Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And that's the truth. Pbbbbttttt.

A/N: Hello everyone! I'm back! First and foremost, I want to apologize for the extremely long delay. I won't bore you with the details, but a more-than-two-month-delay in this update divided by Real Life... well, I think you can do the math. But the important thing is I'm back now! I just want to say THANK YOU once again for all of the wonderful reviews you all have left me. When they arrive in my inbox, it's just a little ray of sunshine that peeks through whatever clouds may be darkening the skies.

So less apologizing and more story! Okay, how about a double update? Yep! Two huge chapters, this one (65 "pages") now and the next one, even longer, once the chapter comes back from my beta (and when I have access to the internet again). I'm headed out for a majorly-needed vacation in, like, literally five hours. Where I'll be staying doesn't have Internet access, so I'll have to sneak down to the local internet cafe to post the chapter.

Third, I've said it before how sometimes a chapter takes on a life of its own. That CERTAINLY was the case this time. The very first draft of this chapter simply wrote itself and ended up exceeding this story's PG-13 rating. Oh, the things that go through teenagers' minds. So after some liberal editing, I've managed to pare this down to squeak by, but still give a general idea of what has been happening.

But at the same time I didn't want to merely delete all that so, on the suggestion of my friend and beta, MapleMountain, I have decided to post an "extended version" in a separate story. Doing it this way gives me a chance to explore that one last realm-I have never written 'adult' content before-and they say that you have to try new things to grow, so I will.

If you are interested in joining me in this experiment, and it IS an experiment, then keep an eye out for the "Extended Edition" of this chapter, which will be posted in the near future. For those who have no desire to exceed a PG-13 rating, and I understand that too, then fear not. For while the extended version will expand upon certain scenes in this chapter and even fill in a little historical background on a few of our characters, it will do nothing to advance the H/Hr plot any more than this chapter does.

In other words, there will be nothing in subsequent PG-13 chapters that require that you have read the R or NC-17 version. It might help you better understand certain aspects of certain characters, aspects that aren't examined in canon, but overall they won't be key to the plot... just me being able to finally put to rest a few random mature-themed plot bunnies.

And finally, thank you, thank you, thank you to my beta, MapleMountain. You know what you've done recently. Let's just leave it at that.

Chapter 33. Shades of Gray.

"Thanks again, Harry, for listening."

"You're welcome. And thanks for assuring me I don't have to share the prefect's bathroom with Malfoy."

"Glad to be of service. Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Hermione."

The following afternoon... or rather, much later that same day, Harry didn't wake up until nearly 12:30. Ron tried to rouse him early for breakfast, but Harry, still mostly asleep, mumbled, "G'way... awake late." Molly was only a few moments behind Ron and shooed him out the door.

She'd woken up a little after midnight for some unknown reason, and decided to take a quick look around the house, just to be safe. She assumed it was the ghoul upstairs making noise again.

Once out in the hallway, she noticed light coming from downstairs. She'd made it a few steps down before she saw Harry sitting on the sofa, curled up in a blanket. His face was wet with tears.

The really strange thing though was that for some reason she didn't understand or question (the distraction and privacy charms in the mirror), she didn't feel any need to go to him and ask if anything was the matter. She simply felt that everything was all right... not 'all right' in the sense that all was well, but rather 'all right' in the sense that everything was as it was supposed to be and therefore needed no investigation.

The mirrors were, after all, intended for use during detentions with the professor in the room.

Molly therefore returned to bed and tried to go back to sleep. She was vaguely aware of hearing Ron's bedroom door close later that night. She didn't know what time it was, but knew it had to have been much later.

Over breakfast, Molly warned everyone to let Harry sleep in. She didn't know why he was up late, or why he was crying. And she really couldn't understand why she would've just left him there. But she did know Harry would explain himself if it was important, so she just told everyone he was up late and omitted the tears.

* * *

Harry wasn't really sure what to think when he woke up and realized it was lunch time. He didn't even remember telling Ron to go away, though later that afternoon Ron would take great pleasure in assuring him that he did.

When Harry came downstairs, he found everyone just starting to sit down to eat. As he walked in, everyone turned and looked at him. They all wore looks that clearly showed they wanted to ask, but no one did.

Yet. Just as he was sitting down next to Ron, it happened.

"So, late night, mate?" Ron asked with a slight laugh. He really wasn't trying to pry; he was just trying to tease him about waking up so late, like a proper best mate should.

Harry could hear Molly inhale deeply and could feel her glaring at Ron even though she was behind both of them. So Harry decided he would let Ron off the hook by telling everyone why he was awake so late. He knew they all wanted to know, out of concern for him. Someone would ask sooner or later. Or they'd all go crazy by not asking.

"Hermione's grandfather died yesterday," Harry said quietly. Gasps were heard all around the room. He picked up his fork and began poking at the fried potatoes on his plate; he really hoped Ron threw away the rest of the bacon fat that Crookshanks had been eating.

Expressions of sympathy came from all sides.

"Oh, no!"

"The poor dear."

"I'm so sorry."

"Oh, 'ow 'orrible!" Fleur cried. "You spoke wiz 'er, no?"

Harry actually smiled. He was glad that it had been the last question asked, not the first. He guessed that a small part of him had expected Ron or Ginny to jump on that little detail... of how he had known. He supposed it meant they both might have really moved on if they were more concerned with Hermione, than why or how he was talking to her.

"Yeah, she called me late last night, after her parents had fallen asleep. She couldn't sleep... and I think she just wanted to talk to someone. We talked for nearly three hours." Harry smiled again. "It's a good thing Ron's snoring kept me awake for a while. I might not have heard her if I'd been asleep."

"How did she call you, Harry?" Ginny asked, genuinely curious. "She didn't use the Floo, did she? Her grandparents are Muggle, right? So wouldn't they've been in a Muggle house or hospital?"

Now that the cat was out of the bag, it only made sense that they might wonder how. So he told them about Sirius's mirrors, how he'd gotten them, how he'd given one to Hermione before she left (he left out the part where he kissed her on the forehead), and how she'd established that they actually did work.

Ron looked more amazed at having missed their first conversation than in being excluded. Clearly impressed with the mirrors, he did however ask why Harry hadn't told him about the mirrors first. He looked sufficiently appeased when Harry explained that he hadn't received the second one until his birthday, and how he'd assumed they were non-functional because his was shattered.

Molly admitted that she had seen him during the night, but hadn't seen the mirrors. Harry explained Hermione's theory about the privacy charms. When he described their original usage, Ron gained what could best be described as a dreamy look on his face.

"You best be thinking about a way to stay out of detention, Ronald Weasley," Molly warned, glaring at him with her hands on her hips, "and not how you'll chat with Harry once you're there."

Ron ducked his head and grinned sheepishly.

* * *

Hermione found herself walking down one of the many corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The knot in her stomach and lump in her throat... and the hunger elsewhere, told her what was going to be happening very soon. She was going to meet up with Harry... and break a few school rules.

Oh, and how she was looking forward to that!

The real question though was where exactly was she headed? She knew she was dreaming-she always did-but that didn't make it feel any less real. But where was she going?

The library? Where they ended up at, or rather on top of, the book checkout counter? What about the ever-popular Astronomy Tower? There was a reason it was so well known. While one's breath was busy being taken away, the view of the night sky above was quite breath taking.

Hagrid's paddocks perhaps? Only very recently, she'd suddenly envisioned Harry riding naked on the back of a horse. She wasn't sure where that one came from... but she didn't object either, especially since horses, unlike hippogriffs, could not fly.

How about the Quidditch locker room? Who knew anyone could get so dirty beneath a shower? The next turn Hermione made eliminated all but two possibilities. Oh. The Potions Dungeon? Hermione blushed and her heart raced at those memories. Professor Snape would never again have Harry serve detention there if he knew what happened on his desk.

One final right turn, and Hermione's destination was clear (only in her dreams could the Potions Dungeon be on the fifth floor): the prefect's bath.

Of course... though she didn't know why it felt inevitable this time.

Hermione quickened her pace, alternating back and forth between running a few steps and then walking a few steps as she covered the final thirty feet. She couldn't wait to get inside, but didn't want anyone to see her running. The corridors, which were empty a moment ago, were now full of students... now that she was worried about being seen. She reached the door and whispered the password.

"Ninety-nine point forty-four." She half-moaned in anticipation as the door swung open. Once inside, she quickly muttered the password again, relocking the door.

She hurried over to the full-length mirror, looking at herself to make sure she was presentable. Her eyes were immediately drawn to her Head Girl badge as it glimmered in the candlelight. Lowering slightly, she also noticed something else. She giggled in excitement, and excitement. It wasn't that cold in here.

Another glint then caught her eye. She looked down and found the source: a simple band of gold on the fourth finger on her left hand. Her heart fluttered and she sighed in contentment. It was her wedding ring, once Lily's.

Earlier this year, Harry had asked her to marry him. He actually proposed to her down in his Gringotts vault, in front of her mother's jewelry box. It was the only way he could keep it a surprise and a secret, from both her and the press.

Kneeling on one knee, Harry simply looked up into her eyes and opened his heart and soul up to her, allowing her to feel what he felt for her. After that, no words were needed. Except of course for...

"Hermione Jane Granger, will you marry me?"

Hermione had actually answered the question with a resounding "YES!" before he finished pronouncing her first name. As Harry slid his mother's engagement ring onto Hermione's finger, the images of James and Lily had actually appeared.

"I hope you don't mind a slightly used engagement ring, dear," Lily said to Hermione, who shook her head happily. "Let's just say that I insisted Harry use ours. I can be very persuasive." Behind Lily, Hermione could see James nodding fervently.

"Welcome to the family, my daughter," Lily said.

As the images faded, Hermione turned and looked at the lid of the jewelry box again. There she saw what she had longed to see for more than three years, ever since she first saw the box back before her sixth year. Intertwined in the engraved "HJP" of Harry's initials was now a second "HJP."

If anything was ever needed, there it was: the double, intertwined "HJP" that was now their initials (at least in spirit). True, they weren't actually married just yet, but it was a dream of the memory. Things tended to work out more conveniently that way.

