who despite the luxury of Dudley’s car, was rapidly considering flying on a muggle airplane, complied somewhat reluctantly.

“When you are ready, just press on the accelerator.” Harry looked at him in confusion. ”The pedal on the right. In the glove box, there is the name of a wizard friend of mine that lives in the States. If you need anything, he will help you.” As an afterthought, Dumbledore added, “You might want to buckle up.”

Harry hurriedly belted in and put his now sweaty hands on the wheel. He pulled two letters out of his back pocket and handed them to Dumbledore. “Would you give these to Remus and Hermione for me please?”

“As you wish.”

Harry looked at him for a moment and stuck his hand out the window. “Thank you, Professor.”

Dumbledore shook his hand. “Harry, I believe you have earned the right to call me Albus.”

Harry smiled, put his hand back on the steering wheel and, taking a deep breath, pushed the accelerator.

---

Now, five years later, Harry and Hermione were standing beside the lake holding each other, taking the first step toward repairing the friendship that had been destroyed by that decision.

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she cried. She had gotten so good at repressing her emotions that now that they were erupting, she couldn't control them. She felt the loss of Ron and the huge hole that his death had left in her life all over again. She also felt, thought not as strongly, the anger she had for Harry the last five years. However, the strongest emotion she felt at that moment was relief — relief that she hadn't done anything to drive Harry away and relief that she had at least one of her best friends back.

But one thought kept nagging her in the back of her mind; he still hadn't told her why he hadn't written.

At the moment though, she didn't care. An unwelcome companion to repressed emotion was a necessary lack of attachment, emotionally and physically, to anyone. Being held and comforted by Harry made her realize, with some astonishment, how much she missed it. She couldn't deny to herself how nice it felt to be held like this, even if it was only Harry.

Hermione sniffed loudly and pulled away, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Sorry,” she said, pointing to the huge tear-stained spot on the shoulder of his shirt.

Harry looked at her in amazement. “What for? I just asked you to forgive me for being the most insensitive prat in the world and you are apologizing for getting my shirt wet? I'm surprised you haven't jinxed me with jackass ears for the rest of my life. God knows I deserve them.”

“You may still get them if you aren't careful,” Hermione teased and sniffed again loudly. “If I forgive you, you have to promise me one thing.”

“Name it.”

“Don't you ever, EVER, make a decision like that without talking to me again,” she said, poking her finger in his chest for emphasis.

Harry raised his arm in pledge. “I swear I will talk to you about everything. You are going to wish I would shut up I'm going to talk to you so much. I'm going to send you an owl every morning asking what I should wear that day. At meals, I probably will just let you put whatever you want me to eat on my plate. I will…”

“Okay, shut up. I get it,” she said, trying not to smile.

They stood there, looking at each other awkwardly for a moment. What now, Hermione wondered. She could tell from Harry's body language that he was nervously thinking the same thing. How do you even begin to rebuild a friendship like theirs? Hermione was struggling between wanting to make Harry suffer a while longer for his absence and her desire to have the relationship they had before. They had been as close as two people could be on a platonic level. They could look at each other and know what the other was thinking without saying a word. As the awkward silence continued, they both looked around the grounds, across the lake, anywhere but at each other, their ability to read each other’s thoughts lost, the comfortable companionship of long time friends gone. It suddenly became obvious to both of them that this rebuilding project was not going to be easy or quick

Finally, Harry said, “Can I join you while you finish your walk?”

Hermione shrugged. “Sure, if you think you can keep up!” And she turned and resumed her walk.

Harry caught up to her and said, “So, tell me about the last five years of your life.”

Hermione's grin faltered a little. Just jump right in why don't you, Harry, she thought humorously. “Oh, it's been fairly boring, really. Just teaching a bunch of swotty kids how to change toothpicks into needles and working with the ABMB.”

“Swotty kids? I always thought that you would be a great teacher. After all, you had plenty of practice tutoring everyone in Gryffindor for seven years. Don't you like teaching?”

“It has its moments. I love transfiguration; it is such a challenging subject. I am constantly learning, even now. But teaching does get monotonous. And I swear, the kids these days have no respect. There is no way we were that immature.”

“I wouldn't be so sure about that.” Harry smiled. “Tell me about the ABMB.”

“I'm surprised Molly didn't mention it to you in her owls; she is very involved with it,” Hermione said.

“She did mention it but didn't tell me much.”

Hermione spent the next ten to fifteen minutes telling Harry all about the Association for the Betterment of Magical Brethren. Not long after Harry left for the States, Dumbledore approached Hermione and Remus Lupin about starting an association to improve relations between the wizarding world and their magical brethren such as house elves, giants, goblins, centaurs, werewolves and other magical creatures that had been oppressed for many years. In addition to improving relations, another goal of the ABMB was to educate the wizarding world about these misunderstood creatures, thereby promoting peaceful coexistence and ending rampant discrimination.

“Remus and I split the responsibilities. He is the liaison with the MB and I am in charge of educating the wizarding world. We have made great strides in the last five years. Dumbledore has been much more involved since he retired from Hogwarts four years ago. Having his support has helped further our cause tremendously.”

Harry nodded his head. “Sounds like an all-encompassing S.P.E.W. I was happy for you when Molly told me what you were doing. I knew that you wanted to do something worthwhile after school. The ABMB sounds like it was a perfect fit.”

Silence descended again. Hermione thought that Harry might have been waiting for her to ask about his time away. He was going to be waiting for a while. Naturally she was curious. However, she knew herself well enough to realize that she would not react well to hearing about the fun times he had in the States. She also knew that eventually she would have to deal with her resentment more fully, but now was not the time. He can work a little harder for a while, she thought.

Breaking the silence yet again, Harry said, “How do you handle all of the responsibilities of the ABMB and teach full time here at Hogwarts?”

“Time management and lots of lists, Harry,” Hermione said. “Susan Bones came onto the ABMB when I took the job here at Hogwarts. She handles the day-to-day duties, but I'm still on the Board of Directors and am involved with developing the training.”

“So what else do you do?” Harry asked.

She looked at him incredulously. “What do you mean `what else'? I barely have time to get everything done in the day as it is!”

“Fun, Hermione,” Harry said sarcastically. “What do you do for fun? Do you even have a social life?”

“Of course I have a social life, Harry,” Hermione snapped. “I spend the holidays with the Weasleys and during the summers I travel with the ABMB and manage to squeeze in holiday along with that.”

Harry threw his broom he had been carrying over his shoulder. “What about your love life?”

Hermione shrugged. “I've dated some but no one has really interested me.”

“Anyone I know?” asked Harry.

“Of course you know Viktor. We've dated off and on, although he is much more interested in me than I am in him. There was this childhood friend, Simon. His father was one of my parents' lawyers. He bothered me for a year until I finally went out with him. He was so dull. I went out with Seamus a few times. And…”

“Finnegan?” Harry interrupted. “You're kidding, right?”

“No, I'm not kidding. Why wouldn't I go out with Seamus?” she said indignantly. “He has become quite successful since we finished school. Not to mention that he’s a great guy, too.”

“He just never seemed to be your type,” Harry countered.

“That is the whole point of `dating' Harry, to figure out what your type is! We had a lot of fun. But I don't think he was that interested in me. I suspect that Neville put him up to asking me out.”

“Why would Neville do that?”

“He and Ginny think I don't date enough. Why they care, I don't know,” she said.

Harry waited a couple of beats and said, “I got the impression they don't think you are over Ron's death.”

Great, Hermione thought. Harry is only back one day and already Ginny has recruited him to meddle in my love life, or lack thereof. Hermione looked at him icily and said, “They need to mind their own business,” hoping that Harry would understand that `they' meant him, too.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then Harry asked quietly, “Are you?”

Apparently he didn't get the hint.

“What?”

“Over Ron's death?”

“I don't want to talk about it, Harry.”

“Why not?”

Hermione stopped and faced Harry with her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at him. Did he really expect her to talk to him about this when he wasn't being completely honest and forthcoming with her? By the expression on his face, she suspected he did. Unbelievable, she thought.

“Harry, I'll make a deal with you.” She crossed her arms. “You answer my question, I'll answer yours.”

Harry grinned, looking very confident. “Okay, fire away.”

“Why couldn't you write what you told me earlier? I've had plenty of time to think about why you left and I guessed most of what you told me. But there is clearly something you aren't telling me. What is it?”

The smile slid from Harry's face. Hermione smirked as she stood there and watched him struggle with what to say. I probably shouldn't be enjoying his discomfort this much, she thought a little guiltily.

When it became obvious that he wasn't going to answer, she said, “That's what I thought. You know, you’re going to have to tell me eventually.” From the stricken look on Harry's face Hermione knew that it wasn't going to be today. At once, the thought occurred to her that maybe she didn't want to know the entire truth, at least not right now.

She started walking backwards away from Harry and said, “Did I forget to mention that I run the final three laps around the lake?” She turned and started jogging away.

“See you at breakfast, Professor Potter!” she called over her shoulder with a wave.

Chapter 5 The New Flying Instructor

When Harry strode into the Great Hall that morning for breakfast, only Professor McGonagall and Hermione were not surprised to see him. There was a flurry of activity and chatter not unlike the previous evening at the Three Broomsticks as Harry greeted his former professors and the new professors he had not met. As he sat down in one of two vacant seats to the right of Hermione, Professor McGonagall tapped her glass with her fork to get everyone’s attention.

“Hem-hem,” she started with a smile and many laughed, remembering the vile former Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Dolores Umbridge, who had the irritating habit of clearing her throat before speaking. “As you all may have guessed by his arrival, Harry Potter has accepted the position as Hogwarts’ newest Flying Instructor and Quidditch Coach.” This statement was met with enthusiastic applause and a cheer, causing a slight blush to creep onto Harry’s cheeks. Raising her hands for quiet, McGonagall continued. “We are so fortunate that Harry has decided to return to Hogwarts from his travels to teach the next generation of witches and wizards the finer points of our beloved game. Now I’m sure…”

The door to the Great Hall flew open with a bang, interrupting McGonagall’s speech as Professor Severus Snape walked into the room, apologizing along the way. “Excuse my tardiness, Headmistress.”

“Quite alright, Severus. I was just introducing our new Flying Instructor to the staff,” she said, gesturing towards Harry with a sweep of her hand.

Snape paused at the sight of Harry, but continued walking around the table, forced to take the only vacant chair, the one immediately to Harry’s right.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter.”

Judging by Snape’s reaction or lack thereof, it was obvious that McGonagall had already told Snape about Harry’s new position. Even still, Harry was shocked into silence by Snape’s civility.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Potter? Cat got your tongue?” Snape asked with a smirk.

Realizing that everyone was waiting for him to reply so McGonagall could finish her speech, he quickly said, “Hello, Professor Snape.”

A collective sigh was heard in the Hall, as everyone familiar with Harry and Snape’s history were relieved that a more colorful exchange hadn’t taken place. Professor McGonagall completed her announcements in short order and breakfast resumed. Harry was helping himself to some eggs when Snape leaned over to him and whispered, “Don’t worry, Potter, I still despise you, but I promised Minerva that I wouldn’t show open hostility towards you in front of the staff or students.”

“What a relief, Snape. I thought that hell had frozen over and you had finally realized that I’m not my father,” Harry replied without looking at him. “I see you have discovered shampoo. Although the ponytail is a look you might want to reconsider.” Hermione kicked Harry in the shins under the table.

“What did you do that for?” Harry whispered angrily to Hermione, bending down and rubbing his leg under the table.

“Could you at least pretend to be an adult where Snape is concerned? You are both teachers after all,” she snapped.

Harry made no comment and continued to spoon eggs onto his plate with a little more force than was necessary. Maybe Hermione hasn’t changed that much after all, he thought. No matter how much time passed or what happened, he and Snape would never like each other. In actuality, Harry enjoyed the mutual animosity between the two. He suspected that Snape enjoyed hating Harry equally as much as Harry despised Snape. There was something nearly comfortable about their relationship.

Hermione would just never understand that. Maybe, Harry thought, he would have a little fun at Snape’s expense this year. After all, he would never expect a fellow teacher of pulling a prank on him, would he? As this thought took root in Harry’s mind and began to grow, he turned to Snape and smiled.

“So, Severus,” Harry stated, emphasizing his given name sarcastically, subtly acknowledging to Snape their equality now that they were both professors, something he was sure would perturb Snape to no end. “You finally got the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, eh?”

Snape paused in his eating and placed his fork on the table beside his plate deliberately. “Oh, that’s right,” Harry said snapping his fingers. “That class is called ’Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts‘ now. I forgot.” Harry put a large forkful of eggs in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before adding, “So, do you call Voldemort by his name or still refer to him as the Dark Lord?”

Hermione’s fork clattered onto her plate. Harry glanced at her, giving a slight wink while under the table, his foot was restraining hers from repeating her earlier well-placed kick. Harry returned his attention to Snape, attempting to appear as guileless as possible. Snape looked at Harry with a tight smile and said, “Yes, I did finally get the Dark Arts job, Harry.”

“Well, congratulations!” Harry said heartily, slapping Snape on the back, causing him to lurch forward slightly.

“Harry,” Professor McGonagall intentionally interrupted. “You mentioned something in our correspondence about letting a house in Hogsmeade. Have you found one?”

Apparently, Hermione wasn’t the only one eavesdropping.

“Yes, Professor, I have.”

Surprised, Hermione looked at him and asked, “You aren’t going to live at the castle like the other professors?”

“No. Professor McGonagall agreed to allow me to find my own housing. I have wanted to try my hand at home renovation. I’ve watched these do-it-yourself shows on American television for years and thought it looked like fun.” Harry glanced up from his breakfast when it was obvious that no one was talking or eating.

Everyone was staring at him.

He saw the shocked expressions on their faces and said, “I’m sure I’ll use magic; it didn’t look like that much fun.” That apparently made everyone feel much better and they returned to their breakfast.

“Home renovation? Did you learn that in the States?” Hermione asked with an edge to her voice.

“Nope, just watched it on American television. I didn’t look too hard. I picked up a book about magical renovations that should help me along, too, “ he said. “But,” Harry whispered to Hermione, looking around, “I want to do some of it without magic.” He quickly put his finger up to his mouth and said teasingly, “Shhh. We don’t want to alarm anyone.”

“Good luck,” Hermione said sarcastically with a smirk on her face.

“I could use some help if you are interested in broadening your magical skills,” Harry said. “It looked like a very interesting book,” he added, looking at Hermione out of the corner of his eye.

“Really? Maybe I’ll come check it out,” she said with some interest.

Harry shook his head and grinned into his rapidly diminishing plate of eggs, warmed that Hermione’s nearly obsessive love of learning hadn’t changed.

“Still getting special treatment, I see,” Snape said under his breath so that only Harry could hear. “Some things never change, do they Potter?”

“It is not my fault that people like me more than they do you, Severus,” Harry said under his breath.

Harry wiped his mouth preparing to leave. He leaned over to Snape and whispered, “If you ever need to have a speaker in class that was there and helped defeat Voldemort, just let me know. I’ll be glad to fill in the holes of your second hand account.”

“Excuse me, Professor McGonagall,” Harry said rising. “I need to get down to the pitch and check on the Quidditch supplies and inventory. Lots to do before the students get here,” he grinned as he walked out of the hall.

---

September 23, 2003

Harry –

I wanted to drop you a line to welcome you back to England. Is it true you have been in the States for the last few years? Did you happen to catch a Quidditch game over there?

I am still the Keeper for Puddlemere United. Three years ago we won the Championship — what a rush! The last few years have been disappointing as we have gone through some tough times, mostly due to a new owner with more money than Quidditch knowledge and the loss of some key players to other teams. We have a new coach now and seem to be righting the ship.

I have tickets for you whenever you want them. Just say the word. Keep in touch.

Oliver Wood

---

Dear Harry,

I was so happy to hear that you are back in the country! Where have you been for the last few years? I have thought of you often and have hoped that you were all right. It seemed very out of character for you to suddenly leave without telling anyone and to stay out of touch for so long.

Things are going well for me. I am married and have a beautiful baby girl named Elizabeth. She is 6 months old and just the sweetest baby you could ever imagine. I would love for you to meet my family. The next time you are going to be in London, send me an owl and we can arrange to meet in Diagon Alley.

Welcome home, Harry.

Cho

---

As expected, the first week of school was exhausting for everyone. The First Years were so nervous and excited about starting lessons at the most renowned Wizarding school in the world that they could barely sleep. The Second through Seventh Years forsook sleep for friendship and stayed up entirely too late catching up with old friends. Soon enough, the excitement and energy gave way to the routine of lessons and everyone settled into the new school year as if the summer holiday had not happened.

The addition of Harry as the Flying Instructor caused quite a stir. Harry Potter was a name that all children in the magical world grew up hearing, not only because of his defeat of Voldemort, but also due to his Quidditch skills. To have him as the Flying Instructor and Quidditch Coach was a dream come true for nearly everyone. For the sports fans he was one of the best seekers in Hogwarts’ history. To others, he was a brave and courageous man that had defeated Voldemort. Most obviously, to the girls and the newly re-formed Harry Potter Fan Club, he was a hottie.

Much to her chagrin, Hermione always knew who had flying lessons after Transfiguration due to the excessive primping that went on during the last few minutes of class.

It didn’t take long for word of Harry’s return to England to spread throughout the wizarding world. So many students sent owls to their parents with the news the first day of school that the Owlery was completely deserted for the first time in recent memory. Soon, however, these same owls returned to Hogwarts with letters to Harry from witches and wizards across the land welcoming him home.

Instead of opening each letter, Harry had taken to putting them in a trunk the house elves had positioned behind the staff table in the Great Hall. After the owl post had arrived and breakfast was finished, the trunk was emptied and readied for the next day. When Winky, the house elf in charge of Harry’s post, asked him what should be done with the letters, he suggested using them to stoke the kitchen fires. Winky, alarmed at the suggestion but bound by her own desire to do what was told of her by a Hogwarts Professor, obediently followed Harry’s request.

“You had to guess that this would happen when you came back,” Neville said one day as Harry was tossing a handful of letters into an overflowing trunk.

“I had hoped that after five years people might have moved on,” Harry said, as another owl came swooping in with a quite large package in his clutches. “I guess not.” Harry took the package from the owl, looked at the return address and tossed it in with the others.

Neville looked at the package in the trunk and asked, “Aren’t you even going to open it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because, I don’t want whatever it is.”

“It could be something valuable,” Neville pleaded.

“How valuable can it be if they are willing to give it away to a total stranger? If it meant something to them they should have kept it.”

Neville continued to stare at Harry and back at the trunk in amazement.

Hermione arrived at breakfast and sat down next to Neville taking a quick glance at the trunk. “Fan mail still flying in, Harry?”

Harry grunted his response and continued to eat his sausage. He knew, on some level, even though he had denied it to himself, this would happen. He had hoped his extended absence would temper the outpouring of affection people seemed determined to heap upon him. He didn’t want it five years ago and he didn’t want it now — especially now, when anything he might have done to warrant it was so far in the past. He knew the solution, although to carry through with it would seem to contradict his desire for anonymity. He groaned inwardly.

It worked once; maybe it will work again.

“Hermione,” Neville said. “You agree with me that he should at least open the packages he receives, don’t you? Someone spent the time and effort to post something to him; he should at least do them the courtesy of opening it.”

“It’s Harry’s post, he should do whatever he likes,” she said simply, taking a piece of toast from the plate on the table.

“Yeah, but…”

“Look, Neville,” Harry interrupted. “There is no reason for these people to be sending me stuff. I haven’t done anything. I have been gone for five years and this is why I left,” he said gesturing to the letters in the trunk. “I have done nothing to deserve this attention and I don’t want it. I am certainly not going to encourage this blind adoration that complete strangers feel for me because of something that happened in the past. If you want to open the letters, fine, do it. But I don’t want to open them, read them or reply to them. End of discussion.”

Neville, feeling properly put in his place, rose from his chair. “Whatever you say, Harry.” Hermione watched as Neville walked from the Great Hall then turned to Harry.

“That was a little harsh, Harry.”

Harry shook his head, wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it on his plate. “Maybe so, but he has been on me for a week about opening this junk. I’m sick of listening to it.”

“Are you throwing everything away?”

“I’ve read letters from Dumbledore, Lupin, Molly, Cho, Oliver Wood, Ernie MacMillan, people I actually know. Everything else goes in the bin.”

“What did Cho have to say?” she asked, looking sideways at Harry. “‘Oh, Harry, I’m so glad you are back! Please send me an owl so we can get together at Madam Puddifoot’s as soon as possible,’” Hermione said, clasping her hands in front of her chest, in a spot-on imitation of Cho Chang, Harry’s first girlfriend.

Harry chuckled. “No, she told me all about her husband and their new baby girl. She did say she was glad I was back and wanted me to meet her family, though.”

“I didn’t know she got married. Too bad. You guys made such a cute couple.”

“Maybe. But she never stopped crying long enough to have any fun.”

Hermione laughed. “Maybe it was your kissing ability after all that made her cry.”

Harry picked up a leftover piece of sausage from his plate and threw it at Hermione. “I have asked many girls since and trust me, they have all raved about my kissing ability. She was just mental.”

Hermione made a face and threw the sausage back at Harry. “Whatever you say, Harry.”

Harry continued eating, attempting to ignore the stares of a large group of Hufflepuff girls. He looked up quickly at them and pointed his finger, saying “Gotcha!” It had the desired effect of startling them out of their ogling, but the unexpected result of causing them to knock over a pitcher of pumpkin juice, flip a plate of bacon and eggs so that it went flying over to the Gryffindor table and, in the case of one small Second Year, fall backwards out of her chair.

“Oops,” Harry said, grinning. He pulled out his wand and in an instant the table was clean again. The girls looked up at him with a combination of embarrassment at being caught staring at him and ecstasy at Harry having noticed them. He smiled and shook his head, returning to his plate before him.

“Way to go, ace. Now they are even more in love with you.” Hermione said sarcastically. “Or was that your goal?”

“Hardly.” He looked at Hermione as she ate. “You sure are cheeky this morning.”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “No more than usual, or don’t you remember?”

“I seem to remember it being directed more at Ron than me.” Harry stopped before saying what was on the tip of his tongue, what he didn’t want to say. Hermione looked at him with a strained expression and returned to buttering her toast.

Never realized how much of a buffer I was, did you? Ron said snarkily. Isn’t that just typical of my life? I’m not fully appreciated until I’m dead, and even then it has taken you five years.

Harry cleared his throat. “So, I’ve started some of my renovations and could use some help. You up for it?” Harry asked in a spirited attempt to change the subject as he moved into Neville’s vacant chair beside Hermione.

“What are you recruiting me for?” she asked warily.

“Just a little painting but mostly for company. It’s pretty boring painting by yourself.”

“Why don’t you use magic? It would go faster.”

“I’m a glutton for punishment.”

Hermione took a bite of her toast and considered his request. Harry had the impression she was reviewing a list of things to do in her head. “Saturday is full, how about Sunday?”

---

Despite the fact that Harry was not anticipating his doom as he had so many times before while walking this route, his legs seemed to automatically slow his pace in anticipation of returning to the Potions Dungeon. One thing that had not changed was the feeling of dread that he felt.

Hermione was right; he had been harsh on Neville. He had taken his frustration out on his friend — on someone that had once been his friend, he corrected inwardly — and he felt horrible about it. Besides the fact that he had been wrong and needed to apologize, Harry knew that if he wanted to rebuild his life and the friendships that he had once cherished, he shouldn’t try to alienate those friends his first week back.

Harry thought back on the conversation he had earlier with Hermione. It was blatantly apparent, although she was trying to disguise it, that she was still uneasy with their reconciliation.

The part of him that had been avoiding thinking about the consequences of his actions was surprised at this. Before he went away, he and Hermione had shared such an easy rapport. However, his ability to repress the guilt and uneasiness he felt owing to his less than admirable behavior was diminishing. And it didn’t help matters that he was being somewhat duplicitous with regard to the reasons for his return. He wasn’t quite sure if Hermione’s continued agitation with him was a result of his attempt to insinuate himself back into her life or her knowledge that he was still withholding the reason why he hadn’t written. He hoped it was the former; for that he had a plan.

The Plan, he thought wryly and chuckled to himself. Giving it a definitive name was giving it entirely too much legitimacy. There really wasn’t a plan, per se, only a few ideas resulting from a brainstorm session that took place over a case of beer the night before he returned to England. His two closest friends in America had tried to help him come up with a scheme to regain Hermione’s friendship. Wyatt, the self-proclaimed cowboy who had never even ridden a horse, and Darby, the party girl from New Orleans that never met a stranger, were the only two people in America that knew who he really was.

How they became such good friends is a mystery. Of the eight housemates he had in San Diego, the three of them seemed drawn together by some invisible force. Harry saw in Wyatt shadows of his best friend, Ron. In Darby he saw a beautiful girl that might help him forget his past. For three years they were inseparable, reminding Harry on more than one occasion of his friendship with Ron and Hermione. With one exception: this time, Harry got the girl.

And lost the girl with, surprisingly, no damage to the friendship of the three. Their romantic attachment was more the result of opportunity meeting excesses of alcohol and a shared affection. Each saw it for what it was, an attempt to elevate the relationship to the next level, the level that logically they should achieve. But in reality, they were not in love with each other and were honest enough with one another to admit it and move back to the comfortable parameters of their previous relationship.

Much as he had dreaded the necessary confrontation with Hermione, Harry had dreaded telling Wyatt and Darby about his true identity. Luckily fate, in the form of an owl from Dumbledore with the news of Madam Hooch’s retirement, had intervened. Dumbledore’s implied suggestion that the position was his if he so desired was the catalyst for his revelation.

After the initial shock wore off, they had reacted just as he expected them to, both grilling him about defeating Voldemort. To Harry’s surprise, he wasn’t bothered by their questions or recounting the details of his seven years at Hogwarts. When told to an objective third party, the stories did sound quite unbelievable and Harry enjoyed the shocked and awed reactions of his friends. When the questions turned to Ron, Hermione and his friends left behind, his unease became apparent. Their disapproval of how he left things, especially with Hermione, was not far behind.

Having heard him recount the story of his last week in England and his flight across the Atlantic, his friends were not afraid to make their opinions known. Seeing it through their eyes was a revelation to Harry. He had been consumed with himself and trying to understand who he was. He had pushed forcibly from his mind concerns for anyone else. Selfish son-of-a-bitch, was what Darby had called him, feeling self-righteous indignation on behalf of Hermione. Inexplicably, a female bond was formed with a woman she had never met and would quite possibly, upon meeting, not care for. Wyatt, ever the peacemaker between Darby and Harry, decided that the best thing they could do for their friend, instead of making him feel miserable about something he couldn’t change, was to help him find a way to make things right. So began Harry’s short course on his faults and how to change them.

Harry sighed as he stood in front of the door to the Potions Dungeon. And so here I am. Step one: admit when you are wrong. He took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door.

Looking up from the papers he was grading, Neville said, “Hey! What are you doing down here?”

Harry shuffled to the front of the room. “I came to apologize for being so rude earlier. You didn’t deserve that.”

Neville was too stunned to conceal his amazement that Harry had apologized. He sat there, staring at Harry with his mouth open.

“I have this bad habit of acting or speaking without thinking. It’s something I’m working on.”

Neville waved his hand in dismissal. “No need to apologize, Harry. Hermione is right. It is your post. Do what you want with it.”

Harry looked around the dungeon, which had changed quite significantly from the days when Snape had been the Potions Master. Along one wall were three large floor-to-ceiling windows that were enchanted to mimic the landscape and weather outside since they were underground.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Harry said.

Neville smiled. “Thanks. This place was so depressing and dreary when I started. Not to mention the fact that it held horrific memories for me. Dumbledore loved the idea for the windows and did the magic himself. “

“I bet Snape hates it.”

“That is putting it mildly.”

“That makes me like it even more.”

“Yep,” Neville said, beaming.

Harry shook his head in amazement. “Potions. I still can’t believe you are teaching it!”

Neville smiled. “Me either.”

“Do you like it?”

“I don’t know if it is my life’s ambition, but I have enjoyed it more than I thought I would. It does have one fringe benefit that no other job would have.”

“Being close to Ginny?” Harry asked.

“Besides that.” Neville grinned wickedly. “It drives Snape crazy.”

“That’s a short trip.”

Harry looked around the dungeon that had been like a torture chamber to him for seven years. “Remember how Snape used to threaten to test our potions on us?”

“How could I forget? Why do you think I got so good? I knew if I messed up, he would do it.”

Harry grinned mischievously and wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “Why don’t we test a little potion on him?”

Neville grinned broadly in return. “What do you have in mind?”

Chapter 6 Renovations & Revelations

Sunday morning promptly at 10:00, Hermione knocked on Harry’s door. He opened it with a huge grin on his face and said, “Finally! I’m so bored I’m talking to the walls! Thank the gods they aren’t answering yet!”

Hermione stood in the doorway and looked at Harry in amazement. “The Shrieking Shack? You bought and are renovating the Shrieking Shack?”

“Ain’t it cool?” Harry asked grinning from ear to ear and ushering her inside.

“I was sure that you were playing a joke on me when Hedwig delivered your address,” Hermione said, looking around curiously.

“No joke. Dumbledore suggested it and I thought ‘why not’? It’s the textbook definition of a fixer-upper.”

Hermione continued to look around the room incredulously, prompting Harry to say, “Don’t be too critical; it is a work in progress.”

“You can say that again.”

“Give me a break, I’ve only been here two weeks. And I’m doing it all myself, up until now.”

Hermione looked at him skeptically, wondering how much help he thought she had volunteered for. On the walk through Hogsmeade, she had questioned herself as to why she agreed to help him at all. She still wasn’t entirely comfortable in his presence, and the idea of spending hours alone with him was slightly disconcerting. She had lain awake last night analyzing her thoughts and feelings about the entire situation. On one hand, his presence revitalized her; it reminded her of the Hermione Granger she used to be. On the other hand, she still could not let go of her resentment and confusion of the last five years. These two conflicting emotions coalesced when she was around him, leaving her hopelessly confused and bewildered. The questions that kept repeating themselves in her mind were: What am I expecting? What does Harry need to do to earn my complete forgiveness?

As soon as the question was formed in her mind she chastised herself for putting entirely too much importance on herself, as if her forgiveness was his ultimate goal. That, in turn, led to the even more perplexing question: Why did he come back?

Is it not enough that he is back? Do you have to over-analyze everything?

Yes, as a matter of fact I do.

As she stood just inside the door of the most improbable home renovation project she could think of, among open boxes, paint cans and tools, she looked at the cause of her consternation and saw a boyish enthusiasm reflected in his expression that she had never seen before. It dawned on her that she was seeing a Harry without worry, a Harry that she would have known years ago if it hadn’t been for Voldemort. She saw Harry as a man, not as the boy she remembered; a man who was trying to rectify the mistakes of the boy he had been. The question remained: would she be mature enough to let him?

“I see you are still wearing Dudley’s clothes,” she commented wryly.

He was wearing a pair of long baggy shorts that were hanging dangerously low on his hips. Considering Harry’s slender frame, it was a miracle they hadn’t slipped right down to his ankles. His t-shirt was well worn, almost dingy in its appearance, with multiple paint smudges in various colors scattered across it. It appeared that the sleeves had been inexpertly cut off, leaving a jagged edge of material loosely encircling his arms. His hair, although still short, was starting to grow and was beginning to resemble the untidy mop that she had envisioned when thinking of Harry these past years.

He glanced at his attire and grinned. “It helps me feel close to my loving family.”

“How are the Dursleys?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t spoken to them in years.”

“Do you plan to?”

He tapped his forefinger on his chin, and pursed his lips as if in deep thought. “No.”

She looked around the room and said, “So tell me your master plan for this dump.”

“Ouch!” he said, pretending to be shot in the heart. “I thought I had made some progress, too.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and followed Harry as he gave her a tour. The front room was a large square living area; the left wall anchored a large stone fireplace. The walls were bare with evidence of recent patch jobs in an attempt to fix the holes from the previous tenant. To the left of the fireplace was a door that led into the kitchen, a long narrow galley-like room that ran the length of the house. Harry had the kitchen refurbished by a professional magical contractor the previous week. “I can fix drywall, but I know my limitations. Electricity and plumbing aren’t on my list of things to experiment with.”

“Smart move.”

“I thought so.”

The kitchen was well appointed with the latest appliances including a stainless steel commercial grade stove. The white cabinets were adorned with simple brushed nickel knobs and pulls. The counter top was a gleaming, pristine butcher block, complete with a twenty-piece knife set. Hermione half expected a professional chef to walk through the door at any minute to begin cooking lunch. It definitely didn’t seem like the kitchen of a single man.

To the right was the eating area, which currently consisted of a stool and a stepladder. That’s the kitchen of a single man, she thought. Hermione raised her eyebrows in silent question. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “I eat my meals at Hogwarts. But I have a table on order at a shop in the village. They are supposed to deliver it some time next week.”

“If you never eat here, why the fancy kitchen?”

“Resale value,” he replied simply.

“Already thinking about leaving again?”

Why did you say that?!

He leveled a look at her. “No, I’m not. But I don’t think a two bedroom, one bathroom house will work long term if I plan on having a family some time in the future.”

Feeling a small twinge of guilt for being so catty, she followed Harry back through the main room through a doorway on the wall opposite the fireplace to an L-shaped hallway that led back around toward the kitchen. Off of this hallway was the single bathroom, which had been renovated by the contractor to exactly replicate the fourth floor prefect’s bathroom at Hogwarts, and two bedrooms.

She paused in the threshold of the door to the room in which ten years earlier she, Ron and Harry met Sirius for the first time. Much to Hermione’s surprise, the room did not bring back any bad memories or feelings, mostly due to the fact that it was completely different than she remembered. Actually, she didn’t remember much about the room at all. What she remembered were the events. The surroundings were a blur in her mind. Even if forced to do so, she could not have described the room she saw now.

It was a large rectangular room that ran the width of the house. Two large windows looked out over the back garden, which was overgrown with weeds and natural grasses. The windows were spaced far enough apart along the wall to allow for a large bed to rest between them. On one wall a door stood open, revealing a small cupboard for clothes, its minute size completely out of proportion to the large room. The floor was hardwood, as it was in the rest of the house, but much more scratched and gouged than what had been evidenced in the other rooms. Hermione assumed that this had been the room Remus used during his time here as a werewolf.

“I was surprised the first time I came into this room,” Harry said, interrupting Hermione’s thoughts. “I didn’t remember the windows. Dumbledore told me they had been boarded up for years, inside and out.”

Hermione shook her head, disconcerted that Harry had been able to read her thoughts so easily.

This was obviously the room that Harry had chosen to paint first as half of the walls were painted a very calming blue. Blue painter’s tape outlined the molding around the windows and doors. A canvas drop cloth covered a large portion of the floor and an opened paint can was sitting, along with a stir stick, paint trays and brushes, on the previous day’s copy of The Daily Prophet.

“So is this where we are working?” Hermione asked, pulling a band out of her pocket and putting her hair back in a ponytail.

“Yep, grab a brush.”

“Why did you choose blue?” she asked, bending down and looking at the paint.

“It is supposed to ease your dreams. You know my track record with dreams.”

Hermione looked up at him sharply. “You still have nightmares?”

“Only one.”

“Is it about Voldemort?”

“No.”

“Your parents? Ron?”

“No and no.”

She looked at him exasperatedly. “Are you going to make me keep guessing?”

“Maybe,” he said with a lopsided grin.

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot in frustration.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“It’s about you.”

Her foot stopped, mid-tap and her mouth fell open in shock. “You’re having nightmares about me? Why?”

“Apparently it is,” he cleared his throat and said in a deep voice, “a deep-seeded fear brought on by years of guilt that you will not forgive me and, as a result of my selfishness, I will lose the only person that I consider to be my family.” He stopped and shrugged. “At least that’s what the book I read said.”

Hermione stood there with a dumfounded expression on her face, staring at Harry, trying to decide what surprised her most: the fact that he was dreaming about her, the fact that he read a book about it, or the results of his amateur psychoanalysis of his dream.

He bent down and picked up a roller brush. “And I just really like this shade of blue,” he said, handing the roller brush to her. He turned and began pouring paint into a tray that Hermione assumed was for her. Upon closer inspection, the color looked vaguely familiar.

“This color reminds me of my dress robes from the Yule Ball we had during fourth year.”

“Really?” Harry said thoughtfully, looking around at the partially painted walls. “Hmm.”

“Isn’t there a spell we can do to make it go faster?” Hermione asked, looking at her roller brush skeptically.

“Yes there is, but this is more fun.”

“You said you were bored when I got here.”

“That’s because I had no one to talk to.”

“I don’t know how much fun I’ll be.”

“I’ll take my chances. Do you want to roll or cut in?”

“Cut in? That sounds painful.”

“It’s painting around the edges with a brush. I tell you what, I’ll cut in and you roll.”

Harry gave Hermione some painting pointers and they turned their attention to the walls. After less than two minutes Hermione stopped. “Where’s that book again?”

“I’m not telling. Stop being lazy.” They painted a few more minutes in silence.

“You’re right, this is boring.”

“Then tell me a story,” Harry said.

Hermione sighed, looking at the big, blank unpainted wall in front of her. What did I get myself into, she thought. “Once upon a time…”

“Not a fairy tale. Tell me something that happened during the last five years.”

“No, it’s your turn. Tell me about your trip across America.”

Harry stood back to survey the work he had done so far, dipped his brush in the paint tray and said, “Let’s see, where to start. The day I left, Dumbledore arranged a portkey for me to get across the Atlantic.”

Hermione stopped painting and looked at Harry. “It must have been a big portkey.”

“It was. It was Dudley’s car,” he said sheepishly.

“What?”

“Dumbledore ‘borrowed’ Dudley’s car to use as my portkey.”

“You’re kidding?” After the initial shock of Dumbledore’s foray into grand larceny passed, Hermione appreciated the gesture’s poetic justice. “How did it work?”

“Dumbledore told me to sit in the driver’s seat and press the accelerator when I was ready to go. The next thing I knew, I was zooming through space. Since I was sitting down it wasn’t as uncomfortable as normal portkeys, but it was a strange feeling nonetheless.”

“Did you drive that car across the continent?”

“I did. It even had a full tank of petrol. I have a feeling that Dumbledore knew before I did that I would leave.” Hermione, who was determinedly painting her wall, chided herself inwardly. I guess I should have been more observant.

He added, “So I got a map and I drove.”

Harry continued to paint around the doorway to the room and didn’t offer any more information. After a few minutes Hermione said, “That’s it? That’s your story?”

“What do you want to know?”

“More details than ‘I drove.’ Good God, Harry. You were gone for five years. Surely you did more than drive.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “First I had to learn how to drive. I never had seeing as Dudley only ever ‘allowed’ me to wash his car, not drive it. That was interesting. Since I didn’t have a license, I needed to be very aware of speed limits and such so as to not get stopped by the American police. I considered going to New York City first but didn’t want to chance driving there, so I drove back roads through the east out to Chicago.” Here Harry paused, studying his wall, lost in thought. “To be honest, Hermione, I don’t remember much about the first year or so.”

Hermione stopped mid-roll and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe I was still in shock, I don’t know,” he said and started painting again. “I would drive for hours and not remember where I had been or anything about how I got where I was. I would stop for the night, get a room and sometimes not leave the room for days, weeks even. I just laid on the bed thinking … thinking about everything that happened in my life. I thought about the people in my life: my parents, the Dursleys, you, Ron, Voldemort, Sirius. Over and over again I relived the horrible things that happened to me and the horrible things that I did. I couldn’t get any of it out of my mind. There were times I woke up absolutely sure that it had all been a dream, that I was back in the cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive, 11 years old again.” Harry had stopped painting and was staring at the wall, lost in thought. “And I was so happy,” he laughed with mirth. “Imagine that, waking up and being happy at the thought of living with the Dursleys.” He shook his head as he dipped his brush in fresh paint.

“Then I would roll over and see the picture of the three of us on my bedside table. And that horrible sinking feeling would return … the painful memory of everyone that had died and the guilt that I hadn’t.” Harry looked at Hermione and gave her a half smile. “Let that be a lesson for you: you can run but you can’t hide from what is in your mind.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t expected an outpouring of Harry’s soul when she asked about America. Truth be told, since his return she had come to view his time in America as an extended holiday. She had imagined it as one long party. In the blinding haze of her residual indignation about him leaving, she had conveniently forgotten that he had been dealing with difficult emotional scars while in America, just as she had been doing at home in England.

And it made her angry.

She dropped her roller brush in the paint tray and rounded on Harry, who had his back turned still painting. “You are infuriating, Harry.”

Harry turned around with a shocked look on his face. “Wh-what?”

“I feel helpless, Harry. Here I am, listening to you tell me about what you were going through, alone, and all I want to do is apologize for not being there for you. When, I couldn’t be there because you didn’t give me the choice to be there. And that makes me angry with you all over again.” Hermione, who had been pacing back and forth during her tirade stopped in front of Harry. “To top it off, I’m angry with myself for being angry with you and for thinking that when you left, you left your problems here for me to deal with.”

Hermione crossed her legs and sat down on the floor. Trying valiantly to hold back the tears once again, she abruptly dropped her head in her hands. Harry carefully knelt down in front of her and she lifted her head with a pleading look in her eyes.

“Why did you come back, Harry?” she said softly. “I was at a point in my life where everything was in place. I have a career, friends…I thought I had dealt with losing my parents, Ron and you. It was almost as if you had died, too. I accepted the fact that none of you were coming back. Now that you’ve come back, I am right back where I was five years ago. Part of me is expecting Ron and my parents to walk back into my life, too. How delusional is that?” she asked, sniffing loudly.

Harry wiped the tear from her cheek with his thumb and pushed a stray piece of hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ear.

“Hermione, I came back for you … because I missed you. The picture I had of the three of us was always with me. I looked at it every day. As time went on it was easier to see Ron’s face. I guess I finally accepted that he was gone, but that he would always be here,” he said pointing to his heart. “But it never got easier looking at your face. The guilt I felt for leaving you didn’t go away. It got worse as I settled into life in America. The hole that was left in absence of your friendship could never be filled with any other person. And believe me I tried. I knew that I had left things unfinished with you. I wanted my best friend to be part of my life again.”

Hermione saw in his eyes that he was being sincere, and a weight lifted from her heart. But he still hadn’t answered the one question that had plagued her more than any other.

“Harry, why didn’t you write to me?”

He looked down to avoid her gaze. She could tell that he was struggling to find the right words. She scoffed, knowing that he wasn’t going to tell her. She started to rise when he grabbed her hand.

“It was horrible of me not to write. I know. What I told you that first night was true. I tried to write you so many times. I just couldn’t get down in words what I was feeling, what I was going through. Nothing came out right. So I tried writing to Molly and Dumbledore, which was easier. I hoped you would send a note along with their next owl and I could reply. I thought you would be the instigator of my inspiration. You never replied and I continued to try to write you. Then in one owl from Molly, she told me as kindly as possible that she wasn’t delivering any of my clandestine messages because you wouldn’t speak of me. She said you didn’t want to know anything about me. That’'s when I knew I had lost you and the only way to repair our friendship was to return.”

“When was that?” Hermione asked quietly.

“About six months ago. I was already planning on returning after the Quidditch season ended. When Dumbledore owled me with the news of Madam Hooch’s retirement I knew it was kismet.” He took both of her hands in his. “Look, Hermione, I know that forgiving me is hard. I know that part of you doesn’t ever want to forgive me. But I also know that part of you wants what I want: our friendship back. What I said before about the dream is true. I am terrified of losing you forever. You’re it. You’re my family. Please, please give me another chance.”

Hermione looked down at her hands to avoid Harry’s piercing gaze. She knew that she had to make a choice right now whether to completely forgive Harry or not. Would she be able to listen to Harry talk about his time away without resenting him? Did she want to rebuild the friendship that they had before and that had meant so much to her? Or would she rather avoid emotional attachments, as she had for the last five years, to protect herself from being hurt again? When the final question popped into her head, in an instant the answer became clear.

Hermione bounded into Harry’s arms and sobbed, “I’ve missed you so much.”

Harry let out a deep breath. “Well, you will never have to miss me again. I’m not going anywhere.” He hugged her tightly. She buried her head in his shoulder and cried in his arms for the second time. This time she was crying from relief, fully releasing the last vestiges of anger she harbored against Harry.

Harry released her and said, “You alright?”

She wiped her eyes and sniffed, nodding her head.

“What is it with me that makes girls want to cry?” Harry asked playfully, attempting to lighten the mood. Hermione laughed thinking back to Harry’s description of his first kiss with Cho Chang, something he had unfortunately described only as ”wet.”

Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand and gave it a quick kiss. “Let’s get back to work. This room isn’t going to paint itself.”

He stood and helped her up off the floor. “It would if you would tell me where that book is,” she said.

He looked around at the progress they had made, which he had to admit wasn’t much, and decided that he would rather have a completed room than the satisfaction of painting it the Muggle way.

“It’s in the loo.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows and started out the door.

“What?” he said defensively. “Everyone needs a little reading material now and then.”

---

Chapter 7 – Harry Potter Tells His Story The Quibbler

1 October 2003

EXCLUSIVE!

Harry Potter Tells His Story

By Luna Lovegood

Editor-in-Chief

Harry Potter has been the most famous man in the wizarding world for 23 years: as the “Boy Who Lived,” surviving the Avada Kedavra curse as a baby and vanquishing Voldemort; as a Hogwarts student, star Quidditch player, Tri-Wizard Tournament Champion; as the “Man Who Defeated Voldemort” on his last night at Hogwarts five years ago; and finally, most recently, as the man who reappeared as suddenly as he disappeared five years ago after his best friend’s funeral.

Where has Harry been? That is the question on the mind of every witch and wizard in Great Britain. Currently the Flying Instructor and Quidditch Coach at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter has been inundated with owls from witches and wizards across the land, welcoming him back, wishing him well, wondering where he has been, and some even proposing marriage!

Harry sat down with The Quibbler at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade last week to tell his story for the first and, according to him, last time.

Luna Lovegood: Hello, Harry! It is good to see you again.

Harry Potter: Good to see you, too, Luna. How have you been?

LL: Fine, fine. Thank you for asking. Honestly, Harry, if I hadn’t known it was you I was meeting I might not have recognized you. You look different but the same in a way.

HP: (Laughs) It has been five years.

LL: You know what I mean. No glasses, your scar is gone, your hair…the same but different.

HP: I guess I’ve just gotten older.

LL: So, Harry, let’s answer the question that everyone wants to know. Where have you been for the last five years?

HP: The United States.

LL: You were there the entire time?

HP: Yes.

LL: Why were you gone for so long? What did you do?

HP: The first year or so I traveled across the country as a Muggle.

LL: A Muggle? Why?

HP: After everything that happened during my time at Hogwarts, I wanted, really needed, some time away from magic.

LL: Then what did you do?

HP: I got in touch with an American wizard friend of Albus Dumbledore’s and rejoined the wizarding world.

LL: As much as Americans like publicity, I’m surprised that we didn’t hear of you being in America before now.

HP: No one in the States knew who I was.

LL: How is that possible? I know Americans are insular, but even they knew about Voldemort and your defeat of him.

HP: I changed the way I looked and used a different name.

LL: (laughing) Very 007, Harry. What did you look like?

HP: I got rid of the glasses. The scar was gone, thank God. And, I hate to admit this, but (leaning forward and whispering) I dyed my hair.

LL: You did not! What color?

HP: Blonde. It was horrible at first. I would walk by a mirror and do a double-take every time wondering who that guy was. What a pain to maintain, too. Keeping black hair blonde is no easy task. I will never, ever do it again.

LL: (holding her sides from laughing so hard) I’m sorry, Harry, but you sound like a girl, worrying about your hair!

HP: I know, it was pathetic. (laughing)

LL: (wiping tears from her eyes) Do you have a picture of yourself as a blonde? We could use it for the story.

HP: If I do, you aren’t getting it.

LL: Once you had your clever disguise in place (laughing) what did you do?

HP: Abe, Dumbledore’s friend, took me in for a while and introduced me around. I made some friends and one thing led to another, and I ended up playing professional Quidditch for a team in California called the Pacifics.

LL: Were you any good?

HP: We won the National Championship two of the three years I was there.

LL: That would be a yes, then. You were the seeker?

HP: The first year I was a chaser. Their seeker retired after that year and I switched positions.

LL: What is California like?

HP: Sunny! We lived in San Diego, which has great weather. On cold, rainy days like today, I do miss the southern California weather.

LL: You said “we” lived. Who did you live with?

HP: I lived with a group of my teammates in a house on the beach. There were eight of us in a four-bedroom house.

LL: Sounds like fun.

HP: (laughing) That is putting it mildly.

LL: Care to tell us any interesting stories about it?

HP: Hmm, I might need to get permission from my ex-roommates, have them sign a release so I won’t be held liable for their tarnished reputations.

LL: Wow! There is a story there…you give me a call when you get those releases signed! Earlier, you said you used another name. What was it?

HP: Ron Granger.

LL: After your two best friends from school, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger?

HP: Yes.

LL: You left right after Ron’s funeral without telling anyone. Why did you decide to leave?

HP: There were loads of reasons, but above all I was tired of the attention. People were coming out of the woodwork to congratulate me, offer me jobs, propose marriage, much as they are now. I wanted to be left alone and knew that it would be impossible here.

LL: You had just defeated Voldemort. That reaction was to be expected, don’t you think?

HP: Yes and no. I didn’t expect people to approach me at Ron’s funeral with business opportunities.

LL: That is a little crass, I’ll admit. Is it true that you are throwing away every letter and package you receive now?

HP: I read letters from people I know.

LL: But all the others go in the bin?

HP: I put them in a trunk that is emptied every day.

LL: Where do they go?

HP: I’m not sure. I’ve suggested that the house elves use them to stoke the fires in the kitchen. I’m not sure if they do or not.

LL: Don’t you think that is a little… inconsiderate?

HP: (leaning forward) There is something that everyone needs to know. It is the reason I contacted you about doing this interview. I want people to understand something once and for all. I don’t want the attention. I never have and I never will. I learned I was a wizard when I was 11, and in less than five minutes I learned I was the world’s most famous wizard, as well. I did nothing to deserve it. I was a baby sitting in a cot one minute; the next I was a savior. That is what I’ve been struggling against for 12 years. I knew after Ron’s funeral that I wouldn’t be able to have a normal life here, so I left. All I want is to be left alone to live my life. I don’t want special attention. I don’t want box seats at the Quidditch World Cup. I don’t want people’s most prized possessions. I just want to have a normal life.

LL: What do you mean by normal?

HP: I want the life that I wasn’t able to have growing up. I want a family, children. I want to have a house with a beautiful garden that my children can run and play in. I want to come home each day and kiss my wife “hello” and help her make dinner while discussing our day. I want to tuck my children in each night and read them a bedtime story. I want to teach my children how to play Quidditch. I want to wave goodbye to them on Platform 9 ¾ when they go off to Hogwarts. I want to travel on family holidays to far-away places. I want to have a normal, boring life, free from adventure but full of love.

LL: (sniffs) That was beautiful, Harry. But if you don’t mind my saying so, that isn’t your typical 23 year old man’s definition of a ”normal life.“ It seems like the life you had in southern California would be most young men’s dream.

HP: Yes, it was a great life, but not because of the partying and socializing. People liked me for who I was, not for who they thought I was or should be from a preconceived idea of the “Boy Who Lived.“ And as fun as the partying was, it wore a little thin after a while.

LL: Is that what made you decide to return, your disillusionment with the party lifestyle?

HP: That and I missed my friends.

LL: By “friends” you mean Hermione Granger?

HP: She is one of my friends.

LL: I had heard from some mutual friends and former classmates that you didn’t contact Hermione once during your absence. Is that true?

HP: Yes.

LL: Why didn’t you contact her? Did you have a falling out before you left?

HP: No, we didn’t have a falling out, but I am not going to discuss my personal life and my friends.

LL: But you were the one that contacted us and wanted to get your story out. This is part of the story.

HP: Yes, I contacted you. My friends did not. My personal life is just that, personal.

LL: Can you at least tell us if you two are friends again?

HP: We have always been friends. We always will be.

LL: Even while you were gone?

HP: Yes.

LL: So what are you plans now?

HP: Today?

LL: No, your life. What are your plans?

HP: Take it one day at a time.

LL: Thank you, Harry.

HP: You’re welcome, Luna. Thank you for meeting me.

Other than his change in appearance, Harry remains much the same as I remember him from school: unfailingly polite, funny, charming and guarded at the same time. Unlike most celebrities, you believe him when he says that he doesn’t want attention.

Harry Potter’s life has been an amazing journey. From his dreary existence with his Muggle relatives the first 11 years of his life, to his adventures at Hogwarts, to his self-imposed exile to the States, Harry has never been average. I believe that it is time for the wizarding world to give something to Harry Potter, the man that has given so much to us. It is time to give him his wish — to leave him alone to pursue his dreams.

---

The anticipation in the air around the castle was palpable. It was the day of the first Quidditch match. Each year it seemed the race for the Quidditch Cup was between two houses instead of four, and this year was no different.

Try as they might, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw never seemed to have the talent to compete with Gryffindor and Slytherin. For the last 15 years the Cup had been won by one of those two houses. As a result, most matches were decided before they even began. That was true for all but the “match of the year” between Gryffindor and Slytherin, which as it turned out, happened to be the first match of the year.

This year’s match held even more subplots and drama than usual. The year before, an errant bludger sent the Slytherin Seeker to the infirmary before the game was over. He remained with Madam Pomfrey for two weeks with a severe case of Post-concussion Syndrome. Gryffindor won the game, and the Cup, by ten points.

This year the Head Boy and Girl, a Slytherin and Gryffindor respectively, made a bet on the outcome of the match. The loser had to do the late night rounds of the castle alone for a month. Each team also had Seventh Year players with professional Quidditch potential. As a result, the stands were filling with scouts of teams from across the country and from the continent.

All this drama aside, the main attraction to the first Quidditch match of the year was its referee — Harry Potter.

The exclusive interview Harry had given to Luna had done little to deflate the interest the wizarding world had in Harry. To his consternation, it seemed to intensify. More and more wizards and witches sent him owls agreeing with his right to privacy while, by sending the owls, infringing on that privacy.

The unending attention only reaffirmed Harry’s belief that his decision to leave England five years ago was the right one. Now though, he was at a loss as to what to do. He couldn’t leave again. More accurately, he didn’t want to leave. As much as he had enjoyed his time in the States, he had felt a peace that only being home can bring when he arrived back at Hogwarts.

He considered embracing the attention — basking in the glory people seemed determined to heap upon him and making himself so ever-present in the tabloids that surely, eventually people would tire of hearing about him and move on to the next ”flavor of the month.” That thought quickly fled his mind, running, if not screaming, from the horror Harry felt at being the center of attention.

He voiced these concerns and ideas to Hermione the day before the first Quidditch match after receiving yet another peck of owls during breakfast.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Harry finished with a sigh.

Hermione walked beside him, saying nothing, smiling and nodding at students that passed by them in the corridor.

Wondering if she needed an engraved invitation, he asked, “What do you think? What should I do?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, Harry.”

Harry stopped in his tracks, amazed. This was the first time he could ever remember Hermione not having an answer or an opinion. Hermione, who walked on a few steps before realizing Harry wasn’t walking beside her anymore, stopped and turned around. “What?” she asked.

“I just thought you might be able to help me, give me an idea as to what I should do.”

She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “Oh, I see. You wanted me to tell you what to do, didn’t you?” She walked toward Harry, chuckling, and said, “I was such an arrogant little know-it-all in school, wasn’t I?”

“No, it’s just that…”

“It’s okay, Harry, I know I was insufferable. I have had a few students that were just like I was and I must admit, they annoy me.” She turned and started walking again. “When I first started teaching I stood up at the front of the class and talked and talked, telling them everything I knew, trying to impress the students with my knowledge. I’m sure that was a result of my trying to prove to them and myself that, even though I was the youngest Transfiguration Professor in history, I was still the smartest witch in the school. One day, I looked out at my students, really saw them, and I realized that they had all checked out, much as everyone checks out from Professor Binns’ class. I wasn’t teaching them, I was telling them. So I had to learn how to teach and not talk.”

Harry, his brow furrowed, was a little angry. “By not helping me are you trying to teach me a lesson?”

“No. I’m saying that I’m not going to tell you what to do.” She smiled and said ”hello” to the Head Girl who was walking past before turning to Harry with a slight smile on her face. “Do you want my opinion?”

Harry, still confused as to the direction of the conversation and almost forgetting what he’d asked her, said, “Yes.”

“I’m not surprised by the reaction to the story. You gave just enough information that people will want more. Knowing just a little is almost worse than not knowing anything at all. The little you gave them only prompted more questions, not fewer.”

Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. “Great. So it completely backfired. I just knew it would work. It worked when I told the story about Voldemort coming back.”

Harry pushed open the door to Hermione’s classroom, holding it open for her to enter. “Thanks,” she said, giving him a smile. “But you told everything then, you didn’t leave any details out.” She walked around her desk, sat down, pulled out a stack of parchment from her desk drawer and neatly stacked it in front of her. Folding her hands on top of the stack, she said, “I read the article and it was a little lean. Why didn’t you tell Luna more?”

Harry sat down in a desk directly in front of Hermione’s and propped his feet up. “You may not feel like I told her very much, but to me it felt like I was baring my soul.”

“Well, there was the one part where you made Luna cry. That is the closest you came to ‘baring your soul.’ Everything else was fairly vague.”

Until the moment that the words passed his lips when talking to Luna, he hadn’t conceptualized what his ideal future would be. He had envied Ron’s family to a point and had on some level always wanted that for himself, but hearing himself detail his dream had been disconcerting. Since that time, he had been almost obsessed with the fantasy of a family of his own. He would find himself thinking about it during any downtime that he had. More and more often, he would daydream about it, losing track of conversations…

“Harry! Did you hear me?” Hermione asked.

“What?” he started. “No, sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if the number of marriage proposals had increased since your revelation to Luna.” A smile danced on Hermione’s lips, struggling to break free.

“I guess I would know if I opened my mail, wouldn’t I?”

“I just thought there might be some prospects for you, is all. I’m sure there are tons of witches that would love to be Mrs. Harry Potter.”

“I’m not so desperate that I’m going to have a mail order bride. I’ll do it the old-fashioned way, thank you very much.”

“Which way is that? Sweep some poor unsuspecting girl off her feet?” Hermione asked as she began to rummage through the parchment on the desk.

“Something like that.” Harry dropped his feet from Hermione’s desk and leaned forward. “So what would I need to do to get you to marry me?”

Hermione stopped flipping through the parchment and looked up sharply. “What?”

“If I’m going to sweep some, how did you say, ‘poor unsuspecting girl’ off her feet, I need to know what to do.” Harry grinned at her mischievously and she visibly relaxed.

“Oooo, brainstorming! I can do that!” Hermione said excitedly. She tapped her quill on her chin in thought. “Let’s see … first, you’d need to charm me.”

“Charm you? There is a charm to make you fall in love with me?”

“No, ‘charm’ as in compliments, nice gestures, that sort of thing. Nothing too obvious like flowers or overblown flattery, those just sound like lines. Subtlety is the key.”

“Subtle charm, okay. May I?” Harry asked reaching for a piece of parchment and quill.

“By all means.” She handed over the items and continued. “Next, after you’ve charmed me a bit, I guess you would need to ask me out on a date.”

“Wine and dine?”

“Gosh, no! Not so early on. Don’t do that until you are sure you like a girl, otherwise you will never be able to get rid of her. Dinner is fine. Take her somewhere nice but informal.”

“D-i-n-n-e-r,” Harry spelled aloud as he wrote down step two. “What about a Quidditch match? Think I could take you to one of those?”

“Me? No. But that will just depend on the girl you are dating. If she is the sporty type, then by all means take her. Although that might be tantamount to ‘wine and dine’ for a sporty girl. Use your own judgment there.”

“Quidditch…maybe,” Harry said aloud while writing. “Okay, what’s next?”

Hermione sat thinking for a moment. “Oh! A very important piece of advice: don’t take a girl out on a date somewhere you wouldn’t normally go just to impress her. For instance, if you take her to the Nutcracker for Christmas but would not step foot near the ballet normally, you’re in trouble. Find another Christmas date, something you would do. My dad made that mistake with my mum. By the time she realized that he would never take her to the ballet again, she was too in love to care. Then when she really wanted to go to the ballet, he refused.”

“Important advice,” Harry recited again. He paused and said, “How should I write that?”

“Write ‘be yourself.’”

As he was writing he said, “Next.”

“This next step should only be taken if you really, really like someone, and then with caution.”

“Sounds interesting. Go on.”

“Well if you had charmed me and taken me on quite a few dates, I would want to know how you feel about me.”

Harry sat there for a minute, expecting more information. He raised his eyebrows in question. “And?”

“And what? That’s it. Tell me how you feel.”

“That’s it?” Harry asked dumbfounded. “That sounds easy.”

“I guess the trick is finding the right girl. You may have to go through that with lots of girls, you know.”

“So how far did Viktor get?”

“Viktor didn’t find the right girl,” Hermione said simply. “You never did answer my question,” Hermione said, changing the subject.

“Which one?”

“Why didn’t you tell Luna more, give her more details?”

“The details aren’t important. And it really isn’t anybody’s business.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Then why do the interview at all?”

“I wanted people to know that I don’t want the attention. I don’t deserve it. I had hoped that when people read that they would respect my privacy. Obviously, I was wrong.”

Hermione studied Harry as he stared out the window. “Have you ever thought of using this to your advantage?”

“What do you mean?”

“Using people’s interest in you and what you do to further a cause or reach an objective.”

Harry smirked at her, reading between the lines. “You mean promote the ABMB?”

Offended, Hermione huffed, “No, I don’t want you to shill for my cause. Pick your own, something you are passionate about. Maybe it is youth Quidditch or orphaned children or ’save the nargles,’ it doesn’t matter. You have great power, even if you want to deny it. People will listen to what you have to say because of who you are. They may or may not buy into it, but getting them to listen to it is half the battle. Believe me, I know.”

Harry leaned his head back and rested it on his chair, staring at the ceiling. “I hate to disappoint you, but that really isn’t my scene. I much prefer being in the background, supporting in other, less obvious ways than standing at a podium in front of a hundred people.” Harry stood up. “Any other ideas?”

“No.” Hermione waved her hand. “It will die down. People will realize how normal and boring you really are and move on to obsessing about someone eminently more interesting.”

“Hey! I’m not that boring.”

Hermione gave Harry a pitying look. “I hate to tell you Harry, but you kind of are.”

“You sure spend a lot of time with me if I’m so boring.”

“Yes, well, no one has ever accused me of being the life of the party either.”

---

Later that afternoon, Harry sat in the coach’s office strapping on his protective equipment, thinking how strange he would feel flying around the Pitch and not looking for the Snitch. He hated to admit it, but this was to be his first match as a referee and he was somewhat nervous. Focusing on the players instead of the Snitch was going to be a challenge. Madam Hooch had owled some refereeing tips to him just in case he needed them. His nerves weren’t helped by the fact that this was Gryffindor, his old house, versus Slytherin, his most hated house. Snape had already made several veiled comments, or rather threats, regarding his objectivity. Harry was determined to be fair to the snakes, even though he would rather not.

He could hear the muffled sounds of the crowd arriving. He glanced at his wristwatch and saw that there were thirty minutes until game time. Leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on his desk, he opened the mini-refrigerator just behind his desk and pulled out a sports drink. Hearing a knock on the door he yelled, “Come in!”

Hermione poked her head through the door. “Hey! Can I come in?”

“Please, I’m bored.”

“No pre-game jitters?” she asked playfully, sitting in the chair across from his desk.

“Nah. Nerves of steel.” He took a gulp of his drink.

Hermione arched one eyebrow and said, “What is that you are drinking?”

“Gatorade. Want some?” he asked, offering her the bottle.

“No thanks. That’s an unnatural shade of blue,” she said wrinkling her nose.

“I’ve got other flavors,” he offered, opening the refrigerator.

“That’s okay.” Giving him an appraising look she asked, “Have you talked to Snape today?”

“At breakfast. He was being his usual friendly, upbeat self. Why?”

“It seems that someone slipped a potion or something into his food or drink this morning.”

Harry’s expression was one of shock. “Really?! Is he okay?”

“Oh, he is fine. He just sounds like he swallowed helium when he talks, is all.”

Harry spat some Gatorade out of his mouth when he started laughing, sending blue flecks of liquid onto Hermione’s robes. “Sorry,” he said to her, grabbing his wand and performing a cleaning spell on her robes. “Why would someone want to do that to our dear, sweet, loveable Professor Snape?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know.”

Innocently, Harry said, “Me either. If it was a potion I’m sure Neville knows an antidote for it.”

“He doesn’t, as a matter of fact. Apparently it is a new potion developed by an apothecary in the States. There isn’t an antidote yet.”

Harry made an indistinguishable sound and nodded his head, taking another drink of his Gatorade. “I wonder how long the effects will last.”

“Anywhere from one to three days depending on the amount ingested.”

Hermione continued to study Harry, whose face was completely impassive. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly and he asked, “So, how did he sound?”

Hermione tried, but failed to keep a straight face, “Like a Teletubby!”

---

As it turned out, it wasn’t hard to focus on the players rather than the Snitch as Harry had feared. In fact, a couple of times he very nearly got knocked off his broom by a bludger. The players were on their best behavior. Perhaps due to the large number of scouts in the stands, the match was relatively incident free, which was unusual for a Gryffindor/Slytherin showdown. Only a handful of fouls were committed and the Slytherin Seeker caught the Snitch after less than an hour of play. Slytherin won the match by 10 points.

After the match, Harry was in his office re-shelving the Quidditch equipment when Hermione knocked and poked her head in the door.

“Hey!” she said, opening the door wider. “Look who I found.”

Following her into the office were Oliver Wood and a stocky man with salt and pepper hair.

“Harry!” Oliver called.

Harry stood up. “Hi, Oliver! I didn’t know you were going to be here,” he said, extending his hand.

“Sorry I didn’t send you an owl; it was rather last minute. Harry, I want you to meet my coach, John Patrick O’Malley. He was in Ravenclaw. He played against your dad.”

“Hello. Nice to meet you, Mr. O’Malley.”

“The pleasure is all mine. Call me JP,“ he said with a heavy Irish brogue. “I’m sure you have heard it a thousand times, but you look just like your dad.”

Harry smiled indulgently and shrugged his shoulders. “Who’s counting?”

“Your dad was a great player,” JP continued. “I saw him play Chaser and Seeker. He was the best on the pitch whatever position he played.”

“So I’ve heard,” Harry said, barely concealing his pride in his father.

“One day when you have the time, I need to tell you about his last match at Hogwarts. It was against Slytherin and the winner would claim the House Cup. It was a match for the ages, let me tell you.”

“That would be great! I would love to hear about it,” Harry replied. “Were you two scouting for your team? See any good prospects?”

JP sighed. “Not really. We are searching for a Chaser, and the best players today were Keepers and Beaters. Oliver tells me you played for the Pacifics. Know any decent players there that might be interested in playing over here.”

Harry glanced at Hermione who had been listening quietly to the conversation. “I might. I can send an owl to gauge their interest if you’d like.”

“Thanks, that would be smashing,” JPP said. He turned to Oliver. “We’d better get going. It was nice to meet you. You too, Hermione.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. O’Malley,” Hermione replied with a smile.

“Thanks for stopping by,” Harry said. “Oliver, Neville and I are going to try to come to your next match. We will stop by after and say hi.”

“Would you like some tickets?” Oliver asked.

“No thanks. After The Quibbler article I had better pay for them,” Harry smiled. “You know, no special favors.”

“Whatever you say. I’ll leave good seats for you at Will Call and will make sure you get charged full price and then some.”

“Perfect.”

As the door clicked closed behind them, Hermione turned to Harry. “That was a good match, wasn’t it?”

“Uneventful, which is a surprise considering the opponents,” Harry said, sitting down in his desk chair and removing his leather shin guards. “I’m surprised you came knowing how much you don’t like Quidditch.”

“I usually come to Gryffindor matches. And you were refereeing for the first time. I couldn’t miss that.”

“How did I do?” Harry asked, looking sideways at Hermione.

“Snape will have a hard time finding fault with your performance.”

“I’m sure he will think of something,” Harry said dryly. He stood up and began to unzip his robe.

“Well,” Hermione said clearing her throat nervously, “I guess I’d better get going so you can change.” She started towards the door.

“Why don’t you wait for me? I’ll walk back up to the castle with you. It won’t take me long.” Harry went around his desk and cleaned out a chair, which was piled high with old Quidditch robes. “Have a seat,” he said, looking around for a place to put the oversized bundle in his arms.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders and sat down in the newly vacated seat. “Okay.”

Not finding an appropriate place to put the robes, he walked around his desk and threw them down on the floor out of sight. “Perfect,” he said with a grin, and walked into the bathroom to clean up.

Ten minutes later he emerged from the bathroom freshly scrubbed and sporting wet hair only to find Hermione asleep in the chair. She had crossed her legs and slouched down so her head was resting on the back of the chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her mouth was slightly open and he could see her eyes moving underneath her eyelids. Harry knelt down beside the chair and put his hand over hers. He marveled at how his hand completely covered hers, and at how soft and warm her skin felt to his touch. He moved his hand slightly, grasping hers more tightly and rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. He bent closer, noticing a small, light scar just below the first knuckle. He rubbed his thumb over it, wondering how she got it.