Returning from the memory, Hermione looked up and saw herself again, suddenly now twenty-two years old, fast approaching her second wedding anniversary, and, teaching Charms, the second youngest professor in Hogwarts' history. The youngest of course was Harry. Having nothing to do with being The Stud Who Won, he was the most popular Potions professor that Hogwarts could remember in generations.

Don't ask. Somehow it made sense in the dream.

'The Stud Who Won' incidentally was yet one more title for Harry's collection-one Hermione had given him. It was the only one she ever actually used. He wasn't exactly thrilled with that title either... at least not until Hermione showed him what kind of "special treatment" he could get by waving that name around.

Knowing Harry was on his way, Hermione quickly disrobed and did a cannonball into the tub, which, empty upon entering the room, was conveniently now already full and overflowing with sensual bubbles. She was feeling frisky tonight. After swimming a quick lap to make sure she was good and limber, Hermione heard a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" she sang.

"Harry James Granger," came the playful response from the other side of the door. Harry was feeling frisky tonight too. The thought sent a shiver through Hermione.

"Come in!" she sang back, smiling at the words.

As the door began to open, privacy curtains immediately appeared, separating the two. Hermione moaned at the torture this created, being denied the sight of her husband.

"Anything interesting happen today?" Harry asked in a tone that suggested he was trying to tease her by drawing things out.

"Yes, actually. My dear husband nearly got his bits hexed off today. But he was able to redeem himself at the last second, which was a very good thing, as I've become rather attached to said bits."

"Interesting," Harry replied. "I'm rather attached to them too. And just how did he redeem himself, I wonder?"

"He hurried his very cute arse up and got in the bath." Hermione couldn't stand to wait any longer to see Harry, so the curtains simply vanished. Behind them stood her twenty-one year old husband, Harry James Potter. Amazingly enough, he didn't look a day over 16.0466.

"And how is the love of my life?" Harry asked, looking down into the bath. Completely exposed by the now-clear water, Hermione did nothing to hide herself.

"Waiting!" she replied with extra emphasis. Harry just nodded and grabbed the collar of his entire school uniform, replete with prefect badge (even thought he was a professor), pulling it completely off with one tug, like something out of a Muggle comedy movie. Beneath he was wearing a very familiar pair of pajamas.

Hermione hadn't had this particular dream for some while now, so some part of her noted that his appearance had been updated, and upgraded, with the new information she'd obtained since the last time.

Still in his pajamas, Harry too did a cannonball into the bath, causing waves to caress over her in exactly the same way as his hands did. As he began to walk towards her, agonizingly slowly, his pajamas were simply gone as if he had never worn them in the first place. He came up to her and took hold of her hands, kissing the side of her neck.

"Make love to me, Harry," she whispered in his ear. Harry pulled back for a moment, looking into her eyes. He then leaned forward again, kissing her on the other side of the neck. He always seemed to find that spot that made her whimper.

"As you wish," he said, removing his lips for only long enough to speak.

* * *

About five minutes later, Hermione gasped as she woke up in her motel room.

"No," she sobbed quietly. The dream ended too soon! She had been so close. She was so close it hurt. She still was. And it still did. She turned her head towards the clock on the nightstand between her bed and her parents'. It was just after seven in the morning. She looked beyond the table. Her parents were still sound asleep.

And Harry was no longer in the bedroom right next door to hers.

She quickly got out of bed, grabbed her wand, and hurried into the bathroom. Once inside, she quickly locked the door, cast the strongest silencing charm she could manage, and then a warding charm immediately thereafter. She then turned and magically filled the shower/bath with water instantly. She couldn't wait for it to fill on its own. Shedding her pajamas in record time, she eagerly climbed into the hot water.

Two minutes later, Dan and Emma awoke with a start to the sound of shattering glass inside the bathroom. Inside, Hermione was brought back to reality by a frantic knocking on her door.

"Hermione? Hermione! Are you all right in there?!" came the worried voice of her father. She opened her eyes only to discover darkness, except where light was peeking in under the door.

"Um... yeah," Hermione said after a moment for her collect her bearings. She reached up and grabbed her wand, which she'd set on the wall-mounted soap holder.

"Lumos!" she said, then used the wandlight to look around at the room. What she found shocked her. She'd been rather distracted at that exact moment; she hadn't noticed the glass breaking.

Evidently, somehow, there'd been an uncontrolled and unfocused, yet incredibly powerful blast of magical energy inside the bathroom. Hermione had placed silencing and warding charms on the inside of the bathroom. It would take a powerful witch or wizard to crack one of her wards. Amazingly enough, she herself was one such person.

The first explosion of magic had utterly destroyed her own warding charm. A second one came only a few seconds later. While not even half as powerful as the first, with the warding charm gone, the second blast was still strong enough to shatter everything in the bathroom that was made of glass: the sliding doors of the shower/bath, the mirrors, and the light fixtures and bulbs.

Fortunately, since Hermione was the epicenter and the burst of magic radiated outward from her in all directions, it caused all of the glass to shatter and fall away from her. Only the fact that the porcelain sink, toilet, bidet, and bath were heavy-duty commercial fixtures saved them from a similar fate.

The second blast also knocked out her silencing charm, which was what allowed her parents to hear the breaking glass. Though they instantly awoke, they were still too groggy to realize how much glass had to have broken for them to hear it.

"It sounded like something shattered. What happened in there?" Emma asked. Hermione looked around, blushing in the dark, wondering how she would explain it. Did they really need to know exactly what had happened? She quickly looked around. She could fix everything...

Almost everything, she noted as she saw the broken light bulbs. She could repair the broken glass. However when bulbs shattered, the filaments inside were exposed to oxygen, causing them to all burn out immediately. That, she could not fix. She saw the broken hand mirror on the sink counter.

"Erm, the lights in here burnt out. It was rather sudden and it surprised me, so I dropped the mirror," she lied. "Don't worry, I can fix it. I'm all right." Her movement inside the bath caused a sloshing sound.

"Were you about to take a bath?" Emma asked. Hermione blushed again as she looked down at herself in the bath. She really hadn't gotten in for the purpose of taking a bath.

"Uh, yeah, I was about to," she replied, trying to still her movement. Since I'm already in here...

"Well, you can't do that in the dark. Why don't you give Dan and me five minutes to put some clothes on? We'll go downstairs and find a newspaper and some breakfast. Then you can open the door to let some light in while you take your bath. We'll be back in about half an hour, and we'll bring you back something to eat. Is that all right?"

"Yeah, Mum, that'll be fine." Hermione set her still-lit wand back on the soap holder and slid completely underwater for a few moments. She remained under for a long as she could comfortably hold her breath. Staying perfectly still, she relaxed as she felt the calmness wash over her.

Hermione came back up a few moments later and scooted against the back of the tub, which fortunately was angled to accommodate soaking like this. Oh, this is nice, she thought of the afterglow, soaking in the hot water. She jolted forward a few minutes later when she heard her parents call out that they would be back soon, and the room door closed.

"Oh, Merlin," she whispered to herself. I about fell asleep in here. Now I know why they always joke about the guy falling asleep afterwards. She could feel exhaustion pulling after her. After two major releases, one of the emotional kind last night and one of a more physical nature a little more recently, running on less than three hours of sleep her body desperately wanted to climb back into her bed... which was probably still warm as she'd woken up less than ten minutes ago.

After a quick pass with soap and shampoo, Hermione drained the tub and grabbed a towel from the rack. It was easy to do since there was no glass in the doorframe anymore. Once sufficiently dried, she grabbed her wand and cast several Reparo several times, fixing everything that she'd broken.

With all the glass off the floor now, she was finally able to open the door and let the outside light in. Looking back, she had to admit, it certainly did create a cozy, intimate setting, bathing by wandlight.

She wrapped a new, dry towel around herself, quickly dried her hair (with her hair, magic really did work best), and went back out into the room, taking her old nightclothes with her. She wrote her parents a note explaining she'd been awake most of the night talking with Harry, put on a clean pair of her warmest, softest, fluffiest pajamas, and climbed back into bed. She was sound asleep within five minutes.

* * *

Because she was asleep until the afternoon, Hermione missed out on the first trip to her grandmother's house. With her grandfather's health deteriorating over the last two years, there was an enormous list of around-the-house projects that had piled up. None of them was serious by any means, but an accumulation of two years' worth of "honey-dos" tended to be rather large.

Hermione woke up when her parents returned around one o'clock. Her parents showered after a long morning of minor repair projects and yard work. They had to leave the bathroom door open as they did so, as Dan hadn't informed housekeeping yet. He didn't wanting anyone in their room changing light bulbs while his daughter slept.

Afterwards, the entire family-Grangers, Lewises (Hermione's aunt and uncle), and Gramma, the last Puckle-all went out to a fancy, and seriously over-priced restaurant for lunch prior to the funeral later than afternoon. The food was good, at least.

Hermione resisted the urge to call Harry again after the funeral. Her first instinct was to talk to him, but she knew she needed to spend time with her family. She wanted Harry to be there for her, exactly as he had the night before. Deep down though, she knew that her parents probably wanted her there for them as well.

Late Tuesday morning, Hermione and her family were packing up, in preparation to check out of the motel. They were going to pick up her grandmother and then drive to her aunt's house to spend some time there. One day? Two? A week? They just didn't know yet.

There was a knock at the door. They weren't expecting anyone, but it could have been the maintenance man coming back, trying to figure out a way to add a few Francs to their room bill. He'd been rather suspicious that all four bulbs in the fixture over the sink had burnt out simultaneously, muttering something in French about "touristes."

He was rather annoyed that they had indeed burnt out, for they showed absolutely no indication of any damage ("Must've been a power surge," Hermione suggested vaguely).

A pair of folded jeans still in hand, Dan went over to the door and looked out the view hole. He jerked back and dropped his pants in surprise (the ones he was holding). Shooting Hermione an incredulous look, he quickly retrieved the fallen garment and opened the door.

"Headmaster!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise as she quickly stuffed into her bag one of her more personal articles of clothing. "What are you doing here?" she asked in excitement.

Dumbledore politely remained outside, standing in the hallway. Hermione had never seen him in any sort of Muggle clothing. With his knowledge of the Muggle world, she was surprised that he would wear something so... uncommon. Then again, the robes he usually wore often made quite an impression, sometimes almost regal.