He heard Hermione take a deep breath and saw her lift her head from the back of the chair. She looked around for a moment in confusion before her eyes settled on Harry. He was smiling at her. She grinned sleepily and her eyes moved to her hands, which were still encased by his. Her eyes rested there for a moment, watching his thumb move back and forth across her scar.

“How did you get that scar?” Harry asked quietly.

She tore her eyes away from his hand and looked at him. “I don’t remember. I’ve had it since I was a little girl.”

“I’ve never noticed it before.”

“Why would you? It is tiny and not very noticeable.”

“It makes me wonder what else I don’t know about you.”

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. “No, I think you know just about everything else. Oh, except one thing. I have a birthmark.”

“Really? Where?”

“My back.”

“Show me.”

“I will not!”

“Why not? It’s just your back.”

“No, it is on the lower part of my back. The very lower part of my back,” she said meaningfully.

“That makes me want to see it even more,” Harry teased.

“And it is the reason you won’t see it at all,” Hermione teased back.

“So, why are you so tired?” Harry asked with concern, standing up and pulling her out of her chair.

“Oh, you know, staying up late. Lots to do.”

“You need to get more rest.”

“Okay, Dad. I’ll keep that in mind,” Hermione said sarcastically, pulling her hand out of his. “Ready to go?”

Harry walked over to the door and pulled it open with a bow. “After you.”

A slight chill greeted them as they stepped outside. It was October, and the mild weather they had been blessed with up until this point was giving way to the more usual brisk feel of autumn. The trees in the Forbidden Forest were showing their colors; cheerfully waving banners of gold, red, orange and yellow.

“How is your house coming?” Hermione asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Harry said teasingly.

“Yes, I would,” she replied in mock severity. “But someone won’t let me see it!”

Once Harry and Hermione had found the right charm for painting, they had completed his bedroom that first day. Harry convinced Hermione to come back two other times to help him paint the extra room and the parlor. After painting the extra room a pale yellow (that Harry let Hermione pick out) and the lounge a deep burgundy, Harry announced that he was going to finish the renovations for the lounge alone. Hermione, who by this time had made it obvious how much she liked helping and had read Harry’s Magical Renovations book from cover to cover, was a little hurt. Harry just smiled and said that it would be a surprise.

“As a matter of fact, I was going to invite you to dinner next Friday night to show you my handiwork,” Harry said.

“You’re finished?” Hermione asked, excitement dancing in her eyes.

Harry’s breath caught at the sight of Hermione’s expression. It had been too long since he had seen that look in her eyes. Seeing it now made him realize once again how much he had missed her the last few years. He inwardly punished himself, yet again, for being gone for so long.

“Harry?” Hermione asked. “I asked if you were finished.” Her look of joy had changed to puzzlement from his lack of response.

“Right. Almost. I am just waiting on a couple of pieces of furniture and unpacking some boxes. Other than that, it’s ready to go!”

Hermione clapped her hands enthusiastically. “I can’t wait! Next Friday? What time?”

“How about 7:00?”

“Sounds good.”

Harry was opening the castle door for Hermione when she looked at him with a sly grin. “You know, you missed a step.”

Harry looked down at his feet and then over to the steps they had just climbed in confusion. He looked back up at Hermione whose eyes were dancing yet again.

“Charm, Harry. You just jumped right over charming my socks off to asking me out.” She shook her head in mock dismay as she walked through the door. “You really do need help.”

Harry playfully poked her in the ribs. “Hey! I just opened the door for you! That’s charming!”

“That’s expected, Harry. It doesn’t count.”

“This is going to be difficult if you keep adding new rules.”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “Can’t make it too easy for you. Then you wouldn’t appreciate the end result now, would you?”

They were moments from entering the Great Hall for dinner when a high pitched, but plainly furious voice called out.

“POTTER!”

Harry turned around to see Snape stalking towards him, narrow eyes blazing. “Hello, Severus. Congratulations!” Harry said heartily. “Slytherin played an admirable game and won, albeit by a slim margin. There were quite a few pro scouts in th….”

“I don’t care about the game!” Snape squeaked in his abnormally high-pitched voice.

Harry struggled to suppress a grin. “Severus, what’s wrong with your voice? Are you ill?” he asked in mock sincerity.

Snape’s eyes narrowed even further. “You know very well I am not sick. You are the reason my voice is like this.”

“Me?” he asked, putting his hand on his chest in shock. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Because you are the only person vile enough to prank a fellow teacher.”

“Now really, Severus. Vile? That‘s a bit rude, don’t you think Hermione?” He asked turning to her.

She raised her hands in surrender. “Leave me out of this. I’m just standing her to make sure you don’t hex each other.”

“I would never hex Severus! I mean, why would I?” Harry asked, turning to look at Snape. “We had such a great relationship when I was in school. He treated me so well, I wouldn’t dream of doing anything ‘vile’ to him, would I?” Harry’s voice, which had been playful, took on a hardened edge as he finished the sentence. He was staring at Snape with a challenging look on his face.

“Give me the antidote, Potter,” Snape whispered vehemently.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Snape. Even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

Snape stepped forward and glared at Harry. “I will get you back for this.”

Harry smiled confidently at Snape, regaining his playful manner. “No you won’t. To ‘get me back’ you would have to learn to have fun and plan a prank. Sorry Severus, but I just don’t think you have it in you,” he finished, slapping Snape on the shoulder. Turning on his heel, he walked into the Great Hall.

Chapter 8 Harry Cooks Dinner

Hermione stretched her arms above her head and let out a huge yawn. She was lying in bed looking out the window toward the darkened sky. She glanced at the alarm clock she had just silenced and steeled herself to get out of bed, dreading that first step onto the cold, stone floor. She flung the blankets off and jumped out of bed, running on her tiptoes as fast as possible to the loo. She shut the door quickly and turned on the light. She hurriedly grabbed the socks she had prepared the night before and put them on her feet, before beginning to dress for her morning run.

Rubbing the chill from her arms, she stepped out of the loo dreading the considerable cold that would greet her outdoors. She fought the urge to overdress with more layers. Glancing at her warm inviting bed, she walked out the door and briskly down the hall before she lost her motivation.

Outside on the castle steps she took a deep breath of the crisp air, letting its freshness fill her lungs and wake her senses. On the horizon she could see the midnight blue of darkness slowly succumbing to the orange hues of sunrise. It was going to be a beautiful day. She smiled and bounced down the steps to begin her run.

Three miles in 27 minutes — piece of cake.

Each time Hermione went for a run she was moderately surprised with herself. Hermione was not sporty. And generally she did not like sports. The mere fact that she was consistently exercising was a wonder to her, and to the people around her. As a general rule, the wizarding world was not aware of physical fitness. It was one of ”those Muggle obsessions” that wizards saw as frivolous. After all, wizards routinely outlived Muggles without the aid of exercise so what was the point? More than one person had told Hermione that it was a wasted effort.

Hermione agreed, to a degree. In her case, she wasn’t doing it to prolong her life. In her opinion she had no control over when she would die; fate would take care of that. She began running, ironically, because she wasn’t sporty, and secretly she wanted to be. Unfortunately, she had no natural athletic ability. She wasn’t quick, she couldn’t throw a ball, coordination wasn’t her strong suit and she had tried in vain for years to touch her toes without bending her legs. She could almost do it, but not quite. Not being good at something only motivated Hermione to do it even more.

She began searching around for something she could do to improve her athleticism and discovered running. It was cheap, didn’t require much equipment, could be done alone at any time of day, and was self-paced. Naturally, she began her training by reading in the library.

At first she walked more than ran, as the training program suggested. Slowly the amount she walked decreased as her stamina increased and soon she was running the entire time. Currently she was running three miles, four days a week, working on decreasing her time instead of increasing her distance. Today, her goal was three miles in 27 minutes.

More surprising to her than her physical accomplishment was one of the beneficial side effects of physical activity. On the days she ran she felt sharper mentally. She was a bit embarrassed to admit to herself that she didn’t think it would be possible for her to be mentally sharper. Over the years, Hermione worked very hard building her reputation as the brightest witch at Hogwarts. A great deal of her cleverness grew from natural intelligence, but a surprising portion was sheer determination and hard work. The fact that running improved her mental abilities had become the primary reason that she braved the cold four days a week.

Every four steps, little puffs of her warm breath collided with the cold morning air. This cadence lulled her into a near trance, allowing her mind to roam freely over past events and future activities. Most days she spent her early morning runs composing “to do” lists and planning her day. Some days, however, she relived memories both painful and pleasant. On more rare occasions, she thought of nothing.

Those were her favorite days.

She followed her routine path through Hogsmeade, looping around the outer perimeter of town, up and down the quiet, deserted streets and down the main thoroughfare ending at the local bakery. She stopped and checked her time on her watch: 27:10. Shaking her head in disappointment, she opened the door, the aroma of baked bread wafting out to greet her.

“Good morning, Professor!” the witch behind the counter called cheerfully, already placing a full glass of water on the counter for Hermione.

“Good morning, Judith,” Hermione replied breathlessly. She picked up the water. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. Do you want your usual, then?” Judith asked, beginning to assemble Hermione’s order.

“You know me too well,” Hermione teased between gulps of water.

“So how was your run this morning?”

“Good. Still working on shaving a bit of time. I’m getting closer.”

“Don’t make yourself sick, child,” the elderly witch admonished.

“I’ve got to work a bit harder if I’m going to continue to eat your delicious and highly fattening danish!”

The witch paused in pouring a cup of Earl Grey. “You are right. By all means, make yourself sick!”

Hermione smiled, fished her money out of the pocket of her jacket and handed it to the baker, grabbing the two bags she offered in the other hand. “Thanks, Judith! See you day after tomorrow!”

“Have a good day, Professor,” the witch called.

Hermione stepped out of the bakery and walked across the street and into an alley. She walked around the corner, stopped at a bright yellow door, and rang the buzzer, hopping up and down on her feet to keep the chill away. She was about to ring the bell again when the door opened revealing Ginny Weasley, bleary-eyed and wearing her dressing gown and slippers.

“Hiya Ginny!” Hermione said, bounding through the opened door. “I’ve brought breakfast!”

“You’d better be bringing breakfast if you ring my door this early.”

“I always call this early, Ginny,” Hermione said, climbing the stairs to the flat above the shop.

Ginny scowled at her friend. “How can you be so peppy at 6:30 in the morning?” she asked, gathering plates, forks and serviettes from her cupboard.

“I just ran three miles. It wakes me up and makes me feel good. You should try it,” Hermione suggested to Ginny for the 50^th time.

“I’m not a morning person,” Ginny growled. “I’ll never understand why you get up four days a week and run.”

Hermione took the lid off her Earl Grey tea and gently blew on it. “It is a proven fact that running…”

Ginny held up her hand. “Stop right there. It is way too early in the morning to listen to any statement that begins with the words ‘it is a proven fact.’”

Hermione laughed at her grumpy friend and said, “So, ready for tomorrow?”

“Stocked and loaded,” Ginny replied, tearing off a piece of her pastry and popping it in her mouth. “Mmm, these are still warm! Heaven!” she said with a groan of pleasure.

“Do you need my help tomorrow?” Hermione asked, as she did every time before the first Hogsmeade weekend.

Ginny waved her hand. “No, we will be fine,” she said, declining Hermione’s offer again. “Mom’s coming, and George this time, I think. We should be covered. But thanks anyway.”

Ginny looked up slyly from her pastry. “So, are you ready for tonight?”

Hermione shot her a puzzled look. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Your date.”

Hermione choked on her tea, laughing. “It isn’t a date! You know that.”

“No I don’t,” Ginny said innocently.

“Of course you do! Have you forgotten that you and Neville are going to be there, too?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten. But from what Neville said, it was a reluctant invitation on Harry’s part.”

“Oh, please! I was there! It was Harry’s idea!”

“That’s not what Neville said,” Ginny persisted, blowing on her tea.

“We are talking about a man who is not known for his stellar memory, Ginny. And anyway, even if you two weren’t going to be there, which you are, it is not and never was a date,” Hermione finished emphatically.

“How are you so sure?” Ginny asked with a grin.

“Because Harry and I have never had that kind of relationship. We’re friends, that’s all. I am the girl that gives Harry advice about dating, not the girl that Harry dates.”

Ginny popped the last of her croissant in her mouth and wiped her hands on her serviette. “You’ve never had any other feelings for Harry? In school?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Not you, too! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that question. ‘How can you just be friends with a boy?’ Hermione said in a mocking voice. “It was irritating in school and it’s irritating now. I liked Ron, not Harry. Everyone wants our friendship to have been some torrid love triangle. I guess to make the whole defeating Voldemort story more fantastic, as if it needs embellishing! I’m sorry to ruin everyone’s fun, but it just wasn’t.”

“Blimey, it was just a question. No need to get so upset.”

“I’m not upset, just tired of hearing it. I have never thought of Harry in any way other than as a friend. Full stop.”

Ginny took another sip of her tea and set it down gingerly. “Even now? Since he’s been back?” Ginny inquired.

Hermione studied her friend, tapping the beverage stir straw from her tea on the table. “Honestly?”

Ginny leaned forward, an anxious look on her face, nodding vigorously.

“No,” Hermione intoned. She watched Ginny deflate, excitement ebbing out of her. Hermione crossed her arms again. “Why are you pushing this, Gin?”

“I’m not pushing anything!” she replied. “I’m just talking to my best friend about the most eligible bachelor around, who just happens to be Harry. You know me, I’m always trying to set you up and improve your social life.”

“You can stop trying. I’m fine.” Hermione stood and picked up the empty pastry bags taking them to the bin, along with her now empty cup. She turned to Ginny saying, “I’d better get going.”

Ginny stood and walked Hermione down the stairs to the back door. “See you at seven?” Hermione asked.

“Harry told Neville 7:30.”

Puzzled, Hermione replied, “Really? I could have sworn it was seven. Oh, well, see you at 7:30 then!” Hermione called, jogging down the alley and out of sight.

---

Hermione waved her wand, extinguishing the lights in her classroom as she walked into the deserted corridor. She opened the slim book in her hand and began reading as she walked. She was so familiar with the hallways and corridors of Hogwarts that her body knew where to go whether she was paying attention or not. Completely engrossed in what she was doing she didn’t hear Harry calling her name, nor was she aware of him at all until he grasped her arm to stop her.

“Hermione! Hold up!” Harry said, slightly out of breath, his hand gently pulling on her elbow.

“Oh!” she started, still distracted by her book. “Hi, Harry. What are you doing up here at the castle?”

“McG lets me come up here every once in a while, as long as I’m on my best behavior. You know how crude we jocks can be,” Harry said teasingly.

“Harry,” Hermione said with disapproval. “Do you think it is a good idea to call the Headmistress ‘McG?’ This isn’t America after all. We don’t all shorten our names for no reason at all.”

“What’s wrong, G? You not down with ‘dat?” Harry said with a poor attempt at and American accent. Hermione looked at him quizzically, not completely understanding what he was saying. Harry sobered quickly. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

Hermione shook her head and continued walking. “What are you doing?”

“Coming to see you.”

“Why? You are going to see me in a few hours.” She turned to look at him and saw a bemused expression on his face. “What is it, Harry?”

“Nice spectacles.”

“What?” she asked absentmindedly. Harry pointed to his eyes and recognition flooded her face. “Oh, right,” she said taking them off.

“When did you get them?”

“A couple of years ago. Eye strain from reading too many books,” she said in embarrassment, pushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“Like that one?” Harry pointed to the book Hermione was holding, her first finger keeping her place about halfway through the book.

“Oh!” Hermione said, hiding the book behind her back. “No, not really like this one.”

“What is it?” Harry asked curiously, reaching for the book. “Let me see.”

“No, you wouldn’t be interested in it.” She turned her body to block Harry from grabbing the book. Harry anticipated her move and instead of reaching around her front, reached around her back and grabbed the book out of her hands.

“Harry!” Hermione said with exasperation.

“The Lovely Bones. That doesn’t sound very appealing, Hermione,” Harry said, opening the book to read the inside flap. He looked up at her. “Is this a Muggle book? Are you reading …,” Harry paused, looking around furtively, then whispered dramatically “for pleasure?” A smile played on the edges of his lips.

Hermione smiled and grabbed the book out of Harry’s hands, realizing how silly she was being trying to hide it. “Oh, give me that.”

“Let me guess, you feel guilty for reading something for pleasure when you have so much to do, right?”

“Maybe just a little.”

“You aren’t going to be compiling ‘to do’ lists in your head tonight, are you?”

“No.” She playfully punched him in the arm. They arrived at the Entrance Hall and Hermione turned to go to the faculty residences as Harry headed toward the front door.

“See you at seven!” Harry called.

“I thought it was 7:30?”

“No. Seven,” Harry replied walking backwards and out the front door.

Hermione turned to see the Head Girl (more like Head Gossip, Hermione thought), Charlotte Tiere, directly behind her.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” Charlotte said, barely able to conceal the knowing smirk that had crept onto her face.

Great, the entire school will think I have a date with Harry within minutes.

Hermione nodded her head formally and replied, “Charlotte.” Then she continued on to her room.

---

With one last glance in her mirror, Hermione grabbed her cloak and breezed out of her room, giddy with excitement at the prospect of seeing Harry’s completed house. The last time she’d been there, three weeks ago, it had been a disaster. Drop cloths covered almost every inch of open floor space. Empty paint cans and used paint trays littered the floors. Boxes, opened and unopened, were stacked in haphazard piles in each room. It had taken all of Hermione’s willpower not to start unpacking and organizing Harry’s things immediately upon her arrival.

The fact that she had been there on three separate occasions and had not succumbed to her compulsion to organize was saying a great deal, not about Hermione’s strength of will, but about Harry’s lack of furniture. Hermione could only assume that Harry had procured some folding chairs and a table for them to eat on tonight. Try as she might, she could not envision anything other than a large box with a blanket thrown over it as a makeshift table. If her imagination went wild she pictured cushions for them to sit on. That was as far as her speculations could take her. She could not conceive of a ‘Harry’ that could actually decorate a house or pick out matching furniture. That was just too far removed from the person she had known.

She had spent many hours comparing this Harry, the one she was reacquainting herself with, and the Harry she knew in school. How were they different? How were they the same? Inexplicably, she had decided that they were different and alike at the same time. The new Harry was … (there was no other way to say it) much more fun. There was a mischievous twinkle ever present in his eye and she knew he was always seconds away from saying or doing something that would make her laugh. This was unlike the old Harry. But not, she realized now, because he wasn’t fun in school, but because there was always a layer of sadness that shrouded his inner prankster. He had always been an eager participant in breaking the rules, but very rarely was his delinquency just for fun. There was a higher purpose — ultimately the defeat of Voldemort — behind every rule he broke. Once Harry’s higher purpose had been resolved, his shroud of sadness lifted, albeit slowly from what Harry had revealed about his first year in America. After that, Hermione got the distinct impression that his inner prankster had run wild with the help of his roommates in San Diego.

Hermione smiled remembering some of the stories about Wyatt and Darby that Harry shared while they were painting his house. He told her about the steady stream of girls that Wyatt paraded through the room that he and Harry shared, relegating Harry to the sofa most nights. The short-lived relationship Harry had with Darby had been a short-lived conversation, too. Hermione, intrigued by the idea of Harry having a girlfriend, peppered him with questions, some of which he answered, many of which he deftly deflected.

“How long did you date?”

“You couldn’t really call what we did dating.”

“So it was purely sexual?”

“Hermione!”

“What? If it wasn’t dating then it must have been something!”

“I can’t believe you are asking me about this.”

“I’m just curious, Harry. I can’t imagine you with a girlfriend, seeing as you never really had one in school. Unless you count Cho. Do you?”

“Not really.”

“Me either. So, tell me about Darby.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What was she like? How long did you date? Who broke up with whom? Were you still friends after?”

“She was fun. We dated for about six months. We broke up with each other and yes, we were friends after.”

“Gosh, Harry, don’t give me too many details,” Hermione said sarcastically.

“Why are you so interested?”

“I’m not that interested. If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t,” Hermione said.

And that had been the end of that conversation.

Hermione was walking past Ginny’s shop and noticed the light on in the flat above. She glanced at her watch — 6:58 p.m. — and wondered if she should stop and walk with Ginny and Neville. Deciding that she might be interrupting something she didn’t want to see, she continued on her way, thinking about the conversation she’d had with Ginny that morning.

If she had a knut for every time someone implied something about her and Harry she would be a rich girl. Why did she consistently fail to convince anyone that she had never regarded Harry romantically? Had everyone forgotten that she dated Ron? That she loved Ron? The thought that others marginalized her relationship with Ron in favor of the ”dream” of a happily ever after for Harry made her angry. Not angry with Harry; he had done nothing to encourage the phenomena. Rather she was angry on Ron’s behalf; his worst fear, losing yet again to Harry, realized years after his death. So it was indignation on Ron’s behalf more than anything that had caused Hermione to react to Ginny’s questions as she had earlier. And also, the insinuation that Ginny’s question (“in school?“) implied that Hermione had been cheating on Ron, if not in actuality, at least in her mind by pining away for Harry.

But Hermione had not been able to get the conversation out of her mind the rest of the day. She knew without a doubt what her feelings were now and what they were five years ago. But she reluctantly admitted to herself that she did not know what Harry’s feelings were. Their conversation the week before, which Hermione viewed as a brainstorming session to improve Harry’s love life, now took on an entirely new meaning. Hermione had taken the entire conversation in jest. At the very most it was a return to their relationship of years before, Hermione offering sage advice into the puzzling psyche that is the female mind for Harry, who had never been adept at understanding girls. It was with that idea in mind that she joked to Harry about this dinner tonight being a date, admonishing him for skipping the ”charm” step.

It was with shock today, after parting ways with him in the Entrance Hall, that she realized that Harry had been charming her for weeks. There was nothing overt, she rationalized to herself, such as obvious flirting or suggestive comments. Everything she thought of could be explained away as him being nice, polite and courteous. Which begged the question: was this alleged charm intentional or a result of his personality evolution? Is this the Harry that she would have known if Voldemort had never killed his parents? Which led to an even more disturbing question: would she have had romantic feelings for him if this had been the Harry she knew in school?

It was with this question ringing in her ears that she walked through the gate to Harry’s house to find him waiting for her in the open door. He was leaning on the jamb with a bottle of ale in hand looking, she was shocked to realize, very handsome.

“Are you ready to see the finished product?” he asked, barely able to conceal his excitement.

She laughed at his childlike enthusiasm. “Lead the way.”

Harry stepped back for Hermione to walk through. She stopped dead in her tracks with her mouth gaping open in surprise. The room, which had been devoid of furniture a few weeks before, was possibly the most inviting room she had ever seen. The wall with the stone fireplace now had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves built into it, filled with hundreds of books, framed pictures and collectibles from Harry’s time in the States. The fireplace was lit with a warm comforting fire that caused light to dance on the opposite wall. In front of the fireplace was a large dark brown leather sofa that looked as if you could sleep forever on it. Two matching club chairs flanked the fireplace and were slightly angled to face the sofa. In the center of this area was a large coffee table with a deep green and burgundy oriental rug underneath protecting the newly refinished hardwood floors.

Harry, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement, said, “Well, what do you think?”

Hermione slowly turned to look at Harry and said, “Did you do this all yourself?”

“I had help with the painting,” he teased.

Still looking around in awe, she said, “No, I mean the furniture, decorating. Did you do that?”

“Um, yeah,” he said, sounding a little unsure of himself now. “Well, I didn’t realize until it was all in place that it looks drastically like the Gryffindor Common Room.”

Still with an amazed look on her face, Hermione said, “It looks great, Harry!” She started walking slowly towards the bookshelves. “Did you do this?”

His excitement returned. “I did! Remember the section in that book about charming power tools? It was a little dangerous at first, it isn’t an easy thing to charm a mitre saw, but I got good at it fairly quickly. Do you like it?”

“You could say that.” She lifted her hand to pull a book out and realized she was still holding the bottle of wine she brought for dinner. Hermione absently handed Harry the bottle of wine. “Here.” She pulled a book from the shelf.

“Thanks, I’ll just go open it.”

When Harry came back into the room and handed her a glass of wine, she asked, “When did you become a reader?”

“Actually, I’m still not much of a reader. Those are all for you,” Harry said simply taking a drink of his ale.

Hermione’s head jerked up. “For me?”

“Sure. I would pick up books that I thought you might like while I was traveling. I was as surprised as you are when I unpacked them and realized how many there were!”

“Harry, there has to be over 200 books here!” she said, amazed.

“Two hundred thirty seven, to be exact. I counted when I unpacked them.”

“Wow,” Hermione whispered as she gazed at the books. “I don’t know where to start…”

“Here, start with this one,” Harry said as he grabbed a book from the shelf. “It is about New Orleans, Louisiana. We’re eating Cajun food tonight so it is appropriate.”

“We are eating Ca…you’re cooking?” Hermione asked.

Harry smiled at the perplexed look on her face. “Of course, what did you think I was going to call the Hog’s Head for takeaway?”

“When did you learn to cook?”

“I just picked stuff up as I went along. After I came out of my yearlong daze, I ate my way across America in honor of Ron. I decided it was my job to try as many new things as I could and decide if Ron would like it. To honor his legacy of a voracious appetite.” Harry laughed and raised his glass in toast of Ron’s eating habits.

Hermione smiled and raised her glass in response, remembering Ron’s appetite. “And did you find anything that Ron wouldn’t have liked?”

Harry pondered for a moment, took a drink and said, “Grits.” Before Hermione could question this he said, “Don’t ask,” and they both started laughing.

“Something smells great! What are we having?” Hermione asked heading to the kitchen behind Harry.

“Blackened chicken, dirty rice, steamed veggies and French bread,” Harry said, lifting the lid to a pot and stirring the contents within, which Hermione could only guess was “dirty rice.”

“Hmmm, sounds interesting,” she said with a hint of doubt in her voice.

Harry laughed and said, “Trust me, you’ll love it!”

Hearing a knock on the door, Harry and Hermione ambled into the front room to welcome Ginny and Neville. After taking their cloaks, getting Ginny a glass of wine and Neville an ale, Harry went into the kitchen to continue preparing dinner. Neville followed him telling him about the previous year’s Quidditch World Cup.

“This is a switch,” Ginny said plopping down on the sofa and removing her shoes. “The men in the kitchen cooking dinner and the women by the fire relaxing. I could get used to this!”

“Me, too,” agreed Hermione, taking a sip of her wine and glancing in the kitchen. She sat there for a few minutes watching Harry cook dinner and laugh at something Neville said. “Isn’t it a little…strange to see Harry giving a dinner party?”

“I guess,” Ginny replied shrugging her shoulders. “You just remember the Harry from school. The guy that had a little bit on his mind such as defeating Voldemort, saving the wizarding world…all the basic stuff for a teenager,” Ginny said. She paused and watched Harry and Neville laugh about something then looked at Hermione. She was still watching Harry with a contemplative look on her face. “Looks to me like he achieved his goal by going to the States.”

“What’s that?” Hermione said distractedly, still watching Harry and Neville.

“To be a normal wizard with a normal life,” Ginny said simply. At this Hermione looked back at Ginny who was watching her with a grin on her face.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that, Ginny?”

“No reason. But the next few months are going to be very interesting, I think,” she said with a smile.

“Why do you say that?”

“No reason,” she said flippantly. She leaned forward and whispered, “I think Neville’s up to something.”

“Really? Keeping things from you, is he?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, he thinks he is, but I’m too smart for him. I found brochures for a bed and breakfast in Bath, a villa in the South of France, and a very posh hotel in Rome. It looks like Neville is trying to surprise me with a romantic getaway!”

Harry and Neville glanced at the girls sitting on the couch giggling. “Why do they do that?” Neville asked.

“No clue. You would think they would have grown out of it by now,” Harry said. “I wonder what they are giggling about?”

Harry and Neville looked at each other and said in unison, “Us,” and started laughing.

Neville watched as Harry started preparing the skillet for the blackened chicken. He looked into the front room to make sure that Ginny and Hermione were still occupied before whispering to Harry, “I’m going to ask Ginny to marry me.”

Harry looked up from what he was doing and smiled broadly. “That’s great Neville!”

“Shhhh,” Neville said. “Ginny has never needed extendable ears!”

“Sorry,” whispered Harry. “So, what is your plan?” he asked.

“I’m going to ask her at this year’s Yule Ball, since that was our first date ever. It is so embarrassing to think about how clumsy I was dancing with her.”

“Yeah, well, we were all awkward and clumsy back then. Except Hermione, that is. Does Ginny have any idea?”

“No, I left some brochures for a few holiday spots where she might find them. I’m going to talk to her about taking a trip over the Christmas break to throw her off. Those are actually brochures for our Honeymoon. Of course, Molly is in on it and is quite excited about pulling one over on Ginny. Honestly, the whole family likes to play pranks on each other. It’s more than a little scary.”

“You’re choosing to marry into it, mate, so you better get ready to be pranked for the rest of your life,” Harry laughed.

“Trust me, I know. Fred and George live to prank me.”

Hermione and Ginny walked into the kitchen to refill their wine glasses at this point. Ginny went over to Neville, put her arm around his waist and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “What are you two boys plotting in here?” she asked.

“Us? Plotting?” Neville asked in mock surprise. “What would ever make you think such a thing?”

“You have been whispering intently for quite a while…” Hermione began.

“And you ladies have been giggling like school girls for even longer,” Harry said.

“I don’t giggle,” Hermione said, offended.

“You keep thinking that,” Harry replied. “Time to eat!”

“What are we having?” Ginny asked. Hermione gave her an alarming look that said ”don’t ask.“ Harry saw the look and said, “Hey! You said it sounded good earlier!”

“No, Harry, I said it sounded ‘interesting.’ Good has yet to be determined,” she said as she dodged Harry’s attempt to snap his dishtowel at her.

“Watch it, Professor. I’ve got a wand and I know how to use it,” she warned him, laughing.

Harry served the other three and sat down to eat. He was putting his serviette in his lap when he realized that the three of them were sitting there staring from the food on their plates, to him, to each other. “What is it?” he asked.

“Harry, um … well, the chicken looks a little overdone for my taste,” Neville said as tactfully as possible.

Harry started laughing and said, “This is blackened chicken, not burned chicken! The blackened part on the outside is spices. Cut into the chicken, you’ll see. Just try it. If you honestly don’t like it, I’ll go to ‘Plan B.’”

“Would it be rude to ask for ‘Plan B’ right now?” Neville whispered under his breath to Ginny.

“I will warn you, though,” Harry started as Neville, Ginny and Hermione were about to put their first bite into their mouth. “It’s a little spicy.”

They all paused with their forks up to their mouths, looked at each other and decided to do it together. As they ate their first bite, Harry watched them with a huge grin on his face. Ginny had a look on her face that said ”much better than I thought.“ Hermione was nodding her head and cutting off her second bite. Neville on the other hand had stopped mid chew and was blowing air out of his mouth and waving his hand in front of his red face.

“Accio milk,” Harry said and a jar of milk flew into his hands from the counter. “Here. Drink this, Neville. It helps with the heat.” Neville drank it and his face began to return to its normal colour.

“So plan B for Neville then. Anyone else?” Harry asked, and they all began to laugh with the exception of Neville who was drinking more milk.

---

After dinner the four of them sat in the front room in front of the fire talking and laughing for hours. Ginny and Neville were sitting cuddled on the couch, Hermione was sitting in one of the club chairs with her legs flung across the arm and Harry was sitting on the floor in front of her chair. Finally, Neville rose and said, “We’d better get going; it’s getting late.” He grabbed Ginny’s hands and pulled her up from the sofa into a hug. Harry sprang up and said, “I’ll go get your cloaks.”

“Neville, want to walk with me back to the castle?” Hermione asked.

“No way, he’s coming home with me,” Ginny said.

“Right, I forgot,” Hermione said sheepishly.

“How could you forget that? They have been acting like teenagers all night!” Harry laughed returning with their cloaks. “I can walk you back, Hermione.”

“It isn’t really necessary, Harry. I just thought if Neville was going back we could walk together. I’ve made the trip many times by myself.”

“This won’t be one of them. Let me get my cloak.”

“Goodnight Harry!” Ginny called as she and Neville opened the door to leave. Ginny pulled Hermione close to whisper in her ear, “You be a good girl on your midnight stroll.” Hermione pushed Ginny away playfully. “Go on!”

“Harry, thanks for dinner. It was…’interesting!’” Ginny called, laughing as she and Neville closed the door behind them.

Harry walked back into the room buttoning his cloak and said with a smile, “I don’t know if they liked my cooking so much. So, you ready then?”

“Harry you really don’t have to bother. It isn’t that far…” Hermione began.

Harry grabbed her by the elbow to propel her out the door and said, “Maybe I want to walk you back to the castle.”

They walked together down the main thoroughfare of Hogsmeade, stopping periodically to look into a window display of the local merchants. As they passed the darkened bakery, Hermione asked Harry, “Have you eaten here yet?”

“No, not yet. Is it any good?”

“Sinfully good,” Hermione said, pulling her cloak tighter around her to ward off the night chill.

“Maybe I’ll stop in there tomorrow,” Harry said.

They continued on, walking past the Three Broomsticks. Muffled voices and laughter wafted outside, increasing in volume as the front door opened, a pair of swaying wizards spilling out onto the sidewalk. Harry touched the small of Hermione’s back, gently steering her into the street, away from the stumbling drunkards.

“That place is jumping,” Hermione said.

“Do you want to go in?” Harry asked.

“Oh no. I couldn’t eat or drink another thing.”

“’at’s ‘arry Potter!” one of the drunk wizards yelled, stumbling towards Harry and Hermione.

Hermione heard Harry groan and saw him close his eyes. When he re-opened them he plastered a fake smile on his face and turned around to face the wizards.

“Hello,” Harry said politely.

“As I live and breathe!” the first wizard said, pulling his arm out of the other wizard’s grasp. “It is really you! Look at him!” he said to his friend.

“Yes, Edgar, that’s great. Now, let’s go,” he said, attempting again to pull his friend down the street, while giving Harry an apologetic look.

Edgar, however, was not to be deterred. He removed his arm again and stepped closer to Harry. “I read your interview in The Quibbler, ‘arry. I agree with ‘ou ‘undred percent. You deserve your privacy. Those crazy people sending you all those owls. What kind of wizard does that, I ‘onder?”

“Drunk ones,” Harry replied dryly, his smile still firmly in place.

“Right you are, ‘arry,” Edgar replied without a clue that Harry was talking about him.

At this point, Edgar noticed Hermione and a huge smile broke across his face. “Is this your ‘oman, ‘arry?”

Hermione bristled and Harry’s smile turned to a scowl.

“She’s a pretty one,” he said, making no effort to conceal his appraisal as his eyes traveled up and down Hermione’s body. Harry stepped in front of Hermione and said, “Nice to meet you, Edgar. We have to be going. “ He turned around and propelled Hermione in front of him, walking briskly away.

“Nice to meet you, too, ‘arry!” Edgar called, as his friend dragged him backwards, in an effort to keep him from following Harry and Hermione.

Harry looked back over his shoulder and visibly relaxed. Hermione glanced back, too, and saw the two wizards walking in the opposite direction.

“I’m so sorry about that, Hermione.”

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. “It isn’t your fault.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the ground.

Hermione playfully shoved his shoulder with her own. “I see your guilt complex hasn’t changed much,” she teased. “Everything is not your fault, Harry. That man was drunk. He’s the one at fault. He will probably wake up in the morning horrified at his actions, if he even remembers them at all.”

“Maybe,” Harry said noncommittally.

“Does that happen to you a lot?”

“Every now and then. The villagers leave me alone, but outsiders can’t resist.”

“You handled it very well.”

They walked through the gates of Hogwarts in silence. The brightly colored leaves that the previous week had been waving cheerily in the breeze were now scattered on the ground, swirling around their feet as the wind kicked them from their resting place. The cackle of the dried foliage mingled with the muffled sounds of their footsteps, the only sounds breaking the noticeable silence between them. She glanced at Harry who was looking at her, gave him a small smile and quickly looked away, up at the night sky.

Wondering why she felt suddenly awkward, Hermione searched for something to say to resume their conversation.

“I really like…”Harry started.

“Dinner was rea….” Hermione began. They both laughed and Hermione said, “Go on, you first.”

“I was just going to tell you how much I like your hair,” Harry said.

“Oh,” Hermione said, thinking that was the last thing she expected him to say. When did Harry start noticing other people’s hair? She absently ran her hand through her hair, remembering the difficult time she had with it before she left. “I really need to get it cut again, it is getting a bit unmanageable.”

Hermione glanced at Harry and found him staring at her. “What?”

Harry smiled and gave a slight shake of his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“With a response like that I do want to know.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, “I was thinking that you have always been pretty, Hermione. But during the few years I was gone you have become a beautiful woman.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, so shocked at this revelation that she was rendered speechless.

Okay, I was wrong before. That is the last thing in the world I expected him to say.

She stood there gaping at his retreating back. He stopped and turned when he realized that she wasn’t walking beside him anymore.

Amusement clearly evident in his expression, he walked back to face her. “You’ve never taken compliments well, Ms. Granger.”

“Why would you say that?” Hermione asked, shocked.

“Because you don’t, unless it is a compliment about your intelligence. You…”

“No, b-before…that,” she stuttered.

“About you being beautiful?” Harry asked, still amused. “Because you are.”

She stared at him, her mouth open in astonishment for a moment. “No, I’m not, Harry, “ she said dismissively and started walking again. “It is just so unlike you to give out compliments and comment on women’s hair. I’m just a little shocked, is all.”

“It’s called flirting, Hermione.”

“With me?” she asked. “Why would you do that?”

He casually draped his left arm across her shoulders. “Well, you see, I have been flirting with Professor Sprout for a month now and I’m making absolutely no progress. I think I’m a little rusty. I was hoping I could practice on you.”

Hermione looked at Harry’s smiling face and began to laugh. “Of course you can practice on me. What are friends for?”

“So, how am I doing?”

She thought for a moment. “Remarkably well for someone who is out of practice.”

Harry dropped his arm from her shoulders as they walked up the steps to the castle. Hermione became aware of the cool breeze drifting over her shoulder, through the thick material of her cloak, cooling the warm patch of skin Harry’s hand had just abandoned. She grasped her cloak around her tightly in a futile attempt to regain the warmth.

“Thanks for walking with me,” Hermione said, expecting to continue on alone, as Harry opened the castle door.

“I’m walking you to your room,” Harry said firmly.

Hermione paused on the threshold, catching a glimpse of resolution in Harry’s eyes that was quickly replaced by a charming smile. Tentatively, she stepped into the castle.

Through the echoing reverberations of their footsteps, Hermione heard the soft thud of the door closing behind them, shutting out the unwelcome cold. The warmth of the castle, which had been her home for 16 years, unexpectedly foreign and familiar at the same time, enveloped her. The click-clack of their footsteps, amplified in the cavernous Entrance Hall, were resounding in her head, alternating between being rhythmically in step, to inconsonance, then back again, which was disconcerting her.

They walked the castle hallways in silence, Hermione focusing determinedly on keeping her footsteps in time with Harry’s in an effort to calm the uneasiness the inconsistent rhythm caused, giving her mind something else to do besides think, analyze and jump to conclusions.

They arrived at a bronzed suit of armor, one of a hundred scattered throughout the school, each one as innocuous as the last. Hermione heard her voice from a distance say “Socrates,” and the knight stepped aside, revealing a door that was swinging open inwardly into the passageway leading to the Professors’ residences.

Hermione stopped in front of a large oak door with an ornately engraved woman on it. She turned, startled at how close Harry was, to see him staring at the door.

“Who is that?”

Hermione turned to look at her door and smiled. “Athena, Goddess of Wisdom,” she said sheepishly, turning back to face Harry. “A bit over the top, don’t you think?”

Harry smiled. “A bit, but fitting.”

Hermione gestured to the other doors down the hall. “Each door is engraved to reflect the essence and personality of the occupant. When I opened the door the first time, this is what it conjured.” She looked again at the door, seeing for the thousandth time the goddess. She held a book in one hand and in the other a shield adorned with an owl in the top left corner and a unicorn in the bottom right, dissected diagonally by a lightning bolt.

She turned and caught the faint scent of Harry’s soap as he leaned across her to open the door to her room. Clearing her throat, she said, “Thanks so much for dinner. It was really wonderful.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry’s eyes were roaming over her face as if memorizing every detail. His eyes settled on hers as he touched a strand of her hair and gently threaded it between his fingers. He leaned forward and for a split second Hermione thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he put his lips close to her ear and whispered, “Goodnight, beautiful.” He softly kissed her on the cheek, turned and walked down the corridor.

Hermione closed the door to her room and collapsed backwards against the door.

Professor Sprout doesn’t stand a chance.

Chapter 9 The Many Minds and Memories of Hermione

Hermione awoke the next day with the sun streaming through her bedroom windows. She stretched lazily, rubbed Crookshanks’ head, and turned over to glance at her clock. Thinking that she was late for something, she sat bolt upright when she saw the dial read 9:30. Then the realization that it was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the school year penetrated her foggy brain and she plopped back onto her pillow, happy in the fact that she didn’t have anywhere to be and didn’t have anything to do.

That was good since she got very little sleep the night before.

She rolled over on her stomach and pulled the blankets over her head, blocking out the sickeningly cheerful sun. She didn’t feel remotely cheerful at the moment. The events of the previous night and her subsequent hours of analysis came flooding back to her, weighing her down with conflicting thoughts and emotions she could not wade through. She was much happier to stay buried beneath the blankets as darkness was more indicative of her current mood.

But why? If she was correct, and she usually was, then a man, a very handsome man, is interested in her. Where was the logic in that being depressing?

Because, the man that is interested in you is Harry.

Oh, right. That is the depressing part. Thanks for the reminder.

I’m here to help.

Hermione tutted her inner logic and groaned aloud, knowing herself well enough to realize that another round of unrelenting situational analysis was on its way. She really didn’t have the energy or desire for it. No matter how many times she went over it all in her head, the facts of the matter stayed the same.

Harry fancied her.

She couldn’t fancy Harry.

She needed someone to talk to.

There was no one she could talk to.

She missed her mother.

She flipped the blankets off of her, swinging her legs out of bed. She grabbed a beige chenille throw from her wing chair and threw it around her shoulders, pulling it close around her to ward off the morning chill. She padded to her bookshelf and carefully removed a framed picture, using the corner of the throw to wipe a light layer of dust off the glass. Smiling at the picture, she returned to the wing chair and settled into it, tucking her feet under herself.

The picture was of her parents and her in Paris, the summer before her sixth year. They had insisted that she take a holiday with them, owing to the fact that she had spent the majority of her holidays the previous few years either at Hogwarts or with the Weasleys. Hermione had resisted, not wanting to be absent from the wizarding world so soon after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, but her parents were quite adamant. In the end, Hermione had acquiesced, compromising with them for a two-week holiday instead of their preferred one month.

Hermione regretted that compromise. That was the last time she had seen her parents alive. They had been tortured and killed by Bellatrix Lestrange the following Halloween.

Hermione sniffed loudly, looking at the last picture taken of them together. It was the last day of their trip and they were sitting outside at their favorite bakery, eating breakfast. Hermione’s father, who was incessantly taking pictures, asked their waitress to take one of the three of them. Hermione and her mother had grinned and rolled their eyes at each other, knowing that this picture would look just like the last picture her father had coerced someone into taking. They good-naturedly went along with each one, knowing how much her dad enjoyed it.

She looked at her parents in the picture, forcing herself to remember them as they were in Paris — happy; she did not want to dwell on their last moments and the terror they must have felt in the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her mum and dad draped their arms over the back of her chair and leaned toward her in an effort to fit into the frame. Tanned from their time in the south of France, and smiling, her parents were a handsome couple.

Her dad, tall and lanky with salt and pepper hair, sported a huge smile, revealing rather large, but perfectly straight teeth. Her mother, a bit more reserved, but with a dry, biting sense of humor, had unfortunately given Hermione her hair genes. Mrs. Granger’s solution to the bushy nature of her locks had been to pull her hair back in a tidy clip at the nape of her neck. Hermione couldn’t remember her any other way.

It was in times like these, when she needed an objective point of view, that she missed her mother the most. Her mother had always been good at cutting to the core of the problem and finding a solution. On that very trip, Hermione had talked to her mother about Ron, finally revealing to someone the true depth of her feelings for him. Of course, her mother had known already and had advised Hermione to talk to Ron, which she did months later at Harry’s insistence. Try as she might, she could not fathom what her mother would recommend in this situation. Too much had happened over the years, she was too far removed from her mother’s objectivity to formulate an answer to the question she would ask: What should I do?

Ginny and Minerva had taken the place of her mother’s confidence quite admirably in the years since. Ginny, whom Hermione would normally talk to about something like this, was not an option at the moment. To begin with, she would be swamped at the shop, helping the Hogwarts students choose and purchase all of the stinkbombs and fireworks that would invariably make Filch’s job a nightmare. Secondly, she was Ron’s sister, and Hermione had never fully explained to her the events preceding Ron’s death. It was these long-past, but unforgettable events that muddled this situation so completely she wondered if she would ever find a solution.

That left Minerva. She would be logical, that is certain. But her objectivity was questionable. Not to mention the fact that any conversation she envisioned sounded quite inane.

“I think Harry fancies me.”

“Is that so? How do you feel about him?”

“I’m not sure.”

“So is the problem that Harry fancies you or that you don’t know how you feel about Harry.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what, dear?”

“Anything. I don’t know anything.”

Hermione stood and replaced the picture on the shelf. If her mother was here she could tell her everything. Her mother would understand the loyalty Hermione still felt towards Ron. She would understand why this loyalty was what was keeping her from exploring a relationship with anyone, especially Harry. She would understand the apprehension Hermione felt at the mere thought of an emotional attachment. She would understand why the thought that someone fancied her caused her stomach to clench as if squeezed by a vice.

Throw on top of this the fact that this person was Harry and her apprehensions multiplied and eased simultaneously.

I’m a bloody mess.

She walked over to gaze out her window at the beautiful day, most likely the last one before the cold, steel gray of winter overtook them. She turned around and saw not her warm, comforting room, but the prison of her mind. Logic, her lifelong companion, had failed her.

Hermione had never felt so alone in her life.

Releasing a yell of frustration, Hermione ripped the chenille throw from her shoulders and threw it on the bed. She hurriedly went through the motions of getting ready, desperate to escape her room and her frame of mind. She grabbed the throw again, picked up the first book she saw and yanked the door open to leave…

…and ran straight into Harry.

He stumbled backwards, grabbing onto Hermione’s arms to catch himself before falling.

“Whoa! Where’s the fire?” he asked.

Hermione gasped audibly, although in reaction to what, she wasn’t sure. She felt the tension, which had been humming through her body just seconds before, ebb away. A churning stomach and sweaty palms quickly replaced it.

“Harry! What are you doing here?”

“Looking at your door,” he said, nodding to the engraved Athena. “And getting ready to knock.” He tapped his knuckles on the door three times and smiled.

Hermione stepped back to pull the door closed and started walking. “Did you need something?”

“Do I have to ‘need’ something to come see you?” Harry asked.

“Well, no,” Hermione replied nervously. “I thought since I just saw you last night that you might have a specific reason, that’s all.”

“Okay, you caught me. I did have a specific reason. I wanted to see what you were doing today. I was going to go to Honeydukes for some chocolate and thought you might want to come.”

Hermione stopped in the middle of the corridor. “You came through the village, past Honeydukes to ask me if I want to go back into Hogsmeade with you?”

“No,” he replied slowly. “I came up here for breakfast. The idea for Honeydukes came to me while walking to your room to find out why you weren’t at breakfast.”

“Oh.” She turned and resumed walking, unaware of the quizzical expression on Harry’s face.

“So, why weren’t you at breakfast?”

“I overslept.”

“That’s not like you.”

Hermione made an indiscernible humming noise and began absently rubbing her roiling stomach.

“Are you okay? Does your stomach hurt?”

You have no idea.

“No, I’m fine. I probably just need to eat something,” she replied dismissively, although the thought of food made her stomach constrict tightly in objection.

“Lucky I nicked this for you,” Harry said proudly, producing from the pocket of his robe a scone, inexpertly wrapped in a serviette.

Hermione caught the sob of joy that was threatening to escape her throat just in time. She swallowed, jamming it down until she was sure she could speak in a normal voice. To be safe, she cleared her throat before saying, “How sweet. Thank you, Harry.”

Despite herself, Hermione smiled at Harry.

You would think he had just discovered the cure for cancer based on the look of pride and happiness he has on his face. All because you took the scone he offered?

How could you not fall for this guy?

Maybe I should go back to the prison of my mind. I’m losing the battle on the outside.

“How about Honeydukes? Are you interested?” Harry asked.

“I was going to sit by the lake for a while and read. Enjoy the last day of good weather we are likely to have for a while.”

“Can I join you?”

Thinking of no plausible reason to deny him, Hermione found herself saying, “Sure.”

Once outside, they found a spot by the lake far enough away from the first and second year students who weren’t allowed to go into Hogsmeade yet so as not to be disturbed. With a flourish Hermione spread out her blanket and lay down to begin her book. Harry sat down beside her and began fidgeting, trying different seated positions, until settling back on one elbow, his legs thrust out in front of him, his feet at Hermione’s head.

The book she had randomly grabbed was the one she had brought back from Harry’s the night before. It was about the history of New Orleans and the Mississippi Delta and, she had to admit, was very interesting. As hard as she tried though, she could not concentrate fully on what she was reading. Her mind kept wandering to the time over the last few weeks she had spent with Harry. How she didn’t notice his interest in her at the time, she would never know. Looking back on it, she could see that he had been interested in her (as more than a friend) almost immediately following his return to Hogwarts. She periodically chanced a glance in his direction, watching him look out over the grounds, pick at the grass, look up at the sky. Once, he caught her looking before she quickly returned the book to block her rapidly blushing face from his view. She decided to re-focus on the book in an attempt to stop staring at Harry. Her eyes glazed over as she tried to read the pages in vain for nearly ten minutes before she placed the open book on her chest. She threw her arm over her eyes to shield them from the sun and decided to take a nap.

“Do you not like the book?” Harry asked.

“No, I like it. Just tired.”

“I thought you slept late.”

“I did, but I went to bed late, too.”

“What were you doing? Working?”

“No.”

“Reading?”

“No.”

Hermione heard Harry take a breath, as if to say something else. “Harry! I couldn’t sleep, okay?” she interrupted tersely, grabbing her book again to try to re-read page three.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“No idea,” Hermione lied.

“Does it happen often?” Harry asked.

“Not often.”

“Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey and ask her about a sleeping draught.”

Hermione dropped the book down an inch and looked over the top of it at Harry. “I’m fine. Can we just drop it?”

“Okay, fine.”

A few minutes passed in silence as Hermione continued to stare blankly at her book, periodically turning the pages so it seemed like she was in fact reading. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry wave to someone.

“Whom are you waving to?” Hermione asked.

“Hagrid. He’s heading to Hogsmeade.”

“Mmmm,” she said. She put her book down again and sat up, propping herself on her elbows to look out over the lake. She saw some first year girls in a group (was there any other way) giggling and talking about 100 yards or so closer to the lake. A group of boys was daring each other to run under the swinging branches of the Whomping Willow to touch the trunk. Hermione had news for them; no one would touch the trunk.

“Here comes Professor Sprout, Hermione. Let’s make her jealous.” And before Hermione could object, Harry had turned his back to her and plopped his head in her lap so that he was looking up at her shocked face. “Don’t look so shocked, Hermione, look happy! We’re making her jealous…shhhh, here she comes.” And Harry closed his eyes.

Hermione was so dumbfounded that she just continued to stare down at him. From an outsider’s point of view it probably did seem like a cozy moment between an intimate couple. She was still staring at him at a loss for words when Professor Sprout came up to them and said cheerfully, “Good morning Hermione, Harry! Isn’t it a beautiful day? Days like these make me so thankful that I have a job where I can…” she took a deep breath in and continued, “breathe the fresh air. Invigorating, I say.”

“Well, hello Professor Sprout,” Harry said squinting in the sun up at her. “It is a beautiful day and here I am surrounded by two beautiful ladies. I am the luckiest bloke at Hogwarts right now, without a doubt.”

Hermione looked up at Professor Sprout and could swear that she was blushing.

“Oh, Harry, you always were such a sweet boy.”

“Boy? Professor Sprout, does that mean that there isn’t any chance for us? None at all?” Harry asked innocently.

“Harry, you are such a jokester, just like your father. You two have fun!” she called as she waved and walked towards the castle.

“Well, I’m not giving up hope on you yet!” Harry called after her.

“She is definitely softening up,” he said as he plopped his head back into Hermione’s lap and closed his eyes.

What just happened here? And why is Harry’s head still in my lap?

“Harry?”

“Hmmm?” he said with his eyes still closed.

“You can take your head out of my lap now. Professor Sprout is gone.”

“No, she will be coming back out soon to go to Hogsmeade. Just wait.”

Hermione looked around, relieved by the fact that the students nearby were too engaged with the Whomping Willow to pay them any mind.

She gently poked him in the arm. “Harry?” Still no response. As she looked at his relaxed face, she realized that he was feigning sleep, and very convincingly. She sat there staring at him for a moment, wondering how best to handle this particular turn of events. She could stand up; that would solve the problem. But Then she realized, to her utter surprise, that she didn’t really want his head out of her lap. That disturbing realization brought on an entirely new wave of issues and emotions.

“Harry,” she murmured. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her left hand running itself through his hair, seemingly without her permission. She jerked it away and sat on it, attempting to keep the rogue hand under control.

“I know what you’re doing, Harry.”

Apparently, she had been looking at his lips, because when she looked at his eyes, they were open, bright green and sparkling with … what? … a look she hadn’t seen before. She was mesmerized.

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this…cozy,” Snape said in his creepiest voice.

Hermione yanked her hand away from Harry’s hair, unaware that it had freed itself from its prison and resumed its traitorous activities, and looked up at Snape, horrified. Attempting to regain her composure, but realizing that she could not explain this scene with any amount of dignity, Hermione said in a falsely benign voice, “Hello, Severus. Heading to Hogsmeade, are you?”

Harry sat up and glared at Snape, who ignored him completely and addressed Hermione. “This does seem a trifle inappropriate, Hermione. After all, there are students staring all around you. You should be setting the example, not making a scene,” Snape said silkily.

Harry bounded to his feet. “There is nothing inappropriate about two best friends sitting together by the lake. Everyone in this school knows that Hermione and I have been friends for years. No one but you would find anything improper about it.”

“Maybe so. But it looks like the second generation of your fan club might be a little upset that you are apparently ‘off the market,’” Snape said with a nod towards the group of First Years by the lake. Harry and Hermione turned to look and noticed that all the girls, and the boys at the Whomping Willow, too, were talking and pointing at them. Snape smirked and walked away.

“Great,” Hermione said as she picked up her book and blanket and made to return to the castle.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to my room. I feel sick.” She started walking.

Walking beside her Harry said, “You aren’t worried about Snape are you? We weren’t doing anything wrong, Hermione! We aren’t students anymore; he can’t put us in detention.” He was making no impression whatsoever. “Hermione, wait!”

Hermione stopped, glancing over her shoulder at the First Years. She turned to Harry and said, “Go to Honeydukes, Harry. I’ll see you later.” Then she turned to walk up the castle steps.

---

Hermione was telling the truth when she told Harry that she felt sick. Unfortunately, she didn’t think that Madam Pomfrey had an antidote for this ailment.

The fluttering and flips that her stomach was doing as she walked down the corridor to her room told her plainly that she now had the answer to one of the questions she had posed to herself during her imaginary conversation with Minerva.

She was attracted to Harry.

She found herself in front of the door to her room, staring at Athena, hoping a bolt of wisdom would fall from the heavens and tell her what in the world was going on. Her eyes moved from Athena’s face to the shield she held in her left hand, and Hermione’ heart tumbled down a mountain of fear. The symbolism was unmistakable. Hermione was dumbfounded that she hadn’t seen it before.

An owl and a unicorn, separated by a bolt of lightning.

She opened the door and quickly walked through, slamming it behind her.

She sat down on the edge of her bed trying to come to terms with the fact that her feelings for Harry had apparently changed from friendly to — she gave a slight shudder — romantic.

This is Harry! I’ve never thought of him as anything but a best friend. This is just insane!

What’s insane? Why shouldn’t you like Harry? He’s handsome, smart, funny, and you know him better than anyone. And, he is handsome…

I know; you just said that.

Well it bears repeating. I really love his hair. It would be nicer if it were just a little longer… I wonder if he is a good kisser?

God, you’re pathetic!

I know, but it’s been a while since you’ve allowed any romance in our life. It’s nice to at least think of the possibilities.

But this is Harry! You’re best friends!

Another part of her brain interrupted in a voice that sounded maddeningly patronizing — as if explaining something to a five year old.

If you change the relationship to anything else, you will ruin it; you know that from experience. It is best just to keep things the way they are. You don’t want to lose another best friend, do you?

But think of the fun we will have in the meantime!

Oh good Lord.

None of this makes sense. One day everything is platonic, the next you are canoodling by the lake. Love isn’t a switch you turn on and off.

Now wait just a minute. I am not in love with Harry!

Who said anything about love? I’ll settle for desire right now. Hell, even passing interest is more than what we have had lately.

Hermione groaned and flopped back on her bed at that thought, willing the debate raging in her head to cease immediately.

---

While Hermione was obsessing and overanalyzing the events of the day, Harry was worrying about what Hermione was thinking of him. If he had not had his head in her lap, Snape would have most likely ignored them. Then he would have been able to spend the rest of the day with her, as was his original intent.

Instead he spent the day at home alone.

It had taken all the willpower Harry possessed to suppress the grin that so desperately wanted to escape when Hermione started playing with his hair. He knew she had been staring at him and found it very difficult to keep his eyes closed. But he also knew as soon as he opened his eyes, she would’ve made him move. That was the last thing he wanted. He had been conjuring ideas of how to spend the day with Hermione when he heard her say, “I know what you’re doing, Harry.”

He had opened his eyes to see her staring down at him, at his lips. Then her eyes moved and locked on his.

She knows.

For Harry, the realization was both a relief and a burden. Finally, he would know how she feels, would know if he was chasing after something he would never have. But the chance that he would never have Hermione filled him with dread and apprehension. He could only imagine what his expression was saying to her. His heart was thumping with fear and exaltation.

Then Snape had shown up. At that moment he hated Snape more than he ever had before. Slimy bastard.

Later that night, when he knew the hallways and corridors would be deserted, Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak and started towards the castle. Once at Hermione’s room, he softly knocked on her door. She opened the door a crack and peered out. Harry’s breath caught.

Her hair was tied back haphazardly at the nape of her neck and strands were falling down around her face. Her reading glasses were on but had slipped down to the middle of her nose. In her left hand she held the book she been reading that morning by the lake, with her index finger marking her place. He hadn’t considered that she would be in her pyjamas, probably already in bed. Although her pyjamas could only be described as conservatively feminine (a light pink camisole and pyjama bottoms with little pink and blue flowers on them) and not remotely sexy, Harry was disquieted nonetheless.

“Hello?” she said in a soft voice. Seeing no one, she whispered, “Harry? Is that you?”

Harry opened the cloak up to reveal himself just inches from her. Startled at his proximity, she grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him into her room and shut the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked with anger in her voice.

“Coming to apologize.”

“Couldn’t that have waited until tomorrow?”

“I didn’t think so, no,” he replied with an edge to his voice.

“Fine. You have apologized. Now go.”

Harry looked at her in amazement. “Why are you mad at me?”

“Why are you apologizing if I shouldn’t be mad at you?”

Harry opened his mouth to say something then stopped. Good question, Harry thought.

“I knew you would be upset about Snape and I thought I might be able to make you feel better. My mistake.” In one movement, Harry turned to go and draped his invisibility cloak over him.

The door opened, seemingly by itself, and in a sudden panic, Hermione said, “Wait!”

Harry stopped and turned, still invisible to Hermione. She took a couple of steps forward toward the door. “I, um…have to go to London on Friday afternoon for an ABMB board meeting. Would you like to come?”

Hermione started when Harry removed the cloak from his head making it appear to be floating in mid-air only inches from her face. Harry stood in front of her holding her gaze, making her wait. His eyes traveled across her face and paused on her lips. He glanced back up at her eyes to see her staring directly back at him. He glanced down at her lips, smiled and said, “Sure.” He stepped back, threw his cloak back over his head and walked out the door.

With a soft click the door closed and Hermione let out a shaky breath. She was completely confused and emotionally drained. So much that had happened in the last 24 hours was unexpected, but pleasantly so, if she was honest with herself.

Unfortunately, Hermione had a history of rarely being honest with herself when it came to her feelings. She had always focused on her intellect and the facts, solving problems with her brain. That was something she could control. Emotions were an entirely different story and she had always failed miserably in that department. If she couldn’t master something or find the answer in a book, she dismissed it as rubbish and moved on to something she could quantify with logic.

Her biggest and most painful failure had been her relationship with Ron. She had loved him totally, desperately, but secretly for two years before they finally became a couple. She could think of nothing more terrifying than telling Ron how she felt about him. Even meeting Voldemort face to face was easier to imagine than exposing herself to rejection and hurt. So she didn’t say anything until the end of their sixth year at Hogwarts. It was Harry that finally made the two of them realize they felt the same way about each other…

Harry found Hermione in the Gryffindor common room late one night sitting curled up in one of their favorite armchairs by the fire. He thought she had been crying, which was untrue. Her supposed tears had been the catalyst for Harry to tell Hermione that he knew how she felt about Ron, and had known for years, at least since the Yule Ball that took place during their fourth year.

Following that pronouncement, true tears started flowing and Hermione found herself telling Harry everything, spilling her heart out to him. To his credit, he sat there and listened without interrupting for an hour or more. When Hermione finally talked herself out, Harry knelt down by her chair and took her hand.

“Hermione, I have watched the two of you bicker and battle for the last six years. And for what? What has been gained? All you are both doing is trying to hide how you really feel for each other. Everyone but you two sees right through it. Honestly, it is time to either do something about it or move on. Personally, I want to see my two best friends together and happy. And I think you both will be very happy together. But I can’t stand seeing you both miserable, and you are…both of you.”

He squeezed her hand and raised it to his lips for a quick kiss. “But I have some bad news.” Hermione looked at him in alarm. “You are going to have to make the first move. Ron will never do it. Even if I told him that you used Umbridge’s quill to tattoo ’I love Ron‘ onto the back of your hand, he wouldn’t believe that you feel the same way.”

“Harry, I just can’t. I’m terrified. What if you’re wrong?”

Harry looked at her and said, “If I thought for one minute that you would get hurt, Hermione, I wouldn’t encourage you to do this. Trust me.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “What?” Harry asked.

“Well, fear isn’t the only thing that has kept me from talking to Ron.”

“What else?”

Hermione, still determinedly looking anywhere but at Harry, took a deep breath, and looked directly at him. “You.”

“Me? Why would…” Harry stopped, his eyes wide. “You don’t think that I…”

“You have to admit Harry, it is a concern.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Hermione, I think you are very pretty and all, but I don’t like you like that.”

“What?” Hermione said, all at once blushing and looking perplexed. “That isn’t what I meant…I can’t…oh goodness. Harry that never crossed my mind. No, I’m concerned how it will affect our friendship, the three of us, if Ron and I do become a couple.”

“Oh.” They were both avoiding looking at the other, each a bit embarrassed, when they caught each other’s eyes and started laughing.

“What a great pair of communicators we are,” Hermione said.

“And I thought we were doing so well up to that point!”

Harry looked at her and said, “If I was the least bit concerned about how you and Ron being a couple would affect our relationship, I wouldn’t be here talking to you. I am not worried about it one bit.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The very next day, Hermione decided to approach Ron. She, Harry, and Ron had been by the fire in the Gryffindor common room studying late into the night. Harry, knowing that she hadn’t talked to Ron yet, decided to turn in early. As usual, Ron had left his homework too late and was going to be up for hours still.

“Ron?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” he replied absently, looking through his Potions textbook.

“Have you talked to Harry lately?”

Ron looked up and gave her a curious look. “What do you mean? He was just here doing homework with us. Of course I’ve talked to him.”

“Um, no…I mean, uh, about us?”

Ron’s face dropped and he went very still. “Us?”

She cleared her throat. “Well, he seems to think that, um, we like each other.”

Ron’s brows furrowed and he said, “Of course we do. We are best friends.”

He isn’t going to make this easy, is he, she thought?

She leveled a gaze at him, took a deep breath and said, “As more than friends, Ron.”

Ron’s eyes widened, and he immediately got interested in his quill feather so as not to look at Hermione.

Thinking she had done her part and brought the subject up, Hermione started packing her books into her bag to go up to her room for the night.

“Where are you going? Aren’t you going to finish?” he asked gesturing to his homework.

“Finish what, Ron? My homework? I finished that ages ago. I’ve been waiting down here to talk to you about this. You don’t seem to want to, so I have my answer and I’m going to bed,” and she turned to go.

“He’s right,” Ron said quietly.

Hermione stopped in her tracks and slowly turned around. Ron, who was still very interested in his quill, continued, “I have fancied you for ages, Hermione. I never thought that you would be interested in me like that, so I never said anything.” He looked up at her then and said, “I think you’re beautiful.”

Hermione’s breath caught and her stomach did a flip. She dropped her book bag and knelt in front of Ron taking his hands. “I’ve fancied you for ages, too.”

Ron smiled and Hermione’s heart melted. He leaned down and kissed her for the first time.

Hermione was still standing near her closed door, staring at it and at nothing. How long had she been lost in time? She didn’t know. She had revisited that memory so many times it had become a movie in her mind. If only she could stop the movie there with a happy ending.

Chapter 10 The Flaming Incantation

Harry and Hermione apparated to London’s Leaky Cauldron immediately after classes ended on Friday. It was the first time they had spent any time together all week, which irked Harry markedly. He’d developed the distinct impression Hermione was avoiding him. Every time he tried to talk to her she said, ”Not now Harry. We will talk about it later.“ What “it” was, Harry wasn’t even sure. He somehow thought “it” was entirely different from the incident with Snape at the lake.

In spite of himself, when Harry thought about their time at the lake, which had been happening at random times all week, he started smiling. He would be walking down a corridor or eating breakfast or even refereeing a Quidditch scrimmage and find himself grinning from ear to ear. He was sure some of his students thought he had gone quite mad. And he was sure they were quite right.

Harry couldn’t stop focusing on the fact that Hermione showed no real desire for him to remove his head from her lap. Instead, she played with his hair, which was something he loved. As small as it was, this innocent gesture was wholly responsible for Harry’s grin. He tried to focus on that as much as possible and push her ensuing comment out of his mind.

“I know what you are doing, Harry.”

This statement, coupled with her distant behavior all week, caused Harry much consternation. On the one hand, Harry interpreted the statement, along with the invitation to London, as a good sign: an indication of her knowledge of his affection and that it was returned in kind. But on the other hand, she had obviously been avoiding him all week. In Harry’s mind, her actions and her behavior were contradictory. As a result, he was left not quite knowing what to think.

At one point of desperation on Wednesday night, he had decided that he was going to go to the castle, march right up to her room and ask her what was going on. Right after he planted a passionate kiss on her.

Not a good idea, mate, Ron’s voice chastised.

Why not? I’ll have my answer, and I’ll finally get to kiss her.

Well, first off, you know she has never thought of you in any way other than as a friend. Probably, she is avoiding you because she is trying to get used to the idea of you being something more. Not to mention the fact that she isn’t over me.

You had to bring that up, didn’t you?

It’s all I have left. Being dead has no perks.

I imagine not.

If you go rushing up there like some sex maniac, she is going to go running, screaming into the Forbidden Forest. Any chance you have will be gone. As much as you don’t want to admit it, she’s in control here, mate. You have to give her time.

You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right.

So Harry clung to the possibility that her avoidance of him was linked to the fact that she did fancy him and was getting used to the idea. As a result, he focused on their trip to London and how to make the most of his time alone with her.

Sitting in a booth at the Leaky Cauldron, surrounded by the remnants of their late lunch, Harry watched Hermione review a piece of parchment that contained the ABMB agenda for later today. A strand of her hair that had been tucked behind her ear fell down, obscuring her face. Without thinking, Harry leaned across the table and pushed it back.

Hermione started and looked at Harry who was trying, without much success, to get her hair to stay put. He stopped, his hand hovering next to her cheek, fighting the urge trace her jaw line with his finger.

“Sorry,” he said, reluctantly pulling his hand away. “It fell.”

And I couldn’t see your face.

“Thanks,” she replied, repeating Harry’s action with her hand and smoothing out her hair.

They looked at each other a moment longer and Harry felt it. Not the flip-flop of his stomach; he felt that every time he saw Hermione. Instead, he felt the stirrings of affection, the same emotions he was battling to control, coming from her when he looked in her eyes. He smiled at her and she looked back down at her parchment.

Relief soared through Harry, its wings beating in time with his heartbeat, causing it to thud loudly in his chest. It was all he could do to restrain himself from standing up, pumping his fist and shouting “YES!” Now her evasion of him for an entire week could only be viewed in a positive light, and Harry was absolutely silly with excitement. That particular question being answered led him to inquire as to the other mystery that had plagued him throughout the week.

“So do you want to talk about it now?” Harry asked.

Hermione froze, still looking down. “It? What?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. Every time I’ve tried to talk to you this past week you said, ‘Not now Harry. We’ll talk about it later.’ I’ve been dying to know what ‘it’ is!”

“Oh, nothing really. I just didn’t want to add fuel to the fire of the Harry Potter Fan Club by being seen in deep conversation with you. They are quite upset with me, you know.”

“Fan club? There isn’t a Harry Potter Fan Club. Snape just said that because he’s just…well, Snape.”

Hermione looked at Harry with a mischievous grin on her face. “Yes, there is Harry. There has been a Harry Potter Fan Club since the Tri-wizard Tournament. It hasn’t been as active for the last few years since no one really knew where you were or what you were doing. But since you have been back at Hogwarts its membership has soared, I assure you.”

Harry was stunned, too stunned to speak. Hermione started laughing at him. “You should see the look on your face!”

“So what is the mission of the Harry Potter Fan Club?” Harry asked.

“These are teenage girls, Harry. There is no mission. Mainly they talk about how cute they think you are. The big mystery right now is where your glasses went. Did he get contacts? Is there a spell to fix nearsightedness? Did killing Voldemort make your vision return to normal when your scar went away? The theories are endless.”

“Why don’t they just ask me? I’ll tell them,” Harry said bemused.

“I seem to remember you asking me that same question about Cho. Apparently you’ve forgotten, Harry, girls don’t usually just ask.”

Harry kicked his feet up into the booth and leaned against the wall, processing all of this information, drumming his fingers on the table while Hermione was busy scribbling notes on her agenda. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “You seem to know a lot about the Harry Potter Fan Club. Are you the faculty liaison?”

Hermione laughed heartily, a bit too heartily for Harry’s ego. “Don’t be silly. It isn’t a Hogwarts sponsored club. It is very clandestine; at least they think so.”

“Were you a member when we were in school?” he asked cheekily.

Again, she laughed. “No, Harry! Why would I be? I was your best friend. I didn’t need to be part of your fan club.”

Hermione rolled up her agenda, placed it in her bag and began rummaging around for something else. In short order, she produced a small piece of parchment and laid it down on the table, revealing an itemized list entitled “Things To Do.” Taking her wand, she tapped the top three items once and they disappeared, but not before Harry read “Apparate, Lunch, Agenda.” He smiled, resisting the urge to tease her and listened intently when she began planning out their afternoon.

“The meeting is at 4 p.m. so we have a couple of hours still. I need to pick up some things. What do you need to do?” Hermione asked, leaning back and casually crossing her arms over her chest.

“Nothing. I just came to be with you.” Harry said as he smiled and waved for the check to Tom the Innkeeper who was behind the bar.

“What?”

Harry looked at her quizzically. “What? I came to London to spend time with you without hundreds of students around watching our every move. That shouldn’t be a huge revelation to you, Hermione.” He looked up and smiled as Tom produced the check. “Thanks, Tom.”

“Sure thing, Harry. Good to see you again!”

“You, too.”

Harry returned his attention to Hermione, who was looking at him curiously. “I suppose the surprise is you being so direct about it.” Her brows furrowed for a brief moment before she shook her head slightly and returned to rummaging through her bag. She pulled the ticket towards her and began counting out money to pay.

Harry put his hand over hers. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked incredulously.

“Paying for lunch.”

“You most certainly are not!” he cried.

“Why not?”

“Because,” he said, still restraining her hand while struggling with his other to pull his money bag out of his pocket. “I’m paying.”

“No you are not!” she replied, attempting to pull her hand from his grasp.

Unbeknownst to themselves, while Hermione was struggling to free her hand and Harry was struggling with his pocket, the few early afternoon customers that were in the pub had all stopped what they were doing to stare at the humorous scene. Harry and Hermione, who by this time, were laughing at each other’s struggles, realized slowly that they were causing a commotion and looked around, discovering the attention of the other patrons. They quickly withdrew their hands and Harry gave a slight shrug of his shoulders in defeat, saying, “Modern witches.”

Tom shook his head and grinned, returning to his task of polishing the brass rail on the bar, and the other patrons returned reluctantly to their uneventful tankards of ale.

Harry heard Hermione mumble something like “I’ll show you modern witches” while returning to her original task of counting out the correct change.

“What was that, Miss Granger?”

“Nothing at all.”

Harry resumed his relaxed pose, throwing his feet into the seat of the booth and draping his arm on the table. “So, since you just paid for my lunch, I guess this is a date,” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I’ve been wondering about that all week.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Harry, but this isn’t a date,” Hermione replied as she scooted out of the booth and rose from the table and walked towards the back of the pub to the entrance to Diagon Alley.

Harry bounded up from the booth and quickly caught up to her, gently grasping her elbow to guide her through the tables. “I believe it is a date, Professor. You asked me to come and then you paid for my lunch. Call me old fashioned but that, my dear, is a date.”

Hermione stopped in front of the brick wall that disguised the entrance to Diagon Alley, pulled out her wand and turned to Harry. He stepped back reflexively, looking at her wand and wondering if his teasing had gone just a bit too far and she was about to make him pay. She looked from him to her wand and smiled, before turning to tap the appropriate bricks. She pocketed her wand as the bricks rearranged themselves and turned back to Harry.

“No. Actually, Harry, my paying for lunch means that you have to pay for drinks tonight after the meeting. I am getting off much cheaper than you are, trust me,” she replied with a grin and walked through the archway.

It was no surprise to Harry that Hermione’s first stop was Flourish and Blotts. Forty-five minutes, many items off the list and galleons later, they left with Harry loaded down with parcels.

“Is your goal to read every magical book ever written?” Harry asked juggling the packages.

“As a matter of fact…I only have 20,000 to go,” Hermione laughed. “Let’s go in here. I want to look for a new robe for the Yule Ball. I’ve worn the same one for the last two years.”

“So?”

Hermione looked back at him as she opened the door to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, rolled her eyes and entered the shop. She immediately went to the women’s dress robes section and started browsing. Harry found a chair at the back of the shop by the dressing rooms and plopped down after relieving himself of her packages.

Bored after five minutes, Harry got up and walked to where Hermione was inspecting a green robe.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“It’s green.”

“Very observant.”

Harry looked at the rack and picked out a midnight blue robe. “What about blue?”

“Eh, I’ve already had a blue one,” she said dismissively. “I’m looking for something different.”

Remembering Hermione in her periwinkle blue robes at the first Yule Ball their fourth year, which was the first time that he had realized how pretty Hermione is, Harry mumbled, “You look really good in blue.”

“What?”

“Just try on the blue one, please,” he pleaded, placing his hands together in front of his chest.

“Oh, all right,” she said, suppressing a smile, as she took four robes into the changing room.

Harry sat back down and waited. Five minutes, ten minutes…

How long does it take to try on a robe?

After 15 minutes, Hermione returned with the blue robe over her arm. “I liked the blue one best, too. Let’s go.”

“You aren’t going to show me?” he asked her back as she retreated to the till to pay. “I picked it out and you aren’t going to model it for me?”

“Don’t be silly; we don’t have time,” she dismissed as she paid for the robe.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked looking at his watch. “We have 45 minutes.”

“I thought we might go by Seamus’ pub so you can see him before the meeting. I think you’ll like his place.”

Disgruntled, Harry loaded the packages back in his arms and followed Hermione out of the shop. Once outside, they started walking down Diagon Alley, which was getting more and more crowded as the afternoon wore on. Weaving their way through the crowd, Hermione started filling Harry in on Seamus’ pub.

“It’s called the Green Irishman. It’s very popular with the younger crowd. I expect it will be packed tonight. Friday night is ‘Butterbeer Special Night.’ Fred and George usually stop by after they close the shop, so we might run into them after the meeting.”

Hermione prattled on about Seamus’ pub when they turned into an alleyway and stopped in front of a door. Hanging above the door was a wooden sign with the word “Irishman” painted in green. Hermione was looking at him expectantly as if he was being shown something important.

He looked back at the sign and understanding flooded his face. “Clever,” he said honestly.

Looking pleased, Hermione opened the stout wooden door and entered the pub. Harry walked inside and was bombarded with green. Green walls, green upholstered stools and booths, even the wood floor was painted a deep kelly green. Harry looked up at the ceiling and was amazed to see a field of green clover somehow growing down from the rafters.

“Subtle,” Harry murmured as he followed Hermione to the bar.

“Hermione!” Seamus called from the far corner of the bar that ran the length of one wall.

“Hi, Seamus!”

Seamus threw the towel he was using over his shoulder and walked toward them with his arms open to give Hermione a big hug.

“Hey stranger! We’ve missed you! Where have you been?” Seamus asked.

“Oh, you know me. Keeping busy. This is my first trip to London in months. You know I wouldn’t come to town without stopping to see you.”

“You’d better not. Fiona would never forgive you.” It was then that he looked over Hermione’s shoulder and saw Harry standing there loaded down with packages.

“Harry Potter! Great to see you! Where the bloody hell have you been for five years?” he laughed, relieving Harry of Hermione’s purchases.

Harry smiled as Seamus shook his hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “Get right to the point, don’t you Seamus?”

“Who has time for chit-chat?” he asked good-naturedly. “Hey, Fi! Look who’s here!”

Harry looked towards the bar to see a petite blond-haired woman coming through the door to what Harry assumed was the storage room. “Hermione!” she shrieked, and to Harry’s astonishment, jumped over the counter.

Seeing the look on Harry’s face, Seamus said, “Don’t be fooled by her size. She has more athletic ability in her pinkie than I could even dream about having. She was a gymnast before going to school. Gave it up when she got her letter from Beauxbatons.”

“Who is she?” Harry asked.

“That, my friend, is the best thing that ever happened to me! She’s my wife.”

Harry watched Hermione and Fiona chat and giggle like long lost friends. He looked at Seamus and said, “Congratulations. I’m sure she’s too good for you.”

“That goes without saying,” Seamus replied laughing. “Come on, let me buy you a butterbeer and you can tell me what you’ve been doing since Hogwarts.”

Seamus led Harry over to Fiona and introduced them. “Nice to finally meet you, Harry. I’ve heard so much about you from Seamus and Hermione.”

“Only the good parts are true,” Harry said laughing and shaking her hand.

“Naturally.”

“Are you ready, Fiona?” Hermione asked.

“Right. Yes. Let me grab my cloak,” she said as she untied the apron around her waist and retreated into the back room.

Hermione turned to Harry. “Fiona and I are going to the board meeting. We should be about an hour to an hour and a half. You are welcome to come, but you might be bored. I thought you might rather stay here and catch up with Seamus.”

Relief flooded Harry. He wanted to come to London to spend time with Hermione, but wasn’t too keen on sitting in a board meeting for hours. “Alright then. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Hermione smiled at him and his stomach did a flip-flop. Maybe he could sit through a boring meeting, after all…

Fiona came breezing back through the pub and, after giving Seamus a swift kiss and last minute instructions on what needed to be done to ready the place for business tonight, she and Hermione left, chatting animatedly.

“Seamus, how did you meet Fiona?”

“Well, now, that’s an interesting story. Hermione introduced us while she and I were dating. She met Fiona at an ABMB training course and they became fast friends. Soon Fiona got involved in the ABMB and one thing led to another… and we met.”

Harry looked shocked. “You didn’t drop Hermione for Fiona, did you?”

“Heavens, no. I think that Hermione introduced us on purpose, knowing we would hit if off. She broke up with me not a week after.”

“I got the impression from Hermione that you weren’t that interested in her.”

“Typical. Very self-deprecating, that one. I suppose she also said, ‘we dated a few times…’”

Harry nodded taking a swig of his Butterbeer.

Seamus rolled his eyes. “We dated for almost a year. I was crazy about her, but I could tell that it wasn’t mutual.”

“Neville and Ginny reckon she is still not over Ron.”

Seamus looked thoughtful for a moment. “I thought that might be it, too. She absolutely refused to talk about Ron, which was always a bit odd in my opinion. Fiona has tried to get her to talk about it also, but she won’t even with her. Has she talked to you about him?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you think she is still hung up on Ron?”

I hope not.

Instead, Harry shrugged and looked around the pub, searching for something to change the subject to. “Nice place. Hermione says it’s very popular and that you are quite the businessman.”

Seamus scoffed. “I have Hermione and Fiona to thank for that. Fiona basically runs the place; I’m just the jovial Irishman everyone wants to drink a firewhiskey with. Hermione was the one that helped me get it off the ground. What did you think of the sign?” Seamus asked, his eyes twinkling.

“Clever. It took me a minute to catch on. The word Irishman painted green – ‘The Green Irishman.’”

“That was Hermione’s idea. She said it would be a conversation piece. It usually stumps people at first but once they cotton on…I have to admit it was pretty clever.”

“There is just one thing, Seamus. I don’t think you have enough green in here, mate…”

---

Two hours later, Hermione and Fiona returned to a bustling pub packed to the gills with young witches and wizards. Fiona immediately removed her cloak and went behind the bar to help, tying on an apron as she went. Hermione began searching the crowd for Harry. There was a huge crowd in the corner cheering for a wizard that was playing the muggle game, darts. Seamus had insisted on putting a couple of dartboards up in honor of his muggle father who had won quite a few dart tournaments in Ireland. It quickly became the most popular game in the place and Seamus had started having tournaments of his own.

Still looking for Harry, Hermione wandered back to the dart game and was surprised to see that the wizard that was being cheered was Harry. Seamus, who looked as if he had had quite a few drinks, was taunting Harry as he readied his next throw. Harry cast a withering glance at Seamus and threw the dart, right into the wall above the board. The crowd erupted and Harry shrugged his shoulders and handed Seamus a galleon.

“Never, ever play darts with an Irish pub owner, Harry! I thought you were smarter than that,” Seamus chided.

“SEAMUS!”

Hermione saw the color drain from Seamus’ face. “Bloody hell, she’s back,” he said and he hurried off to answer his wife’s call.

Hermione grinned as she watched Seamus scamper behind the bar getting an earful from Fiona along the way. She turned back to Harry. “Lost to Seamus at darts, did you?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders reaching for his ale. “I let him win. Wouldn’t want the Irish pub owner to lose face in his own establishment.”

“Uh-huh,” Hermione said and raised her hand to Seamus to signal for a drink.

“What! You doubt me?” Harry teased, offering her his glass.

“You could say that,” Hermione rejoined, taking a drink of Harry’s ale.

“So, how about a game, Miss Granger. If I’m so bad then surely you could beat me.”

“Oh, I’m sure I could never be as good as you,” Hermione said sarcastically, taking an ale being delivered by a waitress. “You are a man after all, and men are better than girls at everything, aren’t they?”

Harry leaned across the table and stopped inches from Hermione’s face. “You are going down.”

“I’m petrified.”

Harry retreated to the board and removed the darts. “What game do you want to play?” he asked giving her the darts.

“You choose,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and standing to remove her cloak.

“501.” Harry took her cloak, folded it and laid it over his stool. “Would you like for me to explain the rules to you?”

“Only if you need a refresher course.”

“Funny. Let’s go.”

So the game began. Harry won the first one handily and was feeling very confident. He also won the second game, although not by as much. That didn’t stop him from playfully taunting Hermione though.

Seamus, who had stopped by to watch, said under his breath so only Harry could hear, “You might want to watch it, Harry.” Harry, who was on his sixth ale by this time, said, “Don’t you worry about a thing, Seamus. I’ve got her right where I want her.”

Seamus shook his head and made his way through the crowd back to Fiona at the bar. “Is Hermione letting him win?”

“Not for long.”

Hermione leaned lazily against the bar, watching Harry’s last dart pierce its mark with near perfection. Its resounding thud against the dartboard was quickly drowned out by the whoops and hollers of patrons who’d obviously made wagers on the game. Harry turned to her, his arms raised in victory, as a young girl brought both Hermione and him their respective darts. She took them hesitatingly, never removing her eyes from the mischievous expression that had just washed across his features.

His eyes moved across the gaggle of wizards exchanging knuts and fell resolutely on her. The intensity of his gaze forced her eyes to the half-consumed glass of ale she clutched in her right hand.

“Hermione,” he began confidently. She mustered her courage and leveled her gaze to his questioningly. “It would appear that the Green Irishman attracts quite a few spirited gamblers.”

“It always has.”

“I wonder,” he sauntered closer to her as the patrons hushed in anticipation. “If a simple wager - between friends – wouldn’t be appropriate?”

Hermione tried desperately to keep the twinkle in her eyes from betraying her secret. She looked away, feigning concern and biting her lower lip, while gathering her composure. She returned her eyes to his, breath nearly catching at his proximity, and replied. “Well, I reckon it would make things a bit more…interesting.” The bar resounded with appreciative encouragement, clinks of glasses, and sporadic clapping.

Harry’s eyes danced brightly as he took a step back and began addressing the good-natured assemblage of onlookers. “The good Professor has agreed to a wager!” Hermione’s shoulders shook from the encouraging slaps she received while cheers erupted through the pub. “But what will it be?” The place erupted as patrons shouted suggestions of every nature his way. Harry, arms crossed and fingers gently pulling at his chin, pretended to consider them. It was quite clear to Hermione that his decision was made long before he’d ever made the proposition.

“Should I win,” he took a few steps toward her and took a breath. “Professor Granger must kiss me,” he paused dramatically, “on the lips.”

Hermione felt reasonably sure that her eyes betrayed her composed demeanor. She quickly looked around the pub, seeing the joyous faces of several individuals, and noted Seamus’ head shaking knowingly in his palm. Fiona was laughing at his side. With a sly grin she returned her attention to Harry.

“And what if I should win?”

“Lady’s choice,” Harry said with an expression that said clearly that he didn’t intend to lose.

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment and replied loudly to the pub, “The Flaming Incantation.” Harry’s brow furrowed questioningly as the cheers from the surrounding wizards reached a deafening roar.

Harry, an uneasy concern flickering across his brow asked, “What is ‘The Flaming Incantation?’”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “Just a little drink that Seamus invented.”

“Seamus invented?”

Hermione nodded in assent and sidled up to Harry. She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “Why do you look so nervous, Harry? Afraid you are going to lose to a girl?” She stood back a step, a smirk written on her face, catcalls from the crowd in the background.

Harry looked around the crowd, which was evenly divided in its allegiance between Hermione and him. He grinned broadly and said loudly, “Done!”

“Best three out of five?” Hermione asked, taking her place behind the line.

“Works for me,” Harry replied.

Hermione almost felt sorry for him after the first few rounds of the ensuing game. His smile was quickly replaced by confusion then faded altogether with the realization that he had, both literally and figuratively, been beaten at his own game.

Hermione won the next game and the next, and the one after that by 200 points. By this time, Harry was staring at her in awe. After removing the darts from the board, she sauntered back and whispered in Harry’s ear, more than a little drunk, “Did I neglect to mention that I dated an Irish pub owner for a year?” Giggling and grinning broadly, she waved at Seamus indicating that it was time for Harry to pay up on his bet.

Tray held high above his head, Seamus walked through the crowd with much fanfare, visibly enjoying the spotlight that his creation had stolen for him. He put four glasses on the table in front of Harry and Hermione. Two were tall, thin test tube like glasses containing a clear liquid, which were flanked by two standard tankards of ale.

Harry looked down at the two shot glasses and asked, "What is this?"

"Water,” Seamus responded with a grin.

Harry looked at him skeptically, obviously not believing a word of what he said.

"It really is water, Harry,” Hermione replied with a grin to match Seamus’.

"If you don’t believe me, drink it, Harry. I'll get you another one."

Harry picked up the test tube cautiously and sniffed it, then took a sip, confirming that it was, indeed, water.

“See. I told you so,” Seamus replied, as he waved his wand and water poured out of it into the empty glass.

Harry looked at Hermione and asked, "Have you ever done this before?"

"Never have."

"Then why did you choose this for the bet?"

"I've seen lots of people do it, and it looks like fun. Plus, I want to see if you will barf, like most do."

"Tossing your cookies is your idea of fun?"

"I don't intend to throw up."

“Are you two ready?” Seamus asked, excitement oozing from every pore of his body.

“Do your thing,” Hermione said.

Seamus raised his hands high in the air, signaling the pub for quiet. Slowly the noise died down to a murmur, and Seamus cleared his throat dramatically.

With a theatrical flourish of his wand he roared, “DINOYSUS INFLAMARE!”

Orange flames shot out of his wand and into the two test tubes, igniting the water down to the bottom of the glass, seemingly turning the water into liquid flames. An orange glow emitted from the two shots, bathing Harry and Hermione’s faces in a soft light as the crowd roared its approval. Hermione, who had seen the production before, looked at Harry who was staring at their drinks with a wide-eyed expression.

Seamus leaned into the two of them and said, “Drink the water first. Then drink the ale.”

“Drink the ale right after, like a chaser?” Harry asked.

“Well, not immediately, but soon after.” He slapped Harry on the back. “You’ll know when to drink the ale, trust me. “

Harry looked at Hermione with a skeptical look. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather kiss me?”

She laughed at his nervousness, hoping to disguise her own. “What a brave Gryffindor you are. Come on, let’s do it.”

She and Harry picked up their shots, took deep breaths, toasted each other and slammed the flaming water down.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what she had expected, but what happened was a sensation that was truly unforgettable. The water was warm sliding down her throat, as if warm molasses was coating her throat as it made its way down into her stomach. Once there, tingling warmth began to spread throughout her body; Hermione could feel the liquid coursing through each blood vessel until reaching the tiniest capillaries at the tips of her toes and fingers. Once she was infused with this warmth, the tingling sensation, which had been secondary, began to overtake the warmth until energy was humming through every nerve ending in her body. She locked onto Harry’s eyes at this point, and felt the pull she had felt in the Leaky Cauldron earlier. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright with excitement, an expression Hermione was sure was reflected in her face. If the after-effects of the drink hadn’t kicked in, Hermione was sure that she would have wrapped her arms around him and snogged him senseless right then and there.

As soon as the idea to kiss Harry entered her mind, an unpleasant burning sensation which originated at the tips of her fingers and toes began to work its way up her arms and legs. She saw Harry’s eyes grow wide and he grabbed for the ale at the same moment she did. She felt the cool liquid spill out the sides of her mouth and down the front her throat as she drank more rapidly than she believed herself capable. Immediately, the burning sensation was eased and replaced by a cool, pleasant feeling. She slammed the mug down on the table, gasping for breath, holding her stomach, attempting to stem the tide of food that was begging to be released from her throat. She swallowed with great effort and took three or four deep breaths, continuing to swallow down the nausea that had overtaken her. She chanced a glance at Harry and saw him doubling over, attempting to regain his composure.

Still bent over, Harry looked up at her and grinned. “How can something be so wonderful and so horrible at the same time?”

“I have no idea,” Hermione replied, shakily. “I think I need to sit down.”

She felt gentle hands guide her to a barstool and turned to see Seamus’ concerned face. “Are you okay, Hermione?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, putting her head in her hand.

“Here,” Seamus said, placing a glass of clear liquid in front of both Hermione and Harry, who sat down across from her. “Drink this.”

“What is that?” Harry asked skeptically.

“Water. Drink up. It will help.”

“What in Merlin’s name was in that thing?” Harry asked accusingly.

“Trade secret,” Seamus replied jauntily, walking back to take his place behind the bar.

The crowd around the two of them began to disperse, leaving Harry and Hermione to recover in peace. Hermione took a long drink of the water Seamus had provided and was rewarded with her nausea abating little by little. Her head, however, was beginning to spin slightly. She put her glass down to see Harry watching her with a smirk on his face. “Wha’s ‘o funny?” she slurred.

Harry pointed at her robes and she looked down to discover two wet streaks running down the front of her robes to her navel, the result of her hastily drunk ale. “Oops,” she said goofily and pulled out her wand to perform a drying charm.

Harry reached his hand across the table to stop her. “I think I’d leave it if I were you. No telling what spell you might perform on yourself the state you are in.”

Hermione looked down at Harry’s hand covering hers and felt the humming sensation from The Flaming Incantation return. Her eyes returned to Harry’s and she quickly removed her hand from his and pocketed her wand.

“Up for another game? I’ll give you the chance to regain some of your ‘manly pride,’” she said jauntily, waving to Seamus for another round of ales.

“You’re on.”

With a new resolve, Harry won the next game tying them with three apiece. It wasn’t a very satisfying win for him owing to the fact that the ale and the shot were having their effect on Hermione and her darts were hitting everything but the board.

“Maybe we should go, Hermione. It’s getting late and we have had quite a bit to drink…” Harry started.

“Nonsense. We have to play one more game to determine the winner,” she slurred, swaying slightly.

“You won. That was our last game and you beat me soundly,” Harry lied.

“Really?” Hermione asked, her brows furrowing in concentration.

“Really. You are the champion,” Harry said.

Trying to do a victory jig, Hermione tripped and fell into Harry’s arms. “Oops,” she said giggling. Harry put his arm around her waist to hold her up as he grabbed their cloaks.

“I beat Harry Potter in darts!” Hermione leaned over to a table of young wizards and whispered loudly. “Shhh!” she said, putting her finger against her lips. “Don’t tell anyone he lost to a girl! It will ruin his reputation as the Voldie Vanquisher!” She winked conspiratorially at the men as Harry steered her away and towards the bar.

“So, who won the last game?” Fiona asked filling a tankard with ale.

“I did!” Hermione slurred with enthusiasm.

Fiona raised one eyebrow at Harry who shrugged his shoulders. “You two heading back tonight?” she asked staring at Hermione with concern.

“I thought we might stop at the Leaky Cauldron and see if they have a couple of rooms. I don’t know how far Hermione can go.”

“Don’t be silly. We have a spare bedroom in our flat upstairs. You can stay there. There is only one bed, but I think Hermione’s honour is safe tonight,” Fiona said as she watched Hermione’s head drop onto Harry’s shoulder and her eyes close.

“Done,” Harry said, struggling to keep Hermione standing upright. Half carrying Hermione, he followed Fiona to the back of the pub and up a flight of narrow stairs. She opened the door for them and let them pass into their flat.

“It is the last door on the right. The loo is across the hall. Make yourselves at home.” With that, she closed the door and returned to the busy pub.

Harry gave up trying to help Hermione walk; he picked her up and carried her down the hall. She nuzzled her head on his shoulder and put her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his hair on the back of his head as she did.

“Your hair is so soft,” she murmured, her warm breath tickling his neck.

“Thanks,” Harry said, trying to focus on something besides her hand playing with his hair and the resulting shiver running up his spine. He kicked open the door to the room which was bathed in moonlight coming through the window opposite the door. He laid Hermione gently on the bed and stood up, moving to close the curtains over the window.

“So, where did your glasses go, Harry?” Hermione asked with her eyes closed.

Amazed that she could put a coherent sentence together, but knowing she wouldn’t remember anything at all in the morning, he replied as he was pulling her shoes off. “A muggle doctor performed laser surgery on my eyes.”

Hermione’s eyes flew open. She sat up and grabbed his head with her hands, using her thumbs to pull down his lower eyelids. “A muggle shot phasers in your eyes? Are you okay? Did it hurt?”

Harry chuckled knowing it was useless to correct her. “No it didn’t hurt at all. Only took about 10 minutes.”

A relieved look washed over her face, but she continued to hold Harry’s face only inches from hers. Her eyes roamed over his features, settling on his eyes. With a very serious look on her face she said, “You know, those fan club girls are right. You are a hottie.” And she threw herself back on the bed bursting into a fit of giggles.

“Thanks, I think,” Harry said uncertainly, pulling the blankets back for her to crawl under. Harry tucked the blankets around her as she turned over on her side to face the window and immediately fell asleep.

Harry sat down beside her, propping his back up against the headboard, and watched her sleep. Her hair had fallen over her face, and for the second time that day he pushed it back behind her ear. “Your hair’s soft, too,” he whispered and continued to run his fingers through her hair. He kicked off his shoes and lay down beside her on top of the blankets. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined sharing a bed with you, Hermione,” he whispered softly to the ceiling.

But I guess it will have to do.

He turned over on his side, wrapped his right arm around Hermione’s waist, pulled her closer to him and snuggled in to sleep.

---

Hermione reluctantly succumbed to wakefulness. Although her mind was awake, her body was having a difficult time responding in kind. Her limbs felt like they weighed 100 kilos each, and she had a peculiar stiffness in her right shoulder. Her eyes and mouth were waging a battle to determine which could be drier. Her mouth was winning, she decided, rubbing the dryness and sleep out of her eyes. But by far the champion of discomfort had to be her head — her throbbing, aching head.

Please don’t let it be bright in the room. Please don’t let it be bright in the room.

With great effort, she reluctantly opened her eyes. Thankfully, the curtains over the window blocked the sunlight. It was obvious from the light peeking through the edges that it was well into the morning.

Wait a minute. I know those curtains. I helped Fiona pick them out. How did I end up in their guest room?

She rolled onto her back to see Harry lying on his side facing her, sleeping peacefully.

With a groan, Hermione threw her right arm over her eyes as the events of the previous night came flooding back to her.

How much ale did I drink? Why did I drink so much ale? I don’t think I did anything too embarrassing. Who did I see and what did I say to them? Fred stopped by. Or was it George? I hope Molly doesn’t find out I was drunk playing darts at the Green Irishman. She will be appalled. Ginny will probably say ‘it’s about time’ when Fred and George tell her.

Hermione took her arm from her eyes and turned to look at Harry. His deep and even breathing told her that he was still asleep. He was lying on his side, his legs drawn up and his arms crossed across his chest as if trying to stay warm. Hermione realized that he was on top of the blankets and hoped that he hadn’t been freezing all night. Making sure not to wake him, she gently touched his nose, checking for warmth. Finding it warm, she ran her finger lightly down his jaw line to his chin for no reason at all, other than her own desire. She had wanted to do it since the day they shared by the lake at Hogwarts. She put her hands together under her cheek and turned on her side to continue watching him sleep.

She couldn’t help thinking about their lunch the previous day at the Leaky Cauldron. The depth of feeling that stirred in her when he looked in her eyes had jolted her. Ever since that moment, she had been both elated…and petrified. It had taken her all week, a week of avoiding Harry, to get her mind around the realisation that she had complex feelings for him — feelings she couldn’t possibly describe as merely friendly. And then, after less than an hour of being in his presence, she felt an undeniable sexual attraction, a pull that she couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

It was a great feeling. One she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for. But her reticence had not made the feeling go away.

Never could she remember a board meeting that had been so boring or so interminably long as the one that had kept her away from Harry. She couldn’t recall one item that had been discussed or one comment that she had made. She was completely distracted thinking about Harry and wanting to get back to the Green Irishman to spend time with him. Fiona had noticed Hermione’s distraction and had nudged her several times when Hermione was being asked a question or to comment. She had brought it up on the walk back to the pub.

“Hermione, what’s going on? I’ve never seen you be so inattentive at a meeting before.”

“Nothing’s going on. I just have a lot on my mind,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Obviously it isn’t the ABMB. Is it work?”

“No. I could teach transfiguration in my sleep.” She continued walking a few steps in silence. “There is more to life than work or causes.”

Fiona stopped in her tracks and said, astounded, “Since when for you?”

Hermione had given her friend a grin and opened the door to the Green Irishman.

Now, here she was lying in the same bed with Harry.

Albeit fully clothed.

She chuckled to herself.

But I have to start somewhere.

She took her left hand from under her cheek and ran her hand through his hair.

I could do this all day.

A few minutes later, when she put her hand back under her cheek, Harry said sleepily, “You don’t have to stop, you know.”

Hermione’s breath caught and her eyes grew wide as Harry opened his.

“Good morning,” Harry said.

“Hello.”

“Sleep well?”

“Who remembers?”

“How do you feel?”

“Getting better.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I didn’t want to wake you. Sorry.”

“For stopping or for waking me?”

“Both, I guess.”

They stared at each other and Hermione felt the same indescribable pull she had felt the day before.

“I must look a fright,” Hermione said, suddenly embarrassed, while running her hand through her hair.

Harry took her hand from her hair pulling it down to hold it between them. “You look beautiful,” he said quietly. “Hermione…”

“Harry, wait,” Hermione said, taking her hand from his and gently putting her fingers on his lips. Once she felt how soft they were, she realised what a mistake she made. She took her hand away from his lips slowly and held his hand again.

“I’m petrified.”

“Of what?”

“Of this. Of how I feel about you. Of how I think you feel about me.”

Surprise registered on his face and he began excitedly, “I want to tell you how I feel…”

“No!” Hermione said quickly. At the confused look on Harry’s face, she explained, “I don’t want to rush into anything just because I’m attracted to you.”

Harry smiled and propped his head in his hand. “Rush into anything? Hermione, what are you on about? We have known each other for years.”

“Which is another reason I don’t want to rush it. Harry, I’m barely used to the idea that you’re back in my life, let alone that we could become more than just friends.”

Harry looked down at their hands and said, “So, you’ve never thought of me other than as a friend, have you?”

“No. Not until recently,” she replied. “You haven’t either, have you?”

He looked up at her sheepishly. “I thought of you a lot in America, and not just as my best friend. I was telling the truth when I said I came back because of you.”

Hermione realized that she was holding her breath, shocked from this revelation. She released the breath she was holding, with new resolve to take the progression of their relationship slowly.

Apparently misinterpreting her silence, Harry leaned forward to kiss Hermione.

“No,” she said, again placing her fingers to his lips. Confusion etched on his face, Hermione explained, “Harry, I’m not ready to jeopardize our newly repaired friendship for the mere possibility of a romantic relationship. I already lost one best friend that way. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Understanding that she was talking about Ron, he said, “Hermione, I’m not going to die. That isn’t on my list of things to do until I’m at least 150 years old,” he ended playfully. The smile slid from his face when he saw the look on hers. “I’m sorry. That was tactless.”

He brushed her hair out of her face with his hand and stroked her cheek. Hermione was looking down, fighting back the tears that were brimming in her eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he whispered.

She shook her head vigorously, keeping her eyes averted from Harry. She was lying to him — because she did want to talk to him about it, desperately. Her deceit was a wall between them that they both felt, but a wall that only Hermione could raze. Unfortunately, she had spent five years building the wall and was not ready at the moment to tear it down.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, lifting her chin with his finger. “I’m not going anywhere. We can take as much time as you need.” He lifted his head and softly kissed her forehead. “No pressure, okay? It is enough for me to know that you have feelings for me. I was beginning to wonder if Voldemort had taken away my boyish charm along with my scar,” he ended with a grin.

She smiled and said, “No, your boyish charm is intact.”

“Whew, that’s a relief.”

Hermione looked at Harry’s handsome face and felt a bit of her self-imposed barricade begin to crumble. Her heart lightened with the realisation that Harry, her best friend, was the only person that could help her find the happiness that she had been searching for since Ron’s death. Furthermore, she recognized that despite the serious tone of their conversation, her happiness, her elation at being here with Harry, had been there the whole time. And her heart was buoyed even more.

“So, what about Professor Sprout?” Hermione said playfully.

Harry sighed. “I’ll just have to let her down easily. Poor old girl.”

Hermione took the pillow from behind her head and hit Harry with it.

“Ow. That’s going to leave a mark.”

“Toughen up.”

Hermione replaced the pillow under her head as Harry said, “I think I’m pretty tough. I didn’t lose my lunch last night, did I?”

“Lose your lunch?” Hermione asked, confused. Her eyes widened as she remembered The Flaming Incantation — barely remembered it, and not much else.

“I can’t believe you made me drink that,” Harry said. “All I wanted was a kiss, and you wanted to see me throw up.” He looked up at the ceiling as if pondering his next question. “I wonder what that means?”

“Yeah, well, nothing changes the fact that you lost to a girl. The Boy-Who-Lived, the vanquisher of Voldemort, the Great American Golf Caddy, lost at darts to a bookworm. Your reputation is irreparably shattered.”

“Thank God. Now maybe people will stop sending me all those owls!”

“What? Too many marriage proposals to choose from?”

“Something like that,” he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Hermione, there’s something I’ve always wanted to know.”

Warily she asked, “What?”

“Are you ticklish?” and he immediately started tickling her sides. Hermione squealed and started laughing and flailing around, getting tangled in the blankets she was under. Sensing weakness, Harry sat up and straddled her legs to continue the tickle torture.

“Are you ticklish here?” and he tickled under her arms…

“What about here?” and he half turned and tickled her knees…

“And here?” and he tickled her neck…laughing the entire time.

“No! Stop! Please!” she said laughing, tears streaming out of her eyes. “Mercy! Mercy!”

Harry stopped tickling her neck and grinned down at her. “I’d say that is a resounding ‘yes’! You are ticklish.”

“Brilliant deduction, Potter.” She saw the mischievous grin on Harry’s face begin to fade, replaced with an intense gaze as he ran his eyes over her face, settling on her lips. The smile slid slowly from her face and she said quietly, “Harry…”

Just as he was leaning down to kiss her, she grabbed his sides, flipped him off of her to where she was straddling him and started tickling him mercilessly. When he could finally get the words out between his laughter and catching his breath, he yelled, “Mercy! Mercy! You win!”

“Aha. That’s what I thought! Beaten by a girl again!” she said triumphantly. She rose from the bed and walked to look in the mirror hanging on the wall over the dresser.

Harry glared at her with mock severity and said, “You are cruel. And you are going to pay.”

“Right. Whatever you say. The only thing that scares me right now is the way I look,” she said scowling as she opened the door to go to the loo.

A second later, she poked her head back in the door and said, “Harry, why did you sleep on top of the blankets?”

Harry gave her a leering look and said, “I may be patient, Hermione, but I know my limitations.”

---

Chapter 11 Pranks and Payback

To the casual observer, nothing had changed in Harry and Hermione’s relationship. They ate breakfast together most days and were occasionally seen walking down the hall talking and laughing. But that could have been the description of any two teachers at Hogwarts, with the possible exception of Snape who rarely laughed at all.

Keeping up the charade of a platonic friendship was a chore for Harry. Granted, he had to reluctantly admit that their relationship was still, technically, platonic. But in his mind the first obstacle had been cleared; Hermione finally saw him as something other than ‘just Harry.’

Many times during the weeks following their trip to London he kicked himself for not telling Hermione how he felt about her. But he knew Hermione long enough to appreciate that she would not be comfortable with a sudden outpouring of emotion. Even when she and Ron were together, Harry couldn’t ever remember seeing them display the normal amount of affection for teenagers in love. He assumed that in private things were much different, although, truth be told, it wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on.

Harry knew her reluctance to take their relationship to a different level was tied to Ron and his death. As he had many times over the past few months, Harry wondered why she couldn’t or wouldn’t talk to him about it. He was reasonably sure Hermione had come to terms with Ron’s death and had adjusted to his absence from her life. They reminisced many times about their experience at Hogwarts and laughed together, recalling fond memories of things Ron said and did. But there was a definite line they did not cross. By unspoken rule, they never mentioned Ron’s and Hermione’s relationship and they especially didn’t talk about the night he died. Harry hadn’t pushed the subject or spent much time pondering it because of the guilt he still felt for Ron’s death. Even now, with a potential relationship with Hermione on the horizon, he still believed he would sacrifice himself in Ron’s place if given the chance.

Although their relationship wasn’t at the level Harry wanted it to be, it had changed, if only slightly. Of course, his upbringing still made him doubt that he was even worthy of her love. His insecurities, which had been born and nurtured by the Dursleys, constantly made him wonder if he was reading too much into things she did and said. Holding eye contact for a beat longer than necessary, touching his arm for no reason at all while telling a story, blushing when he caught her looking at him at breakfast … these could all easily be explained away.

She had been lost in thought. She hadn’t really been looking at me so much as through me. We had been walking down the front steps and she grabbed my arm to keep from falling. That day at breakfast, I bet I had food on my chin and she was too embarrassed to say anything.

Then he would think back to their conversation that morning in the flat above the Green Irishman and remind himself that there was something there. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember too many specifics about the conversation. What he remembered most was the sudden realization of the position they were in following their tickling battle. He was straddling her legs when she looked at him and whispered his name. There had been no doubt in Harry’s mind that she wanted him to kiss her. That is, until she caught him with his defenses down and flipped him over to gain the advantage and tickle him some more.

He was impressed with her strength; he would have never guessed that she could have done that. Although his male ego insisted that if he had been on his guard, the scene might have ended the way he had hoped, with a good, long snogging session.

Patience, Potter, patience.

That was the mantra he chanted to himself continuously when he was around Hermione. All of her mannerisms that he loved — how she chewed on her bottom lip when she was thinking, the way her reading glasses slipped down her nose slightly, the look of stern disapproval she gave students (and sometimes Harry) — just endeared her to him even more. It was not easy, to be sure. But his patience was necessary for his long-term goal, which was to have Hermione fall in love with him. He was not interested in a short, physical relationship. More accurately, he was not interested in the “short” part. He wanted a long-term relationship with Hermione. If he had to suffer through an initial period of discomfort and frustration, then so be it. He had not waited this long to jeopardize his dream just because he was peckish.

His understanding and patience didn’t mean that he wasn’t disappointed in the would-be snogging session that Hermione shattered when she flipped him off of her. She bruised his ego on two levels that morning, and as a result, Harry felt that a bit of good-natured retaliation was in order.

---

Hermione stood at the front of her classroom, shooting off rapid-fire questions to her first year students in review for an upcoming exam. She had been talking almost non-stop for the past hour and was parched. She set her students to practicing Switching Spells as she retreated to her desk to grab a drink of water. She continued to sit at her desk, feeling confident that she had reviewed the students thoroughly, when she felt a slight twinge in her side. Absently, she rubbed her ribs and took another drink. Again, she felt a twinge, although this one was strong enough to make her choke on her drink, spewing some water across the parchment lying in front of her.

She smiled faintly as the few students at the front of the room looked up from their work to see her dabbing at the parchment with a tissue. She felt the side of her robe, searching in vain for a tag or pin that might be poking into her side.

“Professor Granger?”

“Yes, Julia.”

“Could you watch and tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

Hermione started walking to the back of the room, “Of cour…” She laughed out loud before she could finish her reply. This time, it was not merely a twinge on her side, but a strong tickling sensation in the center of her abdomen. As quickly as it started, it stopped and Hermione found herself doubled over, looking at the floor with what she was sure amounted to a silly grin on her face. Straightening up, and regaining her composure amidst curious stares from her students, she continued to the back table.

“Show me what you are doing,” she said briskly.

Julia gave her a suspicious look and turned her attention to the quill she was attempting to turn into a worm. Just as she said the incantation, Hermione burst into a fit of giggles, the result of tickling sensations under her arms, on the back of her neck and behind her knees. Being tickled in multiple places at once, Hermione was trying, and failing brilliantly, to stop the sensation by swiping at the air with her hands. To her students, it looked as if she was doing a very bad dance move. Again, as suddenly as it started, it stopped.

The laugh died in Hermione’s throat and again she realized her students were gazing at her with perplexed faces. Only now they were whispering amongst themselves; Hermione could hear some of the muffled phrases. “Is she okay?” “She isn’t trying to dance, is she?” “I’ve never heard her laugh before.”

She looked around the room at the students staring at her, trying to gauge who was performing the Tickling Charm on her. She was met with completely guileless gazes and realized that no student in this first year class had the skill or experience for that charm. Realization dawned on her as she walked back to her desk, surveying the edges of the room. Smiling in spite of herself, she noted the door to her classroom was open.

“Carry on, class. You only have five more minutes to practice. You will be taking your exam the next time you walk through that door and many of you need all the practice you can get.”

At her businesslike tone the students began practicing once again. Hermione walked around the perimeter of the classroom and planted herself by the door. She leaned against the doorjamb and whispered under her breath. “Harry, I know you are here, somewhere. A tickling charm — very clever, I must say. Just remember before you do it again…payback is hell.” She grinned, seemingly at herself and strolled back up to her desk.

She hardly reached the front of the room before her entire body was being tickled mercilessly. She doubled over, then stood up, then lifted each leg in turn flailing her arms around like a helicopter, all the while laughing fit to burst. Her students were beside themselves. None of them realized that she was only being tickled. A loud murmur of concern rose through the class.

Between giggles, Hermione managed to say, “Not…to worry….it…….is….only a….ti..ckl….ing…charm…..Mercy! Mercy! You win! Please make it…”

And it was gone.

“…stop,” she said faintly, and the bell rang signaling the end of class. She never saw students bolt from a room so quickly. Within seconds she appeared alone. She straightened up and narrowed her eyes, searching the room for any sign of Harry or his invisibility cloak. She stood there stock still, listening intently for a rustle of fabric, the tread of footfalls. Nothing.

A sly smile slowly spread across her face. “You just wait, Harry Potter. You just wait.”

---

Weeks passed.

Harry was still waiting and wondering if and when Hermione was going to take her revenge for his prank. If he hadn’t heard her warning in the classroom that day, he would still be wondering if she knew that he was the one doing the tickling. At dinner that night, he arrived to hear the end of her conversation with McGonagall and Snape about the incident.

“…any idea who did it?” McGonagall said as Harry sat down on the other side of Hermione.

Hermione had waved her hand, “No. It was an innocent prank. No harm done. It scared the first years, though. Their reaction was funnier than the prank.” With this last comment, Hermione had looked at Harry with one eyebrow raised. “Hello, Harry.”

“Hermione. Did I miss something? Did a student prank you?” Harry asked innocently.

Snape, sitting three seats down on the other side of McGonagall, snorted. “As if you didn’t know,” he said, under his breath.

“Excuse me, Severus. What was that? I couldn’t hear you,” Harry said sweetly.

With forced calm, Severus put his fork down on his plate and wiped the edges of his mouth with his serviette. “I said, ‘as if you didn’t know.’”

“Surely you aren’t suggesting that I would pull a prank on a teacher!” Harry said.

“That is exactly what I’m suggesting. You find other people’s humiliation to be highly amusing.”

“That is just not true. Besides, I like Hermione, why would I want to humiliate her? There are plenty of other people I would rather humiliate.”

Snape started to rise from his chair, glaring at Harry. “You…”

Grabbing Snape’s arm to keep him from standing, Professor McGonagall interrupted the growing tension. “That is enough, you two.”

Hermione, who had continued eating during the exchange, said, “It really doesn’t matter which student did it. It was harmless and actually a very weak prank. I’m sure they will get paid back sometime by someone else.”

That was the last he heard about the prank from her. He did hear some students talking about it, but once they realized it was a tickling charm the mystery wore off and discussion about it ended. All in all, the furor lasted less than a day.

Fred and George would be ashamed.

Harry shook his head, trying as he had so many times over the past few weeks to clear his thoughts of Hermione and focus on the task at hand: the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff Quidditch game that day.

His goal from day one had been to develop and improve the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams so as to break the stronghold Gryffindor and Slytherin had on the Quidditch Cup. Although he would always be a Gryffindor supporter, he knew from a fan’s point of view that matches with predetermined outcomes were no fun to watch. His attention to these two teams had reenergized not only their Quidditch players but also both houses. As a result, the race for the House Cup was the closest in years, and the Quidditch Cup, although probably still to be won by Gryffindor or Slytherin, was at the very least more interesting.

At first the Gryffindors felt betrayed by Harry’s attention to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. But as time wore on and they saw him giving each team, even Slytherin, equal time and advice this feeling abated. The Slytherins, on the other hand, would never believe that Harry wasn’t playing favorites with everyone but them.

It didn’t help that Snape was still the Head of Slytherin House and his animosity for Harry permeated everything. Although he couldn’t prove it, Snape was positive Harry spiked his drink and caused him to talk like a woman for four days. At breakfast two weeks after his voice returned to normal, Snape threw the Daily Prophet in front of Harry; it was opened to an advert for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’ newest product, “Hi-Pitch.”

“What is it, Severus? Are you showing me the personal advert you placed? I don’t know if ‘Single White Male seeks Blind Desperate Female’ is the wording I would have used.”

With surprising calm Snape said, “Isn’t it a coincidence that the Weasleys are offering a new product that sounds startlingly similar to what might have been put in my food?”

“Hmmm,” Harry said, taking a bite of toast and reviewing the advert. “That is a coincidence! But,” he said dismissively, handing the paper back to Snape, “Fred and George always were ahead of the competition.”

“Are you still part owner of their … business?” Snape said, emphasizing the last word disdainfully.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I guess. I’ve never asked to be repaid, if that is what you mean.”

Snape leaned down and whispered to Harry, “If I find out that you were behind this prank, you will pay.”

“Bring it on.”

Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have said that, Harry thought, replaying the conversation in his mind as he walked to the Quidditch Pitch. The jubilant sneer Snape gave Harry at those words sparked moderate concern. Now he had to worry about two people paying him back for a prank. He wasn’t too terribly concerned about Hermione’s payback; he wasn’t sure if she had ever pulled a prank in her life. And anything she would do would be harmless. After all, they were friends. Snape, on the other hand, was his adversary and would gladly seize any opportunity that presented itself to humiliate him. Harry consoled himself with the reminder that Snape didn’t know how to have fun, and as such, he would not be able to come up with a harmless prank. Snape’s mind was better acquainted with “sinister” than “harmless.” Still, Harry felt sure thatSnape would not pull a mean-spirited prank on another teacher, if only out of respect for McGonagall and Hogwarts.

“Alohomora,” Harry said with a wave of his wand at his office door. It opened and he walked through to find Hermione standing by his locker, holding his broom.

Almost too quick to notice, a startled look flickered across her face. She smiled hugely, said, “Hi, Harry!” and put his broom back in his locker.

“Hi. What are you doing here?” He asked suspiciously, looking around his office.

“Waiting for you, silly,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I have to run into London today and wanted to know if you needed anything.”

Harry, still searching his office for booby traps, gave her a quizzical look. “You aren’t staying for the Quidditch match?”

“Oh, no. I usually only watch the Gryffindor matches. Really, the Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw match is always the most long, drawn out, boring match. Not a good one for a marginal Quidditch fan to watch.” She walked around his office casually, looking at the pictures of past Quidditch Cup champions. “You might want to drink something stronger than your neon blue sports drink to keep yourself awake. I recommend caffeine, and lots of it.” She smiled sweetly at him over her shoulder, increasing his suspicion even more.

Pointing at a picture she said, “This must be the Gryffindor team that Oliver’s coach was talking about.”

Harry walked around his desk and stood next to her. He noticed that picture the first day in the office. Kneeling behind the Quidditch Cup in the center of the picture was his dad, holding the struggling Snitch, a jubilant grin across his face. Two burly boys, holding clubs marking them as Beaters, flanked James as three girls and a boy stood behind. Periodically, his dad would run his hand through his hair much as he had in Snape’s pensieve memory, which Harry had seen during his fifth year occlumency lessons with the potions master. This mannerism spurred his teammates standing behind him to all ruffle his hair in good natured ribbing, causing James to playfully swat their hands away.

She turned to look at him. “Your dad was very handsome,” she said.

Harry grinned at her. “Everyone says I look just like him.”

Hermione looked from Harry to the picture and back again. “There may be a little resemblance there,” she teased skeptically.

Harry leaned closer to her nudging her shoulder playfully with his. “So, you think I’m handsome?”

Hermione grabbed his chin and moved his head from side to side, inspecting his profile. “You’ll do.”

She dropped her hand and turned to pick up her bag that she had left on the chair. “I’d better be off. Lots to do. Have a good game, and don’t forget my tip about the caffeine. You will thank me later, trust me.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, a huge smile, and glided out the door with a wave of her hand.

Harry stood there for a few minutes thinking about what happened. He didn’t believe for one second that she just came by to offer to run errands for him. She hadn’t even asked him about it again, even though he didn’t say whether or not he needed anything. No, that was just an excuse to be in his office. He looked around warily, wondering what in the world she had done.

He smiled in spite of himself. This is what made pranking fun — the payback, even when it was directed at you. The anticipation of what might happen was part of the rush.

Going over her visit again in his mind, he went to his broom, which she had been holding when he walked in. He picked it up and inspected it. Doubting that Hermione would do anything to his broom that would hurt him, he put it back in his locker and turned around, when his gaze locked on his refrigerator. He went to it and opened it, finding it as he left it the day before: stocked with sports drinks, water and sodas. None of them seemed tampered with, but that meant nothing, he mused. Resealing a bottle would be easy for a witch with Hermione’s skill.

She suggested caffeine, so I should probably stick with my sports drinks.

Maybe she means for me to skip the caffeine and drink the sports drink.

Right then, water it is.

Maybe that’s what she wants.

He eyed his open refrigerator warily.

He closed the refrigerator and laughed out loud. She may not have done anything at all — his unfounded fears being the perfect revenge.. He shook his head, thinking that a mind game is exactly the type of prank Hermione would pull. He walked over to his locker and started to dress in his referee robes.

Why would she pull a prank and not be here to see it?

Confident that the mind game was the prank, but just to be sure, Harry picked up a reserve broom, grabbed his whistle from his desk and walked out the door to the Ravenclaw locker room to nick an untainted pre-game drink.

---

It was a cool, clear late November day, a perfect day for a Quidditch match. The air was just brisk enough to require the heavier Quidditch robes, but patches of sun peeked through the fluffy clouds to take the edge of cold off of the spectators in the stands, who were snuggled under woolen blankets.

The two teams met at the center of the pitch and shook hands. Harry released the balls and blew his whistle, signaling the start of the match. Fifteen people soared into the air and the match began.

Harry was amazed at how much he enjoyed refereeing the matches. Watching the teams and the mistakes they made gave him numerous ideas on how to adjust their training to improve their skill. He was especially keen to watch this match, seeing as they were the two worst teams. He worked with them for weeks and finally saw some improvements. This game would be a good test for them, matching up against an equal team to determine how far they had come.

Harry blew the whistle loudly. The Ravenclaw beater had just hit the Hufflepuff seeker with his bat. It was obviously unintentional and the beater was checking to make sure the seeker wasn’t hurt, but it was a foul nonetheless. A Hufflepuff chaser took the penalty shot and scored. Harry blew the whistle again and regular play resumed.

Harry was flying around completely focused, watching the two teams. After a moment he heard increased noise from the crowd and wondered what they were excited about. Nothing had happened. He looked around for the seekers, thinking they were chasing the snitch, but saw them high above the game, pointing at him and laughing. The Captain of the Ravenclaw team flew over to Harry with a suppressed grin on his face.

“Um, sir…, Professor Potter? Where are your clothes?”

“What?” Harry said looking down. He gasped as he saw that he appeared to be wearing nothing but his boxers, shin guards, socks and shoes. He could still feel the clothes on his body, which explained why he wasn’t cold. But there appeared to be nothing there at all. He looked up and realized that the increase in crowd noise was due to the spectators laughing at his appearance; they weren’t even paying attention to the game. He quickly blew the whistle for a time out and flew down to the ground. He landed and noticed that his clothes were visible again.

Completely confused, he shouted, “Game on,” and blew his whistle once again. Two more quaffles through the hoops and his clothes vanished again. Then reappeared when he called another time out. He walked off the pitch to his office to gales of laughter. As he was about to change, McGonagall knocked on the door and came in to find out what was going on.

“I don’t know professor. I reckon my clothes have been enchanted with a timed invisibility spell. I’m going to change them.”

“I don’t think so, Harry. The time isn’t consistent,” she said thoughtfully. “More than likely, whomever,” she looked up at Harry here with a knowing look, “did this enchanted all of your clothes, so changing them will not help.”

As if on cue, Snape waltzed into the office, an unfamiliar look of happiness on his face. “So it seems that someone has finally gotten the best of Mr. Potter, hmm?”

Harry laughed. “So it seems. Pretty funny, don’t you think?” he said good-naturedly.

Snape’s grin froze. “What’s wrong, Severus? Afraid I would go crying from embarrassment into the locker room? That is the difference between you and me. I can laugh at myself; you can’t.”

Snape just stood there, his grin melting from his face.

“What’s wrong, Severus? Your prank worked beautifully! Hundreds of people just saw me flying around starkers. And they had a right good time of it. You got me so good! I have to hand it to you. It was much more imaginative that I gave you credit for.”

Professor McGonagall looked at Snape, her eyebrows raised, a look of impressed disbelief etched on her face.

“I did not prank Potter, Minerva,” he said.

“It’s okay, Professor McGonagall. I’m not mad. I’m impressed with Snape’s creativity. Personally, I thought he would just hex me if we were ever alone.” He leaned toward Minerva and whispered loudly, “I’ve been avoiding the staff room.”

Minerva struggled to suppress a grin and cleared her throat. “Well, I trust that this will be the end of your pranks on each other?” Minerva looked questioningly at Harry, who nodded his head, then at Snape, who had a calculating look on his face. He looked at Minerva, gave a slight bow in assent and turned to leave.

Once they were alone, Minerva turned to Harry with a skeptical look on her face. “You don’t really think Snape did this, do you?”

Harry scoffed. “Hell, no. Snape’s not that imaginative. But if he thinks I believe it he is released from the pressure of having to come up with a harmless prank. Honestly, I reckon it would make him physically ill to have any fun. I’m worried for his health.”

“You are concerned for Severus’s health?”

“Well, not really. I just don’t want to have to teach his classes if he does fall ill.”

McGonagall leveled her infamous stern look at Harry. “I meant it when I said that this will be the end of pranks between you two.”

“And I meant it when I agreed. Technically, I didn’t prank Snape in the first place, but that’s not important. What is important is figuring out why my clothes are disappearing. Any ideas?”

McGonagall stared at Harry’s robes and equipment. “I think it is the whistle. You blow the whistle, the clothes disappear. Try it.”

Harry blew the whistle and nothing happened. McGonagall motioned with her hand for him to blow it again. Nothing. The third time his clothes vanished, leaving him standing in front of McGonagall almost naked.

She turned her head, stifling a laugh. “Every third whistle the spell is activated.” Under her breath Harry could have sworn he heard her say, “Brilliant.”

He blew the whistle once and his clothes reappeared.

As she turned to walk out the door she said, “I would suggest using a spare uniform from another team. And Harry,” she said, pausing at the open door, “I expect this to be the end of your pranks with Ms. Grangers, as well. We can’t have teachers out-pranking the students and giving them ideas, now, can we?”

As the door closed behind her, Harry heard the faint sound of unsuppressed laughter.

---

The sun was beginning to set behind the castle as Hermione trudged up the steps, laden with her purchases from her London expedition. The Head Girl, Charlotte Teire, a Gryffindor, saw her struggling and hurried over to help.

“I can’t believe you weren’t here! You aren’t going to believe what happened, Professor!”

“Is everything okay? No one got hurt did they?” Hermione asked with concern.

“No, nothing like that. Blimey, I can’t believe you missed it! Professor Potter’s clothes disappeared in the middle of the match!” she exclaimed.

“What?”

“Disappeared, vanished. One minute he was flying on his broom, the next minute he was almost starkers. It was the best Quidditch match I’ve ever seen,” she said with a dreamy look in her eyes.

Hermione suppressed a smile and said as sternly as possible, “That is just horrible! I can’t believe a student would prank a teacher like that. I hope the headmistress finds out who did it and punishes them severely.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a student, Professor.”

“How do you know?” Hermione asked with a touch of concern in her voice.

“I overheard some teachers talking about it at dinner. I wasn’t eavesdropping, mind you,” she hurriedly added. “They said that the magic for that type of spell is too advanced, even for most 7^th year students. They seem to think it was another teacher.”

Silently, Hermione chided herself for being too clever for her own good.

“Did they say which teacher?” she asked casually.

“No, but my guess is Professor Snape. Everyone knows that he thinks Har…I mean Professor Potter is the person that slipped him the ’Hi-Pitch.’”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “Hmm,” she said noncommittally. “Did Professor Potter seem upset with the prank?”

“No, he thought it was quite funny, I’m told.” She sighed and got a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes again. A moment later, she turned serious. “I don’t know how funny he will find the pictures, though.”

Hermione’s head whipped around to Charlotte, “Pictures? What pictures?”

“A second year brought her camera to take pictures of Harry, I mean Professor Potter, for the fan club. She got the whole thing on film. I’ve been confiscating pictures for hours. Apparently, she had made quite a lot of gold selling them.”

“Oh my,” Hermione said softly.

That is an unexpected development.

The remainder of the walk consisted of Charlotte rambling on and on about Harry and how it was just amazing that he didn’t get upset at all and she guessed that Harry would be getting Snape back soon enough and some Ravenclaw boys were taking bets on what it would be and she just thought that betting was wrong but she still put a galleon on a duel over breakfast one morning.

Hermione’s head was spinning, trying to keep up with Charlotte’s never-ending sentence. Even though Hermione knew what a brilliant student Charlotte was, she couldn’t help but wonder how in the world such a flake became Head Girl.

Just as they arrived at Hermione’s room, the door flew open revealing Harry standing there, his arms open wide and an enormous grin on his face.

“Sweetheart! You’re home!” He pulled Hermione into his arms and gave her a dramatic kiss. Hermione, completely caught off guard, was still staring wide-eyed when Harry released her. He turned to Charlotte, who was staring at the two of them, mouth gaping open in astonishment.

“Here, let me take those from you, Charlotte,” Harry said solicitously.

Hermione watched as he gave Charlotte his most charming smile, grabbed the bags and retreated into her room. She stood there, staring after Harry in stunned silence when she heard Charlotte start to walk away.

“Wait!” she said quickly.

Charlotte turned around, with a smile on her face that could only mean she was dying to return to the common room with the juiciest gossip of the year.

“Charlotte, this is not what you think. You see, Harry and I aren’t…” Hermione stopped when she realized that to explain what just happened would mean revealing herself as the person that pranked Harry earlier today.

Bloody hell! He got me again!

“Is she trying to tell you we aren’t a couple, Charlotte?” Harry interrupted, returning and putting his arm around Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs and shrugged his arm off, stepping away from him. “Oh, come on sweetheart! Charlotte is Head Girl. Our secret is safe with her! You won’t tell anyone, will you?” he whispered looking furtively up and down the hall. “We want to keep our love to ourselves for just a little while longer.”

“Harry!”

“Well, it’s true, love,” he said, kissing her temple with a loud smack. “I don’t want to share you with anyone, not just yet.” He winked conspiratorially at Charlotte.

Charlotte, who looked as if Christmas had come early, said quickly, “Don’t worry about a thing, Professors. Your secret is safe with me.” She hastily turned around and walked away as fast as she could without actually running.

Hermione rounded on Harry and shoved him back into her room. “What the bloody hell was that?”

Grinning from ear to ear, Harry said, “You know very well what that was. It is called payback, love.”

“That isn’t payback! That is humiliation. The entire school is going to think that we are a couple.”

“How is everyone thinking that we are a couple more humiliating than flying around in front of hundreds of people in my underwear?”

That is a good point.

“That was obviously a joke. Everyone will think that us being a couple is fact.”

“Everyone already thinks that!”

“They do not!” Hermione whispered dramatically.

“Um, yes, I think they do,” Harry said, sarcastically. “Have you forgotten the little snippet about us in the Daily Prophet after our friendly dart game? The mere possibility that Rita Skeeter was right about us in our fourth year has reenergized her career.” Harry walked closer to her, grinning mischievously. “Besides, what would be so bad about everyone thinking we are a couple anyway? Let’s give them something to talk about,” he said suggestively as he started to put his arms around her waist. Hermione put her hand out on his chest to stop him.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not? Face it Hermione, it is inevitable.”

“That makes it sound much more appealing.”

“Written in the stars?”

“Too much like Trelawney.”

“As a matter of fact, during my seventh year she predicted we would become a couple.”

“Then I would say it is likely not to happen based on that fact alone.”

“You should be thanking me. No one will ever guess that you are the one that charmed - or is it hexed? - my clothes today. After all, you wouldn’t want your ‘boyfriend’ exposed for the whole school to see, now would you?” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Hermione, who had been fighting the urge to gloat, finally gave in. “I got you soooooo good!” She smiled broadly, reveling in her triumph.

Harry bowed his head in defeat. “Yes you did. People will be talking about it for weeks. Fred and George are going to be so proud of you.”

Hermione was doing a victory shadowboxing celebration, punching the air in quick succession saying “Yes! Yes!”

“Easy there, tiger.”

Finished with her celebration, she sat down in a chair by her fireplace and kicked off her shoes. “So, did you think I spiked your drinks or tampered with your broom?”

Harry paused and sat down on the edge of her bed facing her. “Both. And neither. I almost convinced myself that you were playing a mind game on me as the prank. But to be safe I used a different broom and got a drink from Ravenclaw.”

Hermione couldn’t keep from smiling. Her plan had worked to perfection. She was gratified it had gone so well seeing as this was her first big prank.

“I wouldn’t get too full of yourself, Miss Granger,” Harry warned. “Payback is hell, remember?”

“Oh, no you don’t! You just paid me back with that little performance for Charlotte. We are square, or at the very least, I owe you a prank.”

“McGonagall told me in no uncertain terms that this is the end of our pranking careers at Hogwarts. And that wasn’t a performance; we are a couple. You just aren’t ready to move on to the fun part that makes us ‘officially’ a couple.” Harry bounced up and down on the bed, as if testing it out. “We could move on right now if you want. I’ve got some free time.”

Hermione laughed at his insinuation. “Harry, you are incorrigible.”

“Encourageable?”

“That is not a word.”

“Too bad. It gave me hope.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and got up. “You need to go. I don’t want to give the gossips any more to talk about than necessary.” Harry got up from the bed and followed her to the door.

“Oh, one more thing,” Harry said, dropping down to one knee. “Will you be my date to the Yule Ball?” he asked in mock sincerity.

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. “Harry, you are ridiculous.”

“What? I’m asking you early because I don’t want you to think I’m asking you as a last resort. You are the first person I’ve asked. Well, Professor Sprout doesn’t count. She would go with me, you see, but apparently she has bad knees and wants me to be able to dance. Bless her.”

“We are chaperones, Harry. We don’t need dates. We will both be there anyway.”

“Is that a no?” Harry said, standing up. “If I find out you are going with Snape I will slip him a lethal dose of Hi-Pitch, I swear.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “So it was you that did it!”

“No, it was Neville. I was simply the diversion.”

“You’re joking!”

“Nope. But it was my idea.”

“That doesn’t surprise me one bit,” Hermione said, opening the door.

Harry leaned against the doorjamb. “So, care to give your boyfriend a goodnight kiss?”

“You are not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever. I’ll still take the kiss.”

“No.”

“Why not? It will give you a chance to redeem yourself for that kiss earlier. I hate to say it, but it wasn’t very good.”

“I was caught off guard! I’d hardly say that was my best effort!”

“So now you’ll be ready. It should be much more satisfying,” he said teasingly, moving closer to her.

“For something that wasn’t very satisfying you are awfully eager to do it again.”

Harry slid his arm around her waist, pulling her body close to his. “The anticipation is killing me,” he said softly, all traces of humor gone from his voice and expression.

Hermione felt a burning sensation in her stomach and felt every inch of Harry’s body that was touching hers. Her eyes ran over his face, stopping on his lips.

It would be so easy to kiss him right now.

But she knew that she wouldn’t. Besides the fact that they were standing almost in the middle of the hall, Hermione needed to tell Harry about Ron before she would let anything else happen between them. Now was not the time or place for that conversation. Instead, her eyes met his eyes again and she whispered, “Trust me, Harry, when we kiss for the first time, it will be well worth the wait.”

He stared at her for a moment and a smile broke across his face. “You said ‘when we kiss.’ See, it is inevitable. You just admitted it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave him a gentle shove out the door. “Go take a cold shower, Harry.”

As she closed the door, she heard him repeat, “You said ‘when!’ I heard you! Good night, sweetheart!”

She shook her head and smiled, walking into the bathroom to take a cold shower.

Chapter 12 The Yule Ball

The students and staff of Hogwarts met the change of seasons with mixed emotions as the cool crisp air of fall gave way to the bone-chilling temperatures of winter and finally, the coveted first snowfall. Young and old alike thrilled at the sight of snowflakes floating lazily to the ground outside of the castle windows. Winter’s arrival also brought with it thoughts of the Christmas holidays, which all students looked forward to the minute the excitement of being back at school evaporated. December also brought with it the most popular of all Hogwarts’ traditions — The Yule Ball.

Five years earlier, when Voldemort and the Death Eaters had been defeated, the wizarding world celebrated, much as it had sixteen years prior when Harry Potter first became “The Boy Who Lived.” However, the knowledge that Voldemort had survived that first encounter with mortality and engineered his own rebirth some years later tempered this celebration. While everyone understood that Voldemort’s defeat had been final this time, that did not mean that another dark wizard would not take his place. They knew that the threat of dark magic was constant, and they had learned that life was short. Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster at the time, had decided that future Hogwarts students should reap the rewards of the Dark Lord’s defeat. They would be able to focus on being kids, something that previous generations weren’t always able to do. The first step that he had taken toward that aim was to make the Yule Ball, the party traditionally held only during the Triwizard Tournament, an annual event for the entire school.

The responsibility for decorating the Great Hall for the party rotated yearly between the houses. As a result, it had become a competition to see who could outdo the previous year’s decorations. This year, Gryffindor had chosen “White Christmas” as its theme and the Great Hall was bathed in white. The traditional twelve Christmas trees were flocked with snow, each decorated in its own unique manner. The largest tree was infested with hundreds of silver, flying fairies, giving the impression that the tree was alive, pulsing with energy. The ceiling was enchanted to reflect a midnight blue sky with hundreds of sparkling stars and a full moon, bathing the hall in a soothing glow. Snowflakes were falling gently from the enchanted sky, disappearing before landing.