The sea green velvet suit he was wearing certainly made an impression.

Hermione's eyes suddenly widened. Though she doubted he was a boggart, memories of her failed O.W.L. test suddenly flooded her. "Has something happened? Is Harry all right?!" she asked, starting to become panicked.

Looking back and forth between the two of them, Dan finally kick-started back into action.

"Professor, please come in."

"Thank you," Dumbledore said as he entered their room. He immediately spoke to Hermione. "The answer to both of your questions is yes. Yes, something has happened. And yes, Harry is all right."

Hermione immediately sat down on the side of her bed, holding her hand to her chest. She couldn't believe how fast her heart was beating at the moment.

Dumbledore wasn't sure how much his second favorite student knew (not that he could even admit to having a favorite student, let alone two). So he decided the best place to start was at the beginning... at least in regards to her question.

"Many things have happened, Miss Granger. I suppose I should ask if you are aware of what happened on Friday afternoon."

Hermione explained that she'd spoken with Harry over the weekend, so she knew all about the Brockdale attack, at least as much as was reported in the Prophet. Dumbledore was very intrigued by this. How had she spoken with Harry?

As far as Dumbledore knew (and he knew a lot), Harry had not left the Burrow since Friday afternoon, so he couldn't have received a telephone call. And even if Hermione had access to Floo powder, there were no fireplaces in the motel, to say nothing of Floo-connected fireplaces. Yes, Albus Dumbledore was very curious how the two of them had spoken, but he wasn't going to ask. Not these two... not right now.

"Actually," Dumbledore began, eager to return to the reason for his visit, "I just happened to be in Paris on business today. As head of the Wizengamot, I had a meeting this morning with the French Minister of Magic. Later this afternoon, I will be visiting Beauxbatons on a little school business as well."

Though not unhappy to see the headmaster (and still relieved that Harry was all right), Hermione was a little confused about something. "Forgive me for asking, but what does that have to do with me?" She became even more confused. "And how did you know we were here?"

The headmaster put on a look of helplessness and spoke in a very frail-sounding voice. "You would not force an old magician to reveal all of his tricks, now would you?" Hermione smiled and shook her head.

"And as for why I am here, a unique staffing opportunity has arisen, and I would like your input before I consider the matter any further... and before I resume my journey to Beauxbatons."

"My input?" Hermione asked, quite frankly shocked. "I hardly believe I am in any position to offer input on staffing matters." She stopped for a moment. "This hasn't anything to do with Professor Slughorn, has it, sir?"

Dumbledore blinked in surprise. "Horace? How did you...?" he stopped himself; he promised he wouldn't ask. "No, Miss Granger. Actually there is another matter." He looked over to the chair by Hermione's bed. "May we sit down?"

"Oh, yes, of course, sir," Hermione answered. She led him over to the chair and table by the window. He noticed as she grabbed a broken mirror that was sitting on the table to move it out of the way. As she carried it past him, he was able to sense a magical aura surrounding it.

Though the glass was broken, there was definitely some sort of benign enchantment on the object. It was currently inactive however, which explained why he didn't feel it until it was within his immediate vicinity. In that brief moment, he could feel some sort of... tension in the aura, as though something were pulling on it... as though it were connected by a taut string.

This mirror, Dumbledore realized, was connected... tethered to something else... an object... something of similar size... something far away....

Several hundred miles away, possibly? Somewhere in Devon, perhaps? Interesting, Dumbledore mused to himself.

Once they were seated comfortably, Dumbledore on the chair and Hermione on the bed, he indicated to Dan and Emma that they return to their packing. He did not want to take any of their time, and they didn't need to leave the room for this discussion.

"First, to your earlier statement. I do believe, Miss Granger, that you are an ideal person to provide input on this matter. If you will allow me, I have met few students in the last fifty years who are as dedicated to and interested by the educational process as you are. You are, of course, Muggle-born. And I daresay that your final grade of 312% in Muggle Studies makes you uniquely qualified to render an opinion in this matter."

Hermione became embarrassed from the headmaster's praise.

"Tell me, Miss Granger. What is your opinion of the Muggle Studies course at Hogwarts?"

Hermione sat up a little straighter. She was about to begin when Dumbledore cut in. "I trust you understand what I am asking. Please, be honest."

Hermione hesitated. She hated to criticize something that seemed to be working, simply because she thought it should be run differently. She knew she had to proceed delicately. He seemed to want constructive criticism, but there was always the risk that her criticism would be interpreted to fall directly upon the person in charge... namely her former Muggle Studies professor, Charity Burbage. She would feel tremendously guilty if something she said got her sacked.

The way Dumbledore was attentively observing her, she knew she would not be able to beat around the bush, or sugarcoat her words. She would just need to be sure to put everything into context.

"Well, sir, I think that the course, as it is currently, is largely pointless. By design, I feel is fundamentally flawed."

Hermione half expected to hear crickets chirping in an empty theatre like in cartoons as the entire world seemed to come to stop with her words.

"I see," the headmaster said dispassionately.

"It's not the professor's fault, sir," Hermione quickly needed to explain. "It's just... well, the goals of the course are spot on. But everything about the way it's structured sets it up for failure.

"It's a joke, sir. Students consider it to be a soft option. It's too easy." Merlin, Ron would never speak to me again if he knew I said that. "The fact that I was able to score 312% in that class is proof enough. Even Hermione Granger shouldn't be able to score that high on a test. I'd be thrilled with a 10.8 on my O.W.L.s, but if I'm honest with myself, there's just something not right about the design of a class where someone can be marked that highly."

"Please continue," Dumbledore said, again with no indication of pleasure or displeasure.

"The Muggle world vastly outnumbers the magical world, sir. What's the current UK population? Let's say 58 million. The magical population in Britain is nowhere near 58,000. But let's just say that the ratio is a thousand to one, just to make it a nice round number. The magical world is so isolated from the Muggle that most wizards have don't even know what movies are.

"Ronald couldn't even pronounce the word 'telephone' back in third year! How can a course intended to help witches and wizards understand a world that outnumbers them by a thousand times be considered an easy pass?!

"How is it allowed to be an easy pass?" Hermione finished, then stopped abruptly, looking at the headmaster. There was one other fundamental flaw in the course, one she was unwilling to mention. Well, actually it wasn't so much a fundamental flaw as it was a detail that merely held the class back from being all that it could be.

She still wasn't going to mention it. It was just too risky.

And that was to say nothing about what she'd preached already. Dumbledore was sitting in his sea green velvet suit in the standard, motel-issue chair, looking at the student before him, completely silent.

"And?" he eventually asked.

Hermione shook her head. "That's about all, sir," she lied. Off to the side, she could see her mother looking at her. Quickly glancing, Hermione could see the look was clearly to the effect of, "You call THAT dissertation 'that's all'?" Fortunately Dumbledore could not see Emma from the angle he was sitting.

The headmaster paused for a few moments. He appeared quite thoughtful as he looked over his glasses at her. She got the distinct impression he knew she was withholding one more thing. She fought the urge, though, to look away.

"Very well," he finally said. He paused for another moment. "As you know, our esteemed Muggle Studies professor has been teaching the course for a very long time. It seems that few in the wizarding world are interested in teaching such a course, especially one, which as you so honestly stated, is considered a joke by many of the students.

"What you may not know is that she has had a standing request for retirement filed in my office for the past several years. Ever since the summer after you scored 312%, if memory serves."

Hermione looked guilty. "Oh, please do not feel bad, Miss Granger. It seems that she too agrees with you, at least in part. No student should be able to score that highly on a final exam. Your accomplishment of exactly that, as well as sharply declining enrollment, was as she put it, a sign that it might be time for some new ideas in the course.

"She also has been teaching the course since 1938," Dumbledore reminded her, "and would like to try something new in life while she still has time to try something new in life, as well as spend some time with her great-grandchildren. She offered to remain in the position until a suitable replacement could be found, but asked that if someone of interest became available, that I offer the position.

"I was, in fact, on my way to Beauxbatons this afternoon for a little last minute school year planning with Madame Maxime. I was hoping to see how their class was structured."

Hermione suddenly felt extremely relieved. If Professor Burbage was leaving, then it was by her own choice. With a natural pause in the conversation, Dumbledore began to stand up.

"Well, I would love to sit around and chat all morning, but I do have an appointment, and it appears you have a check-out time to meet. Thank you for your candidness, Miss Granger. I shall take your words into consideration." Dumbledore then turned to Dan and Emma.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, it is nice to see you again, although I wish the circumstances were different. My condolences."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Emma said.

As Dumbledore began to head for the door, Hermione suddenly stood up and began to follow him. There was something she'd held back. But if her former professor was planning on leaving anyway, she now felt she could say it.

And there might not be another chance anytime soon. With the notable exception of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Hogwarts teaching positions were usually held for decades.

Well, she thought to herself, as the old saying goes, 'in for a penny, in for a pound.'

"Sir," Hermione called out, "there was something else." Dumbledore turned around, a small smile on his face as though he'd suspected there was something else.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

Hermione took a deep breath before beginning. If certain people knew what she was about to say, her upcoming year would be a very long one indeed.

"If the goal of Muggle Studies is to help wizards better understand the Muggle world, then I think that..." she took another breath, "...I think that the biggest failure of the class is that the wrong students are taking it."

Okay, that was very much true, but that wasn't what she'd been holding back. That just suddenly popped in there. But, it was still a valid point, and now that it was out, she might as well elaborate, especially considering Dumbledore looked as though he was waiting for her to do exactly that.

"Sir, if you ask me to be honest, I think those who would benefit the most from a Muggle Studies course are those who would intentionally choose to not take it. By no means am I advocating integration of the magical and Muggle worlds. However, regardless of whether it's due to prejudice or merely disinterest, I think the magical community is doing itself a tremendous disservice by choosing to remain ignorant of the larger world around them, a world that outnumbers them by more than three orders of magnitude.

"I think, in the long run, the wizarding world would have a better understanding and appreciation for Muggles if everyone took the course." Hermione knew Dumbledore was waiting for her to say it. "And the only way that would happen is if the class was non-optional, just like Charms and Defense. Certainly not seven years' worth, but definitely a, erm, a mandatory class."