“When do you leave for the Burrow?” Minerva asked. Hermione was standing in the middle of the hall with the headmistress, waiting for the students to begin arriving and admiring the decorations as they discussed their plans for the holidays.

“Some time tomorrow after the students leave. Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?”

Minerva waved her hand. “No, no. There aren’t very many students staying this year. Severus, Poppy and I can handle any problems that arise, although I don’t expect any.”

“I’ll be back on Boxing Day, at any rate. I have quite a bit to do before the students return.”

“Is Harry going to the Burrow, also?”

“I believe so.” Hermione held out her hand palm up and watched as the magical snowflakes disappeared just before touching her skin.

“It seems you and Harry have reached a détente.”

“You make it sound like we were at war. It was just a couple of pranks.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Minerva’s mouth. Knowing her so well, Hermione could tell she was struggling to maintain her rigid, stern composure while greatly appreciating the prank Hermione had pulled on Harry. Years earlier, during one of their more intimate talks, Minerva had revealed to Hermione that she had been quite the prankster during her time at Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore, who at the time had been her Head of House, had been forced to give her detention on numerous occasions. She, of course, swore Hermione to secrecy to protect her reputation as a strict disciplinarian.

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with me, Minerva?” Hermione asked after a moment.

“I have heard quite an interesting rumor going around the castle, Professor,” Minerva said with mirth.

“I’m sure you have,” Hermione replied dryly.

“Is it true?”

“It depends on which version you have heard. The version where Harry and I were caught in a compromising position in the Room of Requirement is not true. The Quidditch Pitch version — not true either. Nor is the Astronomy Tower or the Owlery, which really is an odd one. There is nothing romantic about the Owlery with that offensive smell and rat bones all over the floor.” She crinkled her nose and shuddered. “The truth is that Harry put on quite a good show for Charlotte Tiere when I arrived home from London, giving me a very dramatic, old movie kiss and proceeding to tell Charlotte that we wanted to…,” she paused, miming quotation marks with her fingers, “‘keep our love to ourselves’ for a while.”

Minerva smiled. “My, my, how clever Harry is.” She studied Hermione and said, “I’m surprised you aren’t more upset about these rumors.”

“I was at first but, honestly, they are so ridiculous as to lose any credibility. I was a little concerned that it would undermine my authority with my students, but the opposite seems to have happened. The boys are all looking at me in a whole new light, which I admit is a little disturbing. The girls, at least the ones that don’t belong to the Harry Potter Fan Club — they hate me, are heartened by the fact that such an average looking bookworm could land a bloke like Harry. They are beside themselves with optimism for their romantic future.” She chuckled. “The truth, that we are not a couple, just isn’t as exciting to anyone.”

“You aren’t a couple,” Minerva intoned incredulously.

“No, we aren’t. Of course, Harry thinks we are and that we just need to make it official.”

“How would you do that?”

Hermione looked away towards a Christmas tree. “Use your imagination.”

Color crept into Minerva’s cheeks. “I think I’d rather not.”

Hermione blushed and whispered, “We haven’t even kissed. The kiss Charlotte saw was a stage kiss and all for show. He completely caught me off guard, which is probably a good thing. I’m afraid Charlotte would have had quite an eyeful if I had kissed him back properly.”

Minerva smiled at her surrogate daughter. “Are you in love with him?” she asked gently.

Hermione choked back a laugh. “That is rather direct, even for you Minerva!” She looked at Minerva, who shrugged her shoulder slightly and waited patiently for an answer.

Hermione sighed, thrown by hearing aloud the question she had been asking herself for weeks. “I have no idea. I do know that no one has ever made me feel the way he does. Does that mean I’m in love with him? I don’t know.”

And how do I find out without getting hurt … or hurting Harry?

“This is precisely why I haven’t gotten involved with anyone in so long. It is too complicated and there is simply no way to know for sure. Is what I feel for him love? Or am I just more attracted to him than anyone else before? Is that all it is — some sort of sexual attraction I haven’t felt before disguising itself as love? How does he feel about me? How do I feel about him? Does he fancy me more than I fancy him? Do I fancy him more? Does it matter? Where is this going to go? Does it need to go anywhere? What will happen when the newness wears off and the romance dissipates? Would we be better off just remaining friends? Could I even stand to see him with another woman?” She turned to Minerva. “The questions are endless.”

Minerva was looking at her with an expression that Hermione was quite sure she had never seen from her mentor before. Her mouth was gaping open in stunned astonishment. “My dear child, it is a wonder your head hasn’t exploded. This isn’t a logical problem to solve, Hermione; you aren’t going to find the solution in a book. How does he make you feel? That is what is important. All of the other …,” she waved her hand in the air, “details will sort themselves out in time.”

Hermione sighed before concluding, “Take away the details and I guess I probably am in love with him.”

A self-satisfied smile flickered across Minerva’s features. She gave Hermione’s shoulder a motherly pat. “Good.”

Hermione looked at her quizzically and asked a question that she had been mulling in her mind for a few weeks. “Minerva? When you hired Harry, was this your intention?”

For a brief moment, Minerva looked guilty. But her expression cleared quickly and she replied, “Nonsense. We needed a Flying Instructor and Harry was available.”

Hermione continued to gaze at her silently, doubting her truthfulness. Minerva looked towards the door of the Great Hall, which was beginning to fill with students. “I will say that I always did think you two would make a lovely couple.” She paused and smiled. “Ah, speak of the devil.”

Hermione turned to see Harry walking through the Great Hall towards the two of them. As happened every time she saw him lately, her breath caught in her throat and her stomach began to gambol around wildly. How anyone could make a basic black dress robe look so good, Hermione could not fathom. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Minerva looking at her with a shrewd expression on her face. Hermione turned to her with a mischievous grin. “He does look good, doesn’t he?”

Minerva cleared her throat. “I would say that is putting it mildly.”

This robe, unlike most, fit around Harry’s torso more like a tuxedo coat, with the bottom beginning to flare out at his hips, giving the impression that he was gliding across the floor. Peeking out of the top of his robe was a silver colored silk tie around the collar of a crisp, white dress shirt. Hermione noticed that every eye in the Great Hall turned and watched Harry stride across the room.

How could they resist? He’s the most dashing man here.

He arrived in front of them, giving them a gentlemanly bow. “Good evening ladies.”

“Hello, Harry,” Minerva said. “You look very nice.”

“Thank you, Headmistress. So do you,” he replied, not taking his eyes off of Hermione.

Clearing her throat a little too loudly, Minerva said, “Well, I must be going to check on…something.” And she was gone.

Harry and Hermione stood there, staring at each other without saying anything for an interminably long moment. Finally, Harry broke the silence. “Hello, beautiful.”

Hermione glanced over one shoulder, then the other, and turned back to Harry, her eyes dancing with mirth. “To whom are you speaking?”

“As if you don’t know,” he replied, taking her hand and placing it through his arm, leading her to the head table.

“That was quite an entrance for someone that doesn’t want to be the center of attention,” she said playfully.

“What are you on about? I just walked into the room,” Harry said, completely nonplussed.

“Apparently, you didn’t notice every pair of eyes follow you through the room.”

They reached the head table and Harry pulled out a chair for Hermione. She sat down, and as he was pushing her chair forward, he leaned his head close to hers and whispered, “No. I only noticed you.”

So this is what it is like to be pursued by a man. I wonder if I should tell him he doesn’t have to try so hard?

He smiled and sat down beside her, casually draping his arm across the back of her chair. Never considering herself the type of person that would crave attention from a man, Hermione reluctantly admitted to herself that she was enjoying Harry’s advances and compliments. And the way he looked at her did make her swoon, another symptom that previously would not have afflicted serious, by-the-book Hermione. Selfishly, she decided to wait a little longer to tell him she was hooked. After all, excessive attention usually ended after marriage.

She stopped unfolding her serviette abruptly.

What in the world? Marriage?! Where did that thought come from? I haven’t even kissed him yet and I’m thinking about marriage? Get a grip, Hermione. You have no idea what his intentions are. You may just be a challenge for him, nothing more. Chances are he is settling a curiosity he has about you. You have been friends for so long that it is natural to explore the depth of the feelings. Just like you and Ron.

“Hermione? What’s wrong?”

Startled, Hermione looked at Harry. “Nothing, nothing at all. Why?”

“You have the most peculiar look on your face.”

She smiled faintly. “I’m fine. Just hungry,” she lied. In conjunction with her other thoughts, the idea of food at the moment made her sick. She took a deep, steadying breath, chiding herself to stop overanalyzing everything and wondering if she would ever have the ability to be spontaneous, to impulsively follow her feelings without thought to the consequences or results.

The question is, would the short-term benefits of impulsively following my feelings outweigh the long-term possibility of rejection and hurt?

That’s your idea of not overanalyzing?

Desperate to escape her thoughts, Hermione asked, a little too brightly, “Have you seen Neville and Ginny yet?”

Harry, who was still looking at her with a puzzled expression said, “Not yet.” Harry looked around the room admiringly. “There is nothing like Christmas at Hogwarts,” he said wistfully.

“They did a superb job on the decorations this year. It isn’t always so magnificent. A few years ago a Hufflepuff prefect convinced the house that it would be ‘cool’ to have an ’Island Christmas’ theme. Minerva let them do it but insisted they incorporate the traditional twelve Christmas trees in the decorations. That was all fine and good, until the entertainment they scheduled turned out to be a bongo band, hula dancers and a flame-blowing native. After the third Christmas tree caught fire, Minerva called an end to the festivities. Mind you, no one was too terribly disappointed, seeing as it was impossible to dance to the bongo band. Minerva required that all decorations be ‘traditional’ from then on.”

Harry laughed. “Now, that’s quite a visual — McGonagall in a grass skirt. I’m going to have nightmares for weeks.” He shook his head as if to clear it. Looking sideways at Hermione he added, “Now you in a grass skirt…that I wouldn’t mind seeing.”

“Keep dreaming, Potter,” she said dismissively. “There are Ginny and Neville!” She rose part way from her chair and waved to the couple entering the hall. Watching them walk across the hall, Hermione was hit with a bit of déjà vu, remembering the first Yule Ball. But the two people walking toward her now barely resembled the awkward witch and wizard from their youth. Neville, smiling and looking slightly nervous (no doubt, Hermione thought, worried about his dancing skills, which had not improved with time), looked very handsome and confident indeed in his basic black dress robe. Ginny, still able to pass as a student due to her petite frame, was wearing an emerald green silk robe, her red hair pulled up elegantly in a smooth French twist.

Ginny returned her wave and pointed her out to Neville. Holding hands, they made their way to the teacher’s table and sat down next to Harry and Hermione.

“You look beautiful, Ginny!” Hermione exclaimed as Ginny sat down next to her. Hermione turned to Neville, who was shaking Harry’s hand and whispering something in his ear. Harry laughed and winked at Neville, but quickly put on a serious face when he saw Hermione watching him.

Minerva tapped her glass with her fork to get everyone’s attention and begin the feast. After a few words of welcome, the tables were filled with all manner of food: roasted chicken, pork chops, standing rib roast, potatoes, vegetables, and baskets overflowing with bread. Harry rubbed his hands together in anticipation and repeated, “I love Christmas at Hogwarts!” before diving into a little bit of everything. Hermione smiled, thinking of Ron as she always did during Hogwarts’ banquets. No one appreciated a good meal quite like Ron, although Harry was giving it a good go.

“How are things coming with Harry?” Ginny whispered between bites of roast pork.

Hermione glanced at Harry, who was talking to Professor Sprout. “Slowly,” she said, turning slightly in her chair to block her conversation with Ginny from Harry.

“What are you waiting for? From what you’ve told me, he is obviously interested. I mean, how can you not jump him when he looks that good?”

“Ginny!” Hermione said scandalously. “What about Neville?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to jump Harry! Just because I’m mad about Neville doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate how fit Harry is.” Ginny looked back to make sure Neville wasn’t listening. “Seriously, Hermione. What are you waiting for?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. “I guess I’m waiting for it to make sense.”

“Make sense? Since when has love ever made sense?”

“I’m not trying to solve for pi here, but think about it. It was less than three months ago that I was sitting in your flat vehemently denying that I felt anything for Harry.”

“I knew you were lying,” Ginny said dismissively, stabbing a potato with her fork.

“But that is just it, Ginny! I wasn’t lying at all! I swear to you, these feelings I have for Harry are new. That’s what doesn’t make sense. How can I have fallen so fast for someone I’ve known for so long?”

“Trust me, when you kiss him for the first time, you won’t care a jot. I can say this from experience: Harry is an excellent kisser.”

“Thanks for reminding me about that,” Hermione said sarcastically.

“Well, I never shagged him, so you can give me the details about that.”

“Can we change the subject please?”

“Why, when this topic is making you so uncomfortable?”

“So,” Hermione said, putting on a false smile. “What do you think Harry and Neville are up to? Have you seen all the whispering and winking?”

“My guess is they are planning their next big prank on Snape. Harry created a monster. Neville thinks after their one prank on Snape that he is Mr. Jokester. He keeps trying to pull things over on me, and of course, he never does. I’ve pretended a couple of times, just to make him feel better. He just looks so sad when his pranks don’t work. That little lost puppy look gets me every time.” She turned and gave Neville a kiss on the cheek.

“What was that for?” he asked with a smile.

Ginny shrugged her shoulders flippantly. “No reason.”

“Hey Neville!” Harry called leaning across Hermione slightly. “Not in front of the students!”

Hermione stopped midway through cutting her asparagus and looked up. It had happened so fast, she was sure she imagined it. She looked over at Harry, who was leaning casually back in his chair and draping his arm across the back of hers. He winked at her and smiled conspiratorially, confirming in her mind that in fact she hadn’t just imagined Harry’s hand slide up and down her leg as he leaned across her to admonish Neville. Hermione deliberately laid her cutlery down across her plate and delicately wiped her mouth with her serviette.

“I think you should take your own advice, Harry.”

“What advice is that, Hermione?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t.”

Hermione refolded her serviette in her lap and shook her head in amazement at how audacious Harry was being.

After dessert had been served, the tables magically disappeared to allow room for the dance floor. A few comfortable upholstered chairs and sofas, along with less comfortable but more numerous straight back wooden chairs appeared around the perimeter of the room. The older students commandeered the more comfortable chairs from the younger students and waited for the band to begin playing.

Hermione stood up. “I’m going to walk around. If I sit here any longer, I’m going to explode. I ate way too much.”

Harry popped up from his seat. “I’ll come with you.” Hermione caught Harry giving Neville a thumbs-up behind Ginny’s back, and Neville return the gesture. She looked at Harry appraisingly, as he quickly forced a serious expression, but this time it was obvious he was struggling to hide a smile.

Hermione walked through the hall with Harry trailing behind her. They made their way out to the cavernous entrance hall. Once they were well out of earshot of the students scattered around waiting for the music to start, she turned to Harry. “Okay, spill it. What are you and Neville up to?”

“I’m not up to anything at all,” he replied seriously.

She looked at him skeptically. “Then what is it with all of the thumbs-up signals and the winking,” she asked, mimicking his gestures from earlier in an exaggerated manner.

Harry gave her a lopsided, endearing grin. “It is driving you mad that you don’t know everything, isn’t it?”

“No,” she said in annoyance, drawing herself up proudly. She flipped her hair behind her shoulder in a dismissive gesture and surveyed the students in the hall, determinedly looking away from Harry.

“Hey,” he said, getting her attention.

Hermione turned to him with eyebrows raised in question. “You’re cute when you are in a huff.”

“I am not…”

“Listen,” Harry interrupted. The sound of music was wafting from the Great Hall and echoing off the walls in the huge entrance hall. “They’re playing our song,” Harry said, offering Hermione his arm.

“We don’t have a song.”

“We will before the night is over,” he replied cheekily. Smiling and holding his hand out, he asked, “May I have this dance?”

Hermione vaguely remembered that she was irked with him about something, but at the moment couldn’t recall what it was. “Do you know how to dance?” she asked, taking his proffered hand.

“Not very well.”

“Lovely,” she said sarcastically.

They walked onto the almost vacant dance floor and Harry pulled her into his arms. They stood there for a moment, Hermione waiting for Harry to take the lead. She looked around nervously at the students and teachers staring at the two of them standing stock still on the dance floor, when it became apparent after a minute that he wasn’t going to move.

“Um, Harry? It is traditional to move when you dance.”

“Oh, right. Well, I said I wasn’t very good at this.”

They began to slowly move around the dance floor. Soon other couples joined them until they were one in a sea of many swaying couples. Hermione was acutely aware of every part of Harry’s body that was touching hers: his hand on the small of her back, his thumb periodically rubbing her spine; his other hand clasped to hers, warm and smooth; his cheek resting gently on her head, the sound of his slow steady breathing and his warm breath tickling her ear.

“Harry?” Hermione started.

“Hmm?”

What was I going to say? I can’t remember.

Harry pulled his head back to look at her. “Did you want to tell me something?”

She shook her head. “Never mind.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he returned his head to its former position and pulled Hermione even closer. As much as she didn’t want to, she pulled away slightly. “Harry, we need to remember where and who we are.”

“The ’who we are‘ can’t change but the ’where we are‘ can. Care to take a walk?”

“May I cut in?” Snape‘s silky voice interrupted.

Harry immediately tensed and turned. “No, you may not.”

“Harry…” Hermione started.

“My, my, aren’t we possessive,” Snape said sardonically.

Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“That would be lovely, Severus, thank you,” Hermione interjected, releasing Harry’s hand.

Snape whisked Hermione away in a dramatic, graceful move, leaving Harry standing alone in the middle of the dance floor, fury etched on his face.

---

Harry stalked off the dance floor, seething. Of all the people to cut in on his dance with Hermione, it had to be Snape. He watched Snape guide Hermione gracefully across the dance floor and anger roiled through him. Harry caught Hermione’s eye and she gave him a smile and a wave. As he returned the gestures, Snape turned her around and gave Harry a self-satisfied sneer, which he followed up with a complicated twirly dance move that Harry knew he would never be able to accomplish.

Bastard.

Harry continued to torture himself, never taking his eyes off them. He was somewhat heartened by the fact that, despite the elegant dancing, Hermione’s expression was grim. Snape seemed to be enjoying himself, keeping a running commentary on something. Undoubtedly, Harry thought, he’s giving her a comprehensive list of Harry’s shortcomings and faults.

As the last note of the song died out, Harry started toward Hermione, watching Snape give her a gentlemanly bow and shoot Harry a smarmy sneer.

“Let’s finish our dance.” He pulled her to him again, this time holding her a little more tightly, possessively.

“You’re not angry?” Hermione asked skeptically in his ear.

“Not at you. I know Snape was just trying to wind me up. And you didn’t seem to be enjoying yourself too much, which helped my mood considerably.” He leaned his head back to look at her. “Tell me honestly. Who is the better dancer?”

“I would much rather dance with you,” she replied.

He studied her for a moment and pulled her to him again. “You didn’t answer the question, but I liked the answer, so I’ll let it go.”

They continued dancing in silence, Harry more than a little self-conscious about his lack of grace on the dance floor, although not enough to stop dancing when the song ended and a new one began.

“You are going to make me dance all night, aren’t you?” Hermione asked.

“Until the sun comes up.”

“Let’s lower our expectations just a bit, twinkle-toes.”

“What was Snape bending your ear about?”

“Nothing really,” Hermione said evasively. “You know Severus.”

“No, I know Snape.”

“He actually gave you a compliment, in a backhanded sort of way.”

“This should be good.”

“He is impressed with your ability to get out of trouble.”

Harry waited, as Hermione seemed to be debating on whether or not to continue. “And?” he prompted.

She shook her head vigorously. “It’s nothing. Just Snape trying to make me doubt you.”

This means war.

“Tell me,” Harry demanded. Seeing the look of defiance on Hermione’s face at being ordered to do anything, Harry added, “Please.”

Her defiant expression softened a bit, into one of warning. It was a gentle reminder to Harry that, regardless of how their relationship progressed, Hermione was not a witch to be told to do anything. Attempting to ingratiate himself with her again, he gave her his most charming smile. “Pretty please?”

She gave a resigned sigh and said, “He questions whether or not you have been completely truthful with me, whether or not you have earned my forgiveness.”

Harry inhaled deeply, trying to control the urge to do bodily harm to his archenemy. He exhaled slowly and looked at Hermione. “What do you think?”

Her brows furrowed. She replied, “I don’t think you have lied to me. But I think there is still something you aren’t telling me.”

“Well,” Ron’s voice said, “there goes your wish that she had figured out your secret and didn’t care.”

“There is a lot I haven’t told you, just like there is a lot you haven’t told me, because we haven’t asked. But none of it affects how we feel about each other. Still, ask me anything. I won’t lie to you.”

Harry could almost see the wheels turning in Hermione’s mind. He held her gaze confidently, concentrating on the golden flecks in her eyes, to keep his mind off the potential disaster that lay ahead. After what seemed like an eternity, she said, “I trust you, Harry. There is nothing else I need to know.”

Harry’s stomach clenched, whether it was from pleasure or anxiety brought on by her words, he wasn’t sure. He pushed his nervousness from his mind and pulled Hermione close once again, enjoying the feel of her body pressed against his. He caught sight of Neville and Ginny a few feet away.

“Do you like surprises?” Harry asked, turning her around to see Neville bending down on one knee in front of Ginny, holding an open jewelry box in his outstretched hands. Ginny gasped and covered her mouth in shock. Although her voice was drowned out by the music, it was obvious she had just yelled, “Yes!” as she threw herself in Neville’s arms, crying and laughing at the same time.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?”

“Months ago,” Harry replied smugly.

Harry and Hermione smiled as they watched Neville put the ring on Ginny’s finger and give her a kiss. “They make such a great couple. They really are meant for each other.”

Harry nodded, watching Hermione gaze at the newly engaged couple. "Well, I think some things are just destined to be, don't you?"

Hermione slowly returned her eyes to his. “Written in the stars?”

Harry pulled her closer and resumed dancing. “Something like that.”

Harry had hardly cleared his head from the intoxicating scent of Hermione’s hair, when she released him suddenly. He opened his eyes, unaware they had been closed, to see Neville grinning from ear to ear and Hermione and Ginny embracing each other and laughing.

“Come on, Hermione. Let’s go freshen up,” Ginny said, grabbing Hermione’s hand and dragging her through the few dancing couples still on the floor.

Harry looked at Neville and rolled his eyes. “I guess they never outgrow that, do they?”

“Nope.”

“So, I’m guessing she said yes.”

“Never any doubt in my mind.”

“Yeah, right.”

“So my plan worked to perfection. How is yours coming?"

"Besides Snape interrupting, smooth as glass.”

“What phase are you in?”

Harry slapped Neville on the shoulder and said, “The ‘if this doesn’t happen soon I’m going to pack up for the monastery’ phase,” before heading off in the direction of the ladies toilet.

“Good luck!” Neville called.

Harry continued walking and waved to Neville over his shoulder, giving him the thumbs-up sign.

Harry felt more than a little silly loitering by the girls’ toilet. It seemed that the entire female population of Hogwarts entered and exited in the time he stood there. It didn’t help his apprehension that every girl giggled and began whispering to their friend or friends, as they traveled in packs, when they saw him. He leaned his shoulder up against the stone wall prepared to continue waiting.

What in the world are they doing in there?

“If the number of girls coming from the toilet is any indication, there must be some queue,” Ron’s voice said.

Eight giggling girls later, Hermione and Ginny emerged, looking exactly as they had before they left 20 minutes earlier to ‘freshen up.’ Harry walked up behind Hermione, putting his arm around her waist, startling her.

“Excuse us, Ginny. Hermione promised me a walk.”

Harry gently steered Hermione away from Ginny’s smirking face and down the nearest corridor, away from the entrance hall.

“I promised you a walk?”

“Yes you did.”

“When?”

“Right before Snape so rudely interrupted us.”

“Interesting. I don’t remember saying yes.”

“Technically, you didn’t. But you were about to.”

“You sound fairly confident about that.”

“Hopeful is more like it.”

“We are chaperones Harry. We can’t leave until it the dance is over.”

“Neville’s covering for us.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow but continued on with Harry, much to his relief.

They turned a corner, leaving the muffled sounds of the people milling around the entrance hall behind. Confident they were alone, Harry stepped closer to Hermione and slipped his hand into hers. She paused, so fleetingly Harry almost thought he imagined the hesitation, before squeezing his hand briefly and intertwining her fingers with his.

Harry tried, but failed to keep the satisfied grin off of his face.

We’re making progress.

They wandered the corridors, Harry completely distracted by the feel of Hermione’s hand in his. Periodically he would look down to confirm that yes indeed, he was holding her hand. He couldn’t believe that he had never done this particular thing with her before.

“Harry, are we going to wander the halls all night? I feel a bit like a prefect on duty.”

“Wander the halls? I thought you were leading.”

“No,” Hermione said slowly, smiling. “You asked me to go for a walk, I assumed you knew where we were going.”

“Hmm. Is that how it is supposed to work?”

“Normally.”

“I would hardly call us ‘normal.’”

“You have a point there.”

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Harry released Hermione’s hand and walked over to a tall, rusty suit of armor. He reached behind it and pulled out a basket. He lifted the lid and quickly shut it. “Oh, my!”

“What?” Hermione said, stepping closer to inspect it.

“Oh, I don’t know if I should show you,” Harry said, turning to protect the basket from Hermione. “I don’t want some poor student to get detention for this.”

“What is it?” Hermione said, kicking into strict disciplinarian mode.

Harry turned around and lifted the lid. “A picnic.”

Confusion clouded Hermione’s features as she inspected the contents of the basket: a bottle of wine, bread, cheese and fruit.

“Now, how would a Hogwarts student get something like this?” Harry asked incredulously.

Hermione lifted her eyes to his, comprehension dawning across her face. “I wonder.”

“As teachers, it is our responsibility to confiscate this. We don’t want our students out in the halls after hours drinking wine, now, do we?”

“Very good point.”

“I do feel for the poor bloke that is counting on this to impress his date.”

“I’m sure if he had the foresight to hide this basket, he is ingenious enough to think of a Plan B. Don’t you reckon?”

“No. I’m pretty sure he is counting on this basket to do the trick.”

Hermione suppressed a smile. “That is a rather thin plan.”

“Well, my guess is he is desperate,” Harry said, moving closer to Hermione, reaching for her hand again.

“Any idea where this desperate chap would take the girl he is trying to impress?” she asked softly, intertwining her fingers in his.

“The Astronomy Tower?” he whispered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Not very original.”

“The Room of Requirement?”

“Even more overused than the Astronomy Tower and anyway, what is it you require, Mr. Potter?”

As Harry leaned in closer to Hermione, she leaned back away from him and said, “Not in front of the students.”

Harry looked up and down the deserted corridor. “I see no students, Professor.”

Hermione’s eyes roamed Harry’s face, settling on his lips. “Follow me. I know the perfect place,” she whispered.

With a small, slightly nervous smile, she turned and led him down the hall in the direction of the faculty residences.

---

Hermione heard the soft click of Harry closing the door as she walked over to the fireplace. She unzipped her robe and tossed it onto the wing chair, revealing her Muggle clothes underneath. She wore conservative but form-fitting black trousers and a simple winter white cashmere jumper. With a swish and a flick of her wand, she directed three logs neatly into the fire. With another wave, air shot out the end of her wand, stoking the embers into flames. She turned and was immediately wrapped in Harry’s arms. She gave a slight gasp, which Harry silenced by gently putting his fingers over her lips.

“Shhh. Before you say anything, just listen.” He took his hand from her lips slowly and ran it through her hair, resting it on her neck, rubbing his thumb across the side of her throat just below her jaw line. “I have wanted to kiss you for months.” He pulled her body closer to his, letting his eyes roam over her face to her lips. “I can’t wait anymore. I have to know if your lips are as soft as they look. I just want one kiss. If you don’t feel anything after that one kiss, then I’ll go.” He leaned down, his lips almost touching hers. “Can I kiss you?”

“Y...”

The moment Harry’s lips met hers in a gentle, almost tentative kiss, an unfamiliar tingling sensation traveled through Hermione’s body, seemingly dissolving her bones on its journey. All of the questions she had been mulling over regarding a relationship with Harry vanished. Months of nervousness and anxiety were replaced by tranquility and longing. Hermione heard a muted clattering sound of something hitting the floor as she reached up and slipped her hand behind his head, knotting her fingers in his silky, smooth hair, and pulled his head closer to hers.

Hermione felt Harry’s hand cup her face and his tongue run across her lips seductively, eroding the scant barrier to prudence that remained with her. She arched her body into his and pulled his head down to hers, opening her mouth, eager to taste Harry completely and to end their cat and mouse game once and for all.

Hermione felt Harry’s response in the intensity of his kiss and the groan of pleasure that traveled from his throat to hers. His tongue roamed her mouth, impeded on its journey of discovery by hers, which was just as eager in its tour. Harry abruptly pulled away, leaving Hermione dazed and gasping for breath.

“Does this mean you want me to stay?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Playful banter time is over, Harry,” she said, pulling his head down to kiss him soundly once again.

---

An indeterminate amount of time later they stood rooted to the same spot, their foreheads resting against each other, both more than a little out of breath.

“Wow,” Hermione said softly.

“You can say that again.”

“Wow,” she said and they both smiled.

Harry rubbed his hands up and down her back. “That was definitely worth the wait,” he said with a chuckle.

“You think so?”

“Oh, yes,” he murmured as he lowered his head and started softly kissing her neck. Hermione’s head fell to the side, her eyes closed and she sighed. Her breath caught as he slowly moved his kisses up her neck and nibbled on her earlobe. “Harry…?”

“Shhh,” he said, lifting his head and placing a finger gently on her lips, looking directly into her eyes. “Let’s not overanalyze this just yet,” he whispered softly. “Plenty of time for that later.” Holding her gaze, he gently kissed her lips. “Okay?”

Keeping his gaze, she trailed her finger down his jaw and cradled his chin in her hand. She pulled him forward until their lips almost touched and whispered, “Okay.”

Teasingly, she lightly kissed him on the mouth, on his chin, slowly moving along his jaw until finally she nibbled on his ear, then moved on to the sensitive area of his neck just behind his ear. She heard Harry’s breathing deepen and felt him once again draw her closer. His musky scent was stronger here and she felt a spike in her desire because of it. She pushed out of her mind a snippet of information she had read in a woman’s magazine about male pheromones and concentrated on making Harry’s breathing as ragged as possible. She didn’t have the faintest idea what she was doing, but it seemed to be having the desired effect on Harry. Still nibbling his earlobe, she looked at his face to see his eyes closed, his features slack from desire. Pausing briefly to inhale his scent again, Hermione whispered reverently in his ear, “Harry.”

He opened his eyes and gazed at her. “I can’t believe this is happening. For a moment, before you said my name, I just knew it was a dream. Reality couldn’t feel this good.” He ran his hands up and down her arms slowly, softly, and said, in a husky voice, “Please tell me this isn’t a dream.”

“If it is, it is the best dream I’ve ever had.”

“Hermione, this is only the beginning,” he said, consuming her mouth with his in exclamation.

Hermione finally understood what was meant when lovers described seeing fireworks. Though her eyes were closed, brightly colored flashes of light were dancing behind her eyelids, blinding in their brilliance. Sensations she had heard about, but never felt to this degree, were coursing through her body. Hermione could feel Harry’s hands rubbing her back through her thin cashmere jumper. They dipped lower and returned to her back, underneath her jumper, lightly stroking her skin. She marveled at the stirring inside her that this simple touch caused. His hands were so soft and gentle, and his kisses changed to reflect that mood. Hermione cupped his face with her hands, returning his kisses, stopping periodically to look in his eyes.

A veil was lifted, enabling Hermione to see Harry completely for the first time. In his eyes, she saw a mixture of emotions: desire, fear, and love. He was allowing her to see the side of him that hadn’t been apparent before, despite his attention and advances. She realized that the confidence so evident in his demeanor the last few months was a carefully crafted facade; he was, in fact, just as nervous as she was about their relationship. Instead of worrying her, his apprehension comforted her; she was not alone, they would conquer their fears together. In her mind, she willingly crossed the threshold to a relationship with Harry at this precise moment.

She kissed him softly. “Harry?” she whispered into his lips. “You are amazing.”

He looked at her and shook his head. “If I am, it’s because of you.” He leaned down and kissed her neck, and moved the neck of her jumper slightly, revealing her collarbone. He peppered kisses in the hollow of her neck and along her collarbone, then back up to her ear. “You bring out the best in me,” he whispered.

She felt his hand return, thankfully, to caressing her back, and she again felt a thrill of desire radiate through her body. His hands traveled to her sides and slowly up under her arms, until his thumbs were stroking the sides of her breasts through the thin, lacey material of her bra. Hermione’s knees buckled and Harry quickly caught her around the waist before she tumbled to the ground.

He smiled gently at her and said softly, “You like that?”

Attempting to regain some composure, she slightly cleared her throat, and absently moved her hair out of her face. She looked into his eyes and completely lost her train of thought. Disoriented, she asked, “What was the question, again?”

His smile widened. “You answered it.”

Never taking his eyes from hers, his hands retraced their former path up her sides. Though looking at Harry’s face, Hermione’s mind was focused on his hands and how they felt on her skin — smooth, warm and loving. She felt a million goosebumps spring to her skin and a chill run across her body in response. She fought to keep her composure, not wanting his hands to pause even for a moment in their exploration. She followed his hands’ progress around her back, pausing when they reached the center.

“It’s in the front.”

Harry paused, as if slightly shocked by the invitation. Hermione held his gaze displaying more confidence than she felt, hoping Harry couldn’t feel or hear her heart galloping in her chest.

His hands leisurely made their way around, his fingers arching teasingly across the top of her breasts, finally resting in the hollow between. He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Is this okay?”

Hermione reached under her shirt and deftly released the latch of her bra in response. Harry slowly moved the lace away from her breasts, replacing it with the palms of his hands. Hermione heard a catch of breath, not entirely sure if it was hers or Harry’s, and saw his eyes darken with desire. Her eyes drooped closed in pleasure as his fingers began to caress her nipples.

“Hermione?” Harry leaned down and ran kisses down her neck. “How far do you want this to go tonight?”

Hermione, her head tilted back in pleasure, enjoying the multitude of sensations she was receiving from Harry, opened her eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

Harry stopped kissing her and pulled his head back to look at her. “We can stop if you aren’t ready,” he whispered. He gently covered her breasts with her bra and slipped his hands out from under her jumper.

Hermione stood there, stunned at how abruptly it ended. The pleasant feeling that previously resided in her stomach was replaced by a feeling of dread as, unbidden, her insecurities came crashing down on her.

“Oh. Okay.” She turned her back on Harry, slipping her hands under her jumper, refastening her brassiere.

“What’s wrong?” She heard him ask, voice laden with concern.

She rounded on him, eyes blazing in anger. “I’m not a virgin, you know; this isn’t completely foreign to me.”

“What? I didn’t think…”

“Have you settled your curiosity, then?” she interrupted.

“Settled my curiosity? Wha…?” Harry’s dumfounded expression cleared and he laughed, which only infuriated Hermione even more. She stalked past him on her way to where, she didn’t know, when he grabbed her arm and turned her around.

“You think all this, the last few months of inching towards this moment, have been me settling a curiosity? I’ve got news for you, Hermione. There isn’t a man in the world that would be as patient and understanding as I have been if they were just curious. A quick shag isn’t what I have in mind.”

“It’s not, is it? Well, enlighten me, why don’t you?” Hermione said scathingly, crossing her arms across her chest.

Harry crossed his arms, mimicking Hermione. “Are you sure you want to know?” he challenged.

“Yes,” she responded automatically, without considering if she really did want to know.

Harry uncrossed his arms and stepped toward her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. “Don’t think for one moment that I don’t want to stay here with you all night, making love to you. I want to kiss your neck, caress your soft skin, and feel your body next to mine more than anything in this world,” he said, demonstrating each in turn, ending with pulling her into his arms. Hermione, her arms still crossed between them causing her to arch her back to look up at Harry, felt the evidence of his desire, banishing her insecurities to the back of her mind yet again.

“You can’t imagine how hard it is going to be to walk out that door,” Harry whispered. “But I want you to be as sure about it as I am. If you were, you wouldn’t have said ’I don’t know.’ When we finally do make love, Hermione, I want it to be the first time, not the only time.”

This is why we stick with logic. When you are emotional, you completely overreact.

Hermione uncrossed her arms and put her head in her hands, hiding her face in Harry’s chest. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“You shouldn’t. I should’ve handled it better. I didn’t come here expecting to sleep with you. I just wanted to settle my curiosity…about your lips.”

Hermione punched him in the stomach and laughed. Harry doubled over in mock injury with a loud, “Umph. Hey! Don’t beat me up before I decide about your lips. I need another kiss to make sure.”

“Nope,” Hermione said, pressing her lips together tightly and turning her head away from Harry.

“Come on, just one kiss.” He moved his head in a futile attempt to capture her lips. Hermione was moving her head from side to side, up and down, thwarting every open opportunity Harry had. Sighing, he dropped his hands from around Hermione’s waist and stepped back in defeat. “I guess I’ll nev...”

Hermione threw her arms around his neck and cut his response off with a mind-blowing kiss.

“Well?” she asked, when she pulled away from him.

“Amazingly soft. Just as I feared.”

“Feared?”

“I am going to be completely distracted by your lips for the rest of my life.”

Hermione ran her hands through his hair and looked up into Harry’s smiling face. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll learn to live with it.”

“No, not about that. I’m sorry about overreacting.” She looked down at the front of Harry’s robe. “For not being ready.”

“The first apology I accept. Settling a curiosity … honestly! The second apology isn’t necessary now or ever.” He gave her a quick kiss on the nose. “Don’t give it a second thought.” He stretched out his arm and looked at his watch. “I’d better go. I’ll turn into a screaming mandrake if I don’t get my beauty rest.”

“What do you know about beauty rest?”

“I lived in a house with three girls, two gay guys and a parade of bimbos waltzing in and out of Wyatt’s room. I know more than I care to admit about beauty rest, mud masks, how to get rid of circles under your eyes, which,” he felt under his eyes with his fingertips, “I feel puffing already.”

“You are a right piece of work, Harry.”

“I try.”

He leaned down and opened the picnic basket and began rummaging around.

“Sorry about your picnic.”

He stood up and turned around. “That’s okay, it was just a sneaky way to get this in here without seeming too presumptuous,” he said, holding up his Invisibility Cloak.

Hermione’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “That is a bit bold, even for you, Harry.”

“No, not bold. Confident. Well … okay, desperate is a better word.” He threw the cloak around his shoulders. “Care to give your boyfriend a good night kiss?”

Hermione smiled at him, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him softly on the lips.

He released a breath. “You didn’t deny the boyfriend comment.”

“I didn’t deny the boyfriend comment.”

Harry nodded his head and gave a lopsided grin. “We’re making progress.”

---

Chapter 13 Christmas at the Burrow

Molly awoke on Christmas Eve with the excitement of a child. Today her family would arrive to help her celebrate Christmas, her favorite holiday. As she did every morning, Molly rolled over to feel the empty bed beside her where her husband, Arthur, should have been. And as it did every morning, the sadness that engulfed her diminished just a little. Unlike some who suffered the loss of a loved one, Molly didn’t want her pain to go away. The pain reminded her that she was still alive. The thought of what she had lost, a husband and two sons, reminded her of the family she still had that loved and needed her.

In fact, it was other peoples’ needs that had helped her survive the last six years. Ahead of anything else, Molly was a mother. She could not remember herself as anything else. She would see pictures of Arthur and her from school and the first thought that came to her mind (after ”look how skinny I was!“) was ”where did that laughing, fun-loving girl go?“ A slightly dumpy, middle-aged mother with a penchant for mollycoddling had replaced the pretty, petite Gryffindor who had quite a knack for pulling pranks.

This morning, however, those thoughts were absent from her mind as she rose and readied herself for the houseful of people that would soon be descending upon her. She padded into the loo and gazed into the mirror, inspecting the image reflected back at her.

It is going to be a good day, she thought. No new wrinkles!

She ran a brush through her shoulder-length hair, pulling it back into a clip at the nape of her neck, and made a mental note to get the name of Hermione’s witch stylist and make an appointment.

Bathed and dressed, Molly descended the stairs to the kitchen humming “Jingle Bells,” her favorite holiday tune. She glanced up at her clock to see where each member of her family was at the moment. Charlie, who lived in Romania and was not going to be home for Christmas, was at work. Bill and Fleur, his wife of six years, were home. Fred’s and George’s images on the enchanted clock pointed toward “mischief.” The clock had said the same thing about the twins for ten years and wouldn’t likely ever change. Ginny’s image was moving from “home” to “traveling,” meaning she was on her way.

With a pop, Ginny and Neville apparated into the kitchen of the Burrow. Molly looked at Ginny’s left hand straight away and let out a squeal, opening her arms wide and giving Ginny a huge hug.

“I can’t believe you knew!” Ginny said laughing. “I would have never thought you could pull something over on me.”

“Where do you think Fred and George got it from? Your father was hopeless at pulling pranks…although I would hardly call a marriage proposal a prank!”

Neville was grinning from ear to ear, still flush with his dual success of surprising Ginny and her acceptance of his proposal.

Ginny saw his look and said, “Go on then, gloat. Enjoy this while you can, it will be the last time you will keep such a big secret from me.”

“I don’t know, dear. I think Neville may have some hidden talents. I have a few tricks I can show him that even Fred and George don’t know about,” Molly said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Neville’s eyes lit up in anticipation. “You will help me pull a prank on Fred and George?” he asked eagerly.

“Let’s not put the cart before the horse,” Molly laughed. “We’ll start small.”

Neville took their bags up to their room and Molly turned to Ginny excitedly. “Tell me all about it!”

While Ginny divulged the details of Neville’s proposal the night before, they began working in the kitchen, making breakfast. With a swish of Molly’s wand, oranges flew out of the fruit bowl, lining themselves up to be sliced and squeezed. Ginny flicked her wrist and a frying pan settled itself on the stovewhile a dozen eggs began cracking themselves into a bowl. Neville returned to pitch in and soon they were seated around the kitchen table, eating and talking about the wedding.

“Neville and I agree that we want a small wedding, simple and elegant. I heard Parvati’s wedding looked like cotton candy exploded in the sanctuary, there was so much pink.”

“Where do you want to have it?”

Neville spoke up for the first time. “We would like to have it outside, in a garden. We’ve set the date as July 17th, just after term ends.”

“Oh, my!” Molly exclaimed. “July!”

“Which should be plenty of time for a small, simple wedding,” Ginny said, with a note of warning in her voice.

Molly paused and looked at Ginny. Her face relaxed and she smiled, “You’re right, of course. We’ll have plenty of time. I’m not going to go mad with planning, don’t you worry.”

Molly rose and flicked her wand to begin cleaning the table. “Do you have a specific garden in mind?”

“I was hoping we could have the ceremony here, in your garden,” Neville said.

Ginny gasped and looked at Neville, “You didn’t tell me you wanted to have it here! You just said a garden!”

“I don’t know if my garden is quite up to snuff. Surely you can find one that is better suited.”

“Mum’s right, Neville. Her garden is lovely, but not quite what you would call ideal for a wedding,” Ginny said as tactfully as possible.

“Well, actually, I was going to surprise both of you with this.” Neville, looking somewhat sheepish, continued. “As a wedding gift from me to you, Molly, I am going to re-landscape your garden.”

Ginny and Molly looked at Neville, both of their mouths open in surprise. “A wedding gift for me? I don’t think it’s customary for the groom to give his future mother-in-law a gift, Neville. Usually, he’s wishing ill will on thewoman by the time the wedding rolls around.”

“Don’t be daft, Molly. I would never wish you ill will. I know it isn’t customary, but I want to do this for you, as a thank you for bringing Ginny into the world and into my life. And to thank you for being somewhat of a surrogate mother to me.”

Molly, touched beyond belief, hugged Neville tightly. “Thank you, Neville. You are such a good man.” She released him and sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with the tea towel in her hand.

Ginny, who had been sitting there in stunned silence, threw her arms around his neck. “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. A little sappy, but sweet nonetheless. I love you.”

Neville smiled at Ginny. “I love you, too.”

The rest of the morning was spent with Neville showing Ginny and Molly his preliminary plans for the new and improved garden. A few minor changes were made here and there, but all in all, Molly loved Neville’s ideas and gave her blessing for the renovation.

“Hello!” a voice called from the other room.

“In the kitchen, Hermione!” Ginny called back.

Hermione walked in, loaded down with bags of Christmas pressies, her cheeks and nose flushed red from the cold. “It was quite a walk from the castle to Hogsmeade loaded down with all of this! I need to sit down!”

“Where is your bag? I’ll take it up to your room,” Neville offered.

“I left it at the Three Broomsticks. I didn’t have enough hands to hold onto it as I apparated. I’ll go back and get it in a moment.”

“I’ll go.”

With a pop, Neville was gone. Hermione, sitting at the table, took off her gloves and removed her scarf from around her neck. “So, Molly, what do you think about the ring?”

“Oooh, I love it! We have been sitting around talking all morning about the wedding. Neville is going to re-landscape my garden as a wedding present for me! Imagine! And they are going to have the wedding here. I’m so excited I can hardly sit still!” Ginny gave her a warning look. “But I’m not stressing, no sir. I’m going to be calm and organized about the whole thing.” She turned and started the kettle to make Hermione a cup of tea. Ginny rolled her eyes and grinned at Hermione. “I saw that, Ginny!” Molly said.

“How do you do that? Is it some sort of secret spell witches have to watch their sprogs?” Ginny asked incredulously.

“There is no magic involved, I assure you. I’m sure that Muggle mothers have the same skill.”

“Yes, they do. I reckon my mother could see through walls, too,” Hermione said laughing.

Molly turned and saw Hermione staring into space, the remnants of a smile on her face.

Thinking of her parents, I’m sure.

“So, where is Harry?” Ginny asked. “I thought you would come together.”

“He mentioned something about popping to London this morning. I think he left all of his shopping to the last minute.” Hermione looked at Ginny and in unison they said, “Men.”

The remainder of the day was punctuated with the arrivals of the others. Bill and Fleur arrived just after lunch. Fred, George and Harry arrived together in the late afternoon.

“Look who we found wandering around aimlessly in Diagon Alley!” Fred said cheerfully, slapping Harry on the back.

“I wasn’t ‘wandering aimlessly,’ I was ‘walking purposefully.’”

“Harry! It’s so good to see you!” Molly exclaimed as she gave him a long, motherly hug. “Let me look at you. My goodness, you have changed! It’s going to take a while to get used to seeing you without glasses!” She held him at arms length, smiling. “I’m so glad you’re home. We have missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Harry said.

“Sniff, sniff, boo-hoo, woman,” George said sarcastically. “He’s been back for months.”

“Oh, you hush and take your things upstairs,” she said, ushering Harry into the kitchen. “Would you like a spot of tea, dear?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Weasley. We stopped as Seamus’ before we apparated.”

“I think you’re old enough to call me Molly, dear. How are Seamus and Fiona?”

“They’re good. They said to tell everyone ’Happy Christmas.’” He glimpsed into the parlor and asked, “Where’s Hermione?”

“She’s out in the garden with Neville and Ginny, dear. Neville is showing them the plans for my new garden.”

Harry walked over to the back door, peering through the window. “Neville told me his plan. What do you think?”

“I love it! He is such a sweet boy. I couldn’t ask for a better son-in-law.”

They were sitting at the table, drinking tea and talking about the garden and the wedding when the back door opened and Neville, Ginny and Hermione walked in, stamping the snow off of their feet.

“Hey, Harry!” Neville said. “When did you get here?”

“About ten minutes ago.”

Molly looked on as the three entered the kitchen and noticed Hermione’s face light up with a radiant smile at the sound of Harry’s name. Molly glanced at Harry and saw that he was completely focused on Hermione and was sporting an equally bright smile.

Interesting, she thought, hiding her smile with a sip of her tea.

“Get all of your shopping done, Harry?” Hermione asked as she hung her cloak on a hook by the door.

“I guess we’ll see. I haven’t had to buy so many presents in a while! I’m afraid I’ve forgotten someone.”

“As long as you don’t forget me,” Ginny said, patting Harry’s shoulder as she walked out of the kitchen.

Harry slapped his hand on his forehead, “Damn! I knew there was another redhead in the bunch!”

“Come on Harry, Neville. It’s time to do our manly duty and cut down the finest tree our neighbor has to offer,” George announced as he, Fred, and Bill entered the kitchen.

“Don’t you dare cut down a tree from that muggle’s garden again this year. I’ve had to give him a memory charm each Christmas. He wasn’t all there to begin with. I reckon one more memory charm will send him round the bend,” Molly said.

“Yes, mum,” the three brothers intoned obediently, winking to Harry and Neville when Molly turned away.

“I saw that.”

---

From the doorway of the kitchen, Molly surveyed the scene in front of her. The tree, which was the best they had found in years (I don’t want to know where they got it, Molly said to herself), was standing in the corner of the room being decorated by each person in turn. It had been decided that each person would use one spell to decorate the tree, starting from oldest to youngest. Bill started and enchanted little white lights to sparkle and twinkle merrily. Fleur waved her wand and a band of beautiful gold ribbon wound itself stylishly around the tree. Fred and George were next and, with forced looks of innocence on their faces, produced a large box of antique wooden ornaments. With a wave of their wand, the ornaments flew out of the box and onto the tree. At first glance, the ornaments seemed to be beautiful hand-painted Father Christmas figures from around the world. Fred and George looked at each other, flicked their wands and said in unison, “animae ornamentia.” The Father Christmas ornaments came to life, climbing and swinging on the tree branches.

“Good God,” Bill said. “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”

Harry and Neville were next, since they shared the same birthday. Harry deferred to Neville, who chose to hang mistletoe over the doorway instead of decorating the tree.

“Like you need an excuse to kiss Ginny,” Fred said under his breath.

Harry was facing the tree with his finger on his chin, brows furrowed in concentration. With a flourish of his wand he conjured a beautiful, deep red crushed velvet tree skirt, trimmed in gold ribbon which matched the ribbon on the tree. With a flourish, he waved his wand at the gifts that were scattered around the room and they flew underneath the tree, arranging themselves in piles according to the name of the recipient.

“Why is my pile always the smallest?” George asked in disgust.

Hermione stepped forward, waved her wand and transfigured the pinecones hanging on the tree into bells. The air was filled with the cacophonous ringing of the bells, followed by “oohs” and “aaahs” of appreciation from the multi-cultural Father Christmas figures swinging from the boughs of the tree. With another flick of her wrist, the bells lost their discordant sound and began playing Handel’s Messiah.

“Show-off,” Harry said with a grin.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “What do you expect from a Transfiguration professor?”

Finally, it was Ginny’s turn, and with nothing left to do, she resignedly conjured a star to top the tree. “Next year, we draw straws. I always have to conjure the star. I’m sick of being the youngest.”

Molly, content to be the observer tonight, brought a tray of sandwiches in for everyone and retreated to a wing chair by the fire with her glass of wine. She watched with joy as her family and their friends laughed and joked with each other. She took special interest in watching Harry and Hermione. There was nothing overt in their actions to cause anyone to suspect that they were more than just old friends. in fact, they seemed to be trying, possibly too hard, to act casual around each other.

That was the giveaway.

Molly sighed as a wave of sadness enveloped her — sadness for the life and love that Ron would never have. She wondered what would have happened between Hermione and him had he lived. Somehow, she doubted that it would have ended “happily ever after.” She knew that they loved each other; that was obvious from the beginning. But she had always suspected that it was an adolescent love, a first crush rather than the all-consuming love that she had found with her Arthur.

How would Ron react to Harry and Hermione if he were alive?

“Molly, would you like more wine?” Fleur asked, holding out the half-empty bottle of Merlot.

“No, thank you dear. I believe I should be off to bed,” Molly said and rose from her chair.

A chorus of “good nights” followed her up the stairs and into her room. She changed into her nightgown and curled up in bed with the “Magical Bride” magazine she had bought when Neville asked for Ginny’s hand in marriage almost three months ago. Simple and elegant. I can do that, she thought.

“Whatever Ginny wants” is what Arthur would say if he were here, and by Merlin, that is what she is going to get.

And the first of many lists began to form in Molly’s head as she finally drifted off to sleep.

---

Molly jolted awake and looked around the room, disoriented. The magazine she had been reading was lying across her chest and her reading lamp was still burning. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was 1:17 a.m.

Great. I’ve slept too long to go back to sleep, but not long enough to be well rested.

She resignedly arose from her comfortable bed, donned her robe and padded down the stairs to the kitchen, hoping not to wake anyone. As she did on other nights such as this, she began the preparations for a soothing mug of hot cocoa. She had pulled a mug out of the cabinet and turned around to see Hermione, wrapped in a blanket, sitting crossways in a club chair by the fire. She was staring at a picture on the side table of Harry, Ron and herself taken their last night at Hogwarts.

“Hermione?”

Startled, she sat up straighter. “Molly! What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Couldn’t sleep. You, too?”

“No, I slept. But once I wake up it is almost impossible for me to go back to sleep.”

“What woke you?”

“The dream where you’re falling and you wake before you hit bottom.”

“I hate that dream.”

“At least I didn’t hit bottom,” Molly smiled. “Would you like a cup of cocoa?”

“Sounds lovely. Thank you.” Hermione rose from her chair, pulling her blanket around her and then, following Molly back into the kitchen, she settled herself at the kitchen table.

Molly began preparing the cocoa, her body moving instinctively about the kitchen she had practically lived in for the past 35 years. “What’s on your mind, Hermione?” she asked, with her back to her.

She heard Hermione take in a breath as if she were about to speak. She paused a beat longer before saying, “Ron.”

Molly nodded her head in response, still facing the stove. “I have a love-hate relationship with the holidays.”

“Which is winning this year, love or hate?”

Molly stopped pouring the cocoa for a moment and lifted her head in thought. “It’s a dead heat right now. It all hinges on the presents,” she said, giggling.

She turned with two steaming mugs of chocolate in her hands and sat down at the table opposite Hermione. They sat together in companionable silence sipping their drinks. Molly debated with herself before deciding to say what was on her mind.

“You’re wondering what would’ve happened if Ron had lived, aren’t you.”

Hermione looked up sharply, while Molly stirred her cocoa and continued. “It’s completely natural. I do it all the time, too. It’s more poignant during the holidays, I guess. Everyone is together, but something is missing and always will be. I don’t know if that emptiness will ever go away.”

A few minutes passed in silence. “It doesn’t matter, you know.”

“What doesn’t matter?” Hermione asked.

“’What if.’ We could spend our lives saying ‘what if’ this and ‘what if’ that and it isn’t going to change the past. Ron will still be gone. Arthur will still be gone. Percy will still be gone. We can’t change it, but we can move on.”

“A little easier said than done. I would think you of all people would understand that.”

“I do. But, I’m at a different point in my life than you are, Hermione. I’ve had a great life, a great family, and a great love affair. The only thing left that I would want is grandchildren, and who knows when that is going to happen?” She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “My point is that the emptiness I feel is from losing my loved ones, not from losing my life. I still have that.”

Molly reached across the table and took Hermione’s hand, looking her directly in the eyes. “I know you feel guilty because Ron died for you. You don’t know if you deserved that sacrifice. You can’t let that guilt keep you from moving on with your life.”

Molly smiled at the stunned expression on Hermione’s face. “Come on, Hermione. I’m not daft. You pride yourself on masking your feelings, but honestly, you aren’t quite as good at it as you might think.” She patted Hermione’s hand and rose from the table, rinsing out their mugs.

“I don’t believe he would mind, you know,” Molly said conversationally, as she turned the now clean mugs upside down on a tea towel. She turned around and leaned against the sink, watching Hermione sit at the table looking bewildered by the entire conversation.

“Who would mind what?” Hermione asked, warily.

“I don’t think Ron would mind about you and Harry.”

“What?!”

Molly, amused by the expression on Hermione’s face, said, “Don’t look so shocked, Hermione. What is more surprising? That I sense something between you and Harry or that I’m not upset about it?”

With apparent effort, Hermione swallowed and said quietly, “Take your pick.”

“You were afraid that I would be upset?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Hermione said in a small voice.

“It isn’t like you’re betraying Ron, or me for that matter. What I think or feel shouldn’t matter in the least. But in case it does, I want you to know that I think you and Harry will make a lovely couple.”

Molly walked over to Hermione and patted her on the shoulder. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. Don’t stay up too late, dear.”

Hermione reached for Molly’s hand as she began walking away. “How did you know?”

Molly turned and smiled at Hermione. “I’ve been in love before, too.”

---

Harry stumbled down the last two stairs into the kitchen, catching himself on the doorway before falling on his face.

“That was graceful,” Hermione teased.

Harry looked up at her with a glare, throwing the baseball cap he was holding onto the kitchen table. He walked over to the sink where she was standing and poured himself a glass of water. “I can’t believe you talked me into running with you at 6 am on Christmas morning.” Leaning against the sink beside Hermione, he drank the entire glass in almost one gulp.

“I didn’t talk you into it. I asked and you agreed. I didn’t make you get out of bed; you did that on your own, too. Are you always this cheerful in the morning?”

Harry turned and put his glass in the sink and moved closer to Hermione. “I was in a much better mood yesterday morning.”

“Really? Why was that?”

Harry slipped his arms around her waist. “I don’t remember,” he whispered, before gently kissing her on the lips. “Hang on, it’s slowly coming back to me,” he said as he planted a row of kisses down her neck. He heard her sigh in what he hoped was pleasure as he lifted his head to look at her. “I’ve missed you.”

Harry could tell a playful quip was on her tongue by the smile she gave him. The teasing smile was replaced by the loving look he had dreamt of seeing on her face for years. “I’ve missed you, too.”

As Harry’s lips captured Hermione’s again, he marveled at the simple fact that he was kissing her at all. Years of dreaming about this, obsessing about this, did not change the fact that a part of Harry never expected it to happen. Now that it had and his long held belief that they were perfect for each other was confirmed, Harry was terrified of it ending.

He pushed his fears from his mind and focused on Hermione. Everything around them dissolved into a fine white mist, cocooning them from the world. His senses heightened, each one exploring, filing away memories to be relived and savored when, reluctantly, he would be apart from her. The smell of her hair, combined with the clean scent of soap on her skin. The taste of mint in her mouth, masking the taste he remembered and longed for from their first kiss. The curve of her back tapering down to her waist and rising again into her arse — the feel of it as he ran his hand over her bum, pulling her toward him. The sound of her breathing, mixed with his, labored from desire. And finally, the look on her face, relaxed with longing, just before she opened her eyes.

She caressed his face with her hand, a gesture so simple yet full of meaning that it made his heart hammer in his chest. He heard the slight scraping sound of her fingers grazing his unshaven cheek. He grabbed her hand, turning his head to kiss her palm. “Sorry I didn’t shave,” he murmured, distracted by the silky softness of her palm.

“I don’t care,” she whispered.

He cupped her face in his hands, pulling her to him, showering her lips with soft, sensual kisses. “Your lips will be the death of me,” he whispered hoarsely, a recognizable energy radiating through his body.

“Harry?” Hermione asked breathlessly, pulling away. “As much as I am enjoying this,” she paused and pushed an imaginary strand of hair from her face, “it isn’t something I particularly want to do in Molly’s kitchen with seven people sleeping upstairs.”

Harry looked up at the ceiling and back at Hermione, the warm white mist evaporating. “You have a point.” Try as he might, though, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers or release her from his embrace.

Hermione cocked her head slightly to one side. “No one has ever looked at me the way you do.”

Harry’s eyes roamed over her face, marveling at how that was possible. “Their loss.” He watched Hermione’s eyes travel from his eyes to his hair, the corners of her mouth being tugged reluctantly into a smile.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, making a poor attempt to straighten her face, betraying the object of her mirth with her roving eyes.

“You’re laughing at my hair, aren’t you?” His hair had grown considerably longer since he had returned and was sticking up in the back and on one side. The other side was flat and stuck to his head.

“I’m not laughing at all.”

“Yes, you are.”

Hermione avoided looking at Harry. “No, I’m not.”

He turned her face toward him and she burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but you have an enormous case of bed head!”

Harry grinned, running his hand through his hair, making it look even worse. He stepped over to the table and picked up his discarded hat. “I know, isn’t it awful? Thank God for the Cubbies,” he said as he pulled on his blue and red baseball hat.

“The who?”

“Chicago Cubs. It’s a muggle baseball team in the States. Are we doing this or what?”

“Let’s go. Try to keep up.”

“Please. You will be begging me to slow down in about five minutes.”

“Don’t count on it, Potter.”

They walked out the back door into the early morning light, a delicate dusting of snow crunching beneath their feet. They ran in silence for the first ten minutes, their feet and their breathing keeping a steady rhythm.

“Am I going too slow for you?” Harry said sarcastically.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. Let’s pick it up,” and Hermione extended her stride. After a few minutes, Harry glanced at Hermione, expecting to see her struggling to maintain their quick pace. He was more than a little surprised to notice that she didn’t seem to be straining at all, and he said as much to her.

“Just because I’m a so-called bookworm doesn’t mean I am completely lacking in athletic ability.”

“Obviously,” Harry said, just a little winded.

Hermione looked at him and smiled. “I’ve been running every other morning since the summer. I thought this would be easy for a former professional athlete.”

“Who said it wasn’t?” Harry asked, attempting to keep his breathing steady.

They continued on in silence, looping through the quiet and still town of Ottery St. Catchpole and retraced their steps back to the Burrow. A bit before the turnoff for the Burrow, Hermione said, “Follow me,” and turned onto what Harry could only assume was a walking path through the woods. Thankfully for Harry, Hermione had to slow her pace, if only a little, due to the tree limbs and underbrush. After a kilometer or so, the path opened up onto a cemetery and Harry stopped, bent over, rested his hands on his knees and began to take deep, gulping breaths.

“This confirms it. You are trying to kill me!” he said, between gasps.

Hermione stopped and turned, laughing. “I knew it! I knew you were struggling! Yes!” she said triumphantly, punching her fist in the air.

“Don’t gloat too much, if you know what’s good for you,” Harry said threateningly.

Ignoring him, she raised both hands in the air, jumping up and down, “I am the champion! I am the champion!”

“And here I thought this run was a ruse to get me alone and seduce me.”

“I did want to get you alone,” she said, walking towards Ron’s grave. The smiles faded from both their faces.

Harry straightened up and followed her. “Do you come here often?”

Hermione walked up to the marker, knelt down and brushed off a few errant leaves. She stood up and dusted her hands off. “Usually, whenever I visit Molly I’ll come by.”

They stood at the foot of the grave, looking at the marker, not saying anything for a long time.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked softly.

She sighed. “No, not particularly.”

She turned away from the grave and started walking down the path they had followed five years before, on the way to bury Ron. Harry jogged to catch up with her and fell in step beside her. With a sigh that said Let’s get this over with, Hermione began the story about the last night of Ron’s life.

---

“On the count of three, everyone smile and say ’Quidditch!’”

“Come on, Colin, just take the picture already! It’s a wizarding picture, we don’t have to be smiling for it to show that we are happy,“ Ron said. “And this guy wants to be a professional photographer?” he asked rhetorically under his breath to Hermione, who was standing between Ron and Harry.

Hermione smiled and playfully jabbed Ron in the ribs. They were sitting on their favorite sofa by the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room. It was the night before they were to leave Hogwarts for the final time. Classmates were milling around, hugging each other with promises to keep in touch. Ron and Harry draped their arms across the back of the sofa and the three of them dutifully smiled for Colin’s camera. As if by prior agreement, just before the camera clicked, Ron and Harry turned to Hermione and kissed her on the cheek. Completely surprised, she started laughing and blushing at the same time.

“Perfect, guys! That’s going to be a smashing picture,” Colin praised. “I’ll have one for each of you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Colin,” Harry said and shook his hand.

“Anything for you, Harry,” Colin said, beaming then turning to take pictures of other Gryffindors.

“If he didn’t have a girlfriend I would seriously wonder about his feelings for you, mate,” Ron said.

“What can I say? I’m irresistible,” Harry said mockingly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing that Harry had never given a moment’s thought to his appeal to other people.

“Are you two packed and ready?” she asked, knowing full well that they would have put everything off until the last minute.

“Haven’t even started. What about you, Harry?”

“Nope, haven’t done a thing. ‘Don’t leave it for later…’”

“’…you big second rater,’” Ron finished, perfectly mimicking the homework planners Hermione had given the two of them their fifth year to help them prepare for their O.W.L.s.

Hermione attempted to glare at them before they all started laughing. “Well, come on then, I’ll help you” she said.

“I need to clean out my locker at the Quidditch Pitch. Harry, you coming?”

“No, even I did that already.”

“I do believe that was a subtle jab at my habit of procrastinating.”

“Was I being subtle? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be.”

“Hermione, come with me. It’s dark out there and I’m sc-sc-scared,” Ron said, biting his fingernails in mock fear.

She shrugged her shoulders and said, “Okay,” taking the hand Ron had offered. “We’ll be back to help you pack soon, Harry!”

“Don’t count on it!” Ron said as he pulled Hermione after him. She turned to see Harry standing by the fire, waving with a small smile and an inscrutable look on his face.

They walked together hand in hand across the lawn to the Quidditch Pitch, as they had so many times in the last year. Since becoming Ron’s girlfriend, Hermione had watched enough Quidditch practices and games to last a lifetime. In the beginning, it had been fun watching Ron develop into a top-notch keeper and make miraculous save after save. After a while, even the thrill of watching Ron succeed had lost its appeal and it all seemed to become something of a chore. She, for one, was not going to miss the Quidditch Pitch at all.

When they arrived at the Gryffindor changing rooms, Hermione pulled out her wand, waved it at the door and said “Alohomora.” Once inside, Ron turned her to face him and gave her a long, passionate kiss.

“What was that for?” she asked, breathless.

“I’m congratulating you properly for finishing first in your class.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, returning his kiss.

“And what was that for?” he said teasingly.

“For finishing,” she said seriously.

“Hey!” he said, tickling her. “I wasn’t the last person in the class. I beat Crabbe, Goyle, that cow Millicent Bulstrode, and a whole bunch of Hufflepuffs.”

Hermione laughed, trying to squirm away from being tickled, squealing “Mercy! Mercy!”

Ron stopped tickling Hermione, putting his arms around her waist. He looked down into her eyes and gave her a soft, slow kiss. “I love you, Hermione.”

“I love you, too.” She smiled up at him. “Shouldn’t we get your things together?” she asked looking over his shoulder at his locker.

“Later,” he whispered, kissing her neck just below her ear, pulling her body closer to his.

Hermione closed her eyes, physically enjoying the sensation and mentally wanting it to end. “Ron, I really don’t think this is the time…” he silenced her protest with a long kiss. He slowly walked her backwards until they were pressed against the wall, placing his hands on either side of her head and deepening the kiss.

Slowly, the snogging changed back to soft, sweet kisses. He ran his hand through her hair and looked down into her eyes, a very serious expression on his face. “Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Will you marry me?”

Hermione’s eyes opened wide in shock. For a split second, she thought he was serious, then her eyes danced in laughter and she said, “Go on, Ron! You’re joking!”

The moment she said it she knew that he had not been joking. The expression on his face, which before had been serious, immediately became apprehensive and hurt. He dropped his arms to his side and moved back a step, looking down at the ground.

“Ron? You were joking, right?” she said softly.

He looked up at her with his head still bent toward the ground and gave his shoulders a slight shrug. Hermione’s hands went up to her mouth, which was open in an expression of horror for what she had said and how she had made him feel. “Oh, Ron!” she said, taking a step towards him.

He took another step back, still looking at the ground. “I guess that is a ‘no.’”

Tears brimming in her eyes, Hermione reached out to Ron who again moved out of her grasp, turning to walk to his locker. Hermione stood, rooted to the spot completely at a loss for something to say. Ron began loading his gear into a gym bag, slowly at first, then with more force. He suddenly threw the gym bag to the bottom of his locker and whirled around, anger etched on his face.

“Why not?!” he yelled. “Why don’t you want to marry me?’

Hermione flinched at his tone of voice. “Ron…” she began.

“Am I not good enough for you?”

“No! Why would you thi…”

“Maybe it’s because I’m not smart enough. You don’t want to be married to someone you can’t discuss Hogwarts, A History with?”

“That’s just…”

“I know. I’m not good looking enough for you, am I?”

“Ron…”

“Or maybe i’s because I’m poor…”

“Ron! You are being ridiculous!” Hermione shouted at him, getting angrier by the second. “If any of that mattered, do you think I would have dated you?”

“Oh, so you’re saying that I’m not good looking or smart or rich enough and you just dated me out of pity?”

“What? That isn’t what I said at all! You are being totally unreasonable! Would you just let me explain before you start ticking off your insecurities as my excuses?”

He stood there, anger emanating from every pore, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I didn’t say ‘no,’ Ron. You caught me off guard, is all. You have to admit it was a little unexpected. I would never imagine in my wildest dreams being proposed to in the Quidditchchanging rooms.”

“So, that’s not good enough for you either.”

“Would you SHUT UP,” Hermione yelled, “and let me finish?!”

Hermione took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. “I always assumed that we would talk about it before…we have never even mentioned marriage. It just seems too soon.”

“We have known each other for years, Hermione. We have been dating a year.”

“But we are only 17! That is so young.”

“My parents were 17 when they got engaged! They got married at 18 and had Bill at 20,” he said, as if this were all the proof anyone needed that teenage marriage was completely normal.

Hermione, who had been looking at Ron, shifted her gaze to the floor. “I’m not ready,” she said softly.

Ron looked at her and his face softened a little. He moved closer to her and rested his hands lightly on her hips. “That’s okay. We can just get engaged. We don’t have to get married right away. How does that sound?”

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and shook her head slowly, “I’m not ready. For any of it.”

He dropped his hands and his face fell. He sat down on the bench in front of his locker, a look of shock on his face. “Don’t you love me?”

Hermione choked back a sob and sat down beside him, putting her arm around his shoulder. “Of course I love you. I just think we need to wait. If it is meant to be then it will happen eventually — maybe next year, or the next. There’s no need to rush.”

Ron stood up abruptly and resumed putting his gear in his bag. “Is there someone else?”

“I know that is a joke. You would not be stupid enough to ask me that question!” she exclaimed.

He aggressively zipped his bag closed and rounded on her. “No joke. Who is he?”

“You are mental, Ron Weasley! There’s no one else. What kind of person do you think I am?”

He nodded his head with the expression of someone that thinks they have the answer. He threw his bag over his shoulder and said, “I’m not surprised.”

“Not surprised at what?” she asked, standing up and grabbing his arm, turning him around to face her.

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?”

“Harry? What about Har…” She stopped as realization of what Ron was implying hit her like a ton of bricks. “Come on, you can’t be serious!”

“You come on!” he shouted at her. “Everyone loves Harry! He can do no wrong. He can have any girl he wants.”

“That is a bit of an overstatement.”

“Please! If Harry wanted you, you would drop me in a second.”

“You are being completely ridiculous.”

“I’ve seen how he looks at you!”

“What do you mean ‘how he looks at me’? Harry has never acted the least bit interested in me. Have you forgotten that it was he that worked to get us together in the first place?”

“Right. How long have you two been sneaking around behind my back, eh?” he said angrily. “Having a ruddy good laugh at me, are you?”

“Just when I think you can’t say anything more absurd, you say that! What are you on? I don’t fancy Harry! I’ve never thought of Harry as anything but my best friend! How can you even suggest that? How can you think that I would do that, that Harry would do that?”

Ron snorted, “Here’s a news flash for you, Hermione. Harry isn’t perfect! Trust me, I know. I’ve lived with him for the last seven years.”

Hermione looked Ron squarely in the eyes, fury now etched on her face. “So, here it is once again — Ron using his biggest insecurity, his best friend, as a crutch. You are pathetic,” she spat. “Instead of trying to make yourself feel better by bad-mouthing your best friend, why don’t you do a little self-reflection, huh?” she said punching him in the chest with her finger. “Are you in love with me, Ron?”

“Of course I am. I just asked you to marry me, didn’t I?”

“Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with me because you love me and can’t imagine life without me? Or is it because your self-esteem is so low that you think I might be the best you can get?”

He stood in front of Hermione, his furious expression slowly replaced by one of shock. When he looked down at the floor and didn’t say anything, Hermione smirked and said, “That’s what I thought. It’s time to grow up, Ron.” Then she turned and walked out the door.

---

“That was the last time I talked to him. You probably didn’t notice, given your situation with Voldemort, but he and I completely ignored each other for the rest of the night.”

At some point during the story, they had stopped in the area of the garden the Weasleys used for pick-up Quidditch games. Harry was lost in thought, trying to comprehend what Hermione had told him about her last conversation with Ron. Although he had always assumed that Ron would have eventually asked Hermione to marry him if he had lived, he had no idea that Ron had done it that night. Thinking back on it, his lack of knowledge was really no surprise. The more involved Ron and Hermione became, the less Ron confided in Harry about their relationship. At the time, that didn’t bother Harry at all.

“I don’t know what to say. I had no idea,” Harry said with amazement.

“How could you? I haven’t talked to anyone about it in five years. I couldn’t bear to say aloud again the awful things I said to him that night.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “I can’t forgive myself for hurting him like that.”

“He said some awful things, too, Hermione. How were you to know that you wouldn’t get a chance to talk it out with him? You can’t feel guilty about that for the rest of your life.”

“Tell that to my conscience. Tell that to my heart.”

Harry walked in front of Hermione and lifted her chin so he was looking her in the eyes. “Ron didn’t die for you because he asked you to marry him. He jumped in front of that curse because it was instinct. It was the same instinct that you would have had to save him or me. Or that I would have had to save you or him. And what if he was making the ultimate sacrifice because he was in love with you? Do you really think that he would want you to still feel guilty, like you didn’t deserve it?”

“I didn’t deserve it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione.”

“He deserved better than to die for someone that wasn’t in love with him.”

Harry went completely still, his perceptions of the past seven years shattered with that one sentence. “What?” he whispered.

Hermione crossed her arms and looked down at the ground. “I wasn’t in love with Ron. That was the real reason I refused his proposal. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him.”

“How…” Harry stopped and cleared his throat which had suddenly constricted. “When did you know you weren’t in love with him?”

Hermione shrugged one shoulder slightly, still looking at the ground. “I was so confused, Harry. I had never been in love and had never felt for anyone what I felt for Ron. I thought I was in love. But it didn’t seem right somehow. I couldn’t explain the difference between loving and being in love, but I knew there was a difference. Something was missing. I think Ron knew it, too.”

“Then why did he ask you to marry him?”

Hermione looked up at Harry. “I think he thought we were supposed to be in love, almost like it was the next step in our relationship, something that would happen automatically if we got married.”

Harry stood there in silence, letting the pieces of the puzzle that was Hermione fall into place.

“So the reason you have been so reluctant for us,” he said, motioning between the two of them with his hand, “is because of what happened with Ron.”

Hermione nodded her head. “I didn’t want to be in a relationship with you because it just seemed like the natural progression of our friendship. I wanted to be sure it was more than curiosity on both our parts.”

Harry inched closer to Hermione, grasping her hands and placing her arms around his waist, pulling her close to him. “Should I be worried that you are merely settling a curiosity with me?” he asked teasingly as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“No.”

He leaned his head down until his lips were lightly grazing hers. “How can you be so sure?”

He felt Hermione’s hands travel up and down his back as she softly kissed him. “Trust me, I’m sure.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck and pulled him down into a passionate kiss, tracing her tongue across his lips and plunging it into his mouth. He felt her remove his cap and begin running her hands through his hair, pulling him to her closer still. Harry’s hands were searching frantically through her layers of running clothes trying to locate access to her skin, desperate in his need to feel her warmth. He growled in aggravation as he pulled away from her, allowing his eyes to aid in his endeavor.

“Are you a bit frustrated?” Hermione asked, laughing.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Harry mumbled, still searching. “Bloddy hell, Hermione! This is like trying to break into Gringotts!” Harry exclaimed.

“Ow! George, watch your broom, mate,” they heard Fred say in the distance.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Harry whispered, his hands stopping abruptly.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. “I hate Quidditch.” She stepped away from Harry and picked up his cap, handing it to him.

“Right now, I do, too,” he replied, pulling his hat low over his eyes.

Just then, Fred, George and Bill emerged from the path carrying their brooms, surprised to see Harry and Hermione standing there.

“Oops. It looks like we have interrupted a romantic interlude,” Fred said, covering his eyes dramatically.

Walking away from Harry toward the path George, Fred and Bill emerged from, Hermione said, “Don’t be silly. We just returned from an early morning run.”

“Right. Whatever you say,” George sing-songed playfully. He tossed an extra broom he was carrying to Harry, “We brought an extra in case we ran into you. Want to play?”

Hermione waved and called over her shoulder. “I’m going to see if I can help Molly with anything. You lot have fun.”

Harry watched her go and turned to face three grinning Weasleys. “What?” he said surly.

“It’s about time you made a move,” said Bill as he mounted his broom. “You can cut the tension between you two with a knife.”

“Thanks to your inopportune arrival, nothing happened.”

“Buck up, mate. There’s always the mistletoe,” George said optimistically.

---

After a large Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, presents were opened in the parlor in front of the fire before pudding. Amid the flurry of ripping paper came a chorus of “thank you” and “I love it,” and a squeal from Fleur when she opened a beautiful necklace from Bill. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched Hermione open her gifts, waiting anxiously for the moment she opened his. He was nervous about what he had gotten her, afraid that it wasn’t enough, that it was too impersonal. He had another gift back at his house, in his bedside table. But it was much too personal to give her here, in front of the entire Weasley family.

You should have gotten her a book, mate. That’s always a sure winner, Ron’s voice said in his head.

Shut up. I’m not talking to you.

Hermione picked up a slim oblong box wrapped beautifully in shimmering opalescent paper, trimmed in gold. She glanced up at him as she began opening the present and caught his eye. He gave her a small smile and she opened the box. She stared for a moment at the gift in front of her.

She hates it. I know she hates it. What was I thinking?

Hermione reached into the box and removed the present, letting the deep red velvety material run through her fingers. She put it up to her cheek, looking at Harry.

He cleared his throat and said nervously, “It’s called a pashmina. It’s like a sca…”

“I know what it is,” Hermione said softly, rubbing the cashmere against her cheek. “It is absolutely beautiful. Thank you.”

“You like it?”

“I love it.”

“Hermione! Thank you so much!” Ginny squealed from across the room, waving a piece of paper in her hand. Jumping up, she barreled across the open boxes and discarded paper to give Hermione a crushing hug.

“You’re welcome,” Hermione said laughing.

“What did she give you?” Harry asked.

“A full day at a spa in London! Oh dear Merlin! I’ve always wanted to do this but I’ve never made the time.” Ginny was now jumping up and down in excitement.

At that moment, everyone heard Molly gasp and turned to see her holding an identical piece of paper. She looked up and said in a shocked whisper, “Hermione! This is too much!”

Hermione waved her hand. “Don’t be silly. You deserve it. There is one condition, though,” Hermione said seriously.

Molly and Ginny both paused, and Molly said apprehensively, “What?”

“I have to come with you,” Hermione said with a huge smile on her face.

Molly and Ginny started laughing. “That’s not a condition, that’s a bonus!” Ginny said, jumping up and down again. “When do you want to go? I can’t wait. I’m so excited!”

“What about the next Hogsmeade weekend? That way I can leave school without any problem.”

“It’s a date!”

Hermione looked over at Fleur, who had been watching with a curious look on her face. “You have one, too, Fleur. It’s in a red envelope. Did you miss it?”

Relief flooded Fleur’s face as she looked among the discarded paper and presents for her envelope. Once she found and opened it, she looked at Hermione and said, “Thank you, Hermione. It is a really great present.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll let you all know the date of the next Hogsmeade weekend so we can make plans.”

Harry and the other men watched this exchange with perplexed looks on their faces that said “that must be some spa.” Harry turned his attention to the last present he had to open, the one from Hermione. It was a square ebony box with elaborate carvings on each side and a beautiful silver ribbon around it. As the others began picking up the discarded wrapping paper, gathering their presents and moving into the kitchen for Christmas pudding, he untied the ribbon. The ribbon fell and the box opened to reveal a silver cup that reminded Harry of the Goblet of Fire. Upon closer inspection, he saw etched in the side of the goblet runes, and within the goblet a silvery gas swirled and shimmered. Comprehension dawned on his face and he looked up to see Hermione’s expectant expression on her face.

“It’s a…” Hermione started.

“…pensieve,” he finished for her. He looked back down at the beautiful goblet.

She has always given the best presents.

“There’s a memory in here. Is it yours?”

“Yes, there is a memory in there. But no, it’s not mine.” Harry looked at her quizzically.

She cleared her throat, “The memory is actually the gift. The pensieve is just a bonus, I guess.” She smiled a little timidly.

“So, whose memory is it, then?”

“It’s Oliver’s coach’s memory of the game he told you about. The one he played against your father.”

Harry stared at her in stunned silence. Hermione mistook his silence and began to explain. “I know how excited you were to hear that story about your dad and thought wouldn’t it be great if you could see it? It just gave me the idea and I called Oliver’s coach who was more than happy to do it and…”

While Hermione had been rambling on, Harry got up and walked over to her. Leaning down, he kissed her on the cheek and whispered in her ear. “It’s perfect, the best present I’ve ever received. Thank you.”

Keeping his cheek next to hers he took a deep breath, taking in the scent of her hair. “Hermione,” he whispered, “I’ve just remembered a few things I left undone at home. I think I may need to leave a little early.” As he said the last, he pulled back to look in her eyes.

Her confused expression cleared when his eyes met hers and she replied, “What a coincidence. I have some loose ends I need to tie up, as well.”

---

Chapter 14 Worth the Wait

Hermione couldn’t recall ever feeling quite this way.

In a futile effort to understand what was happening to her, and to occupy her mind, she began an inventory of her symptoms as if her emotions were a sickness to cure or a problem to solve.

A warm, stinging sensation was creeping across her features. Her hands were weak, rubbery, and shaking uncontrollably, in perfect sync with her racing heart. So busy was she detailing her physical reactions, she noticed, almost too late, that she wasn’t breathing. The gulps of air she swallowed to cleanse her mind and calm her nerves had the opposite effect.

She was going to be sick.

She bolted up from the sofa, stumbling across the deserted room and ran to the toilet, her hand clamped over her mouth. She slapped the wall in the vicinity of the light switch, stinging her hand and missing the switch entirely. She lunged for the toilet, closing her eyes tightly, trying to forget she was on the floor in Harry’s bathroom, fighting the urge to throw up.

Slowly, her shallow breaths deepened and her heart resumed its vital but unobtrusive job. She opened her eyes and watched millions of little dots chase each other around frantically, before slowing and disappearing entirely, restoring focus to the edges of the bathroom again.

Gingerly, she rose from the floor, testing the strength of her legs, which she still couldn’t entirely feel. She stood in the darkened bathroom, collecting herself, enjoying the quiet. Reaching out with a trembling hand, she turned on the light and faced the mirror.

The reflection that greeted her bore little resemblance to herself. Her face was a pasty white, her glassy brown eyes rimmed with black circles. The hair around her face was damp with perspiration. Gasping at her appearance, the sweat pooled precariously on the hollow of her throat spilled out in rivulets down her chest

Anger welled up inside her as she reached forward to turn on the tap. Frigid water ran into her cupped hands as she stared malevolently at herself in the mirror.

“You are the only person in the world who would have a panic attack about making love to a good looking man! But, if you look like this when he gets here, you won’t have a thing to worry about.”

She bent over and rested her face in her water filled hands, letting the cool water return her equilibrium. She splashed water on her face a few times, finally rinsing her mouth out, and turned off the tap, reaching for the hand towel hanging on the wall nearby. She buried her head in the towel and took a deep breath. This breath achieved what the others before it could not do, calming her nerves and relieving her anxiety. She inhaled deeply again, the towel still pressed to her face.

It smelled like Harry.

She lowered the towel a bit, revealing her eyes in the mirror, eyes though still rimmed in black circles, had resumed their normal appearance, even sparkling somewhat beneath her crinkling brows. Relief flooded through her as Harry’s scent chased away the doubts that resided in her brain.

Keeping the towel with her, she walked back into the parlor to retrieve her bag; thinking about the kiss she shared with Harry this morning. She shook her head in disbelief that it had been less than 12 hours since then. It seemed like an eternity had passed. So many other more pressing issues regarding a relationship with Harry had been on her mind that she never stopped to consider how difficult keeping their relationship under wraps would be once her feelings had been released. She couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him and not be near him. She was constantly smiling, an involuntary reaction, when hearing his deep voice or laugh. Not trusting herself to be near Harry, she had studiously avoided him the entire day.

She wasn’t sure if Harry noticed her evasion or not, until alone in the kitchen, he cornered her.

“Are you avoiding me?” Harry whispered in her ear, standing close behind her.

Hermione jumped at his voice and proximity, juggling the glass she had been filling with water. Composing herself, she looked over her shoulder to see him grinning mischievously. “Yes, I am avoiding you.”

“Why?” he whispered, looking at her lips.

“You know very well, why.”

“You’re right, I do. But, I’d like to hear you say it.”

“Harry! The mistletoe is over here, mate!” George called cheerily as he breezed through the kitchen on his way up the stairs.

Keeping his eyes on Hermione, but grinning from ear to ear, Harry replied, “I know, George, but she is avoiding me!”

“Come on, Hermione!” George called as he climbed the stairs. “Put the poor chap out of his misery!”

Hermione and Harry dissolved into a fit of laughter. Hermione looked at Harry and said, “Are you in misery, Harry?”

“Yes, I am. But, I’m afraid it isn’t the kind the mistletoe will cure.” He sighed dramatically and pushed away from the counter as more people entered the kitchen and its bustling activity resumed.

Now, Hermione was again standing in front of a sink. Only this time, she was undoubtedly alone, waiting eagerly for Harry to arrive. She looked at her watch and was surprised to see that she had only been at Harry’s house for half an hour. Time was moving interminably slow, prolonging her agony, and allowing her mind too much opportunity to return to its hovel of anxiety. So, she did what any self-respecting, intelligent witch would do in a similar situation.

She buried her face in Harry’s towel and took another deep breath.

Sighing contentedly, she reluctantly lowered the towel to the sink, and began to reapply her makeup that she had ruined earlier. She caught a glimpse of her watch in the mirror and wondered aloud if time was standing still.

To say that she wanted to get it over with was too negative, but it was exactly how she felt. If for no other reason than to alleviate the fantasies she had been having about him since their first kiss. She desperately wanted to make love to Harry. She wanted it in a way that challenged the limits of an English woman's propriety.

She felt herself blush at her own thoughts. This passion was so unlike her she was embarrassed, despite the fact that no one could possibly know what was in her mind right now. To add to her embarrassment, there was nervousness underlying this desire.

But, it was the nervousness of the unknown, of the consequences of making love to Harry. What if afterwards, they were both unimpressed with the other. What if he was disappointed in her lack of experience? Although not a virgin, skillful is probably not a word to describe her sexual abilities. Any excitement she had quickly drained from her as she continued to obsess about everything that could go wrong.

She zipped her make-up bag closed and threw it into her duffle. She debated briefly as to where to put her duffle, before deciding to leave it where it lay. Frankly, that was the least of her worries. She needed some air.

Hermione jotted a quick note on a spare piece of parchment before donning her cloak and wrapping the pashmina Harry had given her around her neck. She was walking to the door, pulling her gloves on when the door flew open and Harry walked in, bag thrown over his shoulder, snowflakes in his hair.

“"I'm sorry I'm late. Bill decided he wanted to take me on in wizard chess. It took me longer than I expected to lose." He stopped abruptly, taking in the sight of Hermione standing in front of the door, dressed for the cold. He turned and closed the door, tossing his bag in the corner out of the way.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked nonchalantly.

“What?” Hermione said, distracted by the jolt of relief that hit her when Harry walked through the door. He looked down, nodding at her cloak and gloves.

“Oh! I was going for a walk.”

“Anywhere in particular?”

Hermione furrowed her brow, wondering for the first time where she had intended to go. “No.”

“Why were you going for a walk?”

Hermione cleared her throat, debating how many, if any, of her insecurities she should tell Harry. She looked him straight in the eye and replied. “I was restless.”

Harry unbuttoned his cloak and removed it, tossing it onto a nearby wingchair. “Do you still want to go for a walk? I can join you.”

Hermione watched Harry move closer to her, taking in, not for the first time today, how good he looked wearing the simplest clothes; khaki trousers and a black v-neck jumper with just a hint of an undershirt showing.

“No, I don’t want to go for a walk.”

“Maybe later,” he whispered, removing a glove from her hand.

“Sure,” Hermione replied as he removed the second glove.

He unbuttoned her cloak and slid it off her shoulders. “You don’t need this,” he said, tossing it on top of his.

Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off Harry. He seemed so confident and relaxed; while she felt as if she were about to take a test she was ill prepared for. Harry ran his hands down her arms, and gently rested his hands on her waist, looking at her body. Hermione felt her heartbeat increase, and heard the pounding of her heart in her ears. She saw Harry take a deep breath and look up at her, a tentative smile on his face, revealing a fissure in his confidence.

“Are you still restless?” he asked, hooking a finger under her scarf and slowly pulling it down from her neck.

Hermione shook her head in response. “No. Just nervous.”

“Me, too,” he whispered, pulling her scarf down from around her neck and dropping it to the floor. “But, I have a theory.”

“Really? What’s your theory?”

“That my nerves will vanish when I kiss you.”

“You think so?”

“It’s a theory. There is on…”

“Harry,” Hermione interrupted. “Now is not the time…”

“…for playful banter.”

Hesitantly, he raised his hand to her cheek, gently running the back of his fingers across her jaw line. “Hermione, you have no idea how long I have wanted this,” he said hoarsely. He brushed her hair out of her face. “Are you sure?”

Rubbing her hands up and down his back, she nodded. “I’m sure.”

Cupping her face in his hands, he pulled her slowly forward until their lips touched. He kissed her softly, tenderly, telling her without words that she could trust him, that he understood what this meant to her and that he felt the same way. As this realization hit her, she melted into a puddle at his feet. He could have asked her to do anything and she would have complied without reservation.

That was the moment she knew she was in love.

Harry pulled away from her and gazed down into her eyes. As his eyes bored into hers, she was startled to realize that Harry’s eyes were the reason green was her favorite color. She didn’t have long to wonder about the deep-seeded meaning of this revelation when Harry, slowly beginning to unbutton her top, distracted her. She looked down and watched as his trembling hands fumbled with the small buttons of her blouse. She placed her hands on his and looked up into his eyes. Gently moving his hands out of the way, she began to unbutton her shirt. When the last button was undone, she opened her shirt and let it slide off her shoulders onto the floor.

Harry traced his fingers lightly up her bare arms, sending shivers down her spine and setting off a tingling sensation in her stomach. She raised the sides of his jumper and undershirt and pulled them over his head. Her breath caught as she saw his bare chest for the first time Smooth and toned, it was remarkably hairless, with only a spattering of hair in the center of his chest and around his nipples. She reached out tentatively to touch his chest and felt him tense at her touch. Leaning forward, Hermione brushed her lips across his chest, moving unhurriedly from one side to the other while her hands wrapped around his waist and caressed his back. She heard his breathing deepen as she kissed his nipple. She raised her eyes to his and ran her hands back around his waist to his abdomen, stopping at his belt. Moments later, his belt discarded, she ran her fingers lightly over the front of his trousers, which were being strained by Harry’s erection. A thrill of satisfaction ran through Hermione’s body: she was the cause of his excitement.

The button of his trousers undone, Harry grabbed Hermione’s wrists as she reached for his zipper. “Not yet,” he whispered.

Harry ran his hands down Hermione’s arms and legs as he knelt down in front of her. Looking up at her, he lifted her right foot and removed her shoe and sock, tossing them carelessly to the side. Hermione ran her hands through his hair and smiled down at him as he repeated the procedure on the left side. His task completed, his hands ran up her legs and around to her arse, pulling her closer as he buried his face in her belly.

Hermione felt his lips roam along her skin, his warm tongue flicking inside her belly button. Before she knew it had happened, her trousers were pooled around her feet and Harry’s lips were traveling southward down to the silky fabric of her knickers. She could feel his warm breath sneak through the thin, smooth material and tickle her skin. Goosebumps sprang up on every inch of her body and she shivered as she felt his hands underneath her silk knickers, cupping and squeezing her bare arse. Hermione gasped and pulled Harry’s head back from her abdomen, looking into his eyes that were hooded with desire. She leaned down and captured his mouth with hers. He stood up, kicking his shoes off as she fumbled for his zipper. She pushed his trousers down as he hastily unlatched her bra. For a brief second they did not touch — Hermione tossing her bra to the side, Harry marching in place to remove his trousers and socks. Finally free from the restraints of clothing, they collapsed into each other’s arms, kissing each other with a fervor that could only come from years of pent up passion.

Hermione wrapped her legs around Harry’s waist as he picked her up, pulling him as close to her as possible. She moaned in anticipation as she felt him through their final layer of clothing. He leaned his face down and began kissing her chest, pushing her breast up to meet his mouth with one hand while the other arm held her to him tightly. Hermione’s legs wrapped around him tighter and she crushed her pelvis to his, increasing the pressure between their bodies and sending each over the edge of reason.

“This is amazing,” Harry croaked, as he kissed his way back up Hermione’s neck to her mouth.

Hermione felt Harry walk her backwards and lower her to the sofa as he continued to kiss her hungrily. He inched down her body and kissed the tops of her breasts, running his tongue along her skin as he did. She shuddered with pleasure as the now familiar tingling sensation began to course through her abdomen. He looked up into her eyes again as his thumbs gently stroked her hardened nipples and slowly traced the small circles of her areolae. She felt her eyes droop closed as the tingling sensation built in tandem with the movement and pressure of Harry’s thumbs.

She arched her back, thrusting her chest into Harry’s hands, encouraging the contact. Harry replaced his thumb with his mouth and lovingly caressed her nipple with his warm tongue. She moaned as the tingling in her abdomen began to burn with pleasure. She felt Harry suck her breast almost completely into his mouth, his tongue continuing its ministrations. He released the pressure and grazed his teeth down her breast until he was gently biting her nipple. Suddenly, the burning sensation erupted inside her, warmth flowing like lava outward from her center to every pore of her body. She gasped in shock and cried out Harry’s name as this new, incredible sensation coursed through her.

Emboldened by the release, she pulled Harry’s head away from her breast and crushed her mouth to his, frenzied in her desire. Hermione scratched her fingernails across Harry’s broad back and down, sliding her hands beneath the waistband of his boxers until she was cupping in her hands what she had admired so many times before. She pulled him towards her until she felt his erection against her, and the tingling sensation began again. She brought her hands to his sides and began to lower his boxers, all the while wildly kissing him. In one swift movement, Harry stood up and pulled Hermione’s knickers off of her, kicking off his own shorts in the process. He then lowered himself back down onto the sofa, but not before Hermione was able to fully admire the man she loved.

This confirms it; I waited entirely too long.

They both stopped and peered into each other’s eyes for a prolonged moment, each acutely aware that there was no turning back. Neither wanted to. A questioning look crossed Harry’s features, reminding Hermione of the insecure boy she first met 12 years ago. Tears welled in her eyes as she cupped his face, wanting to reassure him of his worthiness of love.

“Harry,” she said softly, her gaze drinking in his startling green eyes and feasting on his handsome face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” She reached up and kissed him lovingly on the lips. “Make love to me.”

Harry dropped his head onto her shoulder, his body shaking. Hermione felt his warm tears on her shoulder as she wrapped her legs around his waist and arched up to meet him. Harry lifted his head, revealing his tear-stained face as he slowly entered her. Then he stopped.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, resting his forehead on hers.

Hermione closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to capture this moment, this feeling for all time. She caressed his face and kissed him, wanting desperately to tell him that she loved him, but something held her back.

“You are amazing, Harry. Please, don’t stop.” She wrapped her legs tighter around him, pushing him further inside her. He began to move, leisurely sliding in and out, his eyes never leaving hers. Volumes were spoken to each other wordlessly, as they continued to stare directly into each other’s eyes. Hermione knew in that instant that she would never be with another man besides Harry.

The intensity of the feelings pulsing through her body was indescribable. For someone who prided herself on her ability to pontificate at will on any given subject, this failure of words was monumental. Later, void of distractions, with time and space separating her intellect from these events, she would be able to concisely describe what she was currently feeling. She was sure of it. At the moment, Hermione Granger — first in her class at Hogwarts, the youngest Transfiguration Professor in Hogwarts’ history, regarded by and large as one of the most intelligent witches of her time — was reduced to indistinct noises, guttural groans and the periodic gasp of her lover’s name.

Harry, she thought. Or did she say it out loud?

She opened her eyes and looked up at Harry, who was moving agonizingly slow inside her. A tiny part of her brain, the part that refused to accept their evolved relationship, was shocked and amazed that Harry was making love to her. As good as it felt –(and God, it felt good!), as right as it felt, a tiny part of her still held onto the idea that this was somehow wrong — that they would be caught and punished for breaking the cardinal rule of friendship. As the tingling sensation traveled down her legs making her toes curl, the idea crept into her mind that this sense of sinning against their friendship was partially responsible for making this feel so incredibly good.

He reached down between their bodies and began to caress her clit while continuing to move inside her. Hermione’s eyes widened and she released a hum of pleasure. Harry smiled and stopped moving, continuing to stroke her. “Does that feel good?”

Unable to form words, she nodded her head vigorously, a squeak escaping her throat as he massaged her with more pressure. Her eyes rolled back and fluttered closed as a long, low moan flowed from somewhere deep inside her.

“Or do you like this better?” he asked as he began to move again while continuing to fondle her.

Between gasps, Hermione managed to squeak out a response. “All…good.”

He bent down to kiss her, leisurely running his tongue around the inside of her mouth. She felt him slide out of her slowly and pause, before pushing himself deep into her core. His slow, methodical tantalization of her senses made her groan in frustration. Before he could re-enter her again, she reached down and seized him, wanting to feel him in her hand. Harry groaned at her touch as she began to slowly stroke him. The remnants of her desire aiding her, she let the feel of him, long and hard in her hand, arouse her. Hermione watched as his eyes rolled back and closed, his mouth opened in a silent scream. She smiled as the silence was broken by a guttural moan followed by the sound of him choking out her name as she increased the tempo.

He opened his eyes and looked down at her and she felt his fingers begin to fondle her again, in tandem with her tempo. He bent down to crush his mouth on hers, running his guilty fingers down her wetness until one finger plunged inside her, sending her over the edge again. She heard her muffled cry and felt the vibrations of his groan as if it was coming from inside her.

“Harry,” she panted, feeling him stroke her slowly, in and out, in and out. “I need you inside me, please,” she begged. She raised her hips and wrapped her legs around him, guiding him to her. He slowly removed his finger, and with a thrust, she surrounded him again.

He paused, breathing heavily, and rested his forehead on hers. Lifting his gaze to meet hers, he stared into her eyes for a long moment. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.” He intertwined his fingers with hers, pulling her arms up above her head and holding them there. He traced kisses down the inside of her arm and onto her shoulder, murmuring endearments along the way. Hermione closed her eyes and arched her back, wanting to take Harry still deeper inside her. Leisurely, he began to move as his warm breath tickled her ear.

“Hermione.” Her name floated from his mouth on a wisp of air. “You are the one for me. You have always been the one for me.”

Hermione turned her head to his and captured his lips with hers, trying to convey to him that, although it had taken her years to realize it, she felt the same way.

They began to move together in perfect rhythm, faster and faster, gripping each other’s hands for support. They crept closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. He locked his eyes on hers and growled her name, plunging himself deep into her core. She cried out as another orgasm washed over her. Through her fog of desire, she watched Harry’s face tense up as he entered her again and again, finally crying out her name. She felt his body shudder as he drove inside her a final time before collapsing on top of her in a heap.

Breathless, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him, trying in vain to fuse their bodies together. She heard his ragged breathing and felt him kiss her shoulder, then her neck. She had never felt closer to anyone than she felt to Harry at that moment. But suddenly, it didn’t seem close enough. She wanted to share his body, to be inside him. She knew now that any break in contact from him from now on would be physically painful. He began to move, to withdraw from her. “No, don’t move,” she whispered, wrapping her arms and legs more tightly around him.

He lifted his head and smiled at her. “Anything for you,” he whispered before giving her the most tender kiss she had ever received.

“That was amazing,” Hermione said.

Harry smiled. “You were amazing.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “I was talking about that kiss. What were you on about?”

Harry stopped smiling, a look of complete shock falling on his face.

Hermione smiled at him and said playfully, “I’m just teasing!”

Relief flooded Harry’s face as he kissed the tip of her nose and rolled off of her onto his side, their bodies connected and intertwined. He draped his arm across her waist and pulled her closer to him.

Hermione reached up to caress Harry’s face, unable to keep the satisfied smile from hers.

Finally.

“Finally?” Harry asked.

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Oops.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What exactly does, ‘finally’ mean?”

Hermione cleared her throat and looked down at Harry’s chest. “Well, you know me, and my tendency to over analyze things.”

“No! You don’t do that.”

Hermione playfully poked Harry in the ribs. “I know that is a shocking revelation.” She looked up at him, relieved to see an understanding smile in his eyes. “I have a confession. I had a slight panic attack before you got here.”

“A panic attack? About us making love?”

Hermione nodded her head. “I know it was ridiculous. But, I was here, alone, and my insecurities got the better of me.” Her face lit up with understanding. “It was a lot like right before taking a test. You are ready for it, you are 100% prepared, but there is still that anxiety of the unknown. You know what I mean?”

Harry looked at her skeptically. “I don’t know if I like the comparison of making love to me with taking a test or not. But, I can tell you that I liked the results.”

“Did you?”

“Would you be reassured if I gave you a grade?”

“As a matter of fact…”

“I was joking! I’m not going to give you a grade!”

“Why not?” Hermione said with a trace of panic in her voice. “I was awful, wasn’t I?”

“What? You’re kidding me, right? Weren’t we just doing this together? Geez, woman, if that is your idea of awful, then I’m guessing spectacular is going to render me unconscious for months.”

Hermione looked down and back up at him shyly. “It was amazing, wasn’t it?”

“Absolutely amazing. Much better even than my fantasies.”

“You’ve had fantasies about me?”

“Merlin, yes. I’ve been dreaming about you for months.”

“You told me those were nightmares.”

“Not anymore.”

“That’s good. I would hate to be the cause of your sleepless nights.”

“Actually, I would love for you to be the cause of my sleepless nights.” He drew her closer and nuzzled her neck, kissing around her jaw to her mouth. “Mmmmm,” Harry hummed in Hermione’s mouth. “Your lips should be illegal.” He continued to kiss her, interspersing words between each kiss. “I couldn’t stop looking at your lips today. All I wanted to do was to lay you across the kitchen table and kiss you senseless.”

“Why don’t you do it now?” Hermione asked.

“Okay, I think I will.”

Harry ran his tongue teasingly across her lips, pulling back when she opened her mouth to him, then returning to tease her again. She grabbed his head and pulled him to her, taking control of the situation and running her tongue along the warm, sweet cavern of his mouth. She felt his warm, velvety hand slide down her bare hip to her thigh, pulling her knee up to rest on his hip. She felt the burning sensation ignite inside her again as Harry moved his hand along the back of her thigh. His fingers were lightly touching her, stroking her. She groaned in pleasure and felt one or two of Harry’s fingers enter her. She opened her eyes to find Harry watching her with a look of self-satisfaction on his face.

“Is thi…ssss,” she hissed, “part of snogging me senseless?”

“No, but it was part of the fantasy.”

“O…ohhh…kay.” Hermione chewed on the corner of her lip and closed her eyes as a wave of pleasure shot through her body, originating from the vicinity of Harry’s hand. “I…ahhh…think I like your fantasies.”

“Want me to show you the next part of it?”

“AHHHhhhh…I’m guessing I do.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” Harry replied, as he rolled her onto her back and began moving his lips down her body.

---

“What was that?” Hermione yawned.

“I think it was my stomach,” Harry’s muffled voice replied.

“Are you hungry?”

“I guess so.”

“Do you have the energy to get up?”

“No.”

“Me either.”

Harry lifted his head, which had been buried in the nook where Hermione’s shoulder met her neck. “I would summon a snack for us, but honestly, there is nothing to eat in this house.”

“Surely there’s something.”

Harry returned his head to its resting place. “I wouldn’t count on it.” He kissed her neck, and rooted his nose in her hair. “Does your hair really smell like apples or am I just hungry?”

“It’s my shampoo.”

“Ah.” He looked up at her again, as his stomach gave a healthy rumble. “Well, it is making me hungry.”

“Sorry.”

Harry sighed heavily. “I don’t really want to get up, but I’m starving. What time is it anyway?”

Hermione looked at her left wrist, and then looked around on the floor. “I would tell you, but I have no idea where my watch is.”

Harry looked up at the clock on the bookshelf. “It is 7:15. What time does the grocer’s close, eight?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “No idea.”

“I think that’s right. How about that walk?”

“Sure.” Hermione disentangled herself from Harry and tugged at the blanket as she moved to rise from the sofa.

“Oi! Where are you going with my blanket?” Harry asked, pulling the blanket back.

“To find my clothes,” she replied, tugging harder.

“You don’t need the blanket!”

“Yes I do. It’s cold!”

Harry swung his legs off the sofa, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. “Tell you what, we’ll share the blanket.” He stood up, and opened the blanket, beckoning Hermione to come closer. She smiled at him and stepped closer as he folded his arms around her, encircling them both in the soft material. “This is my kind of compromise,” he said as he felt her smooth skin against his. “Turn around.”

Hermione gave him a knowing look and complied. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him. “Look around. Do you see your clothes?”

“Mmm-hmm. Over there, there, there and there,” she said, pointing to all areas of the room.

“A bit scattered, aren’t they?”

They went around the room picking up their discarded clothes and returned to stand before the fire. Remaining wrapped in the blanket for warmth, Hermione dressed herself. She turned to face Harry, holding the blanket around him. As he bent down to put on his boxers, Hermione caught his mouth, kissing him haphazardly — his upper lip, the corners of his mouth, his lower lip — all were fair game. She drew her head back and Harry slowly opened his eyes, his lips still puckered for the next kiss. She glanced down and back up with a mischievous smile on her face.

“Why do you do this to me?” Harry said in frustration.

“Because I can.”

“Demented Hermione, not my favorite person.” Harry pulled his clothes on quickly and reached for their cloaks, still lying across the wingchair. He draped Hermione’s cloak over her shoulders before picking up her scarf and wrapping it around her neck for her. Flinging his cloak over his shoulders and latching it quickly, he held out his hand to Hermione. “Ready?”

Placing her hand in his she replied, “Lead the way.”

They walked out into the crisp night air, each instinctively raising their palms to capture the large white snowflakes that were drifting down from the darkened sky. Harry steered Hermione down a side street filled with quaint cottages, the snow covered roofs and multi-colored Christmas lights adorning the eaves giving them the distinct look of gingerbread houses. Warm yellow light shone through the windows, illuminating idyllic family Christmas scenes in many of the houses.

“I would imagine that your Christmas’s were like this, weren’t they?” Harry asked.

“I’m sure from the outside looking in, they did seem a bit picture perfect.”

Harry continued to watch the scenes play out in the windows as they passed. He looked down at Hermione to find her staring up at him. “What?”

“Yours were awful, weren’t they?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, looking away. He had forgiven the Dursleys years ago for his mistreatment, but, during the holidays, the small seed of resentment at what he had missed out on as a child germinated and began to grow.

“Seeing this,” he said nodding in the direction of a family sitting around a dinner table, “and remembering my Christmas’s past, just makes me want a family even more. A bunch of children running around a huge tree, opening presents, drinking hot chocolate, you know, the Weasleys without the red hair.”

“A bunch of children? How many are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. Enough for a Quidditch team I guess.”

Hermione’s mouth gaped open. “Seven?”

“Well, five I guess, if you and I play.”

Harry squinted his face up, realizing what he said. He looked over at Hermione to see if she caught the implication that she would be the one having five children with him. If she did, she wasn’t bothered by it.

“Well, five is still quite a large number.”

“Did you like being an only child?”

“It had its perks. But, all in all, I would say, no. I would have rather had a sibling.”

They turned onto the main thoroughfare and walked in the direction of the grocer’s, only to be greeted by a darkened door with a sign saying, “Closed Christmas Day.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other in shock. “Did you forget it was Christmas, too?” he asked.

“Yes, I did. Is it just me, or does it seem like an eternity ago that we went for our run?”

“It isn’t just you. We have had quite an eventful day, haven’t we?”

“That’s an understatement.”

Harry looked up and down the street, the prospects for abating his hunger waning. He snapped his fingers. “The Three Broomsticks. It will be open for sure. I remember seeing a notice on the door advertising it. Let’s go.”

He draped his arm across her shoulders and kissed her temple. He was rewarded with a radiant smile from Hermione, something he would never tire of seeing.

“I feel so…” he paused, trying to find the right word. “Normal.”

“Normal? Whatever does that mean?”

“I’m walking down the street, on a date with my beautiful girlfriend. I can call you that right?” he asked. She nodded with a smile and he continued. “Good. There is no evil dark lord wanting to kill me, I’ve just had the best sex known to man, twice, and I’m about to eat. It doesn’t get much better than that.”

Harry pulled open the door to the Three Broomsticks and stepped back allowing Hermione to enter before him.

“Wow,” Hermione said a bit nervously. “I didn’t expect it to be this crowded.”

“Me, either.”

They stood at the door of the almost full pub, looking around for a vacant table. Harry caught Madam Rosmerta’s eye and returned her wave with a smile. She pointed toward the far back corner of the room, and Harry saw, following her outstretched finger, a vacant table, partially hidden by a gaudily decorated Christmas tree. He nodded his head and waved in acknowledgement.

“This way,” he said, grabbing Hermione’s hand.

They weaved through the crowd of mostly men, Harry shaking hands and greeting people along the way. Once relieved of their coats and scarves, they settled down at the table and were promptly greeted by the proprietor.

“Hi, Harry. Hermione.”

“Hi, Rosmerta,” they said in unison.

“You’re busy tonight!” Harry said.

“I know. It is like this every year. You’ll notice that it is mostly men. Trying to get away from all the noise at their own houses they come here to make more noise.”

“Please tell me the kitchen is open,” Harry said in a pleading voice.

“If it wasn’t it would be for you. You want your usual?”

“Your usual?” Hermione said, lifting her eyebrows.

Harry glanced at Hermione a bit sheepishly, and reached under the table to rub her leg. “I might come in here every so often.”

He looked up at Rosmerta, who was eyeing the two of them with a shrewd smile on her face. “Sure, I’ll have my usual.”

“Okay. What about you Hermione?”

“Do you have any soup or stew?”

“We have Leek and Potato Soup.”

“That sounds good.”

“And, two ales,” Harry added, looking questioningly at Hermione, who nodded in assent.

“Got it,” Rosmerta replied. “Nice scarf, Hermione,” she said turning with a wink at Harry and walking away.

“Thanks,” Hermione replied, nonplussed. “What was the wink all about?” Hermione asked turning to Harry.

Harry looked at her sheepishly. “”I may have asked from some advice from a woman’s point of view on an occasion or two.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Hermione said grinning, squeezing his leg under the table.

Harry pulled out his wand, pointing it at the Christmas tree. “I think we need a bit more privacy.” With a swish of his wand, the tree lifted slightly from the ground and settled in front of the table, obscuring them from the majority of the crowded bar. He grabbed her chair and pulled her closer to him, draping his arm across the back of her chair, his other hand rubbing her leg lightly.

“I am not going to snog you in the Three Broomsticks, Harry.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, it will end up in the Daily Prophet.”

“That’s a good point.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she gasped.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I just realized that I slept with you before our first date!”

Harry’s worried expression broke into a mischievous grin. “You are a scarlet woman!”

Hermione playfully jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, smiling at him. “I guess Ron was right about that after all.”

“I’m glad I was the beneficiary of your indiscretion.”

“I bet you are.” She leaned over slightly, looking around the Christmas tree, before turning to Harry and giving him a quick kiss.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to kiss me.”

“I’m a scarlet woman, we do that sort of stuff all the time.”

“Nice,” Harry said slowly, as Rosmerta returned with their ales.

“Well, don’t you two look cozy,” she said with a warm smile. “Hagrid just walked in, but didn’t see you for the tree. Do you want me to tell him you’re here, or do you want some privacy.”

Harry looked at Hermione who shrugged. “We do want privacy, but not from Hagrid.”

“Send him over, if you don’t mind,” Hermione added.

“Sure,” Rosmerta said. Before she walked away, she turned and said, “You don’t have to worry about your privacy with me. I’ve kept many secrets for many people for many years.” She winked and walked off.

They both straightened up in the chairs, putting a bit more distance between them. Harry kept his arm draped across Hermione’s chair, a small gesture of possession he was not willing to surrender, regardless of the potential gossip.

“’lo, you two. Rosmerta told me you were over here.”

“Hello, Hagrid,” Hermione said, getting up and placing a small kiss on Hagrid’s cheek. “Happy Christmas.”

Hagrid blushed slightly, pulling a chair up. “Happy Christmas to you, too.”

“Hi, Hagrid.”

“Harry. Have a good Christmas?”

Harry looked quickly at Hermione, who was taking a sip of her ale and replied, “My best so far,” causing Hermione to blush slightly.

Looking back at Hagrid, Harry noticed a small smile buried underneath the mass of hair covering his face, Hagrid’s eyes moving suspiciously between the two of them. Harry grinned and rubbed Hermione’s shoulder with the hand draped across the back of her chair. Comprehension dawned on Hagrid and he cleared his throat.

“Have you had dinner, Hagrid?” Hermione asked.

“I just ate, thanks,” Hagrid replied. “I just stopped in for a tankard and some company.”

“We are glad you did,” Harry said.

Rosmerta returned with their food, placing a steaming bowl of soup in front of Hermione and an enormous portion of Steak and Ale Pie in front of Harry. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, before picking up his fork and tucking in.

“You hungry?” Hermione asked, eyebrows raised.

“Starving.”

They ate and chatted with Hagrid about Ginny and Neville’s wedding, telling him all about Neville’s present to Molly, Harry recruiting Hagrid to permanently de-gnome Molly’s garden. They were laughing at a story Harry was telling about his housemates in San Diego when Rosmerta returned, a disgusted look on her face.

“Rita Skeeter just walked in,” she said without preamble.

The smiles evaporated from the table, replaced with looks ranging from exasperation, anger and irritation.

“I guess someone told her you were here. Together.” She looked around the tree.

Harry wiped his hands on his napkin and threw it on his plate, leaning back in his chair. Hermione sighed and folded her, placing it next to her now empty bowl.

Rosmerta continued, “Do you want to leave out the back door? Hagrid and I can distract her to give you time.”

Elation at being with Hermione had consumed Harry entirely; he hadn’t given a moment’s pause to consider what they would do when something like this happened, although he knew subconsciously that it would happen. In truth, he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

He leaned close to Hermione and said in a low voice. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t care, Harry. You know people are going to find out eventually.”

“It isn’t people finding out that bothers me. It is Rita Skeeter being the person to tell them. She will distort everything.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Hermione looked thoughtfully at Hagrid. “Hagrid, would you mind leaving with us?”

“No, not at all.”

“We’ll walk out the front door with Hagrid. There is no story in three friends having ale together. Rosmerta, can you keep Rita occupied until we get home so she can’t follow us?”

“I’m sure I can think of something,” Rosmerta replied a wicked gleam in her eye.

Hermione turned to Harry, who had been watching her with a smile on his face. “Is that okay?”

He kissed her temple and whispered in her ear. “You are amazing. Let’s go home.”

Hermione hesitated before replying with a smile. "Right. Let's go home."

They rose from the table and walked toward the door, Hermione in the lead, with Hagrid and Harry behind.

“Well, well, well,” Rita said in a sickly sweet voice. “Look who we have here.”

“Hello, Rita. Fancy seeing you buzzing around here,” she said, brushing past her.

Harry saw Rita’s smirk turn to a scowl as her glare followed Hermione out the door. Hagrid stopped suddenly and turned toward the bar.

“I almost walked out with my tankard,” he said, reaching across Rita to place it on the counter, purposely spilling the contents down the front of Rita’s robes.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Harry heard Hagrid say as he continued out the door. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Rita pulling her wet robes away from her body, fanning them in a futile attempt to dry them. The last thing Harry saw before the door closed behind him was Rita grabbing her wand, shrieking insults at Hagrid.

Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand. “Come on,” he said, smiling and pulling her down the street.

“What happened?” Hermione asked, running to keep up with him.

“Hagrid spilled an almost full tankard of ale on her. She was pulling her wand out when we left, whether to dry her robes or hex Hagrid, I’m not sure. Here, down this way.” Harry guided Hermione into an alley and pulled out his wand. He tapped her head, and saw her slowly disappear from view, before performing the charm on himself.

“Why didn’t we think of a Disillusionment Charm inside?” he heard Hermione’s voice ask.

“No idea.” Harry looked around. The combination of the darkened alley and the blending effect of the Disillusionment Charm made them seem entirely invisible. “Where are you?”

“Right here. Where are you?”

“I think I’m in front of you. Shhh, I hear someone coming.”

Rita walked to the mouth of the alley and stopped. She glanced up and down the street, and back down the alley, clearly frustrated, before returning to the pub. Harry walked to the street and peeked around the corner, confirming that Rita had indeed entered the bar. The only person he saw was Hagrid’s massive retreating back.

“Coast is clear.” He turned around and felt Hermione run into him.

“There you are.”

“Here I am,” he replied, wrapping his arms around what felt like her waist. “This might be kind of fun, he said playfully, dipping his head down and bonking his nose on her forehead. “Or not,” he laughed. He patted his hand up her arm and to the top of her head, and tapped his wand, and repeated the charm for himself.

“Let’s go home.”

---

Harry kicked the front door closed with his foot, his arms wrapped around Hermione, his lips kissing her neck. He walked her slowly back towards the hallway leading to the bedroom. “What side of the bed do you sleep on?” he asked, between kisses.

“I don’t think I have a side. My bed is a single. What about you?”

“I sleep wherever I land.”

Harry cut off Hermione’s response with a seductive kiss. “I’m so glad you are here. I can’t wait to wake up with you in my arms tomorrow morning.” He leaned down and stopped, his lips a hair’s breadth away from hers. “Uh-oh.”

“What?”

Putting his hands out in front he said, “Wait right here. I’ll be right back.” He walked down the hallway and Hermione heard the door to his room open, followed by a mild oath.

“What’s wrong?” she called.

“Nothing, nothing at all. Be there in a minute!” Harry called with false enthusiasm.

Puzzled, Hermione quietly followed Harry to his room. She stifled a laugh at the scene she saw as she peeked around the door. Harry, wand out, was frantically trying to clean the mess that was his room. At least a week’s worth of clothes were strewn on the floor. Three of the five drawers in his dresser were partly open with clothes hanging out in various degrees. His bed sheets were a tangled mess and chances are, she reasoned from the state of his room, not very clean. Harry who either didn’t know any household cleaning charms or was woefully out of practice using them, had resorted to cleaning the Muggle way, grabbing as much as he could in his arms and throwing it in the tiny closet. It really was a funny sight. With her hand over her mouth in amusement she walked into the bathroom before calling out, “I’m just going to brush my teeth.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a minute!”

Hermione shook her head and smiled, rummaging in her bag for her toothbrush. She pulled out her pajamas, before deciding that she probably wouldn’t need them and tossing them to the side, continuing her search for her toothbrush. Finally found, she stood up and looked at her reflection in the mirror, thinking back on the night.

“I guess we never made it back to the bedroom. Hmm,” she said to herself in the mirror, allowing a smirk of satisfaction to cross her features.

“What are you smiling about?” Harry said, reaching over and opening the medicine cabinet.

“Nothing. What were you doing in there?”

“Just tidying up a bit. Hey, look,” he said, holding his toothbrush next to hers. “Same toothbrush.”

“And toothpaste,” Hermione said, waving hers for him to see.

“That confirms it. We are made for each other.”

“I guess so,” Hermione replied, squirting toothpaste on each of their brushes.

“So, have any brushing tips for me, daughter of two dentists?”

“You should brush each tooth individually for one minute, three times a day.”

Harry stopped his vigorous brushing and frowned, toothpaste oozing out the corner of his mouth. “You’re kidding, right?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and began to vigorously brush her teeth.

Minutes later, Harry was tossing Hermione’s bag into the corner of his room and Hermione was marveling at the cleanliness. He had done wonders for the room, but she knew without a doubt that if she were to open the closet door she would be buried beneath an avalanche of clothes.

“Well,” Harry started, clapping his hands together, looking around the room awkwardly. “Want to put on your pajamas?”

“Do I need to?”

Harry smiled and relaxed a bit. “I hope not.”

“What’s wrong? You seem a bit nervous.”

“I don’t know. I guess it just seems a bit more… official, you know, in a bed.”

“Appropriate, though since we just had our first date, don’t you think?”

“We are making progress.”

Hermione stepped close to him and raised his jumper over his head, stroking her hands down his chest. “I have to admit,” she whispered, kissing his chest. “I felt a bit like we were in the common room, any second away from getting caught.”

“Another one of my fantasies,” he replied, starting to unbutton her top. “Hermione, can I ask a favor?”

“What?”

“Will you stop wearing shirts with such small buttons?”

Hermione laughed as she reached down and lifted the shirt over her head, buttons still securely fastened.

“Now, why didn’t I think of that?” he asked, removing her bra.

“Not seeing the forest for the trees, I think.”

“Or, the buttons for the breasts?” he asked, kneading her breasts with his hands.

“Something like that.”

He leaned down and gently kissed her. “Have I told you how happy you make me?”

“Show me.”

Chapter 15 Engraved Invitation

Harry hadn’t slept well. But he wasn’t complaining.

He and Hermione had spent the night alternately talking and making love, each time his feelings for her deepening. They had talked about nothing and everything; Harry couldn’t honestly remember specifics. The feeling of intimacy that these seemingly normal exchanges invoked was something he would never forget, and he’d spend his life protecting it. Lying in bed, holding his best friend — now his lover — in his arms, talking, stroking her back, feeling her bare skin against his; it felt like the most natural, normal thing in the world.

He had wondered for years what his true feelings were for Hermione. It was, quite honestly, one of the questions that plagued him during his time in America. Was it affection? A schoolboy crush? Curiosity? Desire? Simple lust? Or was it love, the term he had given it in his mind many years ago?

He realized now as he watched her sleep that it was all of those things.

Hermione was lying on her stomach, her face turned toward Harry. Her left arm under her pillow supporting her head, her right arm straight down at her side. The blankets were gathered in messy folds up to the middle of her back, her right leg partially kicked out of the blankets that were twisted around her legs. Harry smiled as he remembered their final conversation, when sleep was threatening to unwillingly take them hostage.

“What are you doing?” Harry said, amused as he watched Hermione flop from her back to her front, attempting to get comfortable.

Propping herself on her elbows she looked up, nonplussed. “Nothing. Why?”

Trying to suppress a grin Harry said, “That poor pillow.”

Hermione looked at the pillow she had just beaten into submission, in an attempt to fluff it up a bit. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I have a particular pillow at the castle that I’ve used for years. I guess I’m a bit partial to it.”

Harry leaned over and kissed her. “I’ll buy you one just like it.”

Hermione put her head down and smiled at Harry. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I will do anything to make sure you sleep right beside me as much as possible, love.”

He pushed her hair away from her face to see her better and trailed his hand down her back, resting it at the base of her spine. Hermione closed her eyes as he did so, saying, “You’re so good to me.”

“You deserve everything and more,” he whispered letting his eyes droop closed.

“Thank you for my Christmas present, by the way. I love it,” she said sleepily.

Harry opened his eyes to find hers still closed. “Do you really? You aren’t just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

She opened her eyes lazily. “Of course not. I wouldn’t lie to you. I do love it. It’s so beautiful.” She closed her eyes again and added, “I was so relieved it wasn’t a book, you don’t even know.”

Yes! Harry thought internally. You were wrong, Ron.

“I have another present for you, actually.”

“You don’t have to give me anything else, Harry.” She opened her eyes and placed her hand gently on his cheek. “I have everything I want right here,” she whispered.

Harry’s heart skipped at the mere suggestion, however vague, that she might feel the same way he did. He placed his hand over hers. “Me, too.”

She smiled and closed her eyes, pulling his hand down to hold it between them. Harry watched her until her breathing deepened and she fell asleep with a small smile fixed on her face.

Since that time, Harry had slept fitfully. He woke up abruptly afraid that it had all been a dream, falling asleep again when he saw her beside him. He woke a second time when she had released his hand and placed hers under her pillow, settling into the position she was in now. He woke the final time, just now, with his rumbling stomach announcing daybreak.

He continued to watch Hermione sleep, debating himself internally about his next move. He knew that his cupboard was bare and there would be nothing to eat when she awoke. He also knew, based on his physical reaction to merely watching her sleep, that as soon as she woke up he would want to make love to her again. The thought of his stomach rumbling like a freight train during an intimate encounter didn’t seem very romantic.

His decision made, Harry slowly got out of bed, taking care not to wake her. He looked at his clock, shocked to realize that it was already 9:30 in the morning on Boxing Day. Padding silently to his closet to get dressed, he stopped, remembering the mass of clothes and junk on the other side of the door. He turned and tip-toed to the other side of the room, picking up his discarded clothes from the night before and walking down the hall to the loo to get dressed. A few minutes later he returned with a handwritten note explaining to Hermione that he would be back soon.

After checking on the actual contents of his cupboard and refrigerator, he left, closing the door quietly and walking to the bakery where he knew Hermione loved to pick up breakfast. He opened the large glass fronted oak door, a tinkling bell announcing his arrival to the plump witch that was standing behind the counter.

“Good morning!” she said merrily as Harry walked through the maze of wooden tables to the display case full of fresh pastries. Harry saw the witch’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of him, before she turned to busy herself with a tray of croissants on the back counter. Harry was relieved at her response to his first visit to her shop, although not entirely surprised. The residents of Hogsmeade by and large treated Harry like any other wizard. There were times that children would rush up to him and ask for an autograph, of all things, and Harry would oblige with a look of embarrassment. It seemed as though the adults understood Harry’s desire for privacy and had agreed to honor it. It was why Harry couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

“Good morning,” replied Harry, bending down to study the selection. He looked up sheepishly as his stomach grumbled loudly, encouraged by the divine smell of baking bread.

The witch smiled as she produced a plate of samples for Harry to try. “Have you tried our chocolate croissants? That one, right there,” she pointed as Harry’s hand hovered in anticipation over the plate. He popped the morsel into his mouth and felt the flaky pastry dissolve, and it was promptly replaced with the creamy texture of the chocolate that had been hidden inside.

“Mmmm, that is good. I’ll take two of those.” He bent down to peer again in the case. “And two of those, two of those, two of those and two of those,” pointing at a cream filled Danish, jam donuts and scones. “Oh, and two cups of coffee to go.” The witch raised her eyebrows and smiled, but said nothing more as she filled two cups with steaming hot coffee and placed them on the counter.

He took one of the cups and removed the lid, breathing in deeply the rich smell of the coffee. Harry stood with his back to the door, blowing gently on his coffee. He was reading the lunch menu written on the chalkboard wall behind the counter when the tinkling bell on the door announced another customer.

“Oi, Harry!” Ginny said, as she knocked the back of his knee with hers, causing him to almost fall as his leg buckled beneath him.

Harry caught himself and arched away from the coffee sloshing out of his cup. Irritation cleared from his face when he turned to see Ginny smiling at him. “Hiya!”

“Sorry about that! Didn’t know you had coffee” Ginny grabbed her wand and with a wave cleaned the coffee from the floor.

“Since it’s you, I’ll forgive you.”

With a wry smile she looked him up and down. “What are you doing?”

Aware of his wrinkled clothes, Harry absently brushed his hand down his chest attempting to smooth his shirt a bit. “Picking up something for breakfast. The cupboards are bare, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm.” She looked at the box of pastries the witch was loading and turned back to Harry. “Hungry?”

The witch behind the counter looked up with a smirk on her face, clearly interested in Harry’s answer. He smiled weakly at her and replied to Ginny, “Starving.”

She nodded her head, took a sample of the chocolate croissant that was sitting on the counter and popped it into her mouth. “Did you do it?”

Harry, who had been taking a drink of his coffee, choked and started coughing.

Ginny slapped him on the back a couple of times. “Are you all right?” she said with a mixture of concern and mirth.

Harry nodded his head, coughing weakly and stuttered between chokes, “Do…do what?”

“What you needed to do? What you left the Burrow early for? Didn’t you have something left undone?” she said, putting emphasis on the last two words.

“Oh, right. Yes.” Harry coughed again, finally clearing his throat of the misdirected coffee. “All taken care of.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.”

“Anything else I can get for you this morning, Mr. Potter?” the witch asked solicitously.

“No, thank you.” Harry replied. Ginny bent down to peer into the case as Harry paid for his pastries.

“Well, see you later, Ginny,” he said as he turned to make his way to the door.

“Tell Hermione I said hi,” she called over her shoulder as the door closed on his abashed face.

---

Tap, tap, tap…tap, tap, TAP.

What is that noise?

TAP, TAP, TAP.

Groaning and rolling over, Hermione opened her eyes to a sunlit filled room. She threw her arm over her eyes to shield them from the glaring light. Harry needs to invest in curtains, she thought as she again heard the noise that woke her. Lifting up on her elbows with one eye opened and one eye squinting against the light, she looked around the room searching for the source of the annoying sound.

“Harry?” she called, to no answer.

Her eyes rested on Hedwig framed in the window to the right and behind the bed. Wrapping herself in the sheet, she rose and padded lazily over to open the window, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Hedwig hopped through the window onto the side table next to the bed.

“Good morning, Hedwig,” she said with a yawn as she closed the window. Walking back to the bed, she did a double take at Hedwig, who was giving her an unmistakably malevolent look.

“Jealous, are we?” she said as she unwrapped from the sheet and snuggled under the blankets “Well…get used to it, Hedwig.”

She rolled over to face Harry’s side of the bed and noticed the note on the pillow for the first time. She smiled as she lifted the note and began to read.

Hermione,

I woke up this morning to the most beautiful sight in the world — you lying next to me. I can’t begin to describe what last night meant to me, what you mean to me.

As you know, we have nothing to eat so I have run to the bakery to pick up some breakfast. I hope to be back before you wake.

Love, Harry

Hermione sighed and hugged the note to her chest. Unable to contain her excitement, she squealed like a schoolgirl and kicked her legs rapidly under the blankets. Hedwig, who found this behavior quite immature, hooted woefully and flew out of the room. Hermione didn’t notice. Instead she rolled over and hugged Harry’s pillow to her chest, breathing in his scent, which was embedded in the fabric.

She sighed dreamily as she recalled the events of the previous night. Everything about it had been perfect. She could admit to herself that she had fantasized many times over the last few weeks about what it would be like to be with Harry, but the reality had far exceeded her expectations. She felt at once, the first time, an immediate connection to him — an innate knowledge of what he wanted. She assumed he had a similar reaction as he knew without asking, even before she did, what it was she desired.

She threw the blankets over her head, bathing herself in darkness, remembering the things they did last night. She was sure, in the grand scheme of things, what she and Harry had done the night before would be considered tame by most standards. Oh, whom was she kidding? They were even tame by her standards. She wasn’t a prude after all. But in the light of day with the benefit of hindsight, the ”relatively tame” lovemaking seemed much more feral, a thought that made her smile and blush at the same time.

She raised her arms above her head, stretching, and brought them down to her sides, removing the blankets to reveal again the bright sunlight. We have got to do something about curtains, she thought rubbing her eyes. She stopped and shook her head at her audacity. Who was she to assume her opinion about the necessity for curtains would be important based on one night together? Chiding herself inwardly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed to get up. Glancing at the clock, she noticed it was 9:54. Not knowing when Harry had left, or even how long she had been awake, she decided to chance a quick bath before he returned. Grabbing her bag and feeling very adventurous, she walked through Harry’s house completely naked. When she reached the bathroom, she turned on the water and ran a bath.

Hermione hummed happily as she readied herself for a bath. She caught a glimpse of an extremely happy woman in the mirror and was startled for a moment, before realizing that this woman was she. This is what I look like in love? She turned her head from side to side, preening ridiculously, making faces at herself before bursting into a fit of giggles. You need to get a hold of yourself. Harry is going to think you went round the twist.

“Oh, hush up. Have a little fun for once!”

She turned to the bathtub, a miniature replica of the prefect’s bathtub at Hogwarts. Two steps led up to the raised tub, which ran the length of the wall. The rectangular tub was sunk into the raised platform, golden taps with bejeweled handles protruding from the white marble wall. Hermione turned the emerald tap and green, oval bubbles gushed out with a flow of water. While she waited for the tub to fill, she rummaged through her bag in search of a clip for her hair. In one deft movement, she pulled her hair into a French twist and fastened it, knowing she didn’t have time to wash and dry it. She quickly washed the remnants of the previous day’s make-up from her face and cleaned her teeth. Feeling much better, she turned the water off and slowly settled into the tub. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and replayed the night before over in her mind, frame by frame, beginning with their first kiss.

So engrossed was she in her memory that she didn’t hear the faint sound of the back door opening and closing. Instead, her mind took her back to Harry’s room the night before, and she was rubbing her hands across his chest. The soft click of the bathroom door opening was lost in her memory of Harry crying out her name. She ran her hands across her breasts under the water, remembering Harry touching her the same way the night before. Smiling, a soft moan escaped her throat and she opened her eyes to see Harry leaning against the doorjamb, watching her.

“Oh! Harry,” she said blushing furiously. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long enough,” he said with a devilish grin on his face.

Unable to meet his eyes, she said to the bubbles in the tub, “This is embarrassing.”

Harry moved into the bathroom. “Only if you weren’t thinking about me.”

He sat on the top step by the tub and placed his hands on either side of Hermione’s head. “Good morning, beautiful,” he whispered before giving her a deep, affectionate kiss.

“Good morning.”

“Were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Thinking about me?”

“Since the moment I woke up.”

Harry smiled like a kid who had been given the best present in the world. “Good.” He leaned down and kissed her again, softly. He trailed his hand into the water, stroking her arm.

“Sleep well?”

“Not at all.”

“Me, either. I brought breakfast. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Famished.”

He looked up and down the length of the bathtub. “Me, too,” he said with a sly grin.

Hermione playfully flicked bubbles at him as he leaned down to give her a quick kiss. “Whenever you’re ready.” Hermione gave a quick gasp as she felt Harry’s fingers tickle her inner thigh. He grinned wickedly, wiggling his eyebrows up and down as he rose to leave the bathroom. Hermione grabbed his hand, stopping him.

“Why don’t you join me? There’s plenty of room.”

Harry smiled, and began undressing. “That’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

Hermione watched him undress, unconsciously biting her lower lip. Harry had filled out a bit since his school years, but he was still thin, evidenced by the line of muscle running in a ‘v’ from his waist down to…

“What are you looking at?” he asked with a smirk, settling himself into the bathtub.

Hermione opened her mouth to automatically reply “nothing” before stopping herself. What is the point in being coy? “I’m looking at you.”

Harry slid forward through the water toward Hermione, cutting through the thick blanket of bubbles. “Do you like what you see?”

“Very much.”

Harry grasped Hermione’s hands below the surface of the water, gently pulling her forward, settling her on his lap. Green bubbles surrounded them, crackling lightly, obscuring their bodies from view. “I love what I see,” Harry whispered.

“Me, too,” Hermione replied, running her hand through Harry’s hair and looking into his eyes, which appeared even more striking against the backdrop of the green bubbles surrounding them.

“Why did you choose green bubbles?” He ran his hands up and down her back, causing her to shiver despite being submerged in warm water.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, but after watching you a minute ago I wish I could.”

“Hmm,” Hermione said distractedly, mesmerized by the look in his eyes. “I chose green because of your eyes.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. Your eyes haunt my dreams.”

“Haunt your dreams? That doesn’t sound good.”

Hermione pulled Harry forward and placed her lips next to his ear. “Trust me, it is.”

---

Holding Harry’s hand, Hermione walked into the kitchen to see the table piled high with pastries and a now cold mug of coffee waiting for her. Hermione laughed at the plate of pastries. “Are you feeding Dumbledore’s Army?”

“No, that’s all for me. Except this,” Harry said picking up a chocolate croissant. “This is for you.”

Hermione good-naturedly swatted his arm and sat down at the table, trying to decide which pastry to choose.

He sat down in the chair next to her. “Here, you really do want to try this.” He held the croissant out for her to take a bite. “I tasted it in the bakery and it is delicious.”

Hermione hesitantly opened her mouth, unfamiliar with being fed by a man and feeling that even this seemingly innocent gesture was loaded with meaning. Locking eyes with Harry, she took a small bite and felt the pastry melt in her mouth. “Mmm…”

Harry looked at the end of the croissant. “You didn’t even get the best part. Take a bigger bite.”

“That was a big bite!”

“Maybe for Hedwig. Come on, open up!”

Hermione dutifully opened her mouth. She looked down at the pastry and back up into Harry’s eyes, slightly raising her brows in suggestion. Touching Harry’s hand with hers, she guided the pastry to her mouth and took another bite, this one much bigger than before. Again she felt the pastry dissolve in her mouth but the creamy chocolate was a secondary sensation to the energy that Harry was emitting. Not thinking about the pastry at all, she whispered, “Amazing.”

“Are you trying to seduce me again?”

“Again? When did I try to seduce you?”

“Um, in the bathroom, about an hour ago.”

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you. I was trying, in an inoffensive way, to get you to take a bath. You were getting rather stinky.”

“Uh-huh, right,” Harry said dismissively. “You just wanted to see me naked.”

“Well, that is true.”

“You will be the death of me.”

“How is that?” she asked.

“Well, I will probably die of starvation. I can see the headline in the Quibbler now. The Boy Who Lived Starved to Death By Sex Crazed Bookworm.”

“But would you die happy?” Hermione teased.

Harry furrowed his brow in concentration. “Yes. Yes, I believe I would.” Harry gave her a quick kiss on her nose and said, “Let’s eat!”

They settled in and began eating their way through the pastries. Harry easily outpaced Hermione and finished three before she had finished her first. Harry shook his head and smiled as he watched her eat.

“What?” Hermione asked curiously. She wiped her mouth with a serviette, thinking she had food hanging off her lip. When Harry only laughed and picked out a muffin to eat, she asked a little more testily, “What?”