"I see," the headmaster said thoughtfully, again giving away nothing of whether he agreed or disagreed. That, Hermione felt, was worse than if he'd simply rejected her ideas. At least then she would know. Finally, after another few agonizingly long seconds of contemplation...

"And?" he asked slowly. Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or be annoyed. He seemed to know there was still one last thing. How did he do that? This really was the first thing to come to mind, but it was the last she would speak.

"And..." she said reluctantly, "I think if you were going to have a course on Muggle Studies, that maybe it ought to be taught by a Muggle."

THERE! She'd said it!

"Honestly, sir. I think I've read every book there is on Quidditch. I've been to every one of Harry's games at school in the last five years." The words came out before she could stop herself. She only hoped the headmaster didn't think to over-analyze her words, like she knew she was doing right now.

She couldn't help but associate Quidditch with Harry. She hadn't been to every Quidditch game at school, but she had been to every one Harry was at, whether he was there as player or spectator. In fact, if Harry hadn't been at school, it was quite likely she wouldn't have gone to any of the games. Instead she would have stayed in the lovely, quiet, empty Common Room to read a good book.

She truly was glad to have Ron as a friend, but if Harry hadn't been there, she honestly couldn't see how she and Ron would have ever become friends originally. If Harry hadn't been a buffer between the two of them-the glue that held the three of them together initially-she really didn't know how a friendship could have formed with her chess (and Quidditch and food) loving friend.

Hermione simply would have avoided him like she had everyone else at her "regular" school before Hogwarts. Ron would have continued to think her a "nightmare." And of course, what happened Halloween night of first year quite probably would have ended differently.

Now, that didn't necessarily mean she would have been killed by the troll that night. Simply put, if Harry hadn't been there, then Ron wouldn't have said what he had to Harry at that exact moment he had, right as she was walking by. No, there were simply too many variables to try to second-guess what might have happened in his absence.

But, regardless of what might have been, it had not. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were friends... best friends.

"But, just because I know all about Quidditch doesn't mean I'm the best person to teach it," she continued immediately with no audible pause after her previous sentence. "Any more than a Muggle who's memorized the words and wand movements is the right person to teach Charms.

"If you want to teach wizards about Muggles, I really think you need a Muggle to do it. There are just some things a born-and-raised witch or wizard would never be able to answer. Maybe a wizard could explain how to use a telephone, but what if someone wanted to know why there were also letters on the number keys? You just have to live some things to understand them. And if they don't understand it, how can they teach it?"

"How indeed, Miss Granger? How indeed?" Dumbledore said cryptically, though he looked pleased. "Again, thank you for your input. Mr. and Mrs. Granger," he said nodding slightly, "a pleasure, considering."

Dan and Emma returned the cordial nod. Dumbledore then headed for the door again. Hermione, ever the courteous student, escorted the headmaster, opening the door for him. Right as it closed, she realized that he had never said what would happen with the position. Then again, she hadn't asked, either.

She quickly opened the door again. "Pr-?" she started, but her voice died as she looked to see... nothing. The motel hallway was empty. She looked left and right. There was no one; the headmaster was gone. The nearest stairway was four doors down on her left. Not even Harry on his Firebolt was that fast.

Is he invisible, or did he Apparate? Hermione wondered.

Does it matter? she asked herself sardonically. She closed the door and returned to finish packing her bag.

* * *

Very early Wednesday morning, Harry stepped out of the Weasleys' bathroom feeling rather conflicted about what he'd just done. He'd managed to make it one day, but it was simply a matter of time before all that (perfectly innocuous) talk about Hermione in the prefect's bath caught up with him.

Unfortunately, his body had not found relief on its own this time while he slept. This time, he had to take things into his own hands. He could not ignore it anymore.

It might seem strange to some, but Harry was still getting "re-accustomed" to a certain part of his body having a mind of its own. Back in third and fourth years... back when he had to deal "merely" with escaped murderers, dragons, mysterious golden eggs, and Polyjuiced Death Eaters... back then, whenever his body had irresistible urges caused by the raging hormones of puberty, he would simply find some quality alone time to release those urges.

It was amazing what a stress reliever that could be.

But then fifth year arrived. Then he started facing a whole new set of problems... problems that were vastly more complex than anything he'd experienced before.

Though things were pretty much already on a damper by then, Nagini's attack on Arthur that year for all intents and purposes had completely shut down his sex drive. It was ironic: he'd spent nearly two years fantasizing about Cho Chang, literally and figuratively, and once they finally became a couple, he was no longer "in the mood."

Of course in the short term, teenage flights of passion and all, this was probably a good thing. But realistically, in the long term, a complete lack of interest did not bode well for their chances.

So, on the one hand... erm, very, very bad choice of words... now sixteen and with the testosterone flowing freely, it was a simple, inarguable fact: he needed release every once in a while. Finally getting that release after almost three weeks (truly an eternity for a teenager), well... it was bloody brilliant!

But yet on the other... um, side of the coin, he felt guilty... guilty for doing that, with her, to her, whatever. True, he hadn't exactly been fantasizing about Hermione, but he had certainly finished what she in his dreams had started. He tried to ignore the urge for the first nine minutes of his ten-minute shower.

He still felt guilty, because she meant so much more to him that just that. But that last minute had been bloody brilliant!

Returning to his bedroom, Harry found Ron awake and getting ready to take his own shower. He was greeted with a silent but knowing smirk. He wasn't making fun of Harry; rather Ron was just grateful to be reminded that he wasn't the only one who did that.

"You just looked way too happy for this time of morning," Ron explained.

* * *

The rest of the week went by a lot faster than Harry could have possibly expected. He ended up speaking to Hermione only once more before the weekend, well, twice technically.

She had called him late Tuesday morning just before (unbeknownst to Harry) the headmaster had visited her. They spoke only for a few moments, but Hermione wanted to let Harry know that she'd try to call him again Thursday afternoon and show him around her aunt and uncle's house.

Her relatives lived just outside of Bordeaux, so on Wednesday they would stop along the way and make sure they earned their "touriste" badges by visiting the Palace of Versailles.

Thursday quickly came and at precisely two o'clock, Harry heard the voice he'd been waiting to hear since, well, since the last time he'd heard it. He was immensely happy for another reason too: he was in the middle of his fourth game of chess that day. It was hard trying to find reasons to stay in his room.

As soon as the mirror activated, Harry could see Ron's attention glaze over. The privacy and distraction charms were working perfectly well. Ron couldn't be torn away from the board.

And yet, it just seemed weird to talk to Hermione as though Ron wasn't there... while said individual was only two feet away. Harry clicked his fingers a couple times to get his friend's attention again, and then told him that he was going outside to talk to Hermione.

Ron reluctantly looked up from the quartz and obsidian board and stared vaguely at the mirror in Harry's hand. He nodded absently then looked back down to the board.

Perhaps it was because he was still somewhat distracted by the charms on the mirror. As Harry walked out of the room, Ron called after Harry without looking up from the board. What he said was the absolute truth, but Ron would probably never say it if he was in full control of his faculties and not so artificially distracted. Kind of like how people often say what they really think when they're drunk.

"Say hi to Hermione for me. Tell her we all miss her and are sorry for her family." Harry turned around and looked at Ron in amazement. Sometimes speaking without thinking worked both ways. Ron was currently lost again in his now one-sided chess game.

I always knew there was a reason he was my best mate, Harry joked to himself.

Harry went outside and found a nice, quiet spot where he could be alone with... erm, his mirror. He was sitting beneath a tree a couple dozen yards away from where he'd had his talk with Hermione at Ginny's birthday party, and which was Metis's favorite hunting site.

Sitting comfortably, Harry looked in to the mirror again.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Hermione replied. "Ready?"

Harry nodded and then Hermione started walking, showing him around her extended family's house. According to her, one of her uncle's ancestors was one of the many support staff who helped design some of the beautiful gardens on the grounds of Versailles.

Unable to leave his work at work, he would come home (when he was allowed to) and apply his passion to his meager little home. Years, decades, centuries went by, and the meager little plot of land slowly grew. The small (by palace standards) gardens were still there, dutifully maintained all these years, but the family business had expanded as well.

Hermione's uncle's great-grandfather made a very fateful decision one day. Evidently, grapes did pretty well in and around the Bordeaux area, so he decided to plant a few vines to see what would happen.

There were thousands of wineries in France, and the vineyards were small by commercial standards, but the family label was well known enough in the region to be popular locally.

It only took about half an hour for Hermione to give Harry the grand tour. Walking (or sitting) hand-in-hand with a mirror wasn't exactly all they'd hoped it would be (actually, it was kind of weird), but it was still better than nothing.

On the walk back to the house, Harry felt it was just too quiet, so he decided to tell Hermione what had happened the night before, Wednesday.

"You'll never guess who came over to Ron's house last night," Harry said, trying to sound secretive.

Hermione thought back to Dumbledore's visit to the motel Tuesday morning. "The headmaster?" she asked.

Harry wasn't expecting that answer. "No," he said hesitantly, almost in the form of a question. "I told you he stopped by Friday before the attack, right?" He was certain he had, but wanted to make sure. Hermione nodded confirmation.

"Who, then?" she asked, having no idea.

"Penelope Clearwater!" Harry said quickly.

Hermione was certainly surprised. "Percy's old girlfriend?" She never would have guessed her. "What happened?"

Harry began to relay the story Arthur told them over dinner as best he could remember. "Percy and Mr. Weasley were out looking for a job most of Friday. While Percy was inside one of the lesser-known shops in Hogsmeade... yeah, Hogsmeade, they were getting desperate.

"Anyway, while Percy was inside one of the stores, Mr. Weasley was outside waiting. He ran into Penelope and her father out shopping that day. They didn't know Percy was with him. Penny said hi, said that she hoped everything was going all right for the family.

"I don't know how, but eventually the topic of Percy came up. Evidently she hadn't heard from him since she kicked him out. She said she was still mad at him, but she still missed him."

"Well, that's not too surprising, is it?" Hermione asked. "The two of them are... unique individuals. I honestly don't think there were many people who could stand to be around either of them that much. But somehow the two of them seemed to get along just fine, for the most part. I guess you could say they were perfect for each other."