“Why do girls eat like that?”

“Eat like what?” Hermione said, bewildered.

“You pick off a piece and put it in your mouth instead of just biting it directly off the pastry.”

Hermione looked down at her hands and was surprised to realize that she was doing just that. She had never thought of her eating habits, never even considered that there was a different way to eat a pastry. She looked at Harry who was taking an overly large bite of his muffin. Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Why do you put so much in your mouth at one time?”

Harry held up a finger asking her to wait for a response, chewed a few times and then swallowed with what seemed like a great deal of effort. “Because I can,” he said cheekily. “You see your Danish? I could finish that in one bite. I bet it takes you at least four.”

Hermione looked down at her pastry. “I’m guessing five,” she said, tearing off yet another bite and popping it in her mouth with a grin. “Are my eating habits going to be an issue?” she teased.

“I can live with it.” Harry smiled and leaned over to give her a kiss. “But you are going to have to eat faster to get your share, sweetheart.” He leaned back with another pastry in his hand, dwindling the number left on the plate to two.

Hermione looked at the plate, dumbfounded. “Harry! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat this much!”

“I’ve never been this hungry.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down, as Hermione playfully punched him in the arm.

Harry took a drink of his cold coffee. “I saw Ginny at the bakery,” he said offhandedly.

Hermione paused in her chewing. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” Harry said, taking a larger drink of his coffee.

“What did she have to say?”

“Not much.”

“She knows, doesn’t she?”

Harry nodded in assent. “I didn’t tell her. When I was leaving she said to say hi to you.”

Hermione wiped her hands and tossed the crumpled serviette on her plate. “I’m sure it wasn’t difficult to figure out the way we shot out of there last night. I guess our attempt at subterfuge didn’t work, did it?”

Harry smiled sheepishly. “No, I guess not.” Harry covered Hermione’s hand with his, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles. “Do you mind that they know?”

“Of course not! They’re family to me. I would tell them before anyone else anyway.” She turned her hand over and intertwined her fingers with his. “Molly knows anyway.”

“How does Molly know?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“We had a midnight chat Christmas Eve over a cup of chocolate. Neither of us could sleep.”

Harry sat there for a moment, taking in this new information. Molly’s reaction to his feelings for Hermione had always been a concern of Harry’s, one of the many vestiges of guilt he felt about Ron’s death. The coward in him was glad that Hermione had the conversation with her. He didn’t know if he could do it, even now that the feelings were reciprocated.

“Was she upset?”

“Not at all, which was a bit surprising in a way. She thinks we make a lovely couple.”

They sat there in silence for a moment looking at their intertwined hands. “It’s obvious from Rita’s appearance last night that this is going to be considered big news. How should we handle it? Do you want to tell people? About us?” Harry asked tentatively.

“That’s up to you, Harry. You are the one with the public persona, not me.”

“As soon as people find out, you will be just as famous. The thought of people harassing you makes me ill.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself,” Hermione said, sitting back in her chair. “But that’s fine. We don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to.”

“If I don’t want to? Are you kidding? I want to tell everyone!”

“Everyone? Don’t you think it’s a bit soon?”

“Soon? We’ve known each other for 12 years. Define soon.”

“You know what I mean, Harry.”

Harry studied her for a moment until Hermione finally looked away under his gaze. “You don’t want to tell anyone, do you?” he asked, his voice flat.

Hermione pressed her finger on the crumbs on the table, picking them up and dusting them into her serviette, all the while avoiding Harry’s gaze. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell anyone. It’s just…” Hermione stopped, at a loss as to how to explain to Harry how she felt. She sighed. “There are a couple of reasons.”

Harry was watching her with a mixture of hurt and anger reflected on his face. “Well, this is probably going to sound horrible. But it is something you should know from the beginning. I’m a rather jealous person, Harry. And right now, I don’t want to share you or what we have with anyone else.”

Harry relaxed and sat forward. “So, my days of flirting with Professor Sprout are over?”

“Most definitely.”

“I can live with that. What is the other reason?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “I’m afraid this is all too good to be true. The logical part of me is waiting for it to come crashing down. I don’t relish the idea of the entire wizarding world witnessing my devastation when it happens.”

“When it happens?” Harry turned his chair to the side and turned Hermione’s chair to face him, pulling it so that their knees touched. He took both of her hands in his and looked her in the eyes. “Hermione, listen to me,” he said emphatically. “That is not going to happen. I can’t tell you we won’t have rough times, that we won’t make each other angry. But we will work through it. That is what couples do.” He reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “This is not a short term deal for me. I’m not exploring some long held curiosity. Well — that isn’t exactly true. I have wondered for a long time about my feelings for you, but I know, I KNOW that this is right. That my feelings for you aren’t going to change tomorrow, next week or in 100 years, no matter what happens.”

Hermione felt tears come to her eyes, partially because of the words that Harry was saying, but also because of her experience. She knew that feelings can and do often change. “How can you be so sure?” she barely whispered.

Harry leaned forward and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. “Because of the way I feel when I kiss you. Because of the way I feel when I’m with you. Because of the way I felt last night when we made love for the first time.” He gently stroked her cheek with his fingers. “Did you feel it, too?” he asked softly.

Hermione felt tears puddle in her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked and the avalanche of tears was released down her cheeks. Harry gently wiped one away with his thumb as she whispered, “Yes.”

“Have you ever felt this way before?”

She shook her head.

“Me either. That is why I’m so sure about us. Come here,” he said, pulling her forward to sit in his lap. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll tell the Weasleys and our friends like Seamus, Minerva, Remus, and whoever else you want to tell. When other people find out, they find out. We won’t deny it, but we won’t write it in the sky with Filibuster Fireworks, either. How does that sound to you?”

“Perfect,” Hermione replied with a tear-stained smile.

He closed his eyes and smiled as she ran her hand through his hair. ”Mmm, I love it when you do that.”

“Now I can do it whenever I want.”

“You won’t hear any complaints from me,” Harry replied, tilting his head back and moving it from side to side.

Hermione looked down at his face, a face that was familiar to her before, but would never look the same to her again. She would never be able to look at his face, at the curve of his lips, without the knowledge of how his lips felt on hers. She followed the angle of his jaw to the spot behind his ear where the musky scent that was Harry lived, the scent that made her tingle with excitement. She leaned down and softly kissed his lips, relishing in their softness. Would she be able to see him ever again without wanting to kiss him or run her fingers through his hair?

She abruptly pulled away from their kiss with a slight gasp. “What about the students?”

A completely perplexed and slightly frustrated look crossed Harry’s face. “What about them?”

“What are we going to tell them?”

“Nothing, I guess. They think we’re a couple anyway.”

Hermione chewed on her lip thoughtfully, doubting her ability to keep her feelings for Harry private. She was sure her body language alone would give her away. Would she be able to see him walk into the Great Hall for breakfast and not beam a smile that would surely light up London with its happiness? Would she be able to walk beside him down the corridor without touching him, holding his hand, putting her arm through his? How in the world was she going to be able to spend hours at a time away from him?

“Oh!” she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide.

“What?” Harry said, slightly alarmed.

“Nothing. Never mind,” she said hurriedly. She was not about to reveal to him that she had just realized that she would be spending her nights alone in her room without him. The very thought made her want to cry. It wasn’t necessarily the idea of no sex, although who was she kidding? She was going to miss that terribly. But more importantly, she would miss sleeping beside him, in his arms. She would miss his arm thrown possessively across her stomach, legs intertwined carelessly, and her head resting in the nook between his shoulder and his chest. She would miss it all — every position more perfect than the last, every position comfortable and familiar.

She glanced at Harry, who was still looking at her quizzically. She gave him a small smile and planted a firm kiss on his lips, determined to push those depressing thoughts out of her mind until the last possible moment. “What do you need to do today?” she asked lightheartedly.

“Well,” Harry said, turning slightly in his chair to look at the clock on the wall. “Considering it is almost one…”

“Is it really? Already?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Harry said, snaking a hand under Hermione’s jumper.

“Stop that!” she said as she playfully swatted it down.

“Why?”

“We won’t get anything at all done today if you keep that up.”

“We would get lots done, in my opinion.”

“Well, yes, maybe so, but nothing productive.”

“That depends on your definition of productive.”

“You are incorrigible, Harry.”

“En…” Harry started before Hermione clasped her hand over his mouth. “Don’t even say it,” she replied, laughing.

Harry playfully nipped at the palm of her hand, causing her to pull it away. “I have nothing I need to do today, besides spend it with you. That is, if you want to spend the day with me.”

“Well,” Hermione said slowly, as if considering the offer. “I was actually considering spending the week with you, but if you only want to spend the day with me, then I guess that will have to do.” She sighed dramatically and started to rise from her perch on his lap.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, pulling her back down. “It goes without saying that I want to spend every day with you, Miss Granger. Would you like an engraved invitation?”

“Well, yes. I think I would.”

“Okay.” Harry put his hand up to his mouth and cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to speak and stopped, a smile spreading across his features. He reached for his wand, which was sitting on the table, and with a motion as if writing in the air, muttered, “Scribero Ablocare.” With a small pop, a piece of parchment appeared, suspended in mid-air before them. Harry took the parchment and began reading.

“Harry James Potter requests the honor of Miss Hermione Jane Granger’s presence now through…,” he looked up thoughtfully, as if counting the days until the students returned to school, and continued, “next Tuesday, to spend every waking minute with him — playing, sightseeing, laying around doing absolutely nothing, making love until we are too tired to speak, and anything else her heart desires. RSVP in person in the form of a kiss.”

Harry held the invitation out to Hermione, his eyes dancing with happiness. She glanced at the parchment and set it on the table, shifting in Harry’s lap until she was straddling him. “Making love until we are too tired to speak? I like the sound of that,” she replied, bending down and kissing Harry in reply. “Being productive is highly overrated.”

“Highly,” Harry replied, tracing kisses down her chest as he unbuttoned her top. Hermione grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, before doing the same with her own.

“I seem to forget I can do that,” Harry said cheekily.

“Hmm,” Hermione replied, distracted by the feel of his muscles under her hands. She tilted her head to the side slightly, following her hands with her eyes, memorizing the planes and curves of Harry’s shoulders, arms and chest. She glanced up at him only to see a lopsided grin on his face.

“What?”

“I’ve seen that look before.”

“What look?”

“Studious Hermione.”

“Studious Hermione? Have you named all of my expressions?”

“Just about. There is Demented Hermione; I met her last night. Not too sure about that one. There is Passionate Hermione, who I adore. There is Aggravated Hermione, Indignant Hermione, Hurricane Hermione…”

“Hurricane Hermione?”

“Yeah. She was usually directed at Ron, thank God. But I saw a bit of her a few months ago. I’m most familiar with Studious Hermione from spending hours in the library with you.”

“You make me sound like a schizophrenic.”

“Only in the best possible way.” He released the clasp of her brassiere and slid it off her shoulders. He ran his hands across her back and around to her chest, kissing the tops of her breasts and distracting her completely. He looked up at her. What were you studying just?”

“The delightful planes and curves of your chest. And I was wishing I had known sooner what was hidden under your robes.” Her hands roamed down his abdomen to the button of his trousers. “I just can’t seem to get enough of you,” she whispered.

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual.”

Harry stood up and Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist as he pulled her into a passionate embrace, crushing his mouth to hers. Holding her, he walked over until the wall stopped them. He placed his hands on either side of her head, pinning her body to the wall with his and thrusting his pelvis repeatedly to hers. She felt his erection through their clothes, triggering the burning sensation she had come to enjoy so much.

The cold wall against her back was forgotten as Harry's lips and tongue paraded down her neck and his hands grabbed her breasts. She dropped her legs from around his waist, sliding down the wall until she was standing on wobbly legs.

Wasting no time, he began to frantically fumble with the button on her trousers, while thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Finally solving the puzzle of her button, Harry unzipped her trousers and yanked them down, reaching down between her legs and plunging his fingers inside her without preamble. She framed his face in her hands while he watched her reaction to him. Her breathing grew ragged and she moaned in pleasure when his other hand began to stroke her. His eyes were intense with passion, an echo of Hermione's emotions. Her eyes rolled back and closed as the tension escalated inside her. Harry continued to work, his hands moving faster and faster until Hermione screamed his name in passion, an orgasm shuddering through her body.

Harry quickly covered her mouth with his and wrapped his hand in her hair, releasing it from its twist. He pulled her closer to him and Hermione realized with astonishment that Harry's trousers were still on. Wishing she could do wandless magic, she began to feverishly unbutton his trousers. Simultaneously kicking off his shoes, Harry reached down to help Hermione with her task. Still kissing, they both began to giggle until their jumble of fingers finally achieved their goal.

Mimicking Harry's movements from the night before, Hermione knelt down sliding his trousers down to his ankles. She rubbed her hands up his legs but stayed kneeling in front of him, taking a good long look at what she had admired in the bathroom. She looked up at his face to see a look of anticipation and she slowly took him in her mouth. She felt his hands grasp her hair tighter and heard a deep growl from his throat. She began to move her head back and forth, slowly, sliding her tongue back and forth across him. She grabbed his shaft and began to move her hand back and forth in rhythm with her mouth. She increased the pace until she felt he was about to go, and then deliberately slowed down, taking her time to build the pace all over again. She took him to the edge only to slow the pace once more. Finally, she plunged him as far into her mouth as he could go, causing him to cry out her name and grab the wall for support.

“Hermione…”

With him still in her mouth, she looked at his face as he grabbed her. Releasing him finally, she stood up and met his lips for a forceful kiss, their tongues battling each other for supremacy. The immediacy of the desire she felt was different from the other times they had made love. The other times had been passionate but languorous, each exploring the other, enjoying the closeness and newness of it all. The desire she felt now was visceral — a desire born more of her physical reaction to him than of the love she felt for him. Judging by Harry's reaction to her, he felt the same.

Harry turned her around, pinning her forcefully against the wall. He grabbed her hands and lifted them up above her head, holding them in place with his left hand, while his right hand caressed her breasts on its way down to her center. She gasped as he kissed her neck and shoulder while spreading her apart, stroking her roughly. He bent down slightly and thrust himself up inside her with a moan of pleasure. Hermione laid her head back on Harry's shoulder and turned her head toward his. He kissed her as he thrust inside her repeatedly, powerfully, lifting her off the floor each time.

She shrieked his name as another orgasm washed over her, ending only to build inside of her again. She wanted to do something, to make him feel as good as he was making her feel, but she was trapped. All she could do was acquiesce to Harry's desire.

She was helpless and she fucking loved it.

Harry quickened his rhythm for his release. Hermione turned her head to look into Harry's eyes as she felt him begin to climax. Gazing intently at each other, seeing beyond the animalistic lust they shared at the moment to the love they both felt but weren't ready to voice, they called out to each other as he came inside of her.

Breathing heavily, Hermione wrapped one arm back around Harry's neck, as the other arm and her forehead rested against the wall for support. Harry's arms were around Hermione, lightly stroking her body, roaming over her possessively. His head was resting against the back of hers.

“Amazing.”

“Absolutely.”

He bent his head down and nuzzled her neck. “You smell good.”

“Thank you.” Harry pulled out of her and she turned around to face him, still needing the wall to support her weak limbs. Harry rested his hands on her hips as his eyes began to roam her body in their place. Despite the fact that she had scrutinized Harry's body earlier, Hermione was a bit unsettled by his examination, albeit appreciative, of her body. Like most women her age, her body image was considerably south of good. And like most women her age, her concerns were unfounded. Her fair skin, not ravaged by an unhealthy desire to be tanned, was firm and smooth. In keeping with her personality, she was conscious of what she ate and as a result, her weight had not changed significantly since she finished school. No matter how she tried, the slight bump of her abdomen would not flatten, but it had also not gotten larger, which would just have to do, she supposed. Her breasts, proportionate to her 5'6” frame and medium build, had not succumbed to time and gravity as, unbeknownst to her, they would eventually.

Of course, this wasn't what Hermione saw when she looked in the mirror. Instead she saw a pallid complexion peppered with faint freckles on the bridge of her nose, a mound of stomach that rolled when she bent over, thighs that were too flabby, breasts that were too small and, if she looked very closely, the beginnings of cellulite on her arse.

And this is what she imagined Harry was seeing.

Hermione noticed her clothes just out of reach. She stretched her leg out to slide them closer when Harry stopped her.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting my clothes,” she replied, not meeting his eyes.

“Why?”

“Because we're standing in the middle of the kitchen, naked?”

Harry moved his face in front of hers, forcing eye contact. “Do you not want me to look at you? Does that make you uncomfortable?”

Embarrassed now at her self-consciousness, she quickly said, “No! No, you didn't embarrass me!”

Skepticism clearly written on his face, he said, “I would frankly be surprised if you weren't embarrassed.”

“What does that mean?!” she cried, her fears coalescing in her mind.

Harry blanched. “That didn't come out right.” He fixed her with a steady gaze. “Hermione, I think you are absolutely beautiful. I was looking at you just now wondering how I got so lucky. You are perfect in every way.” She tried to look away, but he gently turned her eyes back to his. “But I know you. And I know that you have always given yourself more credit for your mind and intelligence than for your physical beauty.”

She knew he was right. No, not about being beautiful. She wasn't sure if she would ever completely agree with that assessment. She had always been appreciated for her mind; being appreciated for her body would be quite an adjustment.

She stood there realizing with some astonishment that Harry didn't seem to be self-conscious about being scrutinized at all. This, in Hermione's mind, was a bit out of character for Harry.

“What about you?” she asked. “You don't seem to mind. I wouldn't have pegged you as an exhibitionist.”

Harry reached down for Hermione's clothes. “Oh, I'm a man. We think we always look good.” He paused, with Hermione's trousers draped over his arm. “That's where you say, `Oh, you do look good, Harry!'”

“Oh! You do look good, Harry!” she said in mock sincerity, stepping into her knickers.

He removed the trousers from his arm and held them open for her to step into. “That's better.”

Hermione placed a hand on Harry's shoulder as she stepped into her trousers. He pulled them up for her and fastened the button. “I think I like them coming off better.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as he handed her bra to her. “Here. I couldn't work this out if my life depended on it.” He slipped back into his trousers as she deftly put her bra on. Harry got Hermione's shirt and pulled it over her head, helping her pull her arms through and smoothing out the torso.

“There.” His eyes roamed over her now dressed body. “I like this view, too. Although my first choice would definitely be the other.”

Hermione slid her hands across his bare chest and around his neck. “Thank you,” she said, kissing him softly.

“You're welcome.” She slid her hands down his arms and wrapped them around his waist, rubbing his back and peppering his chin, jaw and neck with soft kisses.

Harry pulled Hermione into a tight hug and lifted her up off the ground. “I am so happy right now.” He pulled his head back to look at her. “I had no idea I could be this happy.”

“Me either,” Hermione said, smiling.

---

“Come in!”

Hermione opened the door to the headmistress’s office and poked her head through. “Is this a bad time?” she asked.

Minerva looked up from her desk and smiled. “Not at all. Come in Hermione!” she replied, motioning Hermione into the room with a wave of her hand.

Hermione walked through the door and over to a chair in front of Minerva’s desk, depositing her bag on the floor heavily before sitting down.

Minerva, who had gotten up and with a wave of her wand had begun preparing tea, looked at the bag and said, “Are you coming or going?”

Hermione looked at the bag beside her chair in surprise, not realizing until that moment that she had brought it into the office. On the walk here from her room, she had been completely immersed in what and how she was going to tell Minerva — so much so that she had completely forgotten to leave her overnight bag outside the office door. She looked up at Minerva, who was having difficulty suppressing a smile, and said, “Actually, both. I’ve come to the castle to get more clothes. Now I’m going back to Harry’s.”

“I guess it’s official, then?”

Hermione blushed and looked down. “You could say that, yes.”

Beaming, Minerva walked around her desk and pulled Hermione up from her chair into a firm hug. “I am so happy for you,” she whispered into Hermione’s ear.

Feeling the warmth of her friend’s embrace and sentiment, Hermione for a moment felt as if she were being hugged and congratulated by her own mother. She returned Minerva’s hug with a squeeze and replied, “Thank you, Minerva,” as tears threatened to spill over her bottom eyelids. She sniffed, somewhat loudly she was afraid, and Minerva pulled back, holding out a tissue as she did.

“Here. Use this.”

Hermione took the proffered tissue and sat down in the chair, as Minerva walked around her desk to resume making tea. “Tell me, what happened?”

Hermione began a detailed explanation of their Christmas celebration at the Burrow, including information about Neville’s wedding present to Molly, Fred and George’s rogue Father Christmases from around the world, Harry’s and her early morning run and talk about Ron, and, finally, a detailed account of what everyone received for Christmas.

“What did Harry think about his gift? Did he like it?”

Again, Hermione blushed and looked away. “You could say that. We left not long after opening presents.”

Her quizzical expression was quickly replaced by comprehension as Minerva cottoned on to what Hermione was trying desperately to tell her without saying it out loud. “Ah, I see. So, you have returned to the castle to tell me that you will be spending the remainder of the holidays with Harry instead of being at Hogwarts as you originally planned, correct?”

“Yes. That isn’t going to be a problem, is it? I don’t remember seeing very many students on the signup sheet to stay the holidays this year, and I thought that I wouldn’t be too terribly needed if that was the case…” Hermione said rapidly. She was attempting to rattle off every excuse she had thought of on the way back to the castle from Harry’s and while hastily packing her bag just minutes ago.

Minerva smiled and raised her hand to stem the tide of Hermione’s excuses. “That’s fine, Hermione. There are only four students that stayed, two Hufflepuffs and two Ravenclaws. I don’t imagine that you will be missed at all.”

Hermione smiled in relief and elation, her plans and daydreams for the remainder of the holidays with Harry taking more solid form in her mind. She took the cup of tea Minerva offered, silently wishing to leave immediately so as to return to Harry sooner, but she knew that would be rude beyond measure. Instead, she began blowing on her tea in an effort to cool it down and drink it quickly.

She peered over the rim of her cup to find Minerva watching her with a wistful expression on her face

“What is it, Minerva?”

Minerva shook her head slightly and her expression cleared. “Nothing. It has just been a while since I have seen someone so obviously in love. Sometimes I forget how beautiful love can be.”

“You can tell I’m in love by watching me blow on my tea?” Hermione asked, bemused.

“Yes, I can. I know it is going to sound very trite, but you are positively glowing with it, Hermione.”

“Really?” Hermione asked skeptically, running her hand over her hair as if smoothing it out might repress some of the signs she was emitting. She cocked her head to the side and asked a question that she had never considered, until now. “Have you ever been in love, Minerva?”

The transformation in Minerva’s face was a sight to behold. The sharp lines and angles that were usually associated with the prim and stern headmistress softened and relaxed. Her eyes, typically direct and somewhat steely behind her glasses, became unfocused and gentle, and when she spoke, it was with a tenderness that Hermione would have never imagined, in spite of hearing her voice offer gentle and kind words on many occasions.

“Oh, yes. I have been in love, Hermione.”

Hermione sat in her chair in silence, her tea forgotten, as she watched Minerva who was obviously lost in her memories. Hermione was embarrassed to admit that she had never imagined that Minerva had a life outside of Hogwarts, especially one that included a boyfriend, husband or lover. She was overwhelmed with curiosity. So many questions popped into her head at that moment, but one pushed all other’s from her mind.

“What happened?”

Minerva started slightly, apparently having forgotten that Hermione was in the room. She smiled and a bit of her normal demeanor returned. “He was killed by Grindelwald in 1945, just weeks before Dumbledore killed Grindelwald.”

Hermione waited as Minerva drank a bit of her tea before continuing. “Hugo was very handsome and very brave. He was never one to back down from a challenge, that one.” She smiled at a private memory. “He had quite the challenge in me, that’s for sure. I was very resistant to him; for years he tried to get me to go out with him. I would have none of it. Finally, I went out with him with the intention of making the date so miserable that he would leave me alone. That lasted all of about five minutes until I was completely smitten. We were inseparable from that moment on.”

“Were you married?”

Minerva forced a small smile. “No, but it wasn’t for Hugo’s lack of trying. I agreed, of course, but I wanted to wait until I had finished my advanced degree from Stonehenge. He died a month before our wedding.”

Hermione stifled a gasp, shocked by the story and the seemingly dispassionate telling by Minerva. Upon closer inspection, though, Hermione saw a pain reflected in her eyes that apparently had not dimmed in the 60 years since.

“Minerva, I’m so sorry!” Hermione whispered. “I…I don’t quite know what to say.”

Her brisk manner returned and she waved her hand. “No need to say anything, it was years ago. I imagine most of your shock is from the idea of me having a lover, is it not?” she finished, with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Hermione stammered, attempting a truthful but polite reply, when Minerva laughed. “It is always so much fun to see young people squirm when the subject turns to their elders’ love lives.”

Hermione laughed nervously and took another sip of her now cooled tea. “I do have a spot of advice for you, Hermione,” Minerva said seriously, leveling a direct gaze at Hermione.

“If you are in love with Harry, don’t wait until later to tell him or to do something, how should I say, more permanent about it. Many things in life are out of your control; that is not.”

In light of what she had just told Hermione about her history, this piece of advice was not surprising. Although Hermione supposed that even if she hadn’t been privy to Minerva’s experience, Minerva’s ability to anticipate Hermione’s customary course of action would have led to the dispensation of this advice eventually. In short, Minerva knew Hermione well enough to realize that she would want to be slow, methodical and logical when it came to divulging to Harry the true extent of her feelings.

“Point taken,” Hermione replied.

Minerva nodded her head. “I’m sure in your analysis of a potential relationship with Harry you researched Hogwarts’ policy on fraternization of faculty?” she said, with a bemused expression on her face.

“You know me too well.”

“You know, then, that there is no specific policy about teachers dating, only about marriage.”

“I hardly think that…”

“Hermione!” Minerva interrupted briskly. She looked at her sharply, shook her head and gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m not implying that you are running off tomorrow to get married. As the headmistress, I am compelled to make sure that you and Harry know what the rules say in this regard. There are other people to think about in this situation beside yourself.”

Hermione clamped her mouth shut and looked down into her tea, properly put in her place.

“Professors can be married provided one is not in a supervisory position over the other. Considering the positions that you and Harry currently have, this poses no problem. Of course, married professors cannot live in the castle, but again, accommodations don’t seem to be an issue in this particular situation.”

Hermione continued to look into her teacup, uncomfortable with the discussion about marriage when she had not even told Harry, in so many words, that she loved him. But in an effort to appease Minerva, and owing to the fact that she was missing Harry terribly at the moment, she kept her mouth tightly closed and listened without comment.

“As to professors dating, as I said, there is no written policy. I doubt anyone but Severus would have a problem with it, and his issue is more to do with Harry than anything. All I ask of the two of you is to keep it discreet. I do not want to hear rumors such as the ones before the Yule Ball from here on out. Before, they were just rumors, now anything of the kind could be viewed as fact.”

Hermione looked up at Minerva and replied quietly, “I understand.” She sat her teacup on the edge of Minerva’s desk and rose to leave, feeling none of the affection and warmth she had felt from her surrogate mother when she entered the office. She picked up her bag and turned toward the door, when Minerva rose and walked around her desk to escort her to the door.

“Hermione,” she said, placing a hand on her arm to stop her. Hermione stopped, turned to Minerva and was enveloped in a warm embrace once again. “I am so, so happy for you and Harry. I have always thought that you two would make the perfect couple.” Minerva sniffed lightly and released Hermione from her embrace. She turned her around toward the door with a gentle push. “Now, go and enjoy your week with Harry.”

Author’s Notes:

First, I want to thank Phoenix_Song for allowing me to take an object from her story, Lily’s Story Year 2: The Apollonian Locket and incorporate it into mine. She has helped me integrate her ideas and one of her characters into my story and was instrumental in making a large part of this post work. Thank you, thank you , thank you!

You don’t need to have read her fic to understand this post, but if you haven’t read her stories, you really should. They are the best Marauder fics you will read. She has posted them on our Yahoo Group, so go check them out.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/triumvirateofverbosity/

Thanks to Judy for betaing for me and giving me lots of suggestions that made this chapter better. If you follow the link above, you will find a Yahoo group that Vicarious Leigh, Phoenix Song and I have started. Many of our Snitch readers have joined, and I Thank You! For future reference, whenever possible, I am going to post my newest chapters there first as a perk for those that join. I’m not sure if Vleigh and PS are going to do this, also, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Chapter 16 Love and Magic

---

“No. This is where I have always been coming to. Since my time began. And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run. But now, my love, we are here, we are now, and those other times are running elsewhere.”

-A.S. Byatt, Possession

---

Swish.

Hermione heard a log settle in the fire and turned her head, looking back over her shoulder to confirm that the log hadn’t fallen onto the floor. A dying fire greeted her, crackling and sending sparks up the chimney from its repositioning. She whispered the incantation to summon her wand. Once armed, she muttered a charm to direct a fresh log perfectly onto the embers. She watched the small flames dance and grow, giving Hermione fresh light to continue with her task.

She dropped her wand on the floor behind her and turned her attention back to Harry, who was sleeping peacefully beside her on the sofa. He was lying on his side, his back against the sofa, his head resting on a pillow propped on the arm of the sofa. He had his left arm under her head and his right hand resting lightly on her hip. She was lying on her side facing him, using his arm as a pillow. Her legs were intertwined with his. It was a struggle to keep her left hand from touching his face, playing with his hair or doing anything at all to wake him up.

She couldn’t think of anywhere in the world she would rather be.

In the week they had been together, they fell into the habit of taking afternoon kips on the sofa, snuggled under Harry’s wool Gryffindor blanket in front of the fire. In actuality, Harry had gotten into the habit of taking naps; Hermione spent the time watching Harry and reflecting on their time together.

Hermione returned to Harry’s house after visiting with Minerva and found him in the parlor, with dinner laid out on a blanket on the floor in front of a crackling fire.

“Wow!” Hermione said, impressed. “What’s the occasion?”

Harry pulled her into his arms and kissed her lightly. “The occasion is you…being here with me for an entire week.”

Hermione looked up at Harry, putting her hand gently on his cheek, and whispered, “Amazing.”

“Amazing,” Harry repeated, never taking his eyes from hers. They stared at each other for a minute, each letting the meaning of that one simple word sink in, and they both knew without a doubt what it meant. Between the two of them, it meant so much more than its standard definition.

The delicious smell of the food and the grumbling in Hermione’s stomach prompted her to break the silence and ask, “Did you make all of this?”

Harry looked at her a bit sheepishly. “Well, actually no. It is takeout from the Three Broomsticks. And I have a minor confession to make.”

A small feeling of dread crept into Hermione’s heart. “What?” she asked apprehensively.

“The meal I made for you, Neville, and Ginny? That’s the only meal I can make. Well, besides an omelet. I can make a mean omelet.”

Hermione laughed in relief and hugged Harry tightly. “I reckon I can live with that.”

After dinner that night, they made love on the sofa in front of the fire and fell asleep in much the same position they were currently in. Hermione took a chance that Harry was still sound asleep and gently traced her finger down his jaw. She studied his face for the thousandth time, searching for a flaw.

She still hadn’t found one.

She had been searching for any defect of Harry’s, not just physical, every day for a week. She knew he had them; she remembered that from school. But try as she might, she could not bring one to mind. To be honest, that was a bit of a bother to her logical side. Rationally, she knew that this stage in their relationship would not last forever. They would quarrel, have rows, and struggle to maintain their relationship, as all couples do. Instead of enjoying this time of ignorant bliss, she had begun to use these afternoon kips to obsess a bit over the difficult times they would face in the future and wonder how she would handle the shattered ideal of their perfect relationship.

Sometimes, she hated being Hermione Granger.

When not obsessing about the future, she tried to imagine how and when she was going to tell Harry that she was in love with him. Neither of them had said the words outright, although it was understood that ”amazing” was their code word for “I love you.” And they had said that to each other plenty over the past six days. But it wasn’t the same as ”the words.” Once you said “the words,” they could not be taken back easily. It was a ledge she would gladly step off of, if she could only see the bottom.

Hermione knew that Harry was waiting for her to say “the words” first, as he had waited for her to move the relationship from platonic to romantic. He was patient; she would give him that. She knew it wasn’t his fear of her not returning the sentiment if he said it first, although who wouldn’t be a bit nervous about that regardless. No. He held back out of respect for her. She knew he didn’t want to push her into saying something before she was ready.

I’m still searching for a flaw here.

Harry inhaled deeply, the cue that he was waking up. He shifted a bit, and raised the hand he had on her hip to rub his nose, which was usually a bit bunged up when he first woke up. He ran his hand through his hair and squinted one eye open.

“Hey,” he said with a yawn.

“Hey,” she said, now free to run her hand through his hair without fear of disturbing him. He smiled and put his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

“I don’t think I have ever woken up from our nap before you.”

“Hmmm,” Hermione replied.

Harry pulled his head back from her a bit. “You do sleep, don’t you?” he asked suspiciously.

Hermione’s hand stopped moving but remained entangled in his hair. “Well… no, actually, I don’t.”

“What?”

“I’ve never really been able to sleep during the day. I’ve tried, really I have. I did fall asleep for a bit one day last week after a particularly, um, long lunch,” she said.

Harry gave her a lopsided grin. “Oh, yes. I remember that lunch! Fondly.” He dipped his head down and nuzzled her neck, making her laugh and squirm as always. He pulled his head back abruptly, apparently remembering their original conversation. “I can’t believe you just let me sleep. We could have been doing something together.”

“No! We are doing something together! Just because I don’t sleep doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy snuggling with you on the sofa.”

“It has got to be boring watching me sleep.”

“Surprisingly, it isn’t. It gives me time to think.”

“Good Lord, as if you need more time to think,” Harry said sarcastically, and received a light punch in the arm for the comment.

“I’m thinking about you, you git.”

“Oh, in that case…” Harry closed his eyes and gave a dramatic snore. Hermione pinched him on the stomach. “Ow!”

“Wake up! I want to see your eyes.” Harry complied and opened his eyes, which were dancing with mirth. Hermione placed her hand on his cheek and watched the dancing firelight reflected in his eyes. She was reminded of her parents’ garden and the verdant grass she would lie in on warm summer days. The cool of the grass seeped through her clothes to balance out the warmth of the sun shining down on her from above — perfect equilibrium.

“Harry,” she whispered softly. “I love your eyes.”

“I love your lips.”

“I love you.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly and his hand, which had been rubbing her arm, stopped. The silence seemed interminable to Hermione. In actuality, it was only a few seconds before Harry responded.

“Did…” Harry choked on the word and cleared his throat. “Did you mean to say that?” he asked apprehensively.

“Yes.” Although I’m not sure this is the response I was anticipating, she thought.

Harry leaned forward and kissed Hermione softly, caressing her check with his thumb. “I love you, too.”

Relief washed through her. As he smiled at her, Hermione saw a new dimension to his feelings — a facet that had been veiled and was now being laid bare. Hermione sensed that he was giving her his soul and that, no matter what happened to them from this moment on, she would never lose his love.

“I’ve wanted to tell you that for so long. It has been burning a hole in my heart to feel it and not say it.” He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and whispered. “Do you know how hard it has been to not say ’I love you‘ when we’re making love?”

Hermione grinned shyly. “Yes. I’ve an idea.”

“Then what took you so long?” he asked, playfully tickling her.

“Oh, you know…the usual. I had to overanalyze it, look at it logically and try to account for any and all potential pitfalls and problems.”

“Right. That sounds like a bit of a drag. So can I assume that there were no pitfalls and problems, since you decided to finally say the words?”

“There is only one problem that I can find.”

The playful smile dropped from Harry’s face.

“And that is that I can’t imagine my life without you. I can’t remember my life before falling in love with you.”

The smile returned to his face, along with an expression of relief. “Technically, those are two problems. Or is one a pitfall and the other a problem?”

Hermione sat up and straddled Harry and began to tickle him playfully. “You are taking the mikey out of me?”

“No!” Harry protested, trying to grab her hands. “I would never do that to the woman I love.”

“You better not, if you know what’s good for you,” she replied, still fighting off Harry’s hands from grabbing hers.

Giving up on catching her hands, Harry sat up and said, “Oh, I know what’s good for me, Miss Granger.” He grabbed her behind the neck and pulled her down into a kiss. Hermione instantly stopped struggling and melted into his body.

She broke from their kiss and quickly sat up, grabbing the blanket that had twisted around him in their struggle and throwing it out of the way. She grasped Harry’s upturned face in her hands and whispered, “I love you, Harry,” as she settled down on his lap again.

“I love you, Hermione.”

She gently pulled his lips to hers and felt the thrilling sensation that only his lips bestowed — a sensation that she hoped would not diminish with time or familiarity. She slowly ran her tongue across his lips asking for access to explore his mouth, which he gave. A shiver traveled down her spine as she felt his hands venture under her shirt and start stroking her back. Feeling the now familiar humming sensation that only Harry could give her, Hermione wove her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer, increasing the intensity of their kiss. She felt more than heard his moan reverberate through her mouth and down her throat, fusing his desire with her own.

She released him from the kiss so she could see the desire she knew would be written on his face. There was something about the naked look of need he wore on his features when they made love that made her feel sublimely feminine and sexy, and tonight was no different.

“I love you, Harry Potter.”

“Five words I will never tire of hearing.”

“Well, that’s good, because you will be hearing them from me for the rest of your life.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

---

Harry came up behind Hermione and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck.

“You look beautiful,” he said, looking at their reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“Why, thank you,” she said, tilting her head to the side and putting on an earring. “You’re looking quite smart yourself. Nice outfit.”

“Hermione,” Harry replied patiently. “Men don’t wear outfits. Men wear clothes.”

“Right, then. Nice clothes.”

“That’s better.”

Hermione turned around and encircled his neck with her arms. “Clothes I’m looking forward to taking off of you later tonight,” she said, tilting her head up to kiss him.

“Hmm,” Harry moaned, returning the kiss, rubbing his hands down her sides and around her back, pulling her closer. “Why wait?”

“Because we are going to be late for Seamus’ New Year’s Eve party if we get distracted again,” she said, through his kisses.

Harry pulled away reluctantly. “Oh, all right. Killjoy.”

“It will give you something to look forward to.”

“You mean it will distract me all night.”

“Semantics.”

Harry took her hand and led her out of the loo. “We have a little bit of time. I want to show you something,” he said, leading her towards their bedroom.

“Harry, I’ve already seen it. And I’m duly impressed. You don’t have to keep showing me,” she teased.

“Ha ha ha,” he said sardonically, as he led her to sit down on the edge of the bed. He leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. “I want to give you something,” he said.

“Okay,” she said slowly.

He reached over and opened the drawer on the bedside table and removed a small box and an envelope tied together with a ribbon. Harry looked at it for a beat, looked up at Hermione with a smile and held it out to her.

She took it hesitantly. “What’s this?” she whispered.

“Your other Christmas present.”

She looked up at him quickly. “Harry, you didn’t have to…”

Harry touched his fingers lightly to her lips. “Before you tell me I didn’t have to do it, open the letter.”

Hermione removed the box and set it on her lap. She slid the wide red ribbon from the envelope, revealing Harry’s name written in the center in beautiful green script. She glanced at Harry, wondering why he wanted her to read a letter addressed to him. He nodded and said, “Go on,” with a smile on his face.

Upon closer inspection it was obvious that the envelope was old. She turned it over, revealing a broken red wax seal containing the monogram “JPL.” The letters of the monogram registered with Hermione immediately, and she hurriedly pulled the brittle parchment out. She gently unfolded the letter to reveal three pages of parchment filled with the same beautiful green writing. As the importance of what Harry was showing her began to sink in, the room was filled with the beautifully smooth, somewhat husky sound of a woman’s voice.

July 31, 1981

Hello Harry,

Today is your first birthday and you just had perhaps the biggest party wizardkind has ever known. But with the Marauders around, that is to be expected. I'm sure Remus will have told and retold the story of your first birthday to you many times. Your father's hair is still blue as I write this. Of course, I know the counter charm, but I want to make him suffer just a bit more. A bit of playful payback for being his favorite pranking target in school!

The fact that you are hearing my voice right now is bittersweet; it means that you are alive and the protections your father and I put on you were successful. But, it also means that James and I did not survive our confrontation with Voldemort.

As I write this letter, my heart swells with pain at the thought of losing you. Don’t think that I’m afraid of dying; I am not. I will gladly sacrifice my life to ensure you will have the happy life I see in your future. When you become a parent, you will understand how true the cliché is: I would do anything for my child. No, Harry, my heart breaks with the knowledge that your father and I will not be there to share your happiness. And, Harry, have no doubt that you will be happy.

To understand what is in the attached box, there is something you must know. I am a Seer. I won’t go into too much detail—I’m sure you’ve heard the story from Sirius, Amelia, Remus, or Peter—but I discovered my gift at the end of my first year at Hogwarts. I have been having visions about you, in particular, since I was twelve years old. It wasn't until I fell in love with your father that I realized the boy I was seeing was our son.

Oh how I long to tell you of the wonderful future that I have seen for you! However, one of the very first things that I learned when I discovered my Sight was that knowledge of the future can oftentimes change the outcome, and I don’t want anything to endanger the happiness that I have seen in your future. Therefore, I have to be very careful about how I word my thoughts to you.

I am heartened to know that you will have great friendships and know love. I have repeatedly seen visions of you with two children I can only assume are your best friends in school: a tall lanky red-haired boy and a pretty girl with brown hair. I can tell from what I have seen that they are loyal friends. And after I’ve just told you that I must be careful, I’ve already divulged some important information. I am going to stop now before I give away too much. Allow me simply to explain how my gift relates to the box.

In the box is my locket — a gift from my father, your grandfather, Harry. This locket is magically tied to my powers and I would like for you to give it to the woman you love. You’ll know when the time is right. Have I seen this woman in my visions? Yes, and it is obvious that she is deeply in love with you, as you are with her.

I have seen you on your wedding day. Oh, Harry, it is astonishing how much you look like your father on our wedding day. You are unbelievably handsome in my vision, and your bride is beautiful and radiant.

I wonder what twists and turns of fate will bring you together; what trials and tribulations you will overcome to be with each other. I once read an old book at Hogwarts about the power of emotions in magic. Love and hate are the two strongest powers in magic and should be treated with a great deal of care and respect. Loving and being loved is so important in life, Harry. Take your time with love; don’t rush into anything. You will know, as I did with your father, when you are in love. When that time comes, the love that you share with this woman will bond you together forever.

Your father and I love you very much, Harry. Never forget that.

Mum

Lily’s voice melted into silence. Hermione stared down at the letter in her hands, stunned. After living in the magical world for so many years, very few things astonished her. But she would have to admit that hearing the voice of Harry’s dead mother was a bit of a shocker. So consumed was Hermione with curiosity about the letter and Harry’s reaction to hearing his mum’s voice from the grave, that the content of the letter and its implications were driven from her mind.

Hermione looked up at Harry with an awed expression on her face. “Where did you get this? I didn’t know you had anything from you parents.”

“I didn’t know either. I found a trunk in my Gringotts vault when I returned from the States. It was pushed off in a corner, almost hidden from view. It contained what Dumbledore later told me were the possessions they salvaged from the ruins of my parents’ house in Godric’s Hollow: their wands, a few pictures, some jewelry, things like that. There are some other letters like this one my mum wrote to me.” Harry looked down at the letter still in Hermione’s hand and smiled. “She had a beautiful voice, didn’t she?”

Hermione stared Harry, who was looking at the letter with a wistful expression. “Yes, she did,” she whispered, placing a hand on his cheek. He looked up at her and smiled, placing his hand over hers.

“Do you want to see what is in the box?”

“I don’t know. Is it going to talk to me, too?”

Harry laughed. “I don’t think so. It didn’t talk to me when I opened it.”

“It can talk to me, as long as I’m prepared for it.”

“You don’t like surprises?”

“I’m rarely surprised.”

“Really?” Harry said incredulously. “You looked rather stunned when my Mum’s voice floated into the room.”

“Okay, that was a surprise.”

Harry held the square box, his expression turning serious. “Obviously, this was my mum’s. When I found it, and heard the letter, you were the only person I imagined giving it to. I wanted to wait until you were sure about your feelings.” He held the box out to Hermione. “I’ve been sure about my feelings for a long time.”

Hermione’s curiosity about what was in the box was superceded by the question - How long? - that popped into her mind. A creak, followed by her gasp, sounded as she opened the box.

“Oh my! Harry, it’s beautiful!”

Hermione was too entranced by the locket nestled on a pillow of green velvet to see Harry’s mixed expression of excitement, relief and pride. She reached down and touched the gold face of the locket, tracing the tripod design engraved there. She pulled it out of the box to look at it more closely, the delicate gold chain trailing behind dangling from her hand.

“This was connected to Lily’s powers?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I guess so. I didn’t know she was a Seer until I opened this letter.”

“Did you ask Dumbledore about it?”

“Yes, but you know Dumbledore. He wasn’t very forthcoming with information. He did assure me that the connection was between Mum and the locket and that it wouldn’t transfer to whomever I gave it to. So I don’t reckon you have to worry about taking Trelawney’s job.”

Hermione looked up at Harry to see a smirk on his face. “Ha ha ha,” she replied sardonically. She held the locket out to Harry. “Put it on me?”

Hermione pulled her hair up away from her neck and turned her back to Harry. She felt his fingers brush her neck lightly as he latched the necklace, sending shivers down her spine. His hands brushed down to rest on her shoulders and his lips lightly touched her neck. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

She turned to face him. “Thank you, Harry. I love it.” She kissed him gently on the lips. “I love you with all my heart.”

Hermione felt a warm sensation on her chest and looked down. For a split second, the locket seemed to glow.

“Did you see that?”

“See what?”

Hermione shook her head, dismissing the glow as a reflection of light. “Nothing.” She stood up and walked over to the mirror and smiled at her reflection. The locket rested on her chest just below the hollow of her throat. “It looks beautiful, Harry.”

He walked over and stood behind her. “You look beautiful.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”

“I’m ready. Let’s go ring in the New Year.”

---

Harry could never recall seeing Diagon Alley so crowded. The atmosphere was that of a street fair, with witches and wizards in various states of dress and states of mind mingling throughout. Some shops had extended their hours and were having end of year offers, attempting to capture in gold the feeling of merriment that the New Year evoked in everyone. Street vendors were walking up and down, calling out their wares, selling everything from drinks to fireworks to sweets. The most popular item seemed to be a wizard’s hat with a sparkler attached to the point. Hundreds of sparklers were bobbing and dancing down the alley, sparks drizzling down, raining light onto the gaiety below.

“Wow,” Harry said, awed by the sight.

“It’s like this every year.”

Harry looked down to see Hermione gazing up at him with a smile, her face lit by the raining fire. Just then, a Filibuster Firework was fired into the sky, exploding into thousands of tiny blue fairies. They flew around for a moment, forming the phrase “Happy New Year!” before darting around and dispersing into the crowd. The mischievous sprites then lifted hats from people’s heads and dangled them just out of reach. They also lifted the robes of some of the more attractive witches and were generally wreaking havoc on the already disorderly scene.

“I see Fred and George are open for business,” Hermione said wryly.

“I reckon so. They’re in their element on nights like tonight.”

“Yes, they are.”

Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand tightly as they wove their way through the crowd. Despite the fact that he felt her warm hand securely in his, he looked back often to reassure himself that she was still there, something he had been doing all week. And, defying logic, every time he looked, she was still there — a fact that made his heart soar a little higher each time.

When space opened up, he pulled her to his side and draped his arm across her shoulders, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “I can’t believe you are here with me.”

“Well, I didn’t have a better offer come along, so why not?”

“That’s a roaring endorsement for my company. Thanks for keeping me so well grounded.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They had had a spectacularly normal week. Besides the first day, when they had come to London to buy Hermione a pillow (at Harry’s insistence), they had mainly stayed at home, venturing out at night for dinner at the Three Broomsticks a few times. Harry racked his brain to remember what exactly they did. How exactly had they wiled away five days?

The afternoons were easy, that was naptime. Harry was just a bit perturbed that Hermione hadn’t been taking naps with him, but if the result of her ”thinking time” was her realization that she loved him, he could get over it. The mornings consisted of eating pastries while reading the Daily Prophet. The evenings were spent sitting in front of the fire, talking or reading or playing chess. Mulling it over now, Harry began to worry that it had been a bit mundane — that Hermione had been bored with their lack of activity.

Oh dear God!

Harry looked up at the nearest shop, to see Madam Malkin’s Robes for Every Occasion open for business. “Quick! In here,” he said over his shoulder to Hermione, pulling her out of the crowd.

“Harry? What are you doing?”

Harry looked rapidly around the shop, noting that it was somewhat deserted, with only a few customers and a clerk behind the counter ringing up a sale.

“Can I help you?” the witch called out solicitously.

“Nope!” Harry waved with a smile. “Just looking,” he called. “Are the robes on offer in the back?”

“Yes, luv.”

“Right! Thanks,” Harry said, pulling Hermione to the back of the shop.

“Harry, wha…?”

He pushed aside the curtain that enclosed the dressing room and ducked in, pulling Hermione after him. He put his finger over his lips and waved his wand toward the curtain, shielding their conversation from interested ears.

“What’s going on, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“I have to ask you something,” he said quickly.

“Okay,” Hermione said slowly.

Harry opened his mouth to speak and realized how ridiculous he was being. Embarrassment poured down his body; his face burned with it. Hermione was looking at him patiently, her brows furrowing as the silence drew out. “Well, you see, I was just thinking about this past week. And, uh,” Harry cleared his throat, “it just seemed kind of dull. Not that I was bored,” he added quickly in response to the look on her face. “I was worried that you had been dead bored and were too polite to say anything.”

Hermione was silent, her mouth gaping open in astonishment. “Harry, don’t be daft. I had a great time this week. Do you think I’m so high maintenance that I have to be entertained 24/7?”

“No! I just thought you might have wanted to do a bit more than we did. I’m sorry I didn’t have more planned for us to do.”

Hermione’s mouth gaped open and her head bobbed forward in disbelief. “Right. First off, I don’t think either of us expected to spend the week together, so as to having something planned for us to do, that just doesn’t make sense. Second, I had a spectacular time or couldn’t you tell? Third, being with you is all the entertainment I need. We don’t have to do anything. I would be happy right now if we were back at your house, sitting on the sofa, simply talking. It isn’t what we do, love; it’s whom we do it with. As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.”

Keeping his head bowed, Harry looked up at her from under his eyelids. “I feel tremendously foolish.”

“Well, you should,” Hermione replied playfully. “Honestly! Was I bored?” She shook her head and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, you silly man.”

Hermione whipped open the curtain to reveal the clerk, standing there with a shocked expression on her face. Whether it was from being caught directly outside the dressing room or from overhearing their private conversation, neither Harry nor Hermione could guess.

“Sorry. We just needed to have a quick, private conversation,” Harry said.

The witch nodded her head vigorously. “Of course, not a problem,” she twittered, her shocked expression still evident.

“Happy New Year, then!” Harry said, letting Hermione lead the way out of the shop.

“Yes, Happy New Year,” the clerk said distractedly.

“Do you think she heard?” Hermione asked once out on the street.

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I did the charm right.”

“If not, I guess we will read about it tomorrow morning in the Daily Prophet.”

“I guess so.”

He shook his head and grabbed her hand again as the crowd pressed in on them. Harry couldn’t see Hermione’s expression well enough to gauge her feelings. They had not discussed telling people since their conversation on the subject the first day. In light of Hermione’s admission of love, Harry assumed that her doubts about their relationship lasting had abated. He, however, was still concerned about the attention that was sure to follow Hermione once their relationship was made public. The thought of it made him want to wrap her in a protective embrace and never let go. He wanted to shelter her from the relentless and unforgiving scrutiny of the general public, as well as remind the intrusive paparazzi that the man in love with Hermione Granger was the same man who vanquished Voldemort.

They made their way to the fringe of the crowd, sticking to the shop fronts where the crowd was thinner. Harry felt Hermione tug his hand to stop and realized they were passing Flourish and Blotts. She was looking at the window display of new arrivals with a rapt longing that made Harry smile. He stood behind her and put his arms around her waist, looking over her shoulder at the books in the window.

“Do you want to go in?”

Hermione sighed. “No. I don’t want to carry packages around all night. I’ll come back another day.”

“But what if all the books are gone? What if someone else has bought the entire contents of the shop and there isn’t another magical book left in the world to read? What will you do?”

“You are so funny,” Hermione said sarcastically.

Suddenly, Harry was pushed in the back and lurched forward, pushing Hermione against the glass window. Harry heard her muffled “Ow!” as he turned around with his fists clenched.

“Oi! Watch it, you lot!” he yelled at a group of wizards and witches walking past. He turned back to Hermione. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, rubbing her forehead with her hand.

“Did you hurt your head?” Harry asked, gentling moving her hair away to see a small knot forming on her hairline.

“I’ll be fine,” Hermione replied, throwing a scowl over Harry’s shoulder. Harry turned to find the guilty group staring at the two of them. He now saw that they were not adults but older teens, snippets of their comments floating toward them through the din.

“That’s Professor Potter.”

“Who’s he with?”

“Whoa! That’s our transfiguration teacher,” one frantically whispered before melting quickly into the crowd.

“Sorry, Professor Potter. I didn’t see you there,” replied the boy standing in front of the group. He looked around Harry. “Are you okay, Professor Granger? I’m really sorry about that.”

“Yes, Ben. I’ll be fine. Are you having a good time?” Hermione said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” The boy named Ben, who Harry didn’t know, stood there staring back and forth between the two of them with an embarrassed smile on his face. His friends, the ones who chose to stay, were standing behind him with looks ranging from knowing smirks to shocked comprehension. Harry glanced at Hermione and found her struggling to maintain her blasé composure.

“Happy New Year, Ben. We’ll see you at Hogwarts tomorrow.”

“Right. Bye Professors. Have a good time tonight.”

At this comment, a few of his friends burst into giggles and turned away. Harry turned to Hermione who was sporting a look of chagrin on her face. She leaned against the window of the bookshop, defeated.

“What’s the bloody use? We can’t keep our relationship secret,” she said in a resigned voice.

“Well, we are in the middle of Diagon Alley on New Year’s Eve.”

“That fact alone does seem to contradict our desire to keep this to ourselves, doesn’t it?” Hermione gave Harry a contemplative look. “Oh, sod it all. I don’t care.” She grabbed Harry by the shirt and pulled him down into a kiss, running her tongue along his lips. Harry, completely forgetting where he was, pulled her to him and kissed her back properly. He heard a humming noise and deepened the kiss, spurred on by Hermione’s response. Dancing blue light permeated his eyelids and he realized the humming wasn’t coming from Hermione. They broke apart to find dozens of blue fairies flying around their head.

The fairies flew upward, spelling out “Snog Alert” in mid-air with an arrow pointing down at the two. An appreciative cheer went up from the crowd around them, complete with catcalls and shouted congratulations. Harry looked down, expecting to find Hermione burying her head in his chest in embarrassment. Instead, she was looking up at him and grinning.

“I’d say we are definitely making the Daily Prophet tomorrow, wouldn’t you?” she quipped.

“Yes, I believe you’re right. Are you sure this was a good idea?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

Harry pulled Hermione’s hands to his lips and kissed them. “Come on, let’s go.”

They came upon a large number of young witches and wizards standing in a long queue, which was snaking around a corner into a side street. They turned into the side street and Harry was astounded to see the queue began at The Green Irishman.

“Do we have to wait in that queue?”

“Don’t be daft,” Hermione replied, walking up and greeting the wizard at the door.

“Hi, Hermione!” he called, opening the door for her.

“Hi, Ian,” she waved, breezing through the open door.

Harry reluctantly followed, catching glimpses of disgruntled people in the queue they had just skirted and hearing a very unhappy murmur run through the crowd.

The door closed behind him and he was stopped dead by the sheer mass of people. Witches and wizards were packed so tightly into the pub that moving through the crowd was going to be a challenge. A roar went up from the crowd in the back of the pub by the dartboards. A group of middle-aged couples, obviously out on the town without their sprogs for the night, were laughing and egging each other on to drink the Flaming Incantations lined up on their table. A group of young men were standing by the door, clearly on the pull. They kept looking over each other’s shoulders when the door opened, hoping the next entrant would be the bird they would chat up the rest of the night.

Harry noticed a few people whisper to friends when he and Hermione walked in. He hoped they were commenting on how beautiful Hermione looked and not on the fact that it was he, Harry Potter, that just walked in.

Hermione pulled on his sleeve, drawing his ear down to her mouth. “Look! There’s Ginny!” she shouted over the din of voices and music, pointing to the bar. She grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him along in her wake. After almost getting separated, he grabbed her waist with both hands and pulled her close to him, walking in step directly behind her.

He leaned down and whispered suggestively in her ear. “Now, this is a fringe benefit of crowded pubs.” He pulled her hips into his and rubbed against her.

She looked over her shoulder with a sly smile. “Right you are, Mr. Potter,” she replied, wiggling her hips.

“I wonder if Seamus’s guest room is ready for visitors?”

“Hiya!” Ginny interrupted, throwing her arms around Hermione’s neck. “We were starting to wonder if you two were coming.”

“It’s only half nine!” Hermione replied.

“Hi, Neville!”

“Harry! Have a good week?”

“Very good. You?”

“The same. Spent it at the Burrow talking about wedding stuff and gardens.”

“You sound like a girl.”

“I feel like a girl,” he said grinning. He grabbed a couple of drinks from the bar and handed them to Harry and Hermione.

“Thanks.” Harry watched Hermione and Ginny chat animatedly about something. Amazingly, Harry couldn’t hear a word they were saying, despite the fact they were standing close enough for him to smell Hermione’s perfume.

Neville leaned down and yelled in Harry’s ear. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“For what?”

“You and Hermione! Ginny told me, and Molly, and Fleur, and, well, you know,” he replied, waving his hand in the air.

“Oh. Thanks,” Harry replied, barely concealing his smile.

“It’s about time.”

Harry let his grin loose. “You’re telling me.”

“Is this your coming out party?” Neville asked.

“I guess you could say that. We just saw a bunch of students in the street.”

“The rumor mill is already buzzing. I can feel it.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Harry took a swig of his ale and watched Hermione. She looked shocked at something Ginny told her and looked around the crowd quickly. She caught his eye and smiled weakly. He leaned toward her. “What’s wrong?”

“Viktor’s here.”

“So?”

Hermione pulled Harry down to talk into his ear. “He doesn’t know about us yet, and I would like to tell him personally. Before he hears it from someone else or sees it for himself.”

Confusion flooded through Harry. “Why? You weren’t a couple.”

“I know that, Harry,” she said patiently. “But…well, we have had this ‘on again, off again’ thing for years now. The polite thing would be to tell him personally.”

“Right.” Harry realized that he didn’t know the extent of the relationship Hermione had with Krum. She had been rather dismissive about it, so Harry hadn’t given it much thought. The fact that she was so concerned about Krum’s potential reaction to their news gave Harry pause. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, that’s all right. I’m going to find him.”

“Right now?”

“I want to get it over with. I’ll be back soon.” With that, Hermione turned and disappeared into the crowd.

As soon as she left, Harry felt adrift, as if his compass had failed him. He looked around, trying to spot her or Viktor, but to no avail.

“Where is Hermione off to?” Ginny asked.

“To break the news to Viktor.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows and nodded her head while taking a sip of her drink.

Soon the three of them were talking about the wedding and Molly’s garden. Harry told them about Hagrid’s offer to permanently degnome the garden. Fifteen minutes later, Hermione still hadn’t returned and Harry was tired of waiting.

“I’m going to find Hermione,” Harry said during a lull in the conversation. He snaked his way through the crowd swiveling his head from side to side.

“Hiya, Harry!” Fiona called as she breezed past, a tray loaded down with drinks held high above her head.

“Hi, Fiona! Have you seen Hermione?”

“About 10 minutes ago. I think over by the loo.”

Harry weaved his way through the crowd, aiming for the doorway on the far wall that led to the lavatory. The crowd thinned when he reached the threshold of the hall, and the sight before him stopped Harry dead in his tracks.

Hermione was standing in the hall with Viktor, who had one hand on the wall beside her head and was leaning in close to her, whispering in her ear. Hermione shook her head and laughed, pushing Viktor back playfully. Viktor was laughing, pretending to be injured from her shove. Harry’s heart dropped to his stomach as jealousy rolled through him.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Harry called loudly, an edge to his voice.

“Harry!” Hermione said, laughing. “Of course not.” She walked over to him and grabbed his hand, smiling. Harry was watching Viktor, whose smile took on a fixed quality.

“Hello, Harry.” Viktor said stiffly.

“Viktor,” Harry replied tersely, wrapping his arm around Hermione’s shoulders.

“Velcome back.”

“Thank you.”

“I hear zat you are being recruited to play on ze English national team.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione’s brow furrow in confusion.

“I wouldn’t call a single owl from Ludo Bagman ‘recruiting.’”

“I hope you do play. We haff never played against each other. It vould be fun, no?”

“We have three years until the next World Cup. A lot can change in that amount of time.”

“Yes, zis is true,” Viktor said with a congenial smile. He looked at Hermione. “So, you haff done in only months vat I haff not been able to do in years — make Hermione fall in loff vith you.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You seem to be taking it well.”

Viktor shrugged his shoulders. “Hermione has been turning me down for years. I vas just too arrogant to admit she didn’t loff me.”

Harry looked down at Hermione, who was watching him with a puzzled look on her face.

“Congratulations,” Viktor said, holding his hand out to Harry.

“Thanks,” Harry said, taking it reluctantly.

“And now I must go find my date. She is very jealous and vould not like seeing me in a darkened hall vith my ex-girlfriend.” He brushed past them with a small smile for Hermione and was gone.

“What was that all about, Harry?”

“What?”

“The English National Team, for one. You didn’t tell me Bagman was trying to get you to play.”

“He sent me an owl months ago to gauge my interest.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him that I would think about it but that I was too busy adjusting to my new job to worry about it at the moment.”

“I think you should. I would love to watch you play in the World Cup.”

“Really? I thought you didn’t like Quidditch.”

“I loved watching you and Ron play. Other than that, I’m not fussed.”

“The qualifying tournament for it doesn’t start for another year, so I have time to consider it. There is no rush. So, what’s number two?”

“Two?”

“You said, ‘the English National Team, for one.’ What’s number two?”

“The way you were acting towards Viktor. It was rather rude.”

The slight guilt Harry felt at his reaction to Viktor evaporated with Hermione’s accusation.

“Rude? I’m rude? I find my girlfriend standing in a dark corner with her ex-boyfriend standing a bit too close and whispering in her ear — and I’m rude? I thought I showed a tremendous amount of restraint considering my blood was boiling.”

“Honestly, Harry! He was leaning so close because it is impossible to hear in all this noise,” Hermione said, moving closer to Harry to let someone pass.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Harry stepped aside to let another person go by. “I don’t even want to think about you being with other people, much less see you with your ex-boyfriend plastered against you.”

“You have no reason to be jealous of Viktor.”

“I’m jealous of everyone you’ve dated before.”

“You can’t be serious. Why?”

“Because they got to spend time with you that I didn’t.”

Hermione stood on her tiptoes and pulled his ear to her lips. “Yes, but I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you.” A tremor ran through Harry, caused by both the words she spoke and her warm breath on his ear.

Harry hugged Hermione tightly. “Are you sure you want to stay? I hear an extremely comfortable sofa calling our name.”

Hermione leaned back against his arms, looking up at his face. “I hear a guest room calling our name,” she said suggestively, glancing up at the ceiling.

“Even better.”

They walked out of the hall, hand in hand, and were met by Seamus. “Hey! I was coming to find you two. Ginny, Neville and a few others are going upstairs to our flat, to get out of the crowd. Go on up and meet them.”

“Great!” Harry said. He leaned down to Hermione. “Positive you don’t want to go?”

“We’ll just go up there for a bit. Then we’ll leave discretely.”

“Like when we left the Burrow?”

“Something like that. They’re our friends. They won’t care. They’re probably surprised we’re even here.”

“I’m surprised we’re here.”

---

“Are your ears still ringing?”

“A bit.”

They were lying in Harry’s bed, facing each other and talking quietly. They had ended up staying at Seamus and Fiona’s past midnight, much to everyone’s astonishment, including their own. About 20-30 people had migrated upstairs in a spur-of-the-moment private party which was much more enjoyable than shouting at each other in the throng of people down below. Once the clock struck midnight, the place magically emptied — the popping sounds of people apparating joining the din of Filibuster Fireworks in Diagon Alley.

“Did you have a good time?” Harry asked.

“I was with you. What do you think?”

“Me, too.” Harry watched his hand slide across the curve of Hermione’s hip and down her thigh and back. Hermione had her hands clasped under her pillow and was watching him. “Does this bother you?” he asked softly.

“Hardly.”

“Am I staring at you too much?”

“No. I’m used to it now.”

“Good,” he replied, planting a soft kiss on her lips. “Turn over,” he whispered, pulling her hip forward.

Hermione complied, lying on her stomach. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at your birthmark.”

“Again?”

“It’s dead cute.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Harry propped up on his elbow and leaned forward, tracing his fingers down to the small of her back. Just as the curve of her body turned upward again, he stopped and traced the outline of a small brown spot just above her left bum cheek. “It isn’t a triangle like I said before. It looks like a drop of chocolate.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re hungry.”

“Probably.” He leaned down and kissed the mark and Hermione shuddered. “It doesn’t taste like chocolate.”

“That’s good to hear,” Hermione said drowsily.

Harry plopped back onto his pillow and shook her shoulder. “Wake up!”

“I’m awake, I’m awake.” She opened her eyes. “I don’t want to fall asleep.”

“Me either.”

Hermione turned back onto her side and blew air through her lips, making them flutter. “I can’t believe how fast the week went.”

“I know.”

“It’s depressing. Now we have to act like nothing is different; we have to be ‘discrete,’” she said, miming quotation marks.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“I have no idea. I reckon it means I can’t snog you in the Great Hall.”

“No quickies at the Quidditch Pitch?”

Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes upward in contemplation. “No trysts in the Transfiguration classroom?”

“Hmm,” Harry said thoughtfully. With a snap of his fingers he said, “No rendezvous in the Room of Requirement?”

They broke into a fit of giggles. Harry placed Hermione’s hand against his, comparing their sizes, noting again that her fingertips just touched the line of his top knuckle. He intertwined his fingers with hers.

“Oi! I’ve got an idea!” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“I’ve lots of gold in my Gringott’s vault. Did your parents leave you lots of money?”

“A considerable amount.”

“Well, sod the outside world. Let’s just stay here in the house, away from everyone else, and live off of our inheritance forever. What do you say?”

“That sounds good to me. But, you know, that would mean no Quidditch.”

“Oh,” Harry said, despairingly. “I didn’t think about that.”

“But that’s all right. You would give up Quidditch for me, right?”

Harry looked at Hermione’s hopeful expression and paused. Her face broke into a grin and she started laughing. “Good lord, I’m kidding. You would think I had just asked you to lop off the family jewels by the look on your face.”

“Do you want me to tickle you?”

“No, I really don’t,” Hermione, replied seriously.

“Then don’t talk like that about the family jewels.”

“I love your family jewels,” Hermione said playing with the locket around her neck.

“Right. That does it.” Harry bounded on top of her and held his hands up as if about to tickle her.

“No! Honestly, Harry! Please don’t. You know I can’t stand it,” she said in a pleading voice, holding her hands up in front of her.

Raising one eyebrow, he lowered his hands and lay down beside her. “All right, since you begged.”

“I didn’t beg.”

“Oh, please, Harry!” he said, mimicking her voice. “Don’t!”

Hermione began to tickle him in retaliation. “I don’t think so, little girl.” He grabbed her wrists to stop her. “Peace, okay?”

“Peace.”

Harry lay on his back and pulled Hermione to him, pillowing her head on his chest. He watched Hermione fiddle with her locket, something he caught her doing numerous times during the night.

“The locket looks beautiful on you.”

“I love it so much.”

“I’m glad.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They lay there in silence for a few moments, Harry considering how to broach a subject that had been on his mind for a while.

“Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

She turned over on her stomach, folded her arms across Harry’s chest and propped her chin in her hands. “Course.”

Harry ran his hand through her hair absently as his courage failed him.

“Never mind.”

“Oh no you don’t. I want us to have a relationship where we can ask each other anything and tell each other everything. Out with it.”

Harry opened his mouth, but the words just wouldn’t come out. He sighed and laughed. “I just can’t.”

“Let me guess, then.”

“All right,” Harry said, confident that she had no idea what he was going to ask.

“You want to know if I ever slept with Viktor.”

When will you learn that she is smarter than you? Ron’s voice chided.

“Am I that transparent?”

“Only to me. To everyone else you are a multifaceted man.”

Harry grunted in response, hoping Hermione would answer the question she had asked for him without him having to say the words.

“Do you really want to know my sexual history?”

“If it is complex enough to be called a ‘history,’ then probably not.”

“It isn’t complex,” she said, turning on her back returning her head to Harry’s shoulder. “Yes, I slept with Viktor.”

“Was he your first?”

A pause. Hermione quietly replied. “No.”

Harry then knew without asking that her first had been Ron. He wondered for a moment if he would have rather not had his suspicion on the subject confirmed.

“That bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“I know it shouldn’t, but it does a little.”

“Which is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because you asked, and I’m not going to lie to you or keep anything from you.”

Both of them stared at the ceiling of the darkened room. Harry stroked Hermione’s arm.

“Does it bother you because you know both of them?”

“I guess Viktor bothers me because I’m going to be running into him for the rest of my life and wondering if he is looking at you imagining you naked.”

Hermione laughed. “I don’t know if I would worry about that. It was very dark. I don’t know how much he actually saw. Anyway, it wasn’t good enough for him to harbor lingering fantasies about it, I’m sure.”

“Why do you say that?’

“Well, I’m afraid I used Viktor a little bit. I was having a very difficult time. I guess it was about two years after you left. Guilt over Ron, anger at you for leaving, the stress of two jobs — it all got to be too much for me. I was desperate to get past it all. Viktor was so good during that time, very supportive and understanding. He never pressured me to take our relationship further than casual dating, but he made it clear that he loved me and had loved me for a long time.

“Afterward, I knew it was a mistake. No matter how much I cared for him, I didn’t love him and I couldn’t have that type of relationship with someone I wasn’t in love with. Good God. That was a horrible conversation, let me tell you. It’s amazing we’re still friends. I got the impression that he has been holding out hope that I would change my mind…until tonight.

“I decided after that fiasco to wait until I was absolutely sure I was in love.” She ran her fingers along Harry’s chest, tracing the outline of his muscles. “Of course, I thought I was in love with Ron.”

“You’ve never told me how you realized you weren’t.”

“I loved Ron without a doubt. But I mistook an adolescent crush along with raging hormones for true love. To be fair, he did, too. The first time was utterly forgettable — very awkward but sweet. I don’t think either of us was very impressed. I thought it would get better once we got a bit more experience. It didn’t for me; I’m not sure about him. It began feeling a bit incestuous. That is when I knew that what I felt for Ron was not romantic love.”

“So how does this feel?” Harry whispered.

Hermione tilted her head back to look at him. “Perfect.” Harry bent down and softly kissed her lips.

“No,” Hermione said.

“No, what?”

“You were about to ask me if I wanted to know about your sexual history, and I don’t.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly, amazed that she again read his mind. “Why not?”

“I would rather delude myself into thinking I’m the only one you have ever been with.”

“In a way you are.” Hermione looked up at him, confused. “I was always thinking about you.”

A smile spread across Hermione’s face as she rolled on top of him. “With a line like that, you’ll get lucky every time.”

---

“Hello, Hermione.”

Hermione bolted upright in bed, groping for her wand and looking around frantically for the source of the voice she just heard. She gasped when her eyes settled on a shadowed figure sitting nonchalantly on the dresser. She grabbed the sheet and pulled it up, covering her exposed breasts. Grasping the sheet in one hand and pointing her wand at the intruder with the other, she looked over at Harry to find him on his stomach, in a deep sleep.

“You’re asleep, too,” the voice said, bemused.

Hermione’s eyes darted back to the figure, which was walking toward the bed. Hermione gripped her wand tighter, a long list of hexes running through her brain. As the person came closer, the light from the window bathed her in moonlight, revealing her to be a young woman with long red hair and startling green eyes.

“Lily?” Hermione said in amazement.

“Yes, I’m a bit shocked to be here, too.”

“Here? Where is here? You said I was dreaming.”

“You are.”

“But there is no here or there in dreams. It is all in your mind.”

“Surely after all Harry went through in his younger years, you know that there is much more to dreams than the workings of the subconscious.”

Hermione was stumped into silence. She knew from a theoretical standpoint that dreams were a portal into another world, but theory and reality were two different things.

“You’re having a hard time with this, aren’t you? That’s all right. Take your time.” Lily walked around the bed and stood looking down at Harry. “He is handsome, isn’t he? He looks so much like James,” she whispered.

Hermione became acutely aware that, dream or not, she was lying in bed naked with her boyfriend’s mother in the same room. She pulled the sheet a bit closer to herself and shifted back in the bed, resting her back against the headboard.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Hermione. I’ve seen it all.”

“You’ve seen…?” Hermione gasped, images of spirits peering down from heaven watching Harry and her make love caused her to cringe.

“Oh, no! Not technically,” Lily laughed. “You do take everything literally, don’t you? Just like me, I guess.”

Lily walked around to Hermione’s side of the bed and sat down at her feet. Reflexively, Hermione moved her feet to allow room, but realized when she felt no weight on the bed that this gesture was unnecessary.

“So,” said Lily.

Hermione looked at her, eyebrows raised in question. “So?”

“You called me here. I assume you have something you want to talk about.”

“I called you here? No, I don’t think so. How could I do that?”

Lily made a small gesture with her head, and Hermione looked down at the locket resting on her bare chest. “Oh!” In the shock of seeing Harry’s mother, she had completely forgotten about the locket around her neck and the fact that it had magical powers tied to it.

“But Dumbledore told Harry that the locket was tied to you and wouldn’t effect anyone else.”

“Yes, he did. As I said, I’m not sure how this has happened. It is tied to me. My guess is the particular power the locket had in my possession would not reveal itself in your possession. Apparently, this locket has more secrets than we realized.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Does this mean you are going to haunt my dreams?”

“Like Harry’s eyes?” Lily said with mirth.

Hermione gasped and Lily laughed. “You know, now I see the appeal James saw in winding me up all those years. Relax, Hermione. I’m dead. I’m not judging you. In fact, I like you very, very much.” Lily patted Hermione’s knee and somehow, Hermione felt the warmth of her hand.

“In answer to your question, no, I am not going to haunt your dreams. And I have to say, that was a very good line you used on my son. Sirius in particular thought it rather poetic.”

Hermione groaned and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the headboard. She hadn’t even considered that there was a group of spirits watching her every interaction with Harry. She only hoped her parents weren’t part and parcel to the proceedings. She couldn’t bear the thought of that.

“I have an idea about why you called me here. Would you like to hear it?”

“As long as it has nothing to do with our sex life, yes.”

Lily laughed, a deep throaty sound that warmed Hermione. After a moment, the laughter died and her expression turned serious. “You are wondering if it was you I saw in my visions, aren’t you?”

Hermione’s mouth opened in astonishment. That was exactly it, although the realization didn’t hit Hermione until the words floated from Lily’s mouth. The idea that Harry was wrong about Hermione and that Lily had seen someone else in Harry’s future had been nesting in a small part of her brain.

“I guess I am,” Hermione replied.

Lily nodded, taking Hermione’s measure. “What do you think?”

“I have no idea. I didn’t have the vision.”

“You don’t believe in the inner eye. Why would it matter if it was or wasn’t you?”

“I…” Hermione stopped, trying to find a polite way to agree and still get the answer to her question.

“Don’t worry, you aren’t going to insult me. I was very skeptical, as well, in the beginning. I read every book I could find on it, believe me.”

“I read the book you mentioned in your letter, about the connection between love and magic.”

“Did you?”

“Years ago.”

“You are a clever girl, Hermione. You never answered my question.”

Hermione couldn’t remember the question.

“What do you think?” Lily repeated patiently.

Hermione looked over at Harry, his face unlined and relaxed in sleep. “I want it to be me,” she whispered, running her fingers softly through his hair.

“You make him very happy, you know.”

Hermione looked up at Lily, tears clouding her vision, making Lily look less solid. “I hope so.”

“He isn’t perfect, Hermione. You’ll go through very rough times. All people that love each other do. But your love, the connection you have, will get you through it. Trust me on that.”

Hermione nodded her head and sniffed loudly, wiping tears from her eyes.

“I should go now. You need your sleep. The students return tomorrow.”

“Don’t remind me,” Hermione said wryly. “Should I tell Harry about our conversation? This connection?”

Lily shrugged her shoulders. “If you’d like.”

“If Harry wore the necklace, would he be able to talk to you?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, looking at Harry wistfully. “He has finally found a bit of peace. I don’t know that he needs us anymore.” She looked up at Hermione. “He has you.”

Hermione’s eyes became heavy with sleep. She forced them open and said groggily. “You never really answered the question, if it was I you saw in the vision.”

Lily glided closer to Hermione and bent down, her face mere inches from Hermione’s. “You answered the question yourself,” and Hermione fell into a deep, green pool of sleep.

Chapter 17 Notes and Letters

“You left me a note?”

Hermione’s joy at seeing Harry evaporated in the face of his anger as he brushed past her into her room.

“I wake up this morning, expecting to feel you when I reach across the bed, but instead of a warm body, I get a bloody paper cut!” He yelled the last three words, holding up his index finger, donned with a fresh plaster.

“I just thought that…”

“I know what you thought,” he interrupted, shaking the note at her. He snapped it out and pulled it to his face and began reading.

Dear Harry,

I just can’t bear the thought of saying goodbye to you, even if it is only “See you later today.” The thought of not spending every minute with you is more than I can take.

To spare us an emotionally overwrought parting scene, I am returning to the castle while you sleep. Please come to the castle as soon as you wake up so we can have breakfast together. I miss you already.

I love you,

Hermione

“Did you honestly think this would be better?”

“Harry, I…”

“Did you even stop to think about how I would feel when I was expecting you to be there?”

“I don’t think…”

“Too right! You didn’t think!”

“Now, wait just a minute! You are overreacting just a bit, here.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. I only left your house an hour ago.”

“It isn’t about you leaving, it’s about how you left. This,” he shook the note, “was a rather cowardly thing to do.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I guess you are the expert on leaving inadequate notes, aren’t you?” Hermione replied scathingly.

At that statement, all of Harry’s righteous indignation seemed to deflate from him and his shoulders drooped as a result. He looked down at the floor and Hermione was filled with a mixture of shame and residual anger at him for the things he had just said to her.

“Is that why you did it? To get back at me?” he asked quietly.

“NO!” Hermione replied quickly. “I swear, Harry. I don’t know why I just said that. It just slipped out.”

“I thought we were past that.”

Hermione opened her mouth to automatically reassure Harry, then stopped, choosing her words carefully. “We are past it, Harry. But I’ll be honest with you. Part of me is still angry at the years we lost, especially after spending the last week with you. But if you hadn’t gone away, who can say that we would have fallen in love? It is part of our history, part of how and why we are standing here today. It will never leave us completely.” She walked a step closer to him. “I shouldn’t have thrown it in your face. I’m sorry.”

She placed her hand on his cheek, felt the stubble of his beard, and noticed his disheveled appearance for the first time. “I left before you woke up because I knew that I would be a blubbering idiot if I left when you were awake. I took the easy way out because I was embarrassed with my tenuous grasp on my emotions. There was no conscious or subconscious agenda on my part to ‘get back at you.’ The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his head in her shoulder. “I’m sorry I overreacted. I was so upset when you weren’t there. I’m used to you being beside me. I’m not ready for that to end.”

“Me neither.” With those two words Hermione saw relief wash over Harry and she understood. The cause of Harry’s overreaction wasn’t the note or even the fact that she was gone when he woke up. Hiding beneath the outer defenses of Harry’s personality, lived the boy who spent the majority of his childhood with people that didn’t love him — people that told him at every opportunity that he was worthless and a burden. She felt a pang of guilt that perhaps she hadn’t done all she could over the last week to reassure Harry that she loved him — that he was indeed worthy of being loved.

She framed his face with her hands. “Harry,” she whispered, gently kissing him on the lips. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.

A sheepish look crossed Harry’s face. “You’re wondering right now what life is going to be like having to constantly reassure me that you love me, aren’t you?”

“No. You’ll probably get sick of hearing me say it over and over again before I ever tire of saying it.”

“I doubt that.”

She ran her hand through his hair and smiled up at him. “I’ve been dreading being separated from you since the first morning we were together.”

Her admission was rewarded with a broad grin. “So what are we going to do about it?” He pulled her closer and began placing dramatic, smacking kisses on her neck.

“I don’t know,” she said, giggling at the playful air bubbles he was blowing on her neck. “If you lived in the castle it would be much easier, you know.”

“It might be a little obvious if I requested a room now, considering the circumstances.”

“I agree. And as a resident professor, I’m on call all the time. I can’t sneak off to your house.”

He lifted his head from her neck. “Then I’ll just have to sneak up here. How thick are these walls, anyway?” he asked looking around thoughtfully.

“I’m sure we can find a charm to make them soundproof if need be.”

“Problem solved,” Harry said, lightly touching his lips to Hermione’s. “I’m really sorry for the way I acted. Forgive me?”

“Of course.”

“Hem-hem.”

Hermione and Harry both started as the sound of a third person’s voice filled the room. Hermione looked over to the fireplace to see Remus Lupin’s head in the flames, a chagrined look on his face.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Hermione.”

“Remus! You aren’t interrupting anything,” Hermione said, pulling away and walking over to kneel in front of the fire. “We were just talking.”

“Hi, Remus,” Harry said with a wave.

“Harry. Sorry I missed you two when you were in London last week.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t stay around to see you. We were just there for a few hours.”

“Did you need something, Remus?” Hermione asked.

“I was wondering if I might be able to come to Hogwarts tonight and meet with you. There have been some new developments with the Ministry and the ABMB that I wanted to talk to you about in person.”

“What developments?” Hermione asked warily.

“Nothing sinister, I assure you. What would be a good time?”

“How about 6:00?”

“Excellent.” Remus looked from Hermione to Harry and said with a smile. “I understand that congratulations are in order.”

Hermione laughed. “I guess so. Did you hear it from Molly?”

The smile slid a bit from Remus’ face. “No. Have you not seen the Daily Prophet today?”

“No. Did we make the paper?” Hermione asked with a chuckle.

“You could say that,” Remus said quickly. “Well, see you tonight then. Bye, Harry!”

“Bye, Remus!” and with a pop, Hermione’s fire returned to its normal state.

Hermione stood up and turned to Harry, a concerned look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I just wonder what Remus needs to talk to me about. He has never come here personally, everything I do can be handled by floo or owl.” She shook her head and looked up to Harry with a smile. “Ready for breakfast?”

---

They walked into a Great Hall that was deserted save for the head table. Harry could tell from the reaction of the teachers present that Minerva had not told anyone of the change in their relationship, and the Daily Prophet had not been delivered yet.

They sat down beside Neville and began filling their plates with food. Harry watched Hermione pile eggs, bacon, potatoes and toast on her plate. She was pouring a glass of pumpkin juice when he caught her eye.

“I’ve never seen you eat that much in my life.”

She leaned closer to him and whispered. “I must confess, I have missed the castle food this past week.”

Harry feigned shock. “Me, too,” he replied, filling his plate as well. “I have a feeling we will be in for a case of serious malnourishment if we ever have to rely on our cooking skills to survive.”

“Too right.”

Their toast had scarcely been buttered before the owl post swooped through the high windows of the Great Hall. A newspaper was dropped in front of a handful of teachers, including Hermione. Hermione placed a knut in the leather pouch as Harry grabbed the paper and scanned the front page. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

The entire front page was covered with a picture of the two of them from the night before, standing in front of Flourish and Blotts snogging. The banner headline read “Friends and Lovers.” Hermione gasped when she saw the picture, which was presently showing them laughing while watching the fairies write “Snog Alert” above their heads.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered.

Harry opened the paper to find six pages dedicated to them — articles on their history, pictures of Harry from the Triwizard Tournament, pictures of the two of them at Ron’s funeral, a picture of Hermione giving a lecture for the ABMB, and a report on speculations from ”a source close to the couple” on their relationship.

Harry felt his face begin to burn and anger well up inside him with a force he hadn’t felt in years. He clutched his hands around the paper, as if squeezing it would destroy the images and words staring back up at him. He felt an almost uncontrollable urge to scream in frustration.

Is this what my life is going to be like? Am I ever going to be able to have something of my own, something unspoiled by people who don’t know me? Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?

He felt Hermione’s hand on his, and he instantly relaxed. “Harry, calm down,” she said soothingly. “I can tell this is upsetting you. Don’t let it.”

“Look at what they’ve done!” he said in a low growl. “They’ve plastered our life all over the paper. They’ve taken away our privacy!”

“Harry,” Hermione continued, in the same aggravatingly smooth voice. “Everything they have is old news. They have just pulled up past articles about us and updated them a bit. There is nothing new here.”

“Nothing new?” Harry said incredulously, closing the paper to reveal the picture on the front page. “What do you call this?”

“I call that someone getting a lot of money for being lucky enough to have a camera last night. They have that picture and a few people saying they saw us.” Hermione looked him in the eyes with an almost stern expression. She leaned forward and lowered her voice even more. “They have nothing personal about us, and they never will. There is much more to our relationship than people seeing us snogging in Diagon Alley. I understand that this has upset you, but we can’t let it show. If we do, then they win.”

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Professor Sprout standing there with a huge smile on her face. “I am so happy for the two of you!” she said, and to Harry’s surprise, she kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you,” Hermione said warmly.

“I think it is repulsive how the paper plastered you on the front cover like that. As if a couple kissing on New Year’s Eve is front-page news. Hrumph! Must be a slow news day, I say.” She patted Harry on the shoulder. “Don’t let them get you down, Harry.”

Harry watched Professor Sprout walk out of the hall and turned his attention to the other teachers at the table. A few were staring at them, others continued eating and were reading other sections of the paper, seemingly ignoring the story about them. His eyes settled on Snape, who was staring at Hermione with a startled look on his face. Hermione, looking at the paper and playing with her locket while munching on a piece of toast, was oblivious to Snape’s gaze. Harry looked from Hermione to Snape and caught his eye. For a split second, Harry saw a pained expression there before Snape quickly replaced the mask of scorn he wore so well. Snape then abruptly rose from his chair and strode from the hall.

Breakfast continued without incident, punctuated by teachers stopping by and giving their well wishes and support. As they were readying themselves to leave, Hermione pulled Harry over to talk to Minerva.

“Minerva, we are so sorry. We thought something might be in the paper after going out in public last night. Obviously, we didn’t expect this.” She gestured toward the picture on the front page.

“It seems you took my advice to the extreme.”

Hermione looked sheepish. “Maybe just a bit.”

“You remember our conversation, then. I’m sure you have related it to Harry, but just in case anything got lost in translation I will tell you both. I expect you to behave in a manner befitting Hogwarts’ professors, here and in public. Anything you do will reflect on this institution. I don’t expect you to pretend that you aren’t in a relationship, but discretion and decorum is key. You are both intelligent and I have complete trust in your abilities to handle yourselves appropriately.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison, Harry feeling acutely like a 12 year old being punished for being out after hours.

Minerva held open the paper she had tucked under her arm and looked at the front page, her mouth drawn precisely in a straight line. She looked over her square spectacles at them and struggled to restrain a smile. “That is quite some kiss, Miss Granger,” she said, walking out of the hall.

---

Harry walked rapidly down the deserted corridor, anxious to see Hermione. It had been 12 hours since he had seen her last, the longest 12 hours of his life. He slowed his pace upon hearing voices and saw the Head Girl and Boy round the corner, talking animatedly about their holidays. Harry stood stock still by a suit of armor, hidden by his invisibility cloak, and waited for the two to pass.

At least they aren’t talking about Hermione and me.

Once they had turned the corner and their voices had died out, he began again, almost running in his haste to hold Hermione once more. Numerous times during the day he had caught himself staring off into space for minutes at a time, thinking about Hermione, each time a large smile plastered on his face. He was sure he looked like an idiot, but he didn’t particularly care.

He was in love.

More amazing than that, Hermione loved him.

He felt a deep sense of satisfaction because of it. The decision to return to England, which he had agonized over for years, was finally validated. He had finally gotten the girl that he had wanted for seven years. He was loved. The happiness he had been searching his entire life for was within his grasp.

That was the easy part. The trick is to not mess it up.

Keeping his invisibility cloak on, he knocked softly on Hermione’s door.

“It’s me,” he whispered when she opened the door.

She stepped back and held the door open wider for him to enter. Before she had turned around from closing the door, Harry had thrown the cloak off and gathered her in his arms, frantically kissing the back of her neck, tantalizingly exposed by virtue of her hair being piled messily on top of her head, held together with a clip.

“Tell me you missed me as much as I missed you,” he said hoarsely, his body reacting to the feel of her pressed against him.

She leaned her head back onto his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his head, playing with his hair. “Why don’t I show you, instead?”

“Even better.”

She turned around to face him, pressing her body to his and kissing him forcefully. Harry moaned in pleasure as she wrapped one leg around him and pulled him to her. He felt the warm, smooth skin of her back as his hands traveled up her shirt to unclasp her bra. He felt her hands slide along the muscles of his back, her touch sending tremors of pleasure through his body.

“I’ve been daydreaming about you all day,” he murmured.

Hermione stopped her hands’ exploration and dropped her leg to the floor, a dazed look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked puzzled.

“I completely forgot to tell you,” she said.

“Tell me what?”

“I had a dream last night.”

Harry gave her a lopsided smile. “Was I in this dream?”

“No, your mother was.”

“My mum?”

“Odd. I know.”

“Not that odd, really. You just heard her voice reading a letter to me and I gave you something of hers. I’m sure she was on your mind on a subconscious level. But what does that have to do with this?” He asked, gesturing between the two of them.

“I got the distinct impression that they…watch us,” Hermione said with embarrassment.

“They? They who?”

“Your mum, dad, Sirius.”

Harry’s brain, which only minutes before had been muddled with desire, cleared as he finally comprehended why Hermione was embarrassed. He tried to keep the humor out of his voice. “Oh, they watch us make love,” he said sagely. “Right, so you are embarrassed because you think we have a heavenly audience watching and critiquing our every move.”

Hermione’s face turned a shade of red that Harry was quite sure he had never seen before, especially from practical, logical Hermione.

He put his arms around her waist. “Sweetheart, it was just a dream. There is no one watching us, and so what if they are? I’m certain they are just jealous, living vicariously through us and all that,” he finished with a smirk.

Hermione tried to suppress a smile. “You are taking the piss, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. I’ve told you I would never laugh at the woman I love.” He bent his head down, but kept his eyes on Hermione, trying and failing to keep his good-natured laughter from bursting forth. After a minute, he wiped tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Hermione was standing with her arms crossed protectively over her chest looking none too pleased at his outburst.

“Does this mean we will never make love again?” Harry asked innocently.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond as Harry slid his hands up the back of her blouse and gently rubbed her back. “Because, if so, I’m really going to miss seeing that look you get,” Harry said.

“What look?”

“The one where you bite your lower lip and close your eyes when I do this.” Hermione jumped slightly and dropped her arms. “That look,” Harry whispered, kissing her jaw.

“I’m also going to miss the sound you make when I do this,” he said softly into her ear, just before a squeak escaped her throat. “And that humming noise you make,” he said hoarsely. “The sound I kept hearing over and over in my head today.”

He looked her in the eyes as he began to unbutton her top. “But I understand if you want to stop making love because of a dream. Dreams are very powerful. After all, it was my dreams about you that made me come back. It was the slim chance that they might come true that brought me back to Hogwarts.”

“Your powers of persuasion are very impressive, Mr. Potter,” Hermione said as she lifted his shirt over his head. Harry closed his eyes as her fingers scratched lightly down his chest.

“It’s a cause I believe in,” he mumbled.

“That’s obvious,” Hermione said with a smirk.

Harry lifted Hermione from the ground and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He then carried her to the bed where he laid her down and kissed her tenderly.

“How thick are these walls again?” he asked, kissing down her neck.

“That’s all taken care of.”

Her looked down at her with a smirk. “My, my, aren’t we sure of ourselves?”

“Very.”

---

“This bed is a bit small for two people, isn’t it?” Harry said as he squirmed toward the middle of the bed.

“Just a bit.”

Hermione was on her side, her body draped halfway over Harry’s. Her head was pillowed in the crook of his arm and shoulder, his hand gently stroking up and down her arm. Her legs were intertwined with his in an attempt to keep from falling off the bed.

“If this is the position we have to be in to make it work, I guess I can’t complain,” Harry said, wrapping his arms tighter around her and kissing her on the forehead. “How was your meeting with Remus?”

“A bit shocking, truth be told.”

“Why?”

“It wasn’t just Remus. Amelia Bones was there, too.”

“The Minister of Magic? Why?”

“It seems that the Ministry of Magic has decided that the work the ABMB is doing is worthy of a Ministry department.”

“Really?” Harry said with interest. “What does that mean for ABMB?”

“We will turn into more of a watchdog group. The Ministry wants the education and training aspect to be under their control — set policies, pass laws protecting Magical Brethren rather than oppressing or regulating them.”

Harry pulled his head back as far as the bed would allow to look at Hermione. “This means that all of your work for the past five years has paid off! The magical world is accepting them as equals.”

“We still have a long way to go. But it is the biggest sign to date that we are making progress.”

“Who would have ever thought that SPEW would be so successful?”

“Honestly! It wasn’t ‘SPEW,’ Harry,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes and tracing her fingers along Harry’s hipbone and down his thigh, distracting him somewhat. “There’s more.”

“That tickles,” he said.

“It isn’t supposed to hurt.”

“Oh. Then mission accomplished. What else?”

“They want me to head the department.”

“She offered you a job at the Ministry?”

“Yes.”

Harry looked down at Hermione and saw a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. He could almost feel the gears in her mind churning with ideas and lists of things to do.

“What did you say?”

“That I needed to think about it.”

“Why? I can see in your eyes that you want the job.”

“Of course I want it. But it seemed like something I should at least pretend to think about. It is a major career move after all.”

“What did Remus think?”

“He was the one that recommended me for the job. Dumbledore has been pushing for a ministry department like this for years. Once Amelia agreed, her initial choice for the department head was Remus. Considering they were classmates at Hogwarts, that isn’t a surprise. But he doesn’t want the job. Says he is too old for the bureaucracy. He would rather be the watchdog.”

“When would you start?”

“They understand about my responsibilities here and know how difficult it will be to find a Transfiguration Professor. They can wait until term ends, if need be.”

Harry felt Hermione’s hand rub large looping circles over his chest, travel down his hip and back up. “Are you trying to end this conversation?”

“No, why?” Hermione asked puzzled.

“Because if you keep doing that, I’ll be incoherent in about ten seconds.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, resting her hand on his hip. “So, what do you think?”

“I’m thinking you shouldn’t have stopped what you were doing.”

“About the job offer, silly!”

“Right.” He tapped his forehead with his hand. “Focus, Harry, focus! Okay, job offer. What do I think? I think you should do what you want to do.”

“You don’t have an opinion at all?”

“What if my opinion was to not take the job?”

“Is that your opinion?” she asked, sitting up to look at him.

Harry brushed her hair out of her face and rubbed his hand down her arm. “No. It’s your decision, Hermione. Not mine.”

“It affects you.”

“Does it?” Harry said, raising his eyebrows.

“Of course it does. Just as any decision you make about your future would affect me.”

Harry smiled and pulled her body down on top of his. “I guess there would be quite a few perks being married to the Minister of Magic.”

“Minister of Magic? Harry, they didn’t…” Hermione’s words trailed off and she looked at Harry with wide eyes. “Did you just say married?”

“Did I?” Harry asked innocently.

Hermione nodded her head, her mouth gaping open slightly.

“Surely that isn’t a surprise to you, is it?”

“No, it just seems…” Hermione stopped as if searching for words.

“Too soon?” Harry finished, holding her eyes with his.

“No,” she whispered. “Too good to be true.”

“What does? Being married to me? Or being the Minister of Magic?” Harry said, teasingly.

“I’ve always wanted to be the Minister of Magic. I haven’t always wanted to be married to you,” she rejoined with a grin.

“Ouch! You really know how to cut a man down,” Harry said tickling her. She squirmed, trying to escape his grasp, and his body reacted immediately. “Stop!” he said abruptly.

“Why?” Hermione asked in confusion.

In answer, he placed his hands on her hips and moved her down his body. He swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to control the urge to ravish her until he finished telling her what he needed her to know.

“Hermione, I want to marry you,” he said, looking into her desire-filled eyes. “This isn’t a proposal — not yet. But it is a promise.”

Hermione placed her hands on either side of Harry’s head while she hovered over him, her hair falling in curtains around them, secluding them from the world. She teasingly nipped his lips. “Since it isn’t a proposal,” she whispered between nips, “I reckon saying ‘yes’ would be premature. So instead I’ll give you a promise in return.” She leaned down and whispered in his ear, “I promise I won’t say no.”

---

The next morning, before breakfast, Hermione ascended the spiral staircase to talk to the woman she considered her surrogate mother.

Ten minutes later, Minerva sat behind her desk, a stunned expression on her face. Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her chair, watching Minerva’s reaction. She hadn’t known what to expect from her, but shocked silence wasn’t on the list of possible reactions.

“Minerva?” Hermione asked tentatively.

Minerva shook her head slightly and smiled at Hermione. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m just a bit surprised. This was the last thing I was expecting you to say.”

“You aren’t the only one.”

With a wave of her wand, a tray of tea and scones appeared on her desk and Minerva began busying herself with the preparation of their tea. “When do you start?” Minerva inquired.

“I haven’t accepted the job.”

Minerva looked up sharply, pausing in the act of pouring her tea. “Why not?”

“I wanted to think about it.” Hermione paused. “And talk to you about it.”

Minerva smiled and continued pouring the tea. “And Harry?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said I should do what I want.”

“Is that all?”

“More or less,” Hermione replied, blowing on her tea, smiling slightly as she remembered the rest of the conversation…and what followed it.

Minerva chuckled and Hermione looked up. “You don’t have to be an occlumens to know what you are thinking about, Hermione.”

Hermione laughed. “I don’t think anyone would ever believe the racy undertones of the conversations I have with you. I’m not sure I believe it!”

“You’d better not tell and ruin my reputation as a stern headmistress.”

“I am a very good secret keeper.”

Minerva offered the plate of scones to Hermione, who waved her hand in refusal. “Back to the job offer. Do you want to take it?”

Hermione hesitated slightly before answering. “Yes, I do.”

“Then you should.”

“But what about…”

“I don’t want you to worry about Hogwarts or me, for that matter. We will find a replacement. I’m quite sure it will be a downgrade at the position, unless I can convince Albus to come out of retirement. But nevertheless, we will survive.”

“Amelia is aware of how difficult finding a Transfiguration Professor will be, so she is willing to wait until the end of term.”

“I will begin discrete inquiries today, though. I’m sure you are anxious to start.”

“Actually, I feel somewhat obligated to finish the term out. I would hate for a mid-year transition to affect the test scores of my 5^th and 7^th year students.”

“I’m sure by the time a replacement is found your students will be mainly reviewing for their exams. We will worry about that when the time comes.”

“Thank you, Minerva.”

“For what?”

“Being so supportive and understanding.”

Minerva rose and sat in the chair next to Hermione, taking her hand. “I am going to miss you, Hermione,” she said softly. “I knew when you took this job that you wouldn’t stay forever. As much as I would have loved for you to become Headmistress after me, I know that teaching isn’t where your heart is. This job at the Ministry sounds perfect for you.”

“I won’t be going far. I’ll only be working in London. I will be living in Hogsmeade.”

“Harry doesn’t want to move to London?”

“Who said I would be living with Harry?”

Minerva gave her a knowing look.

Hermione smiled and continued, “Okay, you’re right. The people of Hogsmeade leave Harry alone. They are very nonchalant about who he is, and they treat him like any other wizard. I don’t think we could find that in London. Especially considering the tone of yesterday’s Daily Prophet.”

Minerva’s face darkened. “I feel certain we haven’t seen the end of that.”

Hermione sighed. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“Does it bother you at all?” Minerva asked gently.

“Nothing like it bothers Harry. I’ve always had to pretend things like that don’t bother me for Harry’s sake. If he had the tiniest inkling that I was uncomfortable with the publicity, he would…well, I’m not sure what he would do. But it wouldn’t be pretty.” Hermione took a small sip of her tea. “Have any of the other professors said anything to you about us?” she asked tentatively.

“A few. Sibyll Trelawney, of course, said she predicted it, the batty old cow,” Minerva said disdainfully.

Hermione gasped and Minerva looked slightly chagrined. “I would never say that to anyone but you, you do know?”

Hermione laughed at the abashed look on Minerva’s face. “I know. Harry told me she predicted something about us in his seventh year, but I rather thought he was using a line to get me in bed.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Not that night, no.” They looked at each other and burst out laughing. Minerva got up, shaking her head with mirth and returned to her chair behind her desk.

“The teachers are very supportive. No need to worry about them.”

“Even Severus?”

“Of course not. But he will leave you alone. Trust me,” she said with finality.

“Good. Snide comments from Snape just might send Harry around the twist.”

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“No, not at all.”

---

The night before Hermione’s conversation with Minerva, Harry had left, reluctantly, at midnight.

And so their routine began. Harry would sneak to Hermione’s room each night after dinner using his invisibility cloak, and he’d leave around midnight in the same manner. Although their fellow teachers were supportive of their relationship, both Harry and Hermione felt it would be more comfortable for everyone involved if their time together was assumed rather than seen.

They tried to act as nonchalant and normal as possible around each other, especially during meal times in the Great Hall, even going so far as to sit separately. Whether sitting next to each other or not, the whispers and stares followed them. When sitting together, Hermione heard comments that were meant to be spoken out of earshot.

Aren’t they cute? I wonder if he is a good kisser. What does he see in her? I bet Professor Granger is hot in bed!

That particular comment earned a stern glare from Hermione, who was inwardly thinking You bet your arse I’m hot in bed. When sitting apart they each heard whispered concerns about the health of their relationship and bets being taken on when it would end.

Both Harry and Hermione expected to be flooded with owls. Although they did receive quite a few, it was nothing compared to Minerva, who was getting inundated.

The day after the story of their relationship broke, a follow-up story was printed in the Daily Prophet questioning Hogwarts’ policy on teacher fraternization. Full of errors, an incorrect policy and quotes from ”unnamed sources in the castle,” Hermione summarily dismissed the article as the reporter creating news where there wasn’t any. However, the students’ parents saw it differently. Minerva was swamped with angry letters from parents all but blaming Minerva and Hogwarts for the moral decay of wizarding society.

Loathe though she was to address something so inherently flawed, Minerva went on record with the Daily Prophet, explaining the policy in detail and supporting Harry and Hermione without reservation. Teachers and students were also interviewed and related their accounts of Harry and Hermione’s relationship and public interactions. All but a few said that if the Daily Prophet hadn’t announced it to the world they wouldn’t be able to tell they were a couple.

With the printing of each new story, Hermione watched Harry seethe a little more. She would calm him down and reassure him that the attention didn’t bother her. He would smile at her and turn back to his breakfast, attempting to hide his anger, with little success.

Since Hermione wouldn’t be starting her new position at the Ministry until a replacement was found or after the term ended, everyone agreed that it would be best to hold the announcement until the media’s infatuation with Harry and Hermione died down. Because of the difficulty of the Transfiguration position, a search for a replacement would most likely be a long process. As promised, Minerva quickly began discrete inquiries into finding a replacement for Hermione.

Less than a week later, the story hit the Daily Prophet.

“Right. That’s it. They’ve gone too far,” Harry fumed.

“What is it this time?” Hermione resignedly asked, beginning their daily ritual.

GRANGER BEING PUSHED OUT OF HOGWARTS

The search is on for a new Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Reliable sources have confirmed that Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, is making discrete inquiries into hiring a replacement for current Transfiguration Professor, Hermione Granger.

“The distraction of her relationship with Harry Potter is just too much for the students of the school,” this source said, on condition of anonymity. “The students have lost all respect for her and her classes apparently are disorderly as a result. There is serious concern that her 5^th and 7^th year students may fail their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s as a result.”

Ms. Granger was hired four years ago as the youngest Transfiguration Professor in Hogwarts history under protest from many in the wizarding world. “Its common knowledge that the only reason she got the job was because of her role in defeating You-Know-Who and her personal relationship with Headmistress McGonagall. She wasn’t qualified for the job,” the source continued.

At the printing of this paper, the status of Harry Potter’s job is unclear.

Harry let out a low growl and wadded the paper up in frustration. Students were looking at the head table and whispering, shifting their eyes between Hermione, Harry and Minerva. Minerva was reading the article with a frown, holding her spoon in midair above her bowl of porridge. Hermione turned to Harry, who was rising to leave.

“Well, well, well,” a silky voice whispered behind her. Hermione groaned inwardly as the sound of Snape’s disdain invaded her thoughts. Harry tensed and rose to face Snape.

“Hello, Severus. I wondered what was taking you so long to offer your congratulations to us. Should I expect a smile and a slap on the back? Or perhaps a knife in the back is more appropriate?”

Snape’s sneer faltered a bit, before resting on Hermione. He looked down almost imperceptively at her necklace before saying, “I see you have a new piece of jewelry.”

Hermione glanced at Harry, whose eyes were narrowed at Snape. “Yes, I do. It belonged to Harry’s mother.”

“Yes,” Snape said slowly. “I know.”

Harry stepped forward, his fists clenched. “Harry!” Hermione said sharply, nodding her head toward the students. He took a deep breath and forced a smile on his face and said through gritted teeth. “If I find out that the ‘source’ in the Daily Prophet is you, you will regret it. Trust me.”

“Severus!” Minerva called as Snape opened his mouth to reply. He looked over at her and back at Harry. His lip curled into a lopsided sneer and he turned and walked away.

Hermione felt angry energy emitting from Harry. She grabbed his arm and said, “Promise me you won’t do anything rash.”

The smile he attempted was more of a grimace in Hermione’s opinion. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, the first gesture of affection either had shown the other in public. “I love you,” he said, and then he turned and walked out of the hall.

“Hermione?”

She turned to see Minerva standing to leave. “I think it is time we went on the offensive, don’t you think?”

Hermione smiled and rose to leave as well. “I couldn’t agree more.”

---

In the dying light of late afternoon, Hermione walked across the snow-covered grounds to the Quidditch Pitch to surprise Harry. She huddled down in her cloak, and her breath was captured by the scarf wrapped around her face and neck, giving her a sense of warmth not shared by her watering eyes.

She knocked rapidly on the door to Harry’s office, hopping on her feet to retain a modicum of the warmth her body had generated on the trek from the castle. Harry opened the door with a puzzled look on his face, clearly not expecting a visitor. His nonplussed expression changed to one of glee as he pulled her into his office and wrapped his arms around her.

“A surprise visit from my girlfriend! What a way to end the day,” he said, kissing her lightly on the lips.

“How was your day?”

“Getting better by the minute,” he said, pulling her scarf from around her throat and nuzzling her neck behind her ear. “I’ve missed you.”

Hermione leaned back against his arms and pulled his head back to look at his eyes. “I’ve missed you, too.” Hermione laughed. “God, we’re sappy! We’ve not seen each other for eight hours but you’d think it had been a lifetime.”

Harry gave her a lopsided grin. “I know. Aren’t we disgusting?”

“Very.” Hermione removed her cloak and tossed it on a chair.

“So how was your day,” Harry asked, walking behind his desk and sitting down.

“Very good. Minerva and I had a floo conference with Amelia this morning after breakfast. The Ministry and Hogwarts have put together a joint press release detailing the new Ministry department, my new job and the resulting search for a Transfiguration Professor.” Hermione sat down in the chair in front of Harry’s desk that was not holding her cloak. “We realize now that we should have done that to begin with, but this should rectify the problem. The story should run tomorrow in the Daily Prophet. I think Luna is putting a special edition of The Quibbler out for it.” She laughed and shook her head. “It’s funny how The Quibbler and the Daily Prophet have almost switched formats. Luna has stayed out of the fray on our relationship, saying today when I talked to her, and I quote, ‘No offense, Hermione, but your love life just isn’t news.’”

Hermione’s laughter died in her throat when she looked up at Harry, whose eyes were wide and his face ashen.

“What’s wrong?”

Harry opened his mouth to say something and instead a long sigh, almost a groan, escaped his throat. He looked down at his desk, pushed the grade book sitting in front of him away and dropped his quill. He rested his head in his hand and squeezed the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes. Still holding the bridge of his nose, he looked up at Hermione. “I sent a letter to the Daily Prophet today.”

“You did what?”

“I wrote a letter to the editor of the Daily Prophet.”

That’s what I thought he said.

“Oh, Harry. Why would you do such a thing?”

Harry rose from his chair and walked quickly around his desk. “Now, before you get mad, just listen. I got tired of them dragging your name through the mud. You act like it doesn’t bother you, but I know it does. It must!”

“What did the letter say?”

Harry cleared his throat and he said rather quickly, “Basically that they were printing inaccurate stories, their journalistic integrity was seriously in question, and that our relationship was private and not fodder for imaginative journalists trying to make a name for themselves by ruining other people’s lives.”

“Jesus Christ, Harry!” Hermione said, jumping up from her chair. “Why not just paint a target on our foreheads? That isn’t going to stop them. It’s only going to egg them on!” Hermione began to stalk back and forth across the room. Anger at Harry, as well as at their situation, rose in her and seeped through every pore of her skin. “Did it even occur to you that you should talk to me about this?”

His silent stare answered her question and fanned the flames of her anger.

“Don’t just stand there! Answer me!”

Harry’s eyes flashed. “No, I didn’t think to ask you.”

“Arrrrgh!” Hermione growled, and began pacing back and forth again. She knew she was overreacting, but for once in her life, her instincts were centered on her emotions. The anger at the media that she had harbored for weeks now and hidden so well from Harry was flowing through her in torrents. The loss of control she had felt since she had given her heart to Harry finally broke something in her, and she felt her body begin to tremble in an uncharacteristic rage.

“Hermione, I’m sorry. I had no idea sending the letter would make you so angry.”

“This isn’t about the letter, Harry.”

“Then what is it about?”

“This is just one more example of you deciding what is best for everyone else without consulting them about it.”

“I wasn’t deciding what is best for you! I was trying to protect you!”

“I DON’T NEED YOUR PROTECTION!”

“Guess what, Hermione? That’s part of being in a relationship! Learning to depend on someone else. Having someone who’ll support you in a crisis. Having someone who’ll protect you from other people that are trying to hurt you. I’m sorry that that is so offensive to your sense of independence. But if you are going to be with me, that’s going to come with the territory. I’m not going to ignore something like this just because you are afraid that depending on me is going to somehow make you lose your identity.”

“And another part of being in a relationship is talking to the other person — consulting them when something you want to do will affect them! I could have taken that job without talking to you about it, but I didn’t. I respect your opinion and wanted to know what you thought.”

“You would have taken the job regardless of my opinion!”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do. You are too independent to ever rely on my opinion to make a decision.”

“That is not true, Harry. Name one time that I have done something to affect you without talking to you about it.”

Harry stood there, his hands in his pockets, mute.

She let out a bitter laugh. “You know, I’ve been trying for weeks to find a flaw in you, Harry. I knew they were there, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember even one. How could I have forgotten your ‘fatal flaw,’ aside from your famous guilt complex? Although you seem to have conquered that one in America somehow.”

Harry crossed his arms defiantly. “And just what is my fatal flaw, Hermione?”

“You are impetuous, Harry. You make rash decisions that affect other people without their consent. You have been doing this same thing our entire lives. You decide what is best, what I should and shouldn’t know, what I can handle and what I can’t.” She held up her hand and began ticking off examples. “Keeping the prophecy from Ron and me…”

“I knew it would reduce you to tears and Ron would freak out!”

“…giving us information about Voldemort in dribs and drabs, and even then, only when you had to…”

“I was trying to protect you!”

“…deciding to leave after Ron’s funeral…”

“Oh, we’re back on that again, are we? Are you going to use that against me for the rest of our lives?”

“No, I’m not! I’m using it as an example of your history of trying to make decisions for other people! It’s infuriating and always has been!”

Harry threw up his hands in defeat. “I’m so sorry that my biggest fault is trying to protect and take care of the people I love. I should be sent to Azkaban on the next train! All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. So yeah, if I had to keep things from you and make decisions concerning you that I thought would make you happy in the long run, then I did it. And I don’t regret it one bit!”

A resounding silence followed these words. Hermione felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and her spirit along with it. The secret that the two of them had been dancing around and avoiding for the last seven months was swirling around them, searching for a fissure to slip through and infect their happiness.

Hermione swallowed the boulder lodged in her throat. “What are you talking about?” Hermione whispered.

“Nothing,” Harry said, not looking at her.

“What did you mean by ‘make decisions concerning me that would make me happy in the long run’?” she said, her voice rising.

Harry paused. “I was making a generalization to prove a point.”

Hermione studied him as he avoided her eyes. She walked over and grabbed his chin, turning his face to hers to force eye contact. “Don’t lie to me, Harry.”

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. Harry walked over to his desk and dropped into his chair, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his temples. Hermione stood across the room from him, rooted to the spot by the dread that had settled in the pit of her stomach. Harry lifted his head and said, “I’ve been in love with you for seven years, Hermione.”

Her heart leapt and dropped to her feet simultaneously. “What?” she whispered.

Harry took a deep shuddering breath. “After you were almost killed at the Ministry of Magic, my feelings for you changed. Not overnight, but gradually during our 6^th year. I kept wondering what I would have done if you had died. I couldn’t imagine not having you around. Then, when I saw you the summer before 6^th year, this attraction for you just hit me. I was stunned because I hadn’t thought of you as anything more than my best friend, almost a sister, since I had known you. I ignored it, considering that as a 16-year-old boy every girl looked pretty good to me. As the year went on, this desire changed and evolved until I didn’t just want to have sex with you, I wanted to make love to you.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh. “Of course, it being me, nothing could ever be easy. First, there was Ron, who was in love with you and had been for years. There was no way I could betray him by letting you know how I felt. Then, there was you. You had never shown the slightest romantic interest in me. You’ve even admitted that to me since we’ve been together. I wasn’t about to ruin my friendship with both of you — the two most important people in my life — by admitting that I fantasized about you all day, every day.

“And let’s not forget the prophecy: kill or be killed. I didn’t believe that I would be able to continue to defeat Voldemort. I just knew I was going to die. Even if Ron hadn’t been in love with you and you had shown any interest in me at all, I probably wouldn’t have done anything.

“I spent my last two years at Hogwarts preparing to die. Getting my affairs in order, so to speak. I even wrote a will, giving the majority to you and Ron, some to the Weasleys, Lupin. He would have inherited Grimmauld Place, as well.

“I tried to distance myself from you and Ron, hoping to keep you safe. I couldn’t do it, though. You two were the only positive things I had in my life. But you were both so miserable, pining away for each other! And I wanted so much for you to be happy, even if it meant that I would be miserable, seeing you with another bloke. Even Ron.

“Ron wouldn’t make the first move, even when I told him to. I knew I had to convince you to do it. So I did.”

“So you did,” Hermione interjected. “It was just that easy for you to decide for me.”

“Decide for you? I didn’t decide for you. You fancied Ron already! I just encouraged you to act on it.”

“Right. And you left a minor detail like ‘I’m in love with you, too’ out.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference! You didn’t fancy me!”

“I didn’t fancy you seven months ago either and look at me now! I’m so in love with you I can hardly keep a coherent thought in my head.”

“Hermione, I thought I was going to die,” Harry said resignedly.

She walked over and sat down heavily in the opposite chair and stared into space for a long time without moving or speaking, her calm demeanor disguising her inner turmoil.

“When were you going to tell me this?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders in response.

“Oh God. This is why you couldn’t write me, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And why you were gone for so long.”

Harry responded with an almost imperceptible nod.

“Let me get this straight. You left and stayed away for five years because you were in love with me? Why didn’t you just talk to me?”

“And say what? ‘Gee, Hermione, I know that your boyfriend just died but I’m arse over tits in love with you. Want to go out?’” Harry said sarcastically. He turned from her gaze and looked down at his desk. “Ron was the first friend I ever had. I loved him like a brother. Part of my soul was torn out when he died.” He dropped his head in shame and continued quietly. “Even so, the thought that now you were free crossed my mind. That’s what I was thinking right after my best friend was buried.”

A slight gasp involuntarily escaped Hermione. Harry’s face was encased in shame. “I know. I was disgusted with myself. That’s why I left. I couldn’t be there for you, help you grieve — not with that horrible thought going through my mind. It would have felt like the ultimate betrayal of my best friends, both of you.

“I wanted to write you a letter, but I couldn’t write any of that. I couldn’t write a letter with a bunch of lies in it either. Believe me, I tried.”

“And you stayed away because I would remind you of this betrayal.”

“Partly. Mostly, I was trying to move on, to get over you.” He looked back at Hermione, saying softly, “It didn’t work.”

Hermione took a deep breath attempting with great difficulty to contain the sobs that were struggling for release. She wiped unwanted tears from her eyes and sniffed loudly. “Do you realize what your lies have cost us?”

“Hermione, I have not lied to you.”

“Everything,” she choked, unable to control the sob that escaped her throat. She took a shuddering breath to collect herself and began again. “Everything you have said and done for seven years has been based on a lie.”

Harry shook his head fervently. “No, that’s not true.” Harry came quickly around the desk and knelt in front of her. “Hermione,” he began, grasping her hands, which Hermione abruptly pulled away. Shock and hurt registered on his face, and he sat back on his heels. “Everything I have told you since I’ve been back has been the truth. When you asked me why I left, I told you the truth: I needed to get away. I felt guilty about Ron’s death. When you asked me why I didn’t write, I told you the truth: I tried to write, but I couldn’t find the words. You asked me why I came back, and I told you the truth: I came back because of you.”

“Harry, you told me half-truths at best.”

“I couldn’t tell you I was in love with you when I returned. I wasn’t even sure myself. I had built you up in my mind for so long I didn’t know where my fantasy ended and the real you began. I wanted to get to know you again, for you to get to know me and see where it would lead. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was in love with you and had been in love with you for years. I should have told you sooner, I’m so sorry I didn’t. I wanted to at Seamus’s and Fiona’s, but you were petrified of a relationship. You could barely comprehend that I was interested in you. I was afraid if I told you I had been in love with you for years that you would go running for the hills.”

Hermione shook her head and rested her forehead in her hand, closing her eyes. She could feel her pulse throbbing uncomfortably in her temples and a dull ache beginning to spread from the base of her neck around her head, squeezing all rational thought out of her consciousness. She sighed and rose from the chair and turned to walk towards the door.

“Please, Hermione, don’t leave,” Harry said, choking on the last word.

She stopped, with her hand on the doorknob and her back to him. “I need time to think about this. It is just too much to take in at once.”

Harry was across the room to the door with amazing quickness. “Please stay so we can talk about this. We can’t leave it like this. Please, I need you to stay.”

Hermione forced herself to look him in the eye. “Everything is not about what you need, Harry,” she said and walked out the door.

---

Chapter 18 With All Your Faults…

Ginny sat at her kitchen table watching her best friend cry.

The tiny kitchen table was littered with an unopened bag of pastries, two cold cups of coffee and a Daily Prophet, which was folded open to reveal the Letters to the Editor page. Hermione was leaning across what little space was available, her head buried in her crossed arms. Ginny slid her chair along the table and draped her arm across Hermione’s trembling shoulders.

She had been pleasantly surprised when Hermione showed up on her doorstep with a fresh bag of pastries and two steaming cups of coffee. It had been a friendly ritual that, much to Ginny’s dismay, died after Christmas. She didn’t fault Hermione for wanting to spend all of her extra time with Harry. She remembered what the beginning stages of love were like. As she sat watching Hermione’s sobs diminish, she remembered, all too well, the good and bad aspects of new love.

Sometimes, you just need a good cry.

She sat in patient silence rubbing small, comforting circles on Hermione’s back. Ginny understood that right now Hermione only wanted to be comforted. She wanted to release her emotions in a safe haven with someone by her side that wouldn’t pass judgment or try to solve her problems. They would talk when Hermione was ready.

Nothing about what Hermione told Ginny had come as a surprise. Granted, she hadn’t suspected the full measure of Harry’s unrequited love for Hermione, but the revelation was not astonishing when you considered Harry’s actions since his return. And as far as Harry being impetuous, that was old news.

Hermione sniffed and sat up, her eyes red and puffy from crying. Ginny handed her a serviette and rose to walk to the sink. She returned with a cool, damp tea towel. “Here. Put this on your eyes. It’ll help.”

Hermione did as instructed and buried her face in the damp towel, pressing her fingers into her eyes. Ginny returned to her seat, draping her arm across Hermione’s shoulders once again.

“Thank you,” came Hermione’s muffled voice through the towel.

“You’re welcome.”

Hermione removed the towel and looked at Ginny. “Not for the towel.”

“I know,” she replied simply, squeezing her friend’s shoulder. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

Hermione took a shuddering breath and nodded her head.

“Is this the end of your relationship?”

Hermione gasped and stared at Ginny with wide eyes. “That seems like an odd first question.”

“Not really, if you think about it. Is what Harry did something you can’t forgive him for? You have to answer that question before you can begin to work through your differences.”

Hermione looked down at the table. “I don’t know.”

Ginny nodded her head. “Right. What bothers you the most? The letter he wrote?” she asked, gesturing at the Daily Prophet.

“No, not the letter. To be honest, he did a rather good job with the letter. It’s the fact that he didn’t talk to me about it.”

“Which brought up your hidden anger about him leaving without talking to you five years ago.”

Hermione opened her mouth to, Ginny was sure, deny any hidden anger. Before she could get a word out, Ginny interjected. “Hermione, this is me. Don’t try to deny it.”

Hermione tapped her fingers on the table nervously. “All right.”

She admitted that easier than I expected.

“Now that you know why he left, can you forgive him for leaving?”

“I understand why he left, yes.”

Ginny shook her head. “Understanding is fine, but if you can’t forgive him for leaving, then you will never have the relationship you want.”

“Ginny, he has lied to me for seven years!”

“How did he lie to you?”

“How did he…? Everything he’s done has been based on a lie!”

“What lie?”

“What do you mean, ‘what lie’? Everything! It’s all a lie!”

“What did he say to you that was a lie?”

“God, you sound like Harry!” Hermione said angrily. “Did he come up to me and say, ’Hermione, I don’t love you’? No, he never did that. But, Ginny! He says he’s been in love with me this whole time! Since our sixth year! He got Ron and me together, he left after Ron’s funeral without telling me, and he never wrote — all to push me away. To get over me, he said. And he’s just telling me this now. I thought we were coming to this relationship from the same place – as best friends who were exploring something new. This whole time, Ginny! His actions were all deceitful.”

“And everything he did was intended to keep you from getting hurt,” Ginny said patiently.

“Right. That worked out terribly well, didn’t it?” Hermione said sarcastically.

“I would have never pegged you as one to wallow in a pity party, Hermione,” Ginny said with a touch of impatience in her voice.

Hermione shot her a disgusted look and rose from her chair, walking to stand by the sink. She looked out the window with her back to Ginny.

“Harry has handled this all wrong, I agree with you on that,” Ginny said. “But let’s put this in perspective, here. Everything he did, he did to protect you.”

Hermione rounded on Ginny. “I don’t need his protection!”

“Drop the independent routine for just a minute, Hermione!” Ginny said, her voice rising in frustration. “Having someone that cares enough about you that they want to protect you is not a weakness! I want to protect Neville; he wants to protect me! Doesn’t part of you want to protect Harry? It is natural in a relationship to protect the person you love. Harry did what he did because he loves you. There was no malicious intent in his actions. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. HE was the one hurt by what he did.”

“How do you come to that conclusion?” Hermione scoffed.

“Imagine feeling what you do for Harry and having to keep it inside, telling no one, not even your best friends about it. Then imagine pushing the man you love into your best friend’s arms because you think he is in love with her. Then, picture what it would be like having to watch them together for a year.”

Hermione turned her back to Ginny again.

“Everyone knew you fancied Ron. What was Harry supposed to do? Get you to fall in love with him and ruin his friendship with Ron in the process so Voldemort could kill him? Stop being obstinate, Hermione! There was nothing selfish in what Harry did.”

Hermione sighed deeply. “But why couldn’t he talk to me before he left? Even just to say ‘I’m going away for a while; I’ll be back.’ Anything at all would have been better than what he did.”

“I imagine he would have lost his resolve to leave if he saw you.”

Hermione turned and leaned against the sink. “I keep wondering what would have happened if he had stayed.”

“You think you missed out on five years with Harry,” Ginny said. Hermione bowed her head, the memory of Ron hovering between the two of them. “Hermione, think back to when Ron died. What if Harry had told you about his feelings then? What would you have done? How would you have reacted? He was right in not telling you.”

Ginny could tell by the look on Hermione’s face that she hit a nerve. Hermione’s expression belied the fact that she was not used to being told she was wrong, about anything. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m right. You couldn’t have handled it then. Look at how you are handling it now, five years later!”

“You think Harry was right in leaving?” she asked with a look of incredulity plastered all over her face.

Ginny considered her best friend for a moment. “Yes, I do.”

Hermione’s head jerked back in shock as Ginny continued on. “Harry should have talked to you before he left, without a doubt. He was 100% wrong about that. But, he needed to leave. Even you understand that. Do you think he would have turned into the man he is now, the man you fell in love with, if he had stayed in England? I don’t. This will sound trite, but if ever there was a man who needed to find himself, it was Harry Potter.

“You were not ready five years ago to hear that your best friend was in love with you. You had just buried your boyfriend and other best friend. Harry leaving gave you the chance to find out who you were as a person without the two of them around. You are both better off for the time you spent apart.”

Hermione crossed her arms and looked down at the ground. An uneasy silence settled between them. “Are you mad at me?” Ginny asked finally.

“Furious,” Hermione replied, looking up at Ginny with a faint smile. “Because you’re right.”

Ginny walked over to stand in front of Hermione. “You are one complicated witch, Hermione. Who else but you would be reduced to tears upon a declaration of long-term love from a handsome man?” she said teasingly.

“You think I overreacted, don’t you?”

“I think your reaction had more to do with the stress you have been under, and have been trying to hide, than with what Harry told you.”

Ginny embraced Hermione and squeezed her tightly. “Just think! Harry has been in love with you for seven years!” She pulled back and looked at her friend. “That is amazing devotion – to maintain those feelings for so long with so many miles separating you. Not to mention the fact that the feelings were unrequited for most of that time.”

“It is a bit unbelievable,” Hermione said, trying to restrain a smug smile.

“Harry made plenty of mistakes, but for the right reasons. Don’t torture him too long.”

---

Begging seems like such a negative word.

Harry walked up the steps of the castle Friday afternoon determined to talk to Hermione and beg for her forgiveness. The day after their big row, Harry had decided to give Hermione the space that she needed to deal with their disagreement by thinking through it, analyzing it, dissecting it, and whatever else her mind did in situations such as this. He had seen her, briefly, at the Great Hall for lunch. His heart leapt when she smiled at him, thinking for a short moment that all was forgiven. Then she told him, a smile artificially fixed on her face, and in undertones so that no one else could hear, that she was not ready to talk yet. She left shortly after he arrived with a small touch on his shoulder. He assumed that was for the benefit of the occupants of the Great Hall rather than any sign of affection for him.

He hadn’t seen her since.

Two days was long enough.

He understood, probably more than she realized, what she was going through and how much he had hurt her. But he wasn’t willing to sit back and let her decide, unilaterally, the future of their relationship. He was going to go down fighting.

Or begging if need be.

Sleep had eluded him the past two nights. Because of the routine they had gotten into over the previous month with Harry staying at the castle until midnight, any chance of falling asleep before midnight was gone. After that time, although his body was exhausted, his mind was working overtime, analyzing everything that he had done wrong over the last seven years. He imagined different futures based on courses of action he should have taken. He imagined what his life would be like without Hermione. He dreamed about what it would be like with Hermione. He imagined what everyone’s life would have been like if he hadn’t been born. With that particular fantasy, he half expected Sirius to drop down out of heaven to announce in a whining voice, “Every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.”

The low point by far occurred the night before when he found himself standing in front of the bookshelves in his parlor searching a thesaurus for synonyms for the word ”begging.”

Suppliant, pleading, beseeching, imploring, entreating, petitioning.

He slammed the book shut and put it back on the shelf.

Begging it is.

Harry took a deep breath, steeling his resolve, and knocked on the open door of Hermione’s classroom. He stuck his head inside and was greeted by the last person he expected to see.

Albus Dumbledore.

“Ah, Harry! Come in, come in!” Dumbledore called, motioning Harry in with a wave of his hand.

Harry’s feet were encased in lead. He couldn’t have moved them if he tried. His immediate thought was that Hermione was gone, never to return. She left without a word in retaliation for the many wrongs, perceived and actual, he had committed over the past few years. A fear unlike any he had ever known settled in his heart.

“Harry! Harry! Can you hear me?”

Harry’s eyes came into focus on Albus standing directly in front of him, snapping his fingers inches from Harry’s face. “She has just popped down to London for the day for a meeting with Amelia.”

Harry felt the life return to his body and he suddenly had the urge to sit down. He walked unsteadily over and plopped into a desk chair. He ran a shaky hand across his forehead, finding it clammy with sweat.

“Forgive me for saying so, Harry, but you aren’t quite looking your best.”

Harry gave him a half smile and replied. “I’m just a bit knackered.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said sagely, sitting in a desk next to Harry. “Exactly what Miss Granger said when I saw her this morning.” He looked over his half-moon spectacles at Harry. “This, however, does not look like the fatigue that often befalls young lovers.”

Harry removed his hand from his head and looked sideways at Dumbledore, wondering what he knew about young love.

“I haven’t always been old, Harry.”

Harry suppressed a smile briefly before chuckling out loud. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean…”

Dumbledore waved his hand. “Yes you did. But that’s all right. You will be old one day soon and will understand with perfect clarity how amusing this situation is.” Dumbledore steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. “I gather from the demeanor of both of you that you have had your first major row. Am I right?”

Harry nodded his head slowly, keeping his eyes firmly on the desk.

“It must be rather serious judging by your reaction to seeing me in Hermione’s classroom.”

“I told her I have been in love with her for seven years.”

Dumbledore looked puzzled. “And how is this bad news?”

Harry squirmed slightly in his chair. “I don’t think that is what upset her, at least I hope not. I reckon she’s upset because of my tendency to do things that affect her without consulting her first.”

“I see.” Dumbledore nodded his head. “She does have a point there, Harry.”

“I know,” Harry replied testily.

“I noticed you gave Hermione your mother’s locket.”

“She’s still wearing it?” Harry asked. When Dumbledore nodded, Harry said, “I reckon that’s a good sign.”

“An excellent sign. She told me about the dream she had about Lily.”

“She did?” Harry asked, shocked that Hermione would mention anything even remotely related to their sex life to Dumbledore.

“I think she wanted reassurance that it was, in fact, a dream and not some sort of vision.”

Harry chuckled. “Typical.”

“Quite,” Dumbledore agreed with a smile. “From what Hermione told me, I believe it was an echo of Lily, much like what you saw in the graveyard the night Cedric Diggory was killed. I was rather surprised to hear Hermione speak of it, honestly. She must have forged a connection with the locket and Lily when she put it on for the first time.”

“Will she continue to dream about my mum?”

“Quite possibly, although I doubt it will be a nightly occurrence.” Dumbledore rose from his chair. “Your mother was a very gifted seer. Her visions were extremely accurate.”

“Did she tell you about her visions of me.”

“Yes, she did. Not long before she died. She knew I wouldn’t interfere with the future, despite the fact that my faith in most seers is rather thin. Your mother was an exception. Every vision she had about you has come true.”

“Good and bad?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Harry nodded his head, at once comforted and disturbed by the knowledge that his mother saw the happy and horrible moments of his life. He remembered the letter his mother had written and realized that Dumbledore knew of possible events and people in his future. He knew the answer he would receive before he asked the question, but was compelled to ask anyway.

“So…”

“No, Harry. I will not tell you, so don’t even ask.” Dumbledore smiled the smile of an omniscient man. “Instead, I will ask you a question: have you ever doubted that Hermione is the woman in your mother’s vision of your wedding?”

“No. Never.”

“Then that is your future.”

---

“Hello, Lily. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Have you? Well, aren’t we confident in our abilities to communicate with the dead all of a sudden?”

“I want to know if it was I you saw in the vision.”

“I can’t tell you that, Hermione.”

“Yes you can.”

Lily sighed. “Are we going to do this all night? You can ask all you want, but I will not tell you. I am extremely stubborn.”

“So am I.”

“I’m dead.”

That statement halted Hermione’s thought process. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“We can do this all night and it won’t affect me at all. I won’t be bothered by it or frustrated or even care that I am repeating the phrase ’I can’t tell you that, Hermione’ over and over again. You on the other hand will quite possibly have an embolism before an hour is out. And I really don’t want to be the cause of death of the woman my son loves. So, if it is all the same to you, I’d rather not have this conversation.”

Hermione slumped in her wing chair, defeated.

Lily sat down on the hearth of the fireplace. “Why do you want to know so desperately?”

“Assurance.”

“That you made the right decision in forgiving Harry?”

“I haven’t forgiven him yet.”

“Yes, you have.”

“This is like talking to Dumbledore. You know all the answers before I ask the question, or even know what the question is.”

Lily looked up and said loudly. “Did you hear that, James? She compared me to Dumbledore. Beat that!” Lily looked back down at Hermione, a huge smile on her face. “Sorry,” she said, arranging her face in a serious expression.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just dreaming anyway.”

“Can I give you some advice? Woman to woman?”

“Of course, as long as it isn’t about sex.”

“No, you seem to have that sussed quite nicely without my help.” Hermione blushed and Lily laughed. “You brought it up, not me.”

“Touché. What is your advice?”

“Let go of perfection, Hermione.”

“Right. You are just like Dumbledore. Not only are you all knowing, you’re cryptic, too,” Hermione said in exasperation. “What exactly does ‘let go of perfection’ mean, Lily?”

“Being the best at everything you do is your control mechanism. You control your surroundings with logic and knowledge. Anything short of perfection and you feel like a failure. Sound about right?”

Am I that easy to read? Hermione thought.

“No, you are just a lot like me,” Lily replied. “Relationships are not perfect. Harry is not perfect. You are not perfect, although you give it a good go. You have to understand that the flaws in your relationship don’t make it a failure. How you and Harry deal with each other’s flaws will determine the success or failure of your relationship.”

Hermione dropped her reading glasses on top of the papers in her lap she had been reading when she fell asleep. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, the events of the past week weighing on her.

“Are you stressed about your new job?” Lily asked kindly.

“Among other things.”

“Minerva is right — it is the perfect job for you. We have bets going on about it, you know.”

Hermione looked at her sharply. “Bets? About what?”

“When you will become Minister of Magic.”

Hermione scoffed. “I was teasing with Harry about that. No matter how much progress is made, I doubt I will see a muggleborn Minister of Magic in my lifetime.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Her interest piqued, Hermione asked, “So what are the bets?”

“Well, James agrees with you, no offense intended, of course. He likes you very much, but a muggleborn Minister of Magic is a bit of a stretch, he reckons.”

“No offense taken.”

“Sirius is very cocky, surprise surprise. Since he knew you when he was alive, he feels very confident in his prediction.”

“Which is?”

“When you are forty.”

Hermione nodded her head. “Seventeen years. That seems very far away.”

“It does, doesn’t it?’

“What is your prediction?”

“Well,” Lily began. “Sirius and James made me swear that I hadn’t had a vision about it before they allowed me to bet. My prediction is 35.”

“That sounds better than 40.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at Lily. “Did you have a vision about it?”

Lily placed her hand on her chest and inhaled a shocked breath. “I would never use my sight to prove my husband and Sirius wrong. I don’t particularly need to; they are wrong about so much anyway.”

Lily winked at Hermione, who returned her smile. Hermione looked around the room, suddenly restless. She wondered what the etiquette was regarding ending a conversation such as this. As much as she enjoyed talking to Lily, she had an overwhelming urge to see Harry and set things right. She looked at her watch, noting the time and wondered if he was still awake. She smiled faintly at Lily, who gave her a knowing grin.

“You want to talk to Harry, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“He wants to talk to you, too.”

Hermione jolted awake, the papers on her lap spilling to the stone floor and her glasses hitting with a clatter. She looked around her room, which was dimly lit by the dying fire, for Lily and found only Crookshanks staring at the door.

Knock-knock-knock.

Please don’t let this be the Head Girl needing something.

She opened the door to see Harry standing there, a nervous look on his haggard face. Hermione felt a wave of guilt wash over her as she saw the physical effects the last two days had had on Harry. His skin was colorless, contrasting starkly with his dark hair, which by virtue of his nervous expression seemed more disheveled than normal. The most disturbing aspect of his appearance was in his eyes. The eyes that she loved, the eyes she could spend hours staring into, were void of their usual sparkle. The change that this one feature made in his appearance was frightening. If she had ever wondered about the depth of his feelings, his shattered form standing in front of her drove any doubt out of her mind forever.

Hermione stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Oh, Harry!”

Hermione felt the tension leave Harry’s body as he slumped into her arms, returning her embrace, burying his head in the nook of her neck. Hermione felt his breath on her skin and heard his muffled voice repeating the same words over and over. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

She pulled his head back and saw tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

“Shhh,” Hermione whispered, placing her lips on his. “I know.” She framed his face with her hands, gently wiping away his tears with her thumbs. “I’m sorry I left like I did. I’m sorry I made you think we were over.” She ran her hand through his hair and rested it at the base of his neck.

Harry leaned his forehead on hers and closed his eyes. “Please don’t do it again.”

Hermione knew without clarification what he meant. “I won’t leave. I promise.”

Harry’s hands, which had been resting gently on her waist, rubbed up and down her sides. “We need to talk.”

“I know,” she replied, pulling him into her room.

As she closed the door behind Harry and looked around her room, she realized how inadequate their surroundings were for a conversation. Her room, not large to begin with, consisted of bookshelves, a fireplace, a chair and a bed. Up until this point, most of their in-depth conversations in this room had occurred in bed, after making love.