"I guess," Harry agreed. "So anyway, Mr. Weasley told them that Percy had moved back in with them, and that they were all trying to put things right again. She seemed happy about that. Ron's dad then asked if she would like to come over for dinner one night.

"Long story short, she came over, surprising Percy, and since dinner went well enough, now her dad is going to give Percy a job. He has a small shop in Diagon Alley, and it seems that was the one place Percy didn't even bother visiting to ask for a job."

"That's good, isn't it? They really did seem rather good for each other. What's he doing?"

"Bookkeeping, I think. Her dad's not very good with numbers, and he's been meaning to hire an accountant for quite some time. He just never really got around to it because he didn't know if he could afford it or not. It's a far cry from being the Minister's Junior Assistant, and not exactly Percy's preferred profession, but it's work."

Harry looked up for a moment and saw Crookshanks running towards him. He smiled.

"Looks like someone else is eager to see you too," Harry said as he saw the bottlebrush tail weaving its way through the tall grass like a periscope.

Hermione could see him looking off to the side and realized someone must be coming. "Who is it, Ginny?"

"Nope!" Harry replied with a knowing smile. "Here you go." With the half-Kneazle now at his feet, Harry turned the mirror around and pointed it at...

"CROOKSHANKS!" Hermione squealed.

Hermione's cat began to simultaneously purr and meow at her urgently, as though he was upset that she had been gone so long. Honestly, Harry couldn't blame the feline.

"I know, I know!" Hermione apologized. "I'm sorry. We'll be home soon, I promise!" Crookshanks let out a long, low mew, almost a warning. He then turned away from the mirror and jumped up into Harry's lap, nuzzling against him. Harry having turned the mirror around, Hermione saw this.

Crookshanks looked back into the mirror, then trotted off back towards the house. Hermione sat there for a few moments with a curious look on her face.

"Did he... did he just threaten me?" she finally in a somewhat high-pitched voice, all at the same time insulted and amused. "I don't know about you, but I got the distinct impression that he's going to leave me for you if I don't come back soon."

Harry grinned. "Well, I guess that means you need to come home soon then," he teased.

"We will. Mum and Dad're going to check on return tickets tomorrow. Prices tend to be more reasonable mid-week, so it'll probably be Wednesday or Thursday. Just in time for your dentist appointment," Hermione quickly added, grinning.

Suddenly, her smile faded and she turned around to look behind her. It looked as though she was looking through the boxwood wall behind her. She turned back a moment later, not quite as happy.

"I should probably go now, Harry. My cousin's looking for me." The lack of enthusiasm was evident.

"Trouble in paradise?" Harry asked.

"No, not really," Hermione explained in an unconvincing voice. "She's just... she's like a nineteen year-old Lavender or Parvati. Makeup and mobile phones, bleached-blonde and boys, that's her in a nutshell. She's insistent upon giving me a complete makeover. I might just have to Obliviate her," she said, not really serious.

"Ah, well, let her have her fun," Harry joked. "Just don't let her do anything permanent. Let her know I expect you back in the same condition I... erm, same as when you arrived."

"You'll get no argument from me on that one," Hermione replied quickly. She then turned to look back again.

"She's getting closer," Hermione said grimly. "Do me a favor, Harry. Remind me to kill anyone who calls me 'Mione, or Herms. She seems to think it's a trendier way of saying my name. Honestly!"

"Yeah!" Harry agreed. "What's wrong with 'Hermione?' It's perfectly nice... it's unique, it's... well, you," he finished rather simply, since nothing else needed saying as far as he was concerned.

"THANK you," she said in a tone of voice as if she was glad he agreed with her. "Oh, I'm probably going to have to put the mirror away tonight. There're just too many people around here to risk trying to use it so much. I know it has the charms on it, but it's still a risk. Besides, I really should be spending my time here talking to them, rather than to a mirror."

"But it's such a nice mirror," Harry added, "even if it's broken. Speaking of which, before I forget... if you're going to put the mirror away, Ginny wanted to talk to you about something. Will you have time tonight?"

Hermione looked uncertain. "Yeah, I guess. What did she want to talk about?"

Harry grinned, having already heard the answer to his own identical question. "Girl stuff."

Again, Hermione looked less than enthusiastic. "All right. I'll have to get away again. Make sure she has the mirror after eight o'clock. Seven o'clock," she recalibrated. She looked away again. This time Harry could hear a faint voice calling Hermione's name.

"Okay, I really need to go this time. There're only so many corners in this garden that she can look in before she finds me. I'll talk to you later."

"Hermione?" Harry asked quickly.

"Yeah?" she replied, sounding hurried to hide the mirror.

"Remember, she's family. She might annoy you to high heaven, but at least you've got her, to annoy you to high heaven."

Hermione smiled. "I know, Harry. I know. That's why I haven't Obliviated her... yet," she finished smiling as the mirror faded.

* * *

It was, Harry felt, the worst thing in the world a bloke could do: fancy his best friend after knowing her for five years.

It was also, he felt, the best thing in the world a bloke could do.

It was brilliant because he'd already known her for five years. He knew what she liked, what she didn't like. He felt he already knew everything there was to know about her.

Or so he thought.

This summer, he'd come to realize that there was an entirely different side of her that he'd known nothing about. Hermione, who loved Jeopardy! and Star Wars. Hermione, who had a favorite song and stuffed animals, and who liked pickles. Hermione, who could put Ron to shame when it came to belching.

He'd known her for five years at school, and yet he hadn't known any of this.

Of course, it did make sense if he thought about it. Everyone had aspects of themselves, their lives, that only their family knew about. They were his family only in the most technical of terms, but the 'Harry' that lived with the Dursleys was not the Harry everyone else knew.

Whatever else had happened, Harry knew that having shared much of this summer with Hermione, and Dan and Emma, had allowed him a unique opportunity to see an entirely different side of his best friend. (And he wasn't referring to when he accidentally burst in on her nearly topless.)

And that was something he'd always be thankful for. (And he wasn't going to object to having accidentally burst in on her nearly topless.)

What had happened this summer, of course, was Harry realized he fancied Hermione. The reasons why he felt it was the best thing in the world were so numerous, he felt there little point in actually trying to list them all. Instead, one simple statement pretty much summed up everything that needed saying: it was Hermione.

The reasons why it was the worst thing in the world... ah, well, that was a little more complicated.

And 'complicated' was a very good word to describe the situation. Fortunately, for once, he knew the source of the problem. He'd even unwittingly told Hermione all about it: his own feelings for her were getting in the way. They were clouding his judgment.

Harry wanted Hermione to fancy him so badly that now, suddenly everything she did he saw as some sign that she did in fact have feelings for him. Still worse, not only was everything she was currently doing proof that she fancied him, but just about everything she'd ever done seemed to be evidence of that which he now so desperately wanted to see.

After all, the human mind had the uncanny-and infuriating-ability to see what it wanted to, even if it wasn't actually there. That went doubly so for love-struck teenagers.

Why was Hermione spending all this time talking to him about her grandfather? Why not her parents? Or Ron and Ginny? Obviously it was because she wanted to talk to Harry. Or it could have just been because her parents were asleep at the time and Ron and Ginny didn't know about the mirrors.

Why was she always hugging him? She hardly ever hugged Ron. Was it because she wanted to hug Harry, or was it because, well, quite frankly, Harry needed more hugs than Ron did?

And speaking of 'Ron versus him,' Harry had definitely gotten the impression that Hermione sounded as though she was going to enjoy being prefect more with him than with Ron. Was that because she wanted to spend time with him, or was it simply because Ron didn't exactly embrace the duty? Oh, he liked the authority, but wasn't so keen on the responsibility.

What was up with what she'd said while she packed to leave, and that kiss on the platform at Waterloo Station? Did she really think him cute, or was it just because he was blushing? She'd said he was sweet, but then again, he'd just complimented her by saying one of her was worth more than a huge family of anyone else. Outside the train, he had given her a kiss on the forehead for no reason other than as a gesture of support. Was that all hers was too?

Going back a bit, Hermione had always seemed to show a bit of an interest in his love life. She had certainly seemed to want to know what had happened with Ginny at his birthday party... and Cho too at Christmas in fifth year. She'd even noticed his interest in Cho back in fourth year. Was that jealousy, or just a friend trying to stay involved in another friend's life?

Now that he thought about it, something about it did seem a little strange. She'd seemed eager enough to know about what was going on, but as soon as he actually started to talk about it, she became rather disinterested about it... almost detached, or distracted.

Why would she want to know about his love life, and then seem completely indifferent by hiding behind her letter to Viktor in fifth year, or the book at the party? Was it because maybe she really didn't want to hear if he was involved with someone? Or perhaps he was just imagining it, and maybe she really didn't care about his love life... in the sense that she wasn't personally concerned about the answer.

Why was it that it seemed like everyone thought there was something going on between the two of them when there wasn't? Well, okay, maybe not everyone, but the two people whose opinions truly were relevant certainly seemed to think so: Viktor Krum and Cho Chang. Harry hadn't fancied Hermione in fourth year, but Viktor definitely thought there was something going on between the two of them.

And let's not even get started on Rita Skeeter. The things that woman printed about him and his love life. And yet... no matter how sleazy or skewed her stories were, there always was at least some basis for them. The facts might have been taken out of context, but there always was some factual basis in there somewhere. So what facts had Skeeter picked up upon?

Also, now that Harry thought about it, Hermione never really did ever deny what Skeeter had written. All she ever did was tell Harry to ignore it. It would have been so easy for her to just say that she didn't fancy Harry. So why hadn't she?

As for Cho... well, it was no secret how Cho felt about Hermione. Of course, though he was sure it wasn't her intent, the fact that Hermione had effectively broken up Harry and Cho's Valentine's Day date (not that it was all that enjoyable) did nothing to dissuade Cho from her accusations. And the fact that Harry hadn't objected to leaving early hadn't helped either.

But, Harry hadn't fancied Hermione then. So what did it all mean?

Everything Harry could think of-because he was now looking, he could find lots of little things going back to first year, but really mostly fourth and fifth years-he could find ways to interpret it all as evidence that Hermione fancied him. But, because his teenaged-mind liked to torture itself, he could also explain it all away as perfectly innocent in nature.