The awkwardness she felt was apparently mutual, as Harry turned around aimlessly, his hands in his pockets. He shrugged his shoulders and they both laughed at the situation.

When their laughter died down and silence fell in the room once again, Hermione began, “I read your letter in the paper.”

“Oh?”

“It was really good.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in response.

“I never had a problem with the letter. I just wanted to be consulted about it.”

“I know, and you’re right. I’ve been doing that kind of thing for a long time. It’s going to take some doing, but I’ll work on reining in my impulsiveness.”

“All I ask is that you talk to me.”

“I can do that.”

Hermione nodded, unsure of what to say next. The resolution to the letter seemed to be anti-climactic. After all, that was the instigating issue — the problem that spurred her reaction, or over-reaction as Ginny implied, to everything that came after. If that was so easily resolved, then she had to ask herself, what was the real issue?

They both began speaking at the same time.

“Harry, I just…”

“Listen, I…”

Harry smiled and motioned for Hermione to continue. “Go ahead. You first.”

This was the first time Hermione could remember that she didn’t want to go first. Still bothered by the question of what the real issue was, she searched for something to say. “Ginny thinks I over-reacted.”

“You told Ginny?”

The look on Harry’s face plainly said that he wished she hadn’t, and Hermione questioned herself for a moment. Why did she talk to Ginny about a personal problem between herself and Harry? “I needed to talk to someone.”

“I wish you would have talked to me.”

“I needed someone objective.”

“Someone who would agree with your side, you mean?” Harry said somewhat defensively.

“No,” Hermione replied evenly. “She mostly agreed with you, truth be told.”

“I guess I should thank her, then.” He ran his hand nervously through his hair. “There were some things I would rather no one but you know.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and gave Hermione a meaningful look.

“Oh! I didn’t tell her about what you were thinking after Ron’s funeral.”

A small smile of relief spread across Harry’s face. “Thank goodness.”

“Harry,” she said, walking towards him. “About the thought you had after the funeral…” She saw Harry blanch and she rested her hand on his arm in consolation. “I hate that you have tortured yourself for years about that. It was an errant thought, something you considered in passing, along with more altruistic thoughts that you can’t even remember. You had done everything you could while Ron was alive to respect Ron’s feelings for me. You shouldn’t torment yourself for the rest of your life for thinking about yourself in one inopportune moment.”

Harry let out a shaky breath and grabbed Hermione’s hand. “The look you had on your face when I told you that…I just knew that your faith in me was shattered.”

Hermione looked down at their intertwined hands, loving the feel of his cool skin on hers. “No, Harry. You aren’t the only person that has inappropriate thoughts.” To Harry’s puzzled expression, she explained, “In the months after Ron’s death, a feeling of relief settled on me. Relief that I wasn’t going to have to have the conversation he and I were destined for. Nothing will ever change the fact that I would rather have Ron here, standing in front of me, forcing me to have that conversation – telling him I wasn’t in love with him. But he was gone and a part of me I’m ashamed of was glad to be spared that scene.”

She looked up at Harry’s shocked face and said nervously, “And now I’m worried about your opinion of me.”

“No,” Harry said, embracing her. “I’m just wishing we had been there for each other five years ago.” He looked down at her. “It is my fault we weren’t. I shouldn’t have left. I should have been here for you.”

Hermione shook her head. “I said this weeks ago, but it took talking to Ginny to remind me. You became the man I fell in love with because you left. If you had stayed, who knows what might have happened. What’s done is done. I’m not going to wonder any more about what we missed out on. I want to focus on the here and now, and our future.”

“We still have a future?”

“Right. Listen up,” Hermione said sternly. “I don’t mind telling you 100 times a day that I love you, because I do and I love seeing the look on your face when I say it. But I’m going to draw the line here. You have got to trust that I’m not going to bolt every time we have a row. I can’t have the guilt of that hanging over me every time I want to be good and angry with you. We are going to argue and make up, and argue some more. As long as you don’t cheat on me or perform illegal charms on a goat, we’re going to be fine.”

“Two things I would never dream of doing,” Harry said with a smile.

“Then we will have a long and happy life together, filled with marital disagreements resolved peacefully and with lots of great make-up sex as a perk.”

“Can we get that perk before the marriage part? Because great make-up sex sounds rather appealing right now.”

Hermione saw the sparkle return to Harry’s eyes and color was returning to his complexion. “I feel certain that can be arranged.”

---

“Ouch!”

“Sorry.”

“Here,” Harry said turning on his side. Hermione pressed her back against his chest and snuggled into him, pulling the blankets up around them. Harry ran his hand along the dips and curves of Hermione’s side, ending with rubbing light circles on her hip. He propped his head on his other hand and looked down at Hermione, whose eyes were closed. “Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this all behind us now?” he asked tentatively.

Hermione shifted a bit so that she was looking up at him. “Do you mean, am I going to keep bringing up the fact that you left?” Although she said this in a very neutral tone of voice, Harry knew that she was trying to hide her defensiveness.

“No.” Harry said firmly. When Hermione continued to look at him without responding, he relented. “And yes.”

Hermione gave a slight sigh and looked away.

“It’s the same as what you said earlier about not wanting to be worried that I think you are going to leave every time we have a row,” Harry explained. “I don’t want this to come between us for the rest of our lives. I don’t want it to get dredged up when we are fighting about what plants to put in the garden in thirty years.”

Hermione returned her gaze to Harry’s. “It’s behind us. Completely.”

Harry smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Okay.”

Hermione repositioned herself and closed her eyes again, her hands clasped under her pillow. Harry watched her for a moment before kissing the curve of her bare shoulder.

“If Minerva finds a replacement for you before the end of term, will you come live with me?”

Her eyes still closed, she replied simply. “Of course.”

“You have no moral objections to living together before we are married?”

“Nope. I’m a scarlet woman, remember?” she whispered dramatically, looking at him mischievously out of the corner of her eyes.

“Right! How could I forget?”

They lay together in silence, Harry continuing to absently caress Hermione. “Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

“For the last two days, I’ve been trying to think of anything at all I haven’t told you that I need to.”

“And?”

“There is one thing.” Harry saw a quickly veiled look of apprehension cross Hermione’s face, and he pressed on hastily. “I’m the benefactor for the ABMB.”

Total silence and a blank expression greeted this revelation. “When I left for America, I deeded Grimmauld Place to Remus. I knew that he would still need to have a job. I also knew that because of his condition he would have a hard time finding one. So I left a large sum of money in an account at Gringotts, in Dumbledore’s name, and I asked him to find some way to get it to Remus. He came up with the ABMB.”

Hermione continued to stare at Harry. “Say something,” Harry pleaded.

Instead of speaking, she lifted her head and kissed Harry. “You are an amazing man, Harry. I hope our children have your heart.”

“I hope we have lots of children.”

“That would require marriage.”

“Then let’s get married.”

“I haven’t been asked yet.”

“Hmm…good point. I guess I need to get on that, don’t I?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “No rush.”

“No rush? What does that mean?”

“Well, I know you aren’t going to ask me right now.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t have a ring,” Hermione said simply.

“Are you quite certain about that?”

Harry grinned at the mixed look of fear and apprehension on Hermione’s face. “Maybe I’ve had a ring for years. Maybe I was walking down Rodeo Drive one day and saw the perfect ring for you in the window of Tiffany’s and bought it on a whim, hoping to have the chance to give it you some day.”

Harry could tell now that Hermione was torn. Part of her was excited that maybe he really did have a ring, and part of her was anxious that he was about to pop the question. He sat there with a grin on his face until her eyes narrowed and skepticism took over.

“You don’t have a ring.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe, maybe not. Don’t worry, though. I’m not going to ask you when you’re naked. That wouldn’t be a good story to tell our children, I don’t reckon.”

“That is true.”

Harry moved her hair away from her neck and kissed her skin lightly, inhaling the scent of her hair as he did so. “Did I hear you talking to someone when I knocked on your door?”

Hermione turned her head quickly to look at him. “You heard me talking?”

“It sounded like two voices. Were you having a floo conference?”

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. “No. I was talking to your mum.”

“You were asleep?”

“Yes. At least I think I was. Your knock woke me up.” Her brows furrowed into a look Harry was very familiar with – studious Hermione. “Dumbledore agrees that I’m not having visions. But I’m not dreaming either, per se.”

“He told me it’s like an echo.”

“It is like I’m communicating with her through my dream state or something. It is very peculiar. Dumbledore was quite surprised when I told him about it.”

Harry fingered the locket that was ever present around Hermione’s neck. “So, this gave you a connection with my Mum?”

“It seems so.”

“Tell me what’s she like?”

“Cryptic. Keeps what she knows close to the vest.”

“She won’t tell you if you were the one she saw in the vision of my wedding, will she?”

“No,” Hermione said, then started. “How did you know…?”

“Dumbledore guessed it.” Harry kissed Hermione gently on the lips. “It doesn’t matter one way or the other. I’m going to make sure that you are the one I see in the memory of my wedding.”

Harry’s heart melted at the look of joy this statement brought to Hermione’s face. “Besides the fact that your mum won’t tell me everything she has seen, she is very nice. Very proud of you, that’s easy to spot. And she’s funny, too, but in an understated way. I don’t reckon she was ever the instigator of a prank, but I’d bet she could pull them off with the best of them. I need to get her to tell me the story of your first birthday and your dad’s blue hair so I can tell you.”

“I could ask Remus, as well.”

“I asked Dumbledore if you would be able to dream about her if you wore the necklace.”

“Really?” Harry asked, surprised that the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “What did he say?”

“He doubted it. He thinks the connection is between the locket and me, just as it was with Lily. If anyone but her had worn the locket, chances are it would have been just an ordinary piece of jewelry.”

Harry thought for a moment about somehow having the ability to talk to his parents after all these years. It was something he had wanted for as long as he could remember. But the thought of it actually happening gave him a feeling of despair instead of happiness.

“I don’t think I would want to. I’m afraid it would just make me realize what I have missed out on my entire life. It would be worse knowing what I missed than wondering what I missed.”

“I know what you mean,” Hermione said sadly.

“I would rather look forward to my future family with you than back at my past.”

“I agree,” Hermione said, wrapping her arm back around his head, exposing her breast. Harry ran his hand up Hermione’s stomach and began stroking her breast with his fingers. He heard a slight intake of breath and felt her nipples harden under his caress. He felt a surge of satisfaction from her response, his male ego bolstered with his ability to make her respond so quickly to his light touch.

“Will you stay tonight?” Hermione asked in a whisper, reaching between their bodies and grasping him. Thoughts of the uncomfortable bed fled his mind as she began to move her hand.

“You’re very convincing,” he groaned.

“It’s a cause I believe in.”

---

This just might be the worst day of my life.

Hermione walked into her room and plopped face down across her bed. She squeezed her eyes shut and watched dots dance around her eyelids. She relaxed her eyes and let the darkness of her buried face envelop her. She reluctantly rolled over onto her back and looked up at the sun streaming through her window. Earlier, on the way to solve yet another problem, she passed by a window overlooking the lake and saw that it was indeed a beautiful, sunny day in mid-March.

Not that I have had a chance to step foot outside and enjoy it.

It seemed that from the time she woke up until just now, when she finally got a chance for some peace and quiet, nothing had gone her way today. For the first time ever, she ran out of hot water in her shower, right after she had shampooed her hair into an impressive lather. By the time she had finished rinsing her thick head of hair, her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. At breakfast, an owl from the Daily Prophet pooped in her food and knocked over her goblet of pumpkin juice. Granted, those two things were easily fixed with magic, but seen through the prism of the rest of Hermione’s day, they took on an entirely new, more irritating light.

Possibly because of the beautiful weather, her students seemed restless and bored; it was a challenge keeping them focused. Matters weren’t helped in her second class when the quiz she had written on the chalkboard earlier turned into an advertisement for the “Hermione Granger Fan Club” when she said the charm for her writing to reappear. After the initial shock, she had been amused at the advertisement.

JOIN NOW!

The Hermione Granger Fan Club

Do you like your women smart and sexy?

Does studying turn you on?

Want to be the best at what you do

And look good doing it?

Then this is the club for you!

Join for one galleon and receive a

Glossy color photo of Professor Granger

(hair up or down, your choice!)

The amusement wore off quickly when she realized that none of the cleaning or erasing charms she knew would take the advert off the board. She had hastily hung her cloak over the board and attempted to continue on with the class, but the damage was done. Their attention was gone for the remaining time.

Her third and final class went smoothly until the last minute when a student in the back of the class, Hermione wasn’t sure whom, set off a Filibuster Firework. Almost immediately, the bell rang signaling the end of class and the blue fairies released by the fireworks added to the bedlam that ensued. Fairies were flying around the classroom wreaking havoc, girls were screaming, boys were laughing and all were running out of the room. Two of the fairies flew to the chalkboard, removed Hermione’s cloak from the advert and flew into the hall with it. They dropped it on a group of first years, which presently ran into a rather large suit of armor, sending it crashing to the ground.

Apparently flush with knowledge about the layout of the castle, the fairies split up and began a rampage of pranks that was unprecedented since Fred and George Weasley’s tenure. It seemed to Hermione that she was the only professor left in the castle, as the Head Boy and Girl repeatedly sought her help in dealing with a myriad of problems.

“What seems to be the problem now?” Hermione asked wearily as she followed Charlotte down a thankfully deserted corridor.

“There are some second years hanging from a chandelier in the Hufflepuff common room.”

“Of course there are,” Hermione said dryly, knowing full well why Professor Sprout wasn’t being summoned as she, Neville, Harry and Hagrid had taken advantage of the beautiful Friday afternoon to begin work on Molly’s garden.

The seat of her chair had barely warmed when a Ravenclaw prefect and Quidditch player in a state of hysterics, about what Hermione wasn’t sure, had found her. Once she had gotten the girl to calm down, she was told that somehow the trunks holding the Quidditch sets had all been opened in the Quidditch Closet at the Pitch. She and another Ravenclaw had gone down for a bit of practice and had been nearly decapitated by out-of-control bludgers.

“We were somehow able to shut the door before the bludgers got out. But now they are pounding at the door, trying to get free. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before they break the door down.”

Hermione closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm. She rose briskly from her chair and strode into her office. She grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and threw it into the fire before thrusting her head into the cool flames and shouting “The Burrow!”

Her head stopped spinning to find Molly’s back to her, filling glasses at the kitchen sink. She jumped and turned when she heard Hermione’s voice.

“Sorry, Molly. Can you get Harry for me?”

“Is everything all right, dear?” she asked, a strange look on her face.

“Besides the fact that I’m having a horrible day and there are bludgers apparently beating down the door of the Quidditch Supply Closet, yes, everything is right as rain.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yes, well, I need Harry to tell me the charm to stun the bludgers. I don’t know it and frankly don’t have the energy to look it up. Could you get him, please?”

Molly hesitated, then said quickly, “Of course. It may take a few minutes. He was knee deep in muck last time I saw him.”

“It is his Quidditch Closet, not mine.”

Hermione watched Molly bustle out of the room and waited. She heard muffled voices and the sound of a shovel or hoe and the ‘whump’ of dirt being thrown. She could smell the remnants of lunch and her stomach growled, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten lunch. Impatience began to set in when Harry did not appear in the first five minutes. At seven minutes, irritation and a dull ache in her knees from kneeling on the stone floor took over her mood. When Harry finally bounded through the door out of breath a minute later, Hermione was almost angry.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” Harry began, a smile on his face.

Happy to see his friendly face but put out with the course of her day, she said shortly, “What is the charm to stun bludgers?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

“Harry, I’m having a really bad day, okay? I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m not in the mood for chit-chat. Could you tell me the charm, please, so I can take care of yet another problem and then lock myself in my room for some peace and quiet?”

Harry sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of her, concern etched on his face. “Has your day been that bad?”

“Yes,” she said wearily. She looked at him and smiled, her irritation melting and her day looking considerably brighter just by seeing him. She furrowed her brows and said, “Molly said you were knee deep in muck? You look pretty clean to me.”

Harry’s eyes widened a bit and he replied with a smile, “I couldn’t be all dirty before I saw my girl, now, could I?”

“If it would have gotten you in here five minutes sooner, then yes, you could have. The charm?”

“Right. It isn’t exactly a charm. Get my whistle from my office and blow ‘S-O-S’ in Morse code. They will drop right to the ground.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Nope.”

“Who thought of that?”

“I did,” Harry said proudly. “Each referee has their own secret charm so the bludgers can’t be tampered with during a game. That’s mine.” He leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone!”

“Don’t worry,” Hermione said, her eyes rolling. “I’ve got to go. Have fun playing in the dirt.”

Now here she was two hours later, on her bed, the Quidditch Closet sorted out and her day over. She was determined to ignore any and all knocks on her door; let another professor deal with the students’ spring fever. She shook her head and sat up, wondering why she was reliving such a horrible day. She removed her shoes and robe and changed into more comfortable clothes. Her grumbling stomach overriding her sensibilities, she requested a sandwich be delivered to her room, along with a pot of tea. Almost immediately, it appeared on the table beside her wing chair, and she blessed the efficiency of the house elves.

Grabbing some papers from her bag to review, she settled into her wing chair, tucking her feet under her and grabbing half of the sandwich. She munched absently while attempting to concentrate on what she was reading. Soon, the sandwich forgotten and her tea untouched, her eyes drooped closed and her head fell to rest on the back of the chair. She felt Crookshanks jump into her lap and settle down, his warm weight comforting and the vibrations of his purring lulling Hermione into a deep sleep.

“Hermione?”

She felt a gentle touch on her cheek and a warm weight lift from her lap, replaced by the cool air.

“Hermione?” she heard again, her hand being covered in warmth. She opened her eyes and slowly focused on Harry kneeling in front of her, a slight smile on his face.

“Hey, sleepyhead. I thought you didn’t take naps?”

Hermione inhaled deeply and looked around, noticing that the sun streaming through her window was now replaced with the bluish light of early evening. “I don’t. What time is it?”

“About 6:45.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in shock upon the realization she had been asleep for almost two hours. She looked at the not even half-eaten sandwich, the bread curling from dryness. “I missed dinner.”

“So did I.”

“I refuse to ask for another meal in my room and I’m starving. Want to go to the kitchens with me?”

“How about I take you to the Three Broomsticks?”

Hermione shook her head. “I can’t. Minerva is in London and she left me in charge. I can’t leave.”

“I saw Minerva on my way here. She told me to tell you she was back.” Harry looked a bit sheepish. “I asked her if I could take you out of the castle for dinner and she agreed. I hope that was all right.”

“It bloody well was. After today, I want to get out of here more than you know. Just let me get changed.”

Fifteen minutes later, they walked across the grounds toward the main gates, hand in hand, each giving the other a rundown of their day. Almost to the Three Broomsticks, Harry stopped and patted his pockets. “I forgot my money!” He pulled her hand, tugging her towards the road that led to his house. “Let’s stop by my house and pick up my wallet.”

“I’m sure Rosmerta will spot you. It isn’t like you aren’t in there four times a week.”

“Yeah, but I hate doing anything that looks like I’m benefiting from being, well, me.” He pulled her hand again. “Come on. It will only take a moment.”

“Okay,” Hermione replied reluctantly, her stomach growling loudly in response to the smell emanating from the pub.

They walked through the front gate of his garden, and Harry bounded up the stairs two at a time. He pushed open the door and entered the dark house, calling to her, “I think it’s in my bedroom. Come on in.”

Hermione stepped through the threshold of the door and the darkened room was suddenly ablaze with lights.

“SURPRISE!!”

People, tons of people, were standing in a semi-circle around the room, smiling and clapping at Hermione. Fireworks erupted and blue fairies, the bane of Hermione’s day, flew up and wrote “Happy Birthday, Hermione!” in the air above the group’s head. Multi-colored balloons lit from within were floating lazily around the room emitting a soft glow.

Hermione’s first thought was that she was dreaming — that she was still sitting in her chair in her room dozing with Crookshanks on her lap. She looked around in a daze, her eyes settling on Harry, who was standing in the middle of the semi-circle, the biggest grin she had ever seen plastered on his face. He walked toward her and asked, “Are you surprised?”

“No, I’m asleep.”

Laughter rang out from the group, which she now saw consisted of her friends. Ginny, Neville, Fred and George (I need to have a word with them, she thought), Minerva, Professor Sprout, Dumbledore, Amelia Bones, Remus, Molly, Hagrid, Madam Rosmerta, Seamus and Fiona and others were all talking at once.

“I knew she wouldn’t believe it,” Ginny said laughing.

“Did someone get a picture of the look on her face. That was priceless,” Seamus said good-naturedly.

“Yep! I got it,” Fred said, brandishing a camera.

Hermione looked at Harry, completely confused. “Harry,” she whispered. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Well, not technically, no. But it is your half birthday. Today, March 19th, you are 23 ½ years old.”

Relief that Harry did in fact know her birthday was September 19th washed through her, quickly replaced with shock at what he had done for her.

“You did all of this,” she said, gesturing at the room, “for me?”

Harry nodded his head. “You said once that you were rarely surprised. I wanted to see if I could do it.”

“Wow,” Hermione said, looking around. “You did. I had no idea.”

“You have been a bit distracted today,” Harry said with a smirk.

Hermione’s mouth gaped open as comprehension dawned. “YOU!” she said. “You arranged all of those pranks, didn’t you?”

Harry forced his face into a serious expression. “I would never do that. I promised Minerva I wouldn’t prank a teacher, and I didn’t. I have an alibi.”

Minerva sidled up to Hermione, handing her a glass of wine. “When Harry told me his plan, I had no idea the extent of his distractions.” She looked rather sternly at Harry (but Hermione could tell it was forced) before walking off to mingle with the other guests. Everyone took that as the cue to walk up to Hermione and wish her a Happy Birthday and tease her good-naturedly about her shocked expression.

“I’ll have pictorial proof to you tomorrow,” Fred said over his shoulder.

“I can’t wait,” Hermione said dryly.

Hermione took in the scene in front of her of her friends talking, laughing and eating food catered by Madam Rosmerta. She turned to Harry and said, “This is, by far, the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.” Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up and gave him a kiss. “You are going to get so lucky tonight,” she whispered suggestively.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Suddenly, I want everyone to leave.”

Hermione wiggled her eyebrows at him and strolled off to begin visiting with her friends.

---

It was close to midnight, and Hermione was lying on the sofa, her bare feet propped up on the arm, wiggling her toes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so completely knackered.”

She waited for a response from Harry, which didn’t come. She sat up and looked around, wondering where he’d gotten off to. “Harry?”

“Yeah, just a minute!” she heard him call from another room.

She plopped back on the sofa and waited, wondering if she had the energy to fulfill her promise to Harry from earlier.

“Hermione, come here a sec!”

“I’m too tired. You come here!”

Harry walked into the room and around the sofa, bending down to pick Hermione up. “You’re lazy,” he said reprovingly.

“No, I just wanted you to carry me like some damsel in distress.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, kicking open the door to the bathroom, which was suffused in flickering candlelight. The tub was full of thick green bubbles, steam rising from the water. “I feel a little guilty about being the cause of your bad day, so I drew you a bath. I hope you don’t mind,” he said, setting her feet gently on the floor.

“What did I do to deserve all of this?”

“Love me.”

“When you do things like this, it’s easy to love you.”

“Don’t forget to love me when it’s hard, too.”

She placed her hand on his cheek. “I won’t.” She looked at the tub and back at Harry, unbuttoning her top. “Care to join me?” she asked, dropping her blouse to the floor.

“I’d love to, but you need to relax. And I want to clean up out there a bit,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the rest of the house. He kissed her gently on the lips. “Take your time.”

He turned back to her as he was closing the door. “By the way, you’re staying here tonight. Minerva knows and doesn’t care.” He gestured to the hook on the back of the door, on which a pair of Hermione’s silk pajamas was hung. “I nicked some of your things a couple of nights ago.”

Thirty relaxing minutes later, Hermione walked into their bedroom to find Harry leaning against the headboard, fully clothed, on top of the bed. He scrambled off the bed and over to her. “Why aren’t you ready for bed?” she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “How was your bath?”

“Excellent.”

“Good. Feel better?”

“I’ve felt great ever since I walked in the door to your house tonight.”

“See, you can be surprised.”

“Apparently, I can.”

He framed her face in his hands and gently kissed her. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply, running his tongue lazily around her mouth, his hands sliding up and down the silky material of her pajamas. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her head back as he kissed his way down her neck and body, pausing briefly to kiss her breasts through the smooth material. She intertwined her hands in his hair as he pushed her top up slightly to kiss her stomach, flicking his tongue in her belly button, his hands sliding down her legs. It took a moment to realize that Harry had stopped and she looked down to find him on his knees staring up at her.

She smiled at him. “Why did you stop? I’m not that tired.”

Harry smiled up at her, a bit mischievously. “Hermione?” he asked, raising his hand. “Will you marry me?”

Hermione looked at his hand and saw, to her amazement, that he was clutching a ring. She felt sure that her eyes were about to pop out of her head and that her jaw was without a doubt on the ground. She looked from the ring to Harry and back to the ring, not only unable to speak, but completely unable to think.

“Surprise,” Harry said, when she returned her astonished gaze to him.

Hermione dropped down to her knees and grabbed Harry’s hand, looking at the ring he held. Unlike many of the women she knew, she had never given much thought to a wedding ring or what she would want when the time came. Even with the discussions she and Harry had had about marriage, she had never given much thought to the ring. As she looked at the ring he held in his hand, she realized that he knew her better than she knew herself.

It was absolutely perfect.

It was a platinum band. At least, she thought it was platinum from the little bits of the band she could see around the edges; the emeralds encrusted all around obscured most of it. It was beautiful and striking without being pretentious and gaudy. She guessed that if all the tiny emeralds on her band were merged into one stone, the size of it would be obscene. But that didn’t matter one jot to Hermione; her thoughts kept returning to the fact that Harry knew her so well and knew what she would want, even when she didn’t.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Just what I wanted.”

“Really?” Harry asked, childlike enthusiasm emanating from him.

“Really. It’s incredible! Oh, Harry!”

Harry started to put it on Hermione’s finger when he stopped. “You haven’t said yes, you know?”

Hermione smirked at him. “Yes.”

Harry grinned broadly and slipped the ring on her finger the rest of the way. She placed her hand on Harry’s chest, splaying her fingers and wiggling them. “Perfect fit, which I suppose shouldn’t surprise me.”

“Want to know the best part of it?”

“What?”

“I have charmed it so that only you and I can see it.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, intrigued.

“Here is my thought, but we can undo the charm if you want. As soon as people find out, the Daily Prophet will have a field day again. Seeing that they have finally left us alone, I thought we shouldn’t add any fuel to their fire.”

“I agree with that.”

“And, well, I don’t want to take anything away from Neville and Ginny’s wedding. So, I thought we could keep it to ourselves for a while and then announce it after they get married. Is that all right?”

“Then why did you ask me now?”

“I couldn’t wait. I wanted desperately to hear you say yes and see the ring on your finger.”

Hermione looked admiringly at it again. “Where did you get it?”

“Tiffany’s.”

Hermione looked sharply at Harry. “When did you get it?”

“A couple of years ago.” Harry watched her warily. “Are you angry?”

Shocked out of her stunned silence Hermione responded, “No. I’m just amazed by it all. And a bit surprised at how well you know me, to have bought this two years ago when we were so far apart and hadn’t seen each other for years.”

Harry smiled and began unbuttoning her top. “Right. Now I want to see what you look like wearing only that ring.”

---

Author’s Notes:

Well, here it is, the end of the story. This will be the final chapter. There will not be an epilogue.

I want to thank everyone that has read my little story. It started as an idea last August (if you can believe that) and grew to the point that I had to start writing it. I really never imagined that I would post it. I definitely didn’t imagine that so many people would like.

One unforeseen benefit of dipping my little toe in HP fandom was the great people I have met and become friends with. I still can’t believe that someone if Britain reads my story! Or Canada, Australia or South America. I have experienced globalization on a small scale here and have become richer for it.

To the thank yous…I want to thank Artimeis Bristol and Rachel, my first betas. They were extremely helpful and encouraging when I was questioning whether or not this story should be shared with anyone. Also, mushypeas betaed for me once, and still would I’m sure, but for some reason, I stopped sending her chapters through no fault of her own. I honestly don’t know what happened, and I apologize for not continuing the e-mail correspondence.

Finally, a big, huge thank you to Vicarious Leigh and Phoenix Song. They have been invaluable sounding boards and exceptional betas, but, best of all, they have become two very, very good friends.

Here it is everyone. Thanks again for reading.

Cheering charm

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

Chapter 19 Planning Makes Perfect

“Oooohhh, that feels so good!”

After a long, uncomfortable pause, muffled giggles erupted in the dimly lit room.

“That is a phrase I could have gone my life without hearing my mother say.”

Hermione, Fleur and Ginny burst into laughter, and Molly replied, “Oh, pfft, Ginny. No one thought that but you.”

Hermione didn’t say anything, only smiled down at the floor. Because she was lying on her stomach on a massage table she couldn’t confirm by sight, but she would venture a guess that it was exactly what everyone in the room except Molly thought.

“Have you ever gotten a massage, Molly?” Fleur asked.

“No, this is my first, but I must say, it will not be my last.”

Hermione felt the masseuse pull the thin, cool sheet up to her shoulders and pat her on the back. “It’s time to turn over now, Ms. Granger.” The masseuse lifted the sheet into a tent and Hermione turned over, somewhat awkwardly, noticing that the masseuse had her head turned discretely, in the event that Hermione accidentally showed her more than was necessary. Hermione turned her head to see that Molly, Ginny and Fleur were also rolling over to their backs. She closed her eyes, complete relaxation enveloping her for the first time in months.

So much had happened in the final three months of term that her life had been hectic to say the least. Between her responsibilities as Transfiguration Professor, her new job with the Ministry and helping Ginny plan her wedding she had barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone relax. Her workload had diminished once she left Hogwarts for the last time, amid many hugs and tears from her fellow teachers despite the fact that she was going to be living less than a mile away, with Harry in Hogsmeade.

She had only been living with Harry for a week, and she honestly had a difficult time remembering what it was like before. Her entire life previous to her relationship with Harry was blurry, replaced with the sharp images and color that finding love had embedded in her mind. Or was it that she didn’t want to remember her prior life? One thathad once seemed so fullbut was now revealed as incomplete?

Instead of weakening their relationship, the fight about the letter, and all that came after, strengthened it. The pressure they each felt to be perfect for the other was gone. The tension between the two as a result of their secrets was lifted, and the shared secret they had, their engagement, gave them a sense of togetherness they hadn’t felt before.

The day after Harry proposed, they went to the Three Broomsticks, to test the charmed ring. Harry laughed at Hermione as she gestured wildly while ordering a butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta at the bar. Although she did look a bit concerned for Hermione’s mental health, they were both relieved when Rosmerta never looked twice at the glittering emerald band on Hermione’s left hand.

That day after leaving the pub, they walked down the same street they walked down on Christmas night hand in hand, discussing their future, when Hermione suddenly stopped.

“I don’t believe it,” she said, looking at a house set back from the street a bit further than the others.

“What?”

“This house,” Hermione replied, gesturing to a dilapidated Tudor style home, its front garden overgrown with weeds. “It’s for sale.”

“Who would want to buy that?” Harry asked.

Hermione looked at him in shock. “I love this house!”

Harry looked at the house again, taking its measure. “I’m sure it was beautiful in its day, but that day has long since past. This isn’t a fixer-upper, it’s a reclamation project.”

“It’s been vacant for as long as I can remember. I wonder why they decided to sell it now?” Hermione wondered absently, as Harry pulled her down the street.

Three days later, they were walking through the house with Neville and Ginny. Harry asked Neville to inquire about the house in an effort to keep any potential gossip about Harry and Hermione looking at houses to a minimum. To continue the ruse, the four of them walked through the house together with the agent, Harry and Hermione giving their opinions as if they were not interested.

“So, what do you think?” Hermione asked in a whisper as they wandered away from the other three.

“It is maintained much better than it appears to be on the outside. There really isn’t too much that needs to be done, besides some updating.”

Hermione nodded her head, looking around the bedroom they were in with a serious expression.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, following her gaze.

“It just seems too perfect.”

Harry grimaced. “What do you mean?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “We get engaged, the next day we walk past a house that I have loved for years, and it’s for sale. We walk in it and it’s perfect for us.” She looked him full in the face. “Another example of reality being too good to be true.”

“It does seem like everything is falling into place doesn’t it? It may seem all of the sudden, but it’s taken us a long time to get to this point. It isn’t as if I just met you three months ago and now we’re considering buying a house.”

“Are we considering buying a house?” Hermione said, excitement in her eyes.

Harry looked around again. “Yeah. I think we are.”

Hermione clapped her hands together gleefully and threw her arms around Harry’s neck then pulled back quickly and said seriously, “You know, if we do this, I won’t be able to help you much at first, with everything going on and all. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said in mock defeat.

The offer they made the next day was accepted, and by the beginning of May, Harry had begun the process of painting and updating the five-bedroom house. Hermione found time to help whenever she could, usually late at night. By the end of term, the house was ready for both of its new occupants.

Harry’s prediction that they would suffer if relying on their cooking skills ended up being true. After much discussion and dismissal of alternatives, they talked to Dobby, still one of the few house elves that would take a salary, about coming to work for them. He had barely gotten the word “yes” out of his mouth before he was sobbing with joy, much to Hermione’s consternation.

“Ms Granger?”

She felt a light touch on her arm and opened her eyes. The masseuse was smiling warmly at her. “We’re done.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replied. “That was wonderful.”

“You’re welcome. Once you are robed, your lunch will be served in the garden room.”

The garden room turned out to be a lush conservatory filled with tropical plants. A gentle waterfall glided into a river that meandered slowly through the middle of the jungle, the soothing music of the water perpetuating the serene feeling of the massage. The river expanded into a large pond, filled with all sizes Koi lazily swimming through the water, before narrowing again and disappearing into the jungle. A stone walkway followed the river, bending around palm trees and clusters of ferns and smaller paths jutted off at regular intervals, each disappearing behind a veil of colorful vines. A rustle of leaves and a whiff of air announced the departure of a tropical bird from the bush Hermione was passing.

“Neville would love this place,” Ginny said with awe before pausing and adding, “I love this place!”

As instructed, they turned onto the fourth path, which behind the veil of vines revealed a table, draped in a pristine white tablecloth, set for four. Each place setting contained a small parchment detailing the lunch specials for the day. Speaking very clearly into their plates, they ordered, their food appearing instantly in front of them.

“It’s amazing the people that work here get anything done. I couldn’t work or focus in such a relaxed state all the time,” Ginny said, sitting down.

“This is quite a departure from the shop,” Molly said, admiring the Birds of Paradise behind her. “I am so glad that we waited to use our Christmas gifts until now,” she continued, picking up her fork. “This is just what we needed to rejuvenate ourselves for the coming week.”

“I’m amazed you’re able to relax at all, Ginny,” Hermione said. “Can you believe you’re getting married in one week?”

Ginny shook her head. “No, I can’t. Everything has gone smoothly so far, hasn’t it Mum?” Ginny said.

“Yes,” Molly agreed. “Everything that can be done is done. Whatever is left to do will get done without a hitch. I’m not stressed at all.”

Ginny laid a hand on Molly’s arm. “I have to tell you, Mum, you’ve handled this all much better than I thought.”

“What does that mean?” Molly asked indignantly.

“Don’t get offended! I was afraid that planning this would send you round the bend. But, you have been so unflappable it’s almost as if you’re channeling McGonagall.”

Molly smiled and speared a strawberry from her plate. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”

“I think it’s a compliment,” Hermione piped up.

Ginny buttered a croissant and said thoughtfully. “I’m starting to wonder when the other shoe is going to drop.”

“What does that mean?” Fleur asked nonplussed.

“I’m afraid something is going to go wrong, that it’s all too good to be true.”

“Hear, hear,” Hermione said under her breath.

She lifted her fruit laden fork to her mouth and saw everyone staring at her. “What does that mean?” Ginny asked.

“Oh, no! I don’t think anything is going to go wrong with your wedding. I didn’t mean that!” Hermione said hurriedly. “I was just agreeing with the sentiment of being worried when something seems too perfect. That’s all.”

“I guess you do have experience with that feeling, don’t you?” Ginny asked mischievously.

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Hermione how is your new home?” Fleur asked.

Hermione felt her face light up. “It is amazing. Harry has done so much work on it. We have lots of empty rooms, but we‘ll grow into it eventually, I guess.”

“Does that mean we should expect an announcement anytime soon?” Ginny asked.

“Announcement? About what?” Hermione said, her stomach stirring nervously.

“I don’t know, maybe an engagement, or if not that, a new addition to your modern family…”

“Ginny! Don’t be ridiculous. We aren’t even married; children are far in our future.” Attempting to steer the conversation away from her, Hermione said, “What about you? I would think children are nearer in your future than in mine! You’re the one getting married, after all.”

“Yes, what about you?” Molly said with interest. Hermione smirked, knowing that getting Molly on the subject of grandchildren would easily derail any questions about her and Harry. She glanced at Fleur who was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible so the conversation wouldn’t end up focusing on her.

Ginny glared at Hermione. “We were talking about you,” she said sweetly.

“Oh, no! This is your week. We should be talking about you and your wedding.”

“We’ve talked about my wedding during the facial, the manicure, pedicure and massage. Let’s talk about something else.” She looked pointedly at Hermione. “When are you going to get married, Hermione?”

Knowing that Ginny would not stop until she answered, Hermione replied firmly, “Not anytime soon,” as she fingered her ring on her hand in her lap.

“Why not?”

“We have too much going on right now. Besides, if we do get married, it will probably be an elopement.”

“What?” Molly exclaimed. “You can’t elope!”

Molly, Ginny and Fleur were staring at Hermione with affronted looks on their faces. “Anything formal we do will make the papers and we don’t want that. Plus, there would be no way to plan anything in secret to keep the Daily Prophet out of the loop. We would rather just get married privately and not have the hoopla that would come with a big wedding.”

“Are you disappointed?” Fleur asked kindly. “Did you always dream of a big wedding?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “What little girl doesn’t dream about a big wedding? But, I’m honestly not disappointed. I don’t care how, when or where we get married.”

“Well, I’m disappointed,” Molly said, placing her folded napkin on her empty plate. “I was looking forward to going to a wedding I didn’t have to plan!”

***

Fate cooperated and Neville and Ginny’s wedding went perfectly. So well in fact guests were frequently overheard encouraging Molly to consider a career in magical wedding coordination. She protested and deflected the praise to Ginny and Neville, but Harry could tell from the flush on her cheeks that she was proud of her accomplishment.

Neville and Ginny were in the house, changing into their traveling clothes while the guests mingled in the garden, admiring Neville’s work. The most prominent feature was a pond with a fountain shooting water five feet into the air. Crushed stone walkways meandered through the box hedgerows, which were broken up periodically by beds of brightly colored flowers. As Harry ambled along the path, he overheard more than one group discuss the possibility of Neville designing a garden for them.

Harry stopped when he saw Hermione talking to Remus and Amelia, and admired how beautiful she looked. Her hair was pulled up, loose ringlets of her hair gracefully framing her face. She threw her head back and laughed at something Remus said. Amelia then began gesturing and talking at once, relating, Harry was sure, another story of the Marauders’ antics during their time at Hogwarts. He walked over to Hermione and put his arm around her waist, kissing her on the cheek.

“…so then, Lily uses the summoning charm and all of the Quidditch sets flew out of their boxes. They barely escaped before the bludgers started destroying the room. When they got back to the common room James was furious, thinking that their plot had failed, but Lily was just beaming with pride that her charm had worked so well.”

Hermione looked at Harry with a stern look. “Bludgers destroying the equipment closet? That sounds very familiar, Mr. Potter. Have you heard this story before?”

With a look of forced innocence, Harry replied, “Me?”

Remus laughed and looked toward the house. “Oh, here they come!”

Enthusiastic applause and appreciative whoops greeted Neville and Ginny as they stepped out of the house holding hands, beaming smiles on their faces. The guests lined up in two rows, raising their wands over their heads, murmuring incantations. Bubbles of all different shapes, sizes and colors burst from each wand and floated lazily down to the ground. Neville and Ginny began walking under the wands shaking hands and hugging their goodbyes. When they reached the end of the line, Ginny hugged Hermione tightly as Neville and Harry gave each other a one armed hug.

“Don’t forget about our party,” Hermione said to Ginny.

“We won’t, we’ll be back, I promise.”

“Have fun you two,” Harry said, punching Neville in the arm. Neville wiggled his eyebrows up and down and grabbed Ginny’s hand. Molly handed Ginny a bouquet of roses and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks, Mum. It was perfect.”

“You’re welcome,” Molly replied, sniffing discretely.

They stood back and waved to their guests one final time. Neville touched the bouquet, and the portkey took them to their honeymoon.

The crowd stood there for a moment, suspended by their exit. Slowly, people began to move again and ready themselves to leave. Harry tugged on Hermione’s hand, pulling her into the garden away from the exiting crowd.

“I haven’t been alone with you all day,” he said, leading her to sit on a stone bench.

“You’re alone with me all the time now that we’re living together.”

“It still doesn’t seem like enough time.”

“That’s sappy.”

“I know. Don’t you love it?”

“Yes, I do,” Hermione said grinning. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly.

“I love your lips,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“Am I interrupting?”

Harry turned and saw Amelia Bones walking toward them, smiling.

“No,” Hermione replied, standing up. “We’re just waiting for everyone to leave so we can help Molly clean up.”

“What good friends you are,” Amelia replied.

“We try,” Harry said, standing beside Hermione.

“Did you come to say goodbye?” Hermione asked.

“No, actually I came to talk to Harry.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, obviously taken aback. “Okay, I’ll just…”

“No, you can stay,” Amelia said with a smile.

Harry stood there wondering what in the world the Minister of Magic wanted to talk to him about. A moment of awkward silence passed before Amelia asked, “Harry, still receiving lots of fan mail?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Winky, a house elf at the castle handles it for me. She only brings me mail if it is from a list of names I gave her. Everything else, I’m not sure where it goes.”

Amelia nodded her head. “I told Edgar you probably never received the letters.”

“Edgar?” Harry asked, looking at Hermione. “Edgar who?”

“Edgar Holmes, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He has sent you quite a few letters over the past several months.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve never heard of him. Why has he been sending me letters?”

“When you returned to England, he and I had a conversation about you. I told him that you had expressed interest in becoming an Auror when you were in school.”

“That was a long time ago. A lot has happened since then.”

“I told him that, too. I thought, and Dumbledore agreed with me when I mentioned it to him, that you probably had your fill of ‘saving the world,’ and wouldn’t be interested. But, Edgar wanted to ask, so he sent you a letter or two.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not interested.” Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand and squeezed it, offering her silent support. “I have battled enough Dark Wizards to last me a lifetime. But, thank you for the consideration.”

“Oh!” Amelia said, taken aback. “We don’t want you to be an Auror. Well, I guess if you wanted to, we wouldn’t stop you. But, we understand your position. No, Edgar was interested in talking to you about becoming an Auror trainer.”

“A trainer?” Harry asked, stunned.

“Teacher, trainer, whatever you want to call it. You would, of course, have to complete the training in your own right before training other people. That would take about a year.”

“A trainer,” Harry whispered unbelievably.

“What would he teach?” Hermione asked much to Harry’s relief. He was too shocked to think of any questions he would surely have later on.

“Not really sure. I guess that would be determined after he completed the training, to see where his expertise lies.”

Harry was only half listening; instead he was staring off into the middle distance, thinking about the door that had just opened for him. He was partially aware that Hermione and Amelia were continuing the conversation without him as he struggled with a sudden, completely surprising urge to accept the job on the spot.

“Well,” he heard Amelia’s voice boom through his haze, “I just wanted to mention it to you. I knew that you wouldn’t ignore Edgar on purpose. He was mildly offended, but I put that to rest. I knew that any son of Lily and James would have better manners than that bred into them. Anyway, you think about it and let me know. See you Monday, Hermione.”

“Yes, bye Amelia. And thank you!” she called as Amelia disappeared down the garden path.

After Amelia had completely disappeared around the corner of box hedges, Hermione spoke. “Harry?”

He swung his head around to hers. “Huh?”

A small smile played on her lips. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine…I think. That was weird.”

“A bit out of the blue.”

“You could say that.”

“I guess you should have opened your mail, huh?”

Harry shook his head. “I wouldn’t have taken the job if I had gotten the letter. I probably wouldn’t have even listened to them.”

“Like you listened to Amelia?” Hermione said, her smile winning the battle.

“Was I rude?” Harry asked.

“No, but it was obvious you were in shock.”

“I still am.”

Hermione walked in front of Harry and placed his hands on her waist, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Are you going to listen to what they have to say now?”

Harry nodded his head, slowly. “Yes, I think so. Its funny, I haven’t thought about doing anything but Quidditch in so long, I almost forgot that I’m qualified for anything else. If I am qualified, that is. They’re probably just wanting to talk to me because of who I am.”

“Who you are is what qualifies you for the job. You defeated Voldemort almost single handedly. That is quite an accomplishment.”

“That was six years ago.”

“You’re right. I hear after 18, a wizard’s powers diminish drastically.”

“Stop being sarcastic. You know what I mean.”

“What I know is that you are a very talented wizard, in Quidditch and in Defense against the Dark Arts. You have had the opportunity to exploit your skills in Quidditch over the last five years, and you have been very, very successful. Now you have an opportunity to hone your other skills and see where that takes you.”

“Do you want me to take the job?”

“Yes and no. Yes, because then we would work together, which would be nice, and, because it does seem a bit of a waste for your unique magical skills to be dormant. No, because I know how much you love Quidditch and how good of a coach you are. I would hate for you to stop doing something you love.” Harry felt Hermione’s fingers running through the back of his hair. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “What do you want to do?” she asked quietly.

“There you two are!” Fred called merrily. “Come on and help us!” he said, beckoning them to follow him back to the house. “You can do that at home!”

“We’ll talk later,” Hermione said, turning to walk up the path.

Harry nodded, knowing already what he wanted to do.

***

“Wow, this place looks great!” Ginny exclaimed as she and Neville walked through the front door of Harry and Hermione’s new house, seeing it completed for the first time.

“It was all Harry. He deserves all the praise,” Hermione said, beaming at him.

“Thank you, thank you,” Harry replied dramatically, sweeping his hand in a grand gesture around the large rectangular vestibule. About thirty people, Ginny guessed, were wandering around the room, carrying plates of canapés and drinks, and admiring Harry and Hermione’s handiwork.

A grand staircase ran along the left wall of the hall, sweeping in a gentle curve to the right, so that the staircase was the main feature when walking into the house. Four doors opened off of the vestibule, the first at the base of the stairs to the left, led into the Dining Room, which was anchored by a large, formal mahogany dining table currently laden with food. Another door, at the back of the entrance hall, somewhat hidden by the sweeping staircase, led into a well-appointed kitchen.

“How was the South of France?” Hermione asked.

“Amazing!”

“Look at the tan on you Neville,” Hermione said admiringly.

Neville grinned. “I do look good, don’t I?” Neville said with false machismo. Ginny scowled, freckles more prominent on her nose and chest instead of a bronze tan like Neville’s. “That is the curse of fair skin, Ginny,” Hermione said, draping her arm on her shoulder, commiserating with her friend.

“Don’t remind me,” she said bitterly.

Hermione looked at her watch and her eyes grew wide. “Oh! Harry I have to run into town for something.” She rose on her tiptoes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Will you be okay here without me for a bit?”

“Hermione! Our guests are arriving! Can’t it wait?”

“No, it’s important,” she said, giving Harry a meaningful look.

Ginny saw a flicker of comprehension before Harry replied, “Oh, okay then. Hurry back.” He swatted her on the arse as she turned to go.

“Harry?!” she admonished, looking around.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he said mischievously. Hermione gave him a stern look, which Ginny could tell was insincere, before breezing out the door.

“She loves it,” Harry whispered.

“Is this your birthday party or a house warming party?” Neville asked.

“Both. I just wanted it to be a housewarming party, but Hermione insisted that it be my birthday party, too. You guys want a tour?”

“Yes, we’d love a detailed tour and explanation on everything you did to the house,” Ginny said playfully.

“Dobby?” Harry called.

The house elf hurried out of the door leading to the kitchen. “Yes, sir?”

“Would you listen for the door? Hermione has run into town and I’m going to take Ginny and Neville on a tour.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dobby, I’ve told you to call me Harry.”

Dobby’s eyes grew wide and he bowed his head. “Yes, sir, I mean, Harry Potter.”

Harry shook his head and grinned, rolling his eyes good naturedly. “You don’t have to say my full name, Dobby. Just Harry is fine.”

Dobby beamed at the compliment. “Thank you, sir.”

As he led them up the staircase Harry whispered with a smile, “We’re making progress. He didn’t cry when I asked him to call me Harry this time. I’m guessing in about 5 years, he will be saying ‘Harry’ only.”

They started the tour upstairs, Harry showing them the master suite first. These two rooms covered the entire left side of the house, above the dining room and kitchen, making the master the largest room in the house. Ginny could see Hermione’s touch immediately, a vase of flowers and a book evident on one bedside table. They had managed to have an appealing blend of masculine and feminine touches, without one over powering the other. The walls were painted a warm earthy yellow, contrasting beautifully with the dark mahogany rough-hewn dresser and chest of drawers. The bed was enormous, a dramatic three-paneled headboard rising up the wall, and covered in white bedding, with different textured fabric adding the interest that color didn’t provide.

“Wow!” said Neville. “This looks great. I love the floors.”

“They were already here, thank God,” Harry said, tapping his foot on the hardwood floor. “And, luckily, in very good shape. They just needed a bit of polishing.”

“I’m so impressed,” Ginny said. “How many fights did you have over this room?”

“Not one, if you can believe it. She chose the wall color; I chose the furniture. We compromised on the bedding. We went with white because everything I wanted was too ‘butch’ I believe was her word, and everything she wanted had flowers on it.”

He walked into the bathroom, which, like his bathroom at the Shreiking Shack, was a replica of the prefects’ bathroom at Hogwarts, only on a larger scale.

“And, you’ve seen this before.”

“Not very original,” Ginny teased.

“We really love that bathtub.”

“I bet,” Neville said.

The next stop was a guest room, which contained Harry’s furniture from the Shack. The other two rooms, although freshly painted, were empty. The fifth room, Harry explained, was Dobby’s room, located downstairs behind the kitchen.

After greeting more guests, who were arriving in droves, and shaking hands with various people, he led them to the first door to the right off the vestibule. “This is obviously where we spend most of our time.”

Ginny knew on sight that this was Hermione’s favorite room. All four walls were covered from floor to ceiling with bookshelves, each bulging with books. There was not a spare space anywhere for trinkets or knick-knacks. The furniture and rugs from Harry’s parlor at the Shrieking Shack were clustered around the fireplace, taking up one half of the room. Two large mahogany desks, sitting back to back, occupied the other half so that its occupants would be facing each other as they worked. One desk was covered with neat stacks of parchment and quills, while the other looked barely worked on.

“Guess which one is mine,” Harry said sarcastically.

“No need to,” Neville replied with a smile.

“That will change soon, though.”

“When school starts?” Ginny asked.

“No, next week. I’ve taken a job at the Ministry. I begin Auror training on Monday.”

“What?” Neville exclaimed. “You are going to be an Auror?”

“No, an Auror trainer. But, I have to go through the training first.”

“That’s unexpected,” Ginny said.

“I know. Amelia talked to me about it after your wedding. Apparently Edgar Holmes, the head of Magical Law Enforcement, has been writing me letters about it for months. I guess I should have taken your advice Neville and opened my mail.”

“I guess so,” Neville said, clearly pleased to be right.

“Was McGonagall upset?” Ginny asked.

“Not really. I got the impression she viewed my stint as Quidditch Coach as my way to be close to Hermione.”

“She was right,” Neville said definitively.

Harry shrugged his shoulders noncommittally as he led them through a door behind Hermione’s desk. Once in the new room, Harry continued with his running commentary on the house, “This room was the library, but when we decided to combine the library and the parlor into the larger room, this room became my game room.”

“Alright!” Neville replied happily, running his hand along the deep red felt top of a large billiard table that took up a large amount of the room. A dartboard hung in a corner; in the opposite corner sat a round wooden gaming table with ornately carved wooden legs, a wizard chess set in the middle, ready for its first move.

“Get ready for Neville to visit frequently,” Ginny said sardonically.

“Anytime!” Harry said, slapping Neville on the back.

“Harry!” Ginny heard Hermione call from the entrance hall. “Come here for a minute!”

Ginny and Neville followed Harry out of the room and were blasted with whoops and yells of excitement. Seven people surrounded Hermione, all strangers to Ginny, but apparently not to Harry. He bounded forward and shook hands and hugged each person in turn, all the while saying, “I can’t believe it!” while Hermione looked on, beaming from ear to ear. Ginny caught her eye, and Hermione walked over to her.

“Who are these people?” Ginny asked.

“Harry’s friends from the States. I owled them a few weeks ago, telling them about the party. I didn’t tell Harry because I wanted to surprise him.”

Ginny looked at Harry, who was positively brimming with excitement as he talked to his friends. “You succeeded”

“It wasn’t easy, I assure you.”

Over Hermione’s shoulder, Ginny saw Harry run up behind her, grab her around the waist and lift her off the ground. Hermione’s shocked expression turned into laughter as he twirled her around before setting her down. “That is the best surprise, ever.” He kissed her firmly on the lips. “Now, today is going to be perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Harry, I don’t know why you thought I wouldn’t like Hermione,” a petite woman with short, dark hair said, walking up with a gorgeous blond man who had a tan that put Neville’s to shame beside her. Hermione looked at Harry with her eyebrows raised, to Harry’s chagrined look.

“My guess is that he was secretly wanting to watch two women have a catfight over him,” the dark haired woman joked.

Everyone laughed as Harry blushed and the blonde man said, “Keep dreaming, Granger. I can’t imagine why two women would fight over your skinny ass.”

Confused, Ginny looked at Neville who said, “Granger?”

“Oops, I guess I should say Potter. But, he went by Ron Granger in the states. It’s a hard habit to break.” He stuck his hand out to Neville and said, “Hi, I’m Wyatt Jackson.”

“Neville Longbottom.”

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Harry said quickly intervening. “Neville and Ginny Longbottom, this is Wyatt Jackson and Darby Mayfair, and,” Harry paused, pointing to people in turn, “Steve Wilson, Roger Hamilton, Julius Jones, Cassie Hoover, and Jen Manchee. They were my teammates and roommates in San Diego.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ginny said, as Neville shook hands with the men. “So are you two…?” Ginny said, motioning between the Darby and Wyatt.

“A couple?” Darby said incredulously. “Hardly.”

“Only because she is playing hard to get.”

Darby rolled her eyes. “He’s only interested in me because I’m the only woman in California he hasn’t slept with yet. He wants to complete his set.”

“Now, that is not true. I’ve never even been to Sacramento. I’m sure there are tons of women there I haven’t slept with.”

“You are such a skank, Wyatt,”the girl named Jen said, rolling her eyes.

“You just say that because you bat for the other team and I’m your competition,” Wyatt said good-naturedly.

Ginny looked at Hermione to find an expression of astonishment on her face she was sure was mirrored on her own. She looked at Harry who was grinning and shaking his head, the look of someone that had heard this same exchange many times before.

Darby turned and punched Wyatt on the shoulder, hard. “Ow!” He cried.

“Stop being yourself. You’re scaring the Brits!”

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing his arm.

“You guys want a tour?” Harry asked the group.

“We didn’t travel thousands of miles to insult your friends,” Darby assured him, “it just seems like it. Lead the way.”

Harry gave Hermione a quick kiss and whispered something in her ear before beginning his tour. Hermione watched Harry walk off, a smug grin on her face. Ginny looked back and forth between the two, wondering what she was missing.

“Harry didn’t know about his friends coming?” Ginny asked.

“No, I told you that already.”

“Right,” Ginny replied. “That seems like an interesting group. They all lived together?”

“Yes, you should hear some of the stories Harry tells about it.”

“I’ve heard them,” Neville said, “I’m going to talk to Oliver.”

When Neville was out of earshot, Ginny turned to Hermione. “What is with that Wyatt guy?”

Hermione laughed. “Harry says that he is quite the ladies man.”

“Rather open about it, isn’t he?”

“Apparently.”

“He’s gorgeous, though.”

“Yes, he is. Oh, there’s Minerva. I’ll find you later.” She started to walk off and turned back. “Remind me to tell you Wyatt’s grand plan for Harry to win me over,” she said with a grin, before bustling over to Minerva and giving her a hug.

Ginny turned around and surveyed the crowd, which had grown considerably larger since they arrived. It seemed as if Harry and Hermione invited every wizard and witch they knew, which was saying something; Ministry officials, almost every Hogwarts teacher (except Snape), classmates and people from the ABMB. Most surprising was the inclusion of Colin Creevy, who was busy taking pictures of anyone that would let him, and Luna Lovegood, who was standing off by herself, observing the scene. Despite the considerable size of their house, it looked as if they would run out of room for everyone soon. Ginny wandered into the dining room, looking for something to eat and was rather surprised to see that the trays of food were almost empty, apparently decimated by earlier guests.

Settling for a glass of wine, she went looking for Neville, waving at Luna as she walked into the game room. There she found Neville watching Seamus and Fiona play Fred and George in a game of billiards.

“Hey, sis!” George bellowed, giving her a hug while Fred lined up his shot. George gave her a stern look. “If you’re here, we’re here and Mum is here, who is minding the stores?”

Ginny shrugged nonchalantly. “No idea,” she deadpanned, knowing full well that both stores were adequately, even over, staffed.

“Quite a party, huh?” Fred said, coming to stand next to Ginny while Fiona put the three ball in a corner pocket. “Nice shot,” he said.

Fiona grinned mischievously at him and began to run the table. “I think we’ve been played,” he said out of the side of his mouth.

“Yep,” Ginny said, taking a sip of her wine.

“Hey, everyone,” Oliver Wood said sticking his head into the room. “They’re about to make some sort of announcement.”

Pool cues were laid across the table as they returned to the now packed entrance hall. Harry and Hermione were standing at the front door, holding hands and smiling.

“When we put the guest list together, we were afraid we might run out of room,” Harry’s voice rang out across the crowd. “So, we have a contingency plan.” With that, he opened the door and the two of them walked down the front steps.

Everyone in the hall looked at each other and slowly began to follow them. Ginny watched Harry and Hermione’s retreating backs, noting that they did not once look over their shoulder to see who, if anyone was following them. Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulder and said something into Hermione’s ear. Hermione looked at him with an absolutely adoring smile on her face and replied.

“Hey!”

Ginny turned her head to see Darby and Wyatt walking rapidly to catch up with them. Wyatt gave her a dazzling smile, and she was again struck by how unbelievably handsome he was.

“Hello,” Ginny replied with a smile. “Wyatt, Hermione said you had an interesting plan for Harry to win Hermione over. What was it?”

“Oh, that,” Wyatt said sheepishly, an expression that Ginny guessed he wasn’t used to having.

“Yes, why don’t you tell her about your plan?” Darby asked, emphasizing the last word.

“It was really more of a joke. I wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

“Yeah, right,” Darby replied.

Ginny looked from one to the other. “What was it?”

When it appeared that Wyatt wasn’t going to say, Darby began, “Wyatt had the idea that he would come over here in Harry’s place, get Hermione to forgive him, and then Harry could come over once the coast was clear.”

“Why would Harry do that?”

“You should have seen him before he left last summer. He was a basket case,” Darby continued. “He was so worried that Hermione hated him and wouldn’t forgive him. I had to practically stun him to get him to take the portkey.”

“I was just trying to help out a friend that was distraught,” Wyatt said defensively.

“No, you wanted to see if you could charm someone in another person’s body.”

“That is not true!”

“In someone else’s body?” Neville asked.

“Wyatt was going to take polyjuice so he looked like Harry.”

“Ooooohhhhhh!” Neville, Ginny, Seamus and Fiona sounded together.

“It’s a good thing Harry didn’t agree to that. Hermione would have killed him if she found out,” Fiona said.

“At the least,” Ginny agreed. “She probably would have tortured him first.”

“Well, Harry had enough sense to tell Wyatt no, thank God,” Darby said. “Any idea where we’re going?”

“It looks like they’re heading to Hogwarts,” Neville said.

“Well, that would be big enough, I guess,” Seamus replied from the other side of Neville.

When Harry and Hermione disappeared through the gates to the castle, their suspicions were confirmed. The distance between Harry and Hermione and the crowd seemed to be growing. Soon they were lost from sight as they headed around the castle toward the Quidditch Pitch.

More than a little disgruntled at the sudden stroll through Hogsmeade and the grounds of the school, the mutterings of the crowd died as they walked through the gates of the Quidditch Pitch, to find Harry and Hermione standing in the middle of the pitch patiently waiting for them. Not entirely sure what to do, the crowd stopped at the edge of the playing field, just behind the goal posts, waiting on directions from their host and hostess.

Ginny looked around, finding perplexed looks on the faces of everyone gathered, and then back to the smiling couple staring at them. A slow smile spread across her face as she understood what was going on.

As if on cue, Harry and Hermione pulled something from each of their pockets and put their hands up to their mouths. The shrill sound of a whistle filled the air, quickly followed by the sound of flapping fabric, as if a tablecloth was being dramatically removed from a table to reveal a surprise underneath.

A collective gasp escaped the crowd as Harry’s voice, amplified to 100 times its normal volume, filled the stadium.

“Welcome to our wedding!”

***

The months of secretive planning were worth it when Hermione saw the stunned expressions on everyone’s face. This was clearly the last thing that anyone expected. She heard, as if from far away, the rise of a hundred voices in exclamation and awe, as they surveyed the scene before them on the pitch.

A hundred white wooden folding chairs were lined up in two groups, an aisle with a red carpet running between them. The end chair on every other row was adorned with a modest bouquet of yellow tulips and greenery, tied with a white ribbon. The carpeted aisle led to a dais, which was directly behind where Harry and Hermione stood. On the bottom step, two large white urns filled with an assortment of greenery flanked the dais, their matching slightly larger counterparts resting on the back corners of the stage. In the middle of the back of the stage was a white column topped with an enormous bouquet of yellow tulips.

Behind this, and to the crowd’s right, was a white tent, filled with tables and chairs, and gigantic buffet table. The tables surrounded a wooden dance floor, on which a stage was inconspicuously set, instruments at the ready for the absent band.

Hermione looked at Harry. “I think we surprised them, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah. Look at the expression on Fred and George’s faces!”

Hermione found the twins, who were talking animatedly to each other and everyone around them, clearly awed by the size of the surprise. Hermione caught Fred’s eye, and he gave her a thumbs up. George saw him, and began clapping and whooping his pleasure. Soon, everyone around them joined in, until all of their guests were applauding the couple in admiration.

Harry said, “Sonorus,” and resumed speaking to everyone.

“Surprise!” he said, to gales of laughter.

“You two are the MASTERS!” George exclaimed to approval from everyone.

“Coming from you, George, that is truly a compliment,” Harry replied. “We apologize for the deception, but, as you know, we are quite an interesting subject to many in the wizarding world. We didn’t want our wedding to become a media circus. That is why we chose to do it this way, and only invite our closest friends; people we know will not exploit our day for their own benefit.”

Hermione saw a collective look of pride at being invited and trusted wash across the group. Colin, who was in the process of taking a picture, lowered his camera.

“That’s okay, Colin. Take as many pictures as you want. We want you to,” Harry said with a smile. “And, Luna, you have our permission to write a story about the wedding; we trust that you will write the truth, if you deem us newsworthy at all.”

Luna nodded her head and gave them a smile.

“Let’s get this show on the road! I’ve waited long enough to marry this beautiful woman!” he said, looking at Hermione.

***

As everyone seated themselves, Dumbledore strolled up the center aisle. “You two certainly do know how to throw a party,” he said, taking his place on the dais between the two.

Harry turned to face Hermione, who was looking a bit nervously at the audience. “Hey,” he said softly, turning her face gently to his. “Are you nervous?”

Hermione looked into Harry’s eyes, and he saw her apprehension melt away. “Not anymore.”

The same sensation Harry felt kissing Hermione in Molly’s kitchen on Christmas morning overcame him once again. The entire world melted away into a fine white mist. All he was aware of was Hermione, and Dumbledore beginning to speak from far, far away.

***

Hermione concentrated on Harry’s eyes like she had never concentrated on anything in her life.

She felt Harry grasp both of her hands, and heard Dumbledore’s soothing voice mumbling something in the distance. She was relieved that Harry was paying attention since she couldn’t think, let alone comprehend what Dumbledore was saying. She hoped that when the time came for her to do something that her voice would work.

She doubted it would.

***

Who has the rings? Harry thought frantically.

Right, Dumbledore has the rings. Okay, that is okay.

Harry felt something in his hands. He glanced down and saw his hands holding Hermione’s. When did she grab my hands?

Harry had the distinct impression that his wedding was happening and he wouldn’t remember any of it. He was so distracted, by what he didn’t know, that he had no idea what was happening.

How long has Dumbledore been talking?

What is Dumbledore saying?

Concentrate!

***

What did he look down for? Hermione thought worriedly.

When his eyes returned to hers, her fears abated slightly. She saw a look of confusion in his eyes and realized that he was just as unfocused as she was. A large smile spread across her face as she did the only thing she could think of to focus him, and her, on the task at hand.

I love you, she mouthed silently to him, as Dumbledore droned on.

***

Those three silent words broke through and sound suddenly returned to Harry’s world. He could hear Dumbledore clearly now, speaking about love and magic and the connection between the two. Harry squeezed Hermione’s hands and returned her smile, mouthing the same words back to her.

“Harry?” Dumbledore said, holding out his palm, Hermione’s ring resting brilliantly in the folds of his hand.

“Thanks,” Harry said, taking the ring. He held Hermione’s left hand gently in his and slid the ring on, saying, “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Hermione watched the ring slide on her finger and returned her brimming eyes to Harry. He gently wiped a tear from her cheek, his heart overflowing with joy.

***

Hermione felt Harry’s thumb on her wet cheek and stifled a sob.

I can’t believe I’m crying like an idiot.

“Hermione?” Dumbledore said softly, holding out his hand.

She removed Harry’s platinum band from Dumbledore’s warm hand with a smile and returned to her safe haven, Harry’s eyes. She moved the ring down Harry’s finger, saying, “With this ring, I thee wed.” Her fingers lingered on his ring for a moment, before softly traveling around to hold his hand again.

She looked at Harry and their life together, the past 13 years together ran like a movie through her mind. Meeting him and Ron on the train…the mountain troll…Buckbeak…laughing in front of the common room fire…sitting by the lake doing homework…watching Harry fly around a dragon on his broomstick…the Department of Mysteries…giving him advice about girls…seeing him for the first time after five years…playing darts in London…their first kiss…Christmas…

***

Have we really only been together for seven months?

Harry never dwelled too much on his life before Hermione fell in love with him; that portion of his life was a void. The farther in the distance that life drifted, the less Harry remembered; memories were indistinct unless she was part of them. He was struck by the unbelievable fact that he was standing here with the bossy girl who had been looking for Neville’s toad. And he knew that this had been destined from the first “Hello.”

“Harry?”

Harry looked at Dumbledore, who seemed to be very far away.

“I don’t believe they have heard a word I’ve said,” he said, and the laughter of their guests jolted Harry back to reality. He felt a flush creep along his cheeks and saw that Hermione’s cheeks were just as red.

Harry grinned at Dumbledore. “You’re right,” he whispered. “Are we married yet?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. “Yes, you have been married for quite a while. I’ve just been entertaining the audience with my rather slight repertoire of jokes.”

Harry glanced at their audience, finding amused faces staring back up at them.

Dumbledore leaned toward Harry and whispered, “You need to kiss your wife to make it official.”

My wife!

***

Hermione felt Harry’s gently cup her face as he leaned toward her. She kept her eyes fixed on his until the last possible moment, the intensity of feelings in his eyes beginning the kiss before their lips even touched. And then she felt it, the warm familiar embrace of his lips touching hers; lingering softly for what seemed like eternity.

She couldn’t remember their every kiss; certain ones were easily recalled, such as their first kiss, and when they made love for the first time. This kiss, unlike the others, Hermione would refer to in the future as the perfect kiss. Gone was the uncertainty and curiosity of their first kiss; absent, or at least not at the forefront of emotions, was the passion their kisses contained when they made love. In this kiss was every emotion, good and bad, they felt for the other, every memory, every hope, and every dream. With this kiss she felt a completeness that had even been absent from their relationship earlier that day.

***

As the two of them finally pulled apart and looked into each other’s eyes, their commitment was sealed. They smiled the smile of unblemished joy and turned to face their friends and family as one.

The crowd stood on its feet and erupted into cheers and Harry and Hermione’s thoughts turned to the future they would have together. Neither had the gift of sight that Harry’s mother had, but if they did, they would see what Lily saw in her visions years ago…this scene of their wedding…the birth of their first child in two years time…Hermione becoming the Minister of Magic at age 35…the birth of their third child in seven years…Harry winning the Quidditch World Cup for England on his third and final try…Harry becoming the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in 20 years…both retiring at age 70 to spend time with their grandchildren…

But, of these things they didn’t know. Instead they were dreaming of a future anchored in the love that they found in the most unforeseen place, each other.