Was Hermione jealous of the Veela, both at the Quidditch World Cup and when Fleur kissed him after the Second Task? Or was she just disgusted that he and Ron succumbed so easily to the Veela's charms? He remembered how excited she looked when she invited him to knit some house-elf hats with her last year. He also remembered how disappointed she looked when he less-than-smoothly blew her off. He had said no... or he had said no?

This summer, Harry was definitely being "playful" with Hermione as they fought over the seat cushions at home, and the popcorn at the movie. And she played along, to be sure. But were "they" flirting like Remus had suggested?

Harry lay on his bed as thought about, pondered, and analyzed all of these things. It was a lazy afternoon, so Crookshanks was lying on the foot of his bed too, in what he'd claimed as his preferred sleeping spot. Harry stared blankly as the half-Kneazle sat there and purred, kneading his claws into the blanket.

As Harry petted him absently, he decided that what he needed was a test of some sort. Sure, there seemed to be loads of evidence that Hermione fancied him, but it all was circumstantial. All of these things did happen. The question was interpretation. If he was wrong... if he was being delusional... he couldn't jeopardize his friendship by pursuing something that wasn't there. He would not let how things ended with Cho to happen with Hermione too... if he was wrong.

He just needed something a little more definitive... some sign that was just a little more concrete. And as quickly as that, he knew what to do.

Harry knew how he felt about Hermione, so he knew what he was feeling on the inside. To be perfectly honest, after spending the most amazing month with Hermione and her parents, being apart from her all this time was pretty much torture. Sure, he got to see her and talk to her through the mirror, but that just wasn't the same.

He needed to be with her. He needed to feel her presence. Even if it was just only as a friend. It was just a Muggle expression, but never had an expression held greater meaning for Harry. Absence had made his heart grow fonder. He knew that the moment he first saw her, whether getting off the train at Waterloo, or maybe stepping out of the Floo in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, he knew he wouldn't be able to resist the urge to run up to her and sweep her up into a hug.

But he needed to. If she was feeling anything remotely like what he was, he hoped her reaction would be the same. So what he would do is watch her reaction. If she looked even half of what he felt, he would know then that she fancied him. It would be the proof he needed.

* * *

It was, Hermione felt, the worst idea she'd ever had: inviting Harry over to spend the summer.

It was also, she felt, the best idea she'd ever had.

It was great simply because she'd been able to spend almost an entire month alone with him (even with her parents). For those few weeks, Harry had become a part of her family. It was a place where she wanted to see more of him for a very long time to come.

Somewhere in the furthest reaches of her unconscious mind, the words "for as long as we both shall live" floated around unspoken. Her subconscious kept them buried however, for fear of causing a panic. So for now, they remained unspoken, out of the forefront, always just out of reach. They remained there however, waiting for when that time came.

Yes, having Harry spend the summer alone with her and her parents was going to be the best thing she'd ever done.

Or so she thought.

The problem was now that she'd had him alone for so long, she couldn't help but look at him differently. Things had seemed to change between them. But how? And why?

Harry definitely seemed a little "friendlier" with her, open to innocent displays of affection... hugs and innocent kisses. He'd even given some himself, whereas it had always been her to initiate it in the past.

Did it mean anything? Or was she just projecting her own feelings onto her observations of him? They had become closer; that much was a fact. But was it simply because he had been hurting after Sirius's death, and he'd simply latched onto her... because she put herself out there for him to latch onto?

That both scared her and gave her hope. Back at Ginny's party when Harry was off playing Quidditch, Hermione had spoken to Tonks when the two of them had a few minutes alone. She had asked the Metamorphmagus about the handholding she'd seen at the cinema that night.

Never a good liar (at least when not on duty), Tonks admitted she had feelings for Remus. But she was worried about pursuing them. A loss shared together could often be the catalyst to bring two people together. But it was a very poor basis for a relationship. A true, meaningful relationship couldn't be based solely upon a common injury.

Once that pain subsided, what happened then? Two people who might become connected by mourning together might suddenly realize they had nothing to keep them joined once their wounds healed. Then what? What if, in their mutual pain, they had done something together to ease that pain, if only for a few minutes? Something that might result in consequences that lasted a lifetime? A lifetime they might not want to share together?

Tonks had said she had to be careful about what she did with Remus, just in case the feelings they both seemed to have turned out to be merely a temporary attachment because of Sirius.

That was what worried Hermione. Harry definitely seemed different around her recently in the last few weeks. Was it merely a side-effect of his healing process? There were just all these little things....

He kept saying things... things that could easily mean nothing, or everything. He liked smart girls. Even today, a few hours earlier, he'd said, "Looks like someone else is eager to see you." Was he just saying it as an expression? Or if Crookshanks was the "someone else," was Harry the first "someone"? Or was she just reading too much into everything and over analyzing it all?

Bloody hell! Hermione swore to herself. She wasn't one much for profanity, but a good, internal curse could do wonders for relieving tension. Well, that, and accidentally breaking all the glass in the motel bathroom.

Simply put, Hermione knew she was too close to Harry to make in impartial judgment about him. Her feelings for him clouded her vision. Almost every thing he did, her mind could find some way to twist around to mean that he fancied her. But it all could have been innocent!

Argh! Hermione screamed again to herself.

She always thought it ridiculous in the movies or stories, how two people in love always seemed to be the last two to realize it. She always thought that was a load of codswallop. She knew exactly how she felt for Harry, so if those feelings were to be returned, how could she not see it?

For herself at least, she finally realized why everyone believed it: it was true. She did see feelings for her returned. And that was the problem: she just didn't know if they were real or imagined. If they were real, fine, great, brilliant! Everyone would live happily ever after. Well, except for Voldemort.

But if they weren't real, if she stood up and declared herself like Ginny had done for years, if she, well, gushed all over him like Cho did, would she become like them? Would Harry be uncomfortable around her like he used to be with Ginny? Would they become strangers to each other like Cho had seemed to be on the train ride home?

That, Hermione would not allow.

And so, she felt like she had two options. One: ask for an outside opinion. The only people she felt she could trust for that were her parents and Ginny. Seeing as how she wasn't quite ready to spill the beans to her ginger housemate, that really only left her parents.

Ordinarily she might not find that an ideal prospect, but seeing as how they seemed to like Harry enough as it was, and since they already knew about her feelings, it seemed to be a safe decision.

Her only other option (and maybe she would do both) was to find some sort of way to test Harry. Try to find something that she could observe and measure (okay, maybe not measure) that might indicate that she wasn't imagining things.

It was pretty simple too.

She remembered all too well how she had taken to greeting him after extended periods apart. She nearly suffocated him at the start of fifth year when he arrived at Grimmauld. And she was pretty sure she heard a joint or two creak when she pounced upon him that first day at her home.

She knew how she would react to seeing him again after all this time (all one to two weeks of it), so what she needed to do was carefully observe how he reacted to seeing her for the first time. Yeah, she'd seen him several times through the mirror. But that just wasn't the same.

So, all she needed to do was suppress her urge to tackle him and start snogging him senseless and see what he did. How hard... er... difficult... could it be?

Hermione groaned to herself as she already knew the answer.

But in the meantime, she needed to talk to Ginny about whatever her "girl problems" were. To be entirely honest, Hermione was quite surprised that Ginny wanted to talk to her. "Girl problems" could be infinitely complex, but they often could be reduced down to one of two categories: biology or boys.

If it was "feminine" problems, Hermione didn't at all know why Ginny would need talk to her. She could just go talk to her mother. And if it was boys... well, Hermione didn't know why Ginny would ask her. It wasn't as if she had much experience in that field.

Hermione looked at the clock; it was just after eight o'clock. The Weasleys should have been finished with dinner by now... or at least everyone else was, and Molly had evicted Ron from the table.

She glanced in the mirror and sighed at her reflection. Never in her life had she worn mascara. It was a decision she never had, and never would regret. But she had to keep it on. She promised her cousin she would keep it on for the rest of the day... to let it grow on her.

That, incidentally was exactly how it felt: like there was a caked-on layer of gunk on her eyelashes. And there was the lipstick. And the blush. And worst of all... hairspray.

"Ginny?" Hermione called.

After a moment or so, the mirror swirled with fog and Hermione was greeted by the youngest Weasley.

Before she could say anything, Ginny's eyes widened.

"Merlin, Hermione!" she exclaimed. "What happened to you?" Hermione didn't think it possible, but Ginny looked to be both horrified and ready to burst out laughing at the same time.

"My cousin felt I needed a makeover," Hermione explained in annoyance. It was at that moment that Ginny said the most terrifying thing she'd heard in her life.

"Ron! Harry! Come here!" Ginny yelled out of her room as she propped the mirror up on her desk.

"Ginny, NO!" Hermione whispered, as if worried they might somehow hear her whispering, but not Ginny yelling.

"What?!" came Ron's irritated voice from somewhere off to the side.

"What?" came Harry's calm voice as well. Hermione began to panic.

"Hermione got a makeover!" Ginny explained excitedly, finding the whole thing hilarious.

"Bloody HELL!" Ron exclaimed as he saw Hermione (after he picked his jaw up off the floor). "You look so... so... you know, different."

"Thanks ever so much for that assessment, Ronald," Hermione shot.

"Whadda ya think, Harry?" Ron asked. "She looks kinda like those sexy models in... uh... magazines, all made up like that."

Hermione cringed. She was pretty sure she knew to which magazines Ron was referring. She'd confiscated one or two such publications while on prefect rounds. While she didn't think she really looked as bad as any of those "models," she did think she looked a bit like what might be the result of a high-speed collision between a runway fashion model and a cosmetics salesperson.

Considering her oldest cousin, it was not entirely surprising she'd ended up like this. Honestly, the girl must've had a subscription to every magazine available in France dedicated to fashion, beauty, style, and young women (that is to say, for young women... an important distinction).

Harry came into view. Needless to say, but he did not look happy to see her. It was the first time in her life Hermione was glad he looked like that.

"So, what do you think, mate?" Ron egged Harry on. Ginny came up behind Harry and stood on her toes to look at the mirror over his shoulder.

"Honestly, I think she looks a bit like a tart like that," Harry said bluntly, looking pained and apologetic. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but it's just not you." Ron looked flabbergasted, and Hermione could see Ginny start to smile.

"Well, it's good to know that at least one of you has taste," Ginny quipped, elbowing Ron. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but you do really look awful... for you."

"HEY!" Ron complained at having been overruled.

"I just didn't want to say it," Ginny finished.

"No, really, thanks," Hermione said. "I didn't like it, but I promised my cousin I'd give it a try."

"Okay you two, out!" Ginny ordered. "That is, of course, you want to hear all about heavy and light flow days."

"GAH!" Ron shouted as he stuck his fingers in his ears. "I'm not listening! La la la la la la..." he started singing to himself as he began to flee. Harry too looked horrified about the topic and turned to leave.

Hermione couldn't help but smile as he snuck her a tiny wave goodbye before leaving the view of the mirror. Ginny left for a moment; Hermione could hear her locking the door and casting a silencing charm.

"Somehow I get the feeling you didn't want to talk about heavy and light flow days," Hermione said once her friend reappeared. Ginny sat down at her desk and looked into the mirror desperately.

"No," she admitted.

"Is it about Neville?"

Ginny looked surprised. "How did you know that?"

"Harry told me that the two of you appeared to be an item now," Hermione admitted.

Ginny shook her head with a smile. "Is there anything you and Harry DON'T talk about?" she joked.

"Heavy and light flow days," Hermione instantly replied with a grin. Then again, that's not entirely true, she reminded herself. They didn't get into details, but she did warn Harry when it was that time of the month.

Hermione's smile slowly faded. "Erm, Ginny. I don't know if I'm the right person to talk about this. After all, I haven't exactly had many-"

"No, you're perfect!" Ginny interrupted. "Besides, it isn't really about Neville. It's more about me. Please don't take this the wrong way, but the fact that you haven't had any boyfriends besides Viktor is exactly why I wanted to talk to you. Besides, I trust you completely. There's no one I'd rather talk to about this than you!"

"Um, okay then," Hermione said cautiously, but pleased that Ginny wanted her advice.

"Well, anyway," Ginny began nervously. "When we were down sitting on the sofa the other day, I had sort of snuck up and surprised him. I sort of crawled across the sofa."

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. It just sounded funnier than she knew it probably was.

"Anyway, after we, um, snogged a bit..."

"Just a bit?" Hermione teased.

"Well, it was a VERY nice bit," Ginny said with an odd smile. "Anyway, I was sort of perched right next to him on the edge of the seat. When I went to lean back, my knee slipped forward and I fell forward... and, um, my hand sort of landed in his lap."

Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise. "What do you mean it 'sort of' landed in his lap?"

"What do you think it means?" Ginny asked exasperated. "I felt Neville up!"

"You felt Neville up?!" Hermione asked in shock.

"I didn't mean to!" Ginny defended honestly. "It was an accident!"

"Okay, so you accidentally fondled Neville," Hermione said, still finding it slightly funny. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is," Ginny replied emphatically, "that I can't stop thinking about it. I just can't help myself. It was a complete and total accident, but I..." Ginny looked around to make sure she was in fact alone in her room and that the door was locked and silenced. She leaned forward and lowered her voice.

"When I was with Michael and Dean... we snogged a bit. It was nice and fun... but it never really, you know, GOT to me. It never really AFFECTED me."

Hermione sat stunned. Never did she expect Ginny would talk to her about this... at least not so... quickly. It hadn't even been a week. Unfortunately, Ginny mistook Hermione's stunned, blank expression for a lack of comprehension. She growled in frustration.

"Oh, you're going to make me say it, aren't you? They were great snogs, but they never really lit my fire. They didn't turn me on. They didn't make me randy!"

"I get it!" Hermione declared, eager for her to stop.

"Well?!" Ginny demanded.

"Neville?" Hermione asked weakly, still in shock.

"YES! Neville makes me horny! Is that what you wanted?! For the love of Merlin..." Ginny sighed.

"Neville?" Hermione repeated, even weaker than before. Ginny ignored her.

"Well, it wasn't so much the snogging that got me," she clarified. "It was more the 'accidentally feeling him up' part... actually, ACCIDENTALLY touching, you know, him. I started thinking about it... remembered how... excited he was... and I started realizing that I wanted to do it again... just not accidentally. And I wanted to do it so he knew it wasn't an accident either," she confessed.

Still listening to Ginny, Hermione finally started to break out of her stunned state. Well... why not Neville? she asked herself. There's nothing wrong with him. He was as good looking a guy as most anyone else. And while he wasn't in the very best of physical condition, he wasn't exactly in bad shape either. If she had to pick an affectionate term for Neville's physique, it would be "cuddly."

And since girls really did only want to cuddle sometimes, that could be a very good thing. In fact, although Hermione had never really considered Neville (because it had always been Harry), the only bad thing she could think to say of him was that he wasn't Harry. Considering how she felt about Harry, that was absolutely no reason for anyone else to discount Neville. So... in a way... she supposed that was somehow a complement, right?

Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts and get back on track.

"Okay, so thinking about groping Neville lights your fire. What's the big deal?" she asked. (Ginny fought back a smirk.) Hermione didn't understand the problem; Harry lit her fire all the time. And seeing him in his pajamas that one time only served to throw petrol on it.

"I'm scared," Ginny said plaintively. "I'm scared that I'm just going to give in and jump on him one of these days. I'm going to not-accidentally touch him and then one thing will lead to another...

"A month ago, you would have never convinced me that I'd be thinking about getting into Neville Longbottom's pants. And now, here I am, fantasizing about it. Hermione," Ginny said desperately. "It hasn't even been a week! How can I be feeling like this so quickly?"

Hermione sighed and looked down for a few moments. "Ginny..." she said, trying to sound as honest as she could manage, "I really think you should be talking to your mum about this."

"I don't WANT to talk to my mum about this!" Ginny replied sharply. "I already know what she's going to say. We already talked about this!" She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, we didn't really talk about THIS specifically, about Neville, I mean. We just had 'the talk' back in third year when she had to sign that form for Madam Pomfrey's class."

Hermione knew this was dangerous territory. She didn't want to get between Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, especially not about this.

"What did your mum say?" Hermione asked, trying to stay out of this conversation.

"She said I wasn't allowed to have sex until I got married. She was being a total hypocrite about it! I know she and Dad went at it like hippogriffs in heat when they were at Hogwarts." Hermione could see Ginny shudder slightly at the thought.

"How do you know that?" was all Hermione could think to ask.

"Because I heard Dad giving Ron 'the talk' once. He certainly didn't encourage Ron to go out and shag the first girl he met, but at least he was a little more honest about he'd done with Mum, and explaining why he was saying what he was." Ginny grimaced again. "Okay, a LOT more honest."

"Heard, or eavesdropped?" Hermione asked shrewdly, still wanting to stay away. Ginny didn't answer immediately.

"It doesn't matter how I heard it," she finally replied. "What matters is that she was all high and mighty, lecturing me about what I was forbidden to do, and then I find out it was all a lie!"

"Now, wait a moment," Hermione interrupted. "Did she lie to you? Did she say that was what she did?"

"Well... no, but she did say that was how her parents raised her. But then I find out that wasn't what she did!"

Tread lightly, Hermione said to herself. "Well, maybe she was trying to encourage you to NOT do what she did. Maybe she wishes she hadn't done the things she did."

"Well, from the sounds of things, it couldn't have been that bad if they were like that." Ginny sighed. "Besides, who cares if that is or isn't what my parents did, or what their parents did? What if it isn't what I want to do? It's my life. What if I decide I want to drag Neville in my bedroom and...?"

"Ginny!" Hermione interrupted. "Is that what you want to do?"

"No. I don't know what I want to do," Ginny said weakly, sounding near tears. "My mind says I don't want to ruin things by moving too fast. Do you KNOW how awkward things get once you've had sex?"

"Um, actually no," Hermione admitted. Besides 'conventional wisdom,' she'd heard no first hand accounts about how awkward it made things. And besides, things were never awkward in her dreams. Then again, that was in her dreams.

"Well I do. Hearing stuff float around, it can really mess things up." Ginny's voice then became a little more desperate. "But at the same time, I know it can make things so much better. I mean, look at my mum and dad. They did it, and they've been together for like, forever."

"Look at my mum and dad," Hermione agreed painfully. "They've been together forever and they still go at it like hippogriffs in heat."

"Eww..." Ginny replied.

"Tell me about it. Even Harry knows about it," Hermione said, recalling what her mum had said the morning of Ginny's party when she thought the two of them were still asleep even though they were actually in the kitchen with Dan.

"EWWW!" Ginny repeated more strongly, mistakenly thinking that perhaps he'd been a helpless witness to the offense.

"The important thing to remember, Ginny, is that it can make things better, and it can make things worse. Until you're sure about how it will affect you and Neville, perhaps that's reason enough to wait."

Hermione took a moment to consider what she said next. Dan and Emma hadn't raised her to believe that she had to wait until marriage. But they-okay, Emma, for the really heavy discussions-had done everything to encourage her not to rush into anything.

She didn't want to work against Mrs. Weasley, nor did she want to encourage Ginny into anything. But, if Ginny was going to reject her mother's lecture, then Hermione felt as though she at least owed it to her friend to make sure she knew that she didn't have to go out and shag Neville the next time she saw him.

The question of whether a person chooses to wait until marriage is black and white: one does, or does not.

Unfortunately, by viewing it as black and white, all too often the "does not" is taken to mean that it was open season to go out and shag anyone, anytime they wanted.

But, if those were the black and the white, then that meant there were all number of shades of gray in between. If Ginny was rejecting her mother's advice on one end of the spectrum, then Hermione felt that her own personal middle-monochrome hue was a far better alternative than automatically swinging to the opposite end.

Hermione would have to thank her mother for that most embarrassing conversation they'd had on Harry's first day on Broomhill Road.

"Ginny, do you want to have sex with Neville?"

Ginny again looked around to make sure she was alone.

"I... I don't know. My mind says to not rush into it. But a... um... certain other part of me is screaming yes." Ginny raised her hand looked at it curiously. "Even my hand says yes." Hermione gave her a very strange look.

Ginny blushed. "I remember what... 'Neville' felt like in my hand, and it wants another go at him."

Ah, yes, Hermione remembered Ginny saying something to that effect. She'd even dreamt about doing that to Harry too.

"So, if you're not one hundred per cent certain you're ready, then don't you think maybe that's reason enough to wait, at least for now?" Hermione added the 'at least for now' on purpose. It made the idea of waiting seem that much more palatable for someone who might choose otherwise.

A person who refused to 'wait for marriage' might be willing to 'wait... for now.' After all, 'wait' was the key word. The longer a person waited, the longer they waited, plain and simple.

Ginny thought about it for a moment. "I suppose," she admitted.

"Let me ask you something else. Regardless of who, where, when, or how, you only have one first time. Do you want Neville to be your first?" Hermione asked, trying to make sure her question didn't sound judgmental, as if there was something wrong with him.

"Well... I don't think I'd mind if he was," Ginny admitted hesitantly.

"Yes, but do you want him to be?"

"I... I don't know," Ginny said again.

"Let's say that you get to the point when you decide Neville is the one you want. How do you want your first time to be? In a broom cupboard?"

"I don't know," Ginny whispered, sounding more scared than ever. She was terrified because her body was telling her one thing, something that her mind just wasn't sure about.

"Do you remember how you said it was your life and how you asked me what if it wasn't what you wanted to do?" Hermione asked; Ginny nodded. "Well, remember, we're all blessed and cursed with free will. You have to choose to not do what your mum wants. That also means that you can choose to not do what your, um, hand wants."

They both knew they weren't talking about Ginny's hand.

"Okay, I see your point. But, oh Merlin, Hermione. Sometimes I get these... ooo... URGES," Ginny said, making a frustrated noise.

Oh, Hermione knew all about that noise.

"Hey, Ginny, you're fifteen years old," Hermione laughed. "There's an estrogen war raging inside you! Of course you're going to have urges. Do you want to know a secret?"

Ginny nodded excitedly. Hermione flushed a little. "Even I get urges," she admitted. "Oh, Merlin, do I get urges!"

"How do you handle them?" Ginny asked hopefully.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling at Ginny's choice of words. Now it was her turn to look around and make sure she was still alone. This time, instead of sitting tucked away in an isolated corner, Hermione had sat down on a bench near a fountain in the garden. She wasn't hidden, but she could see anyone approaching.

"Well... I find some nice, quiet alone time, and I... satisfy those urges... alone," Hermione said slowly and deliberately, looking directly at Ginny as she said so.

Ginny giggled in surprise, not trying to be mean. She just never really associated that and Hermione together. They'd never really talked about anything like this before.

"Really?" Ginny asked, amazed that Hermione had admitted as much. "Does it... work? I mean, is it worth the... effort? It just seems... you know... I mean, you hear about how much guys do that."

"Yeah, it definitely takes the edge off," Hermione said honestly. "It makes it easier to control my... ooo... urges," she jokingly mimicked. She was surprised; she actually found it quite liberating to talk to Ginny about these things. Partly because this particular topic had never been openly discussed before. But mostly because she hoped she might be able to help Ginny too.

"And as for guys... well, maybe that's a good thing. I mean, it definitely sates the need. Imagine how bad guys might be if they didn't do it so often!

"Now, is it worth it? Ginny, you have to swear you won't breathe a word of this to anyone. Anyone!" Hermione warned.

"I promise!" Ginny swore.

"If you do, I promise you'll be wishing I used your Bat Bogey Curse!" Ginny nodded. "The only bad thing about having Harry over at my house this summer was that I felt awkward doing that while he was staying with us. So I let my urges build up. At the motel here the other day... I finally got a chance to take a nice hot bath... and release some tension."

"And?" Ginny asked in anticipation.

"And when that tension released, it snapped like a rubber band and my magic exploded and shattered everything made of glass in the bathroom."

Ginny's eyes widened. "Merlin! That must have been one hell of an -"

"You have nooooo idea," Hermione agreed. "The point is, can you imagine what might have happened if I'd released that... energy on some poor bloke?"

"He would have died very happy!" Ginny joked.

"No," Hermione corrected. "I wouldn't have been able to control myself, I wouldn't have wanted to control myself. I would have done something that I couldn't have taken back.

"It's embarrassing to talk about, and even more so to admit that we do it, but if... self-release makes it easier to control our urges, then I'm all for it!"

"Especially if you break the glass," Ginny teased. "I know, I know," she said after an embarrassed but warning glare from Hermione.

"So what do I do while I'm with Neville?"

"Well, I'll tell you what my mum suggested to me. First, let me ask you this. Where's the best place for a snog?"

"Anywhere!" Ginny immediately answered with a smirk. "Somewhere where we won't get caught."

"Wrong," Hermione replied. "The best place is somewhere where you have some privacy, but you can still get caught." Ginny looked confused. "If you know you might get caught, you might not let things go too far. You said you snogged Neville in the living room, right? I assume everyone was outside at the time."

Close enough; Ginny nodded. "See? You have some privacy, but anyone could walk in at any moment. If you're locked away in your bedroom alone, well... who knows what could happen." Hermione said suggestively. "So, I'll tell you what my mum told me. Leave the door open. If you're alone together in a room, leave the door wide open so you don't let yourself get out of control."

"But Ron might..."

"No offense, but Ron can sod off. Harry and Fred and George and your mum and dad too. Worry about you and Neville, not them. Besides, think about this. What do you think would happen if your parents or one of your brothers found your door locked and knew you and Neville were inside alone?"

"They'd probably break down the door," Ginny laughed.

"So, would you rather have the door wide open and them walk in on you mid-snog, or have them break down the door while you're mid-shag?"

"Ah, I see your point," Ginny grinned. "Besides, that might just be a good idea anyway. Ron's been a bit too quiet about this so far. Harry seems to be all for it, but Ron has been curiously silent. Perhaps letting him walk in on us might be in order. There's another kind of tension he's famous for, and maybe that needs a little letting off before that builds up too much."

Ginny and Hermione shared knowing grins and nods.

"Thank you so much, Hermione. I don't know how to thank you for everything. I just... I just felt like I had to do the exact opposite of what Mum told me, once I realized that she didn't do it herself."

"Well, that's why I told you what I did. I'll be honest with you. My parents never told me I was required to wait to have sex until I got married. I, however, have chosen to not rush into anything. I want to wait until I know the moment is right. Maybe that means I do end up waiting for marriage... if that's what feels right.

"It might be on my wedding night, on my engagement night, or next Thursday night," Hermione repeated what she'd told Emma what seemed like ages ago. "But whenever it is, I know that it will be when the two of us, whoever he is, when we are both ready... and not a moment before."

Ginny looked at Hermione, rather awed. "Wow! I wish Mum would have just said that to me, rather than to practically order me to not do what she herself did, and not leave any room for discussion. We didn't even talk about it. She just gave me a lecture, and that was it."

"Just remember, you only have one first time," Hermione reminded Ginny. "Don't let it be some meaningless bonk in a broom cupboard at school, or behind your dad's shed at home."

Ginny began to giggle. "I never would've imagined you saying 'bonk' like that."

"Well, I want it to sound like some shallow, meaningless thing. If you feel the need to scratch an itch, just take a really long bath and work things out in there."

"What is it with you and baths anyway?" Ginny teased after a brief laugh. She thought for a few moments then sighed.

"And what you said... I promise I will," she said absently. Hermione knew it could have been taken either of two ways: about remembering, or about the other. She intentionally took it to mean the latter, just for fun.

"Just make sure you clean up any broken glass."

"If I'm THAT lucky," Ginny said blushing, and grinning. Now Hermione wasn't so sure which Ginny meant. There was one thing though that she was sure of.

"And, Ginny? Don't automatically discount what your mother said just because she didn't live what she preached. Consider what she said. Ask yourself why you think she might have said it, even if it wasn't what she actually did. Then make your own decision.

"In the end, it has to be your decision to make. Whatever you decide, you will have to live with that choice. Be confident you are making the right decision, before you make it."

"I will. And thank you so much, Hermione. I don't know what I would've done without you. I still don't. But at least I know now that I won't do anything until I am sure. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Hey! Do you know when you're coming back yet?"

"No, not yet. Sometime mid or late next week. Harry and I have dental appointments next Friday, so we'll have to be back before then." Only now for the first time did Hermione realize that their appointments were actually quite pointless now. What good was an appointment if the dentists were gone too? Oh well, it was easy motivation to return that much sooner.

"Well, if there's time, you should see if you can come over here for a while, or maybe Ron and I could go over to your house. It'd be nice to spend some more time with you before school starts."

"That'd be nice," Hermione replied. "I'll Floo you from my house once we get back and we'll see what we can do if there's any time left. I'll talk to you next week. Say hi to Neville for me. And before I forget, congratulations to the two of you. He's a really nice guy, Ginny."

"I know, isn't he?" Ginny gushed, becoming a bit embarrassed again. "You might not think so, but he's a great snog too. He's a fast learner. He's still a bit timid; he won't be the first one to do something, but once I show him it's okay to do this or that, where he can put his hands, he catches on pretty quick."

Ginny grinned.

"Thanks again for everything, Hermione. Call us as soon as you get back. Talk to you later."

"Bye, Ginny."

* * *

The following five days seemed to fly right by for everybody. The summer holiday was coming to a close, so as the number of days remaining dwindled, the faster each one seemed to pass.

And at the same time, each day seemed to drag itself by. Harry looked forward to the day he would find Hermione's head in the fireplace, telling him that she was back home and how he would get back. Hermione was looking forward to the day she could stick her head into those green flames.

And even Ron too was getting antsy. Unlike Harry and Hermione (not that he knew of any significance to their talks), he had been completely cut off from Luna. He had before at least been writing to her on a regular basis. By now he knew he fancied her. There was no getting around that.

Looking back, he knew that Harry had been right. Perhaps he never really had fancied Hermione. What Harry had said really did make a lot of sense. He didn't want to spend his free time with Hermione. He didn't get that, well, bubbly feeling inside of him whenever he saw her. The same bubbly feeling that made his heart jump up into his throat when he first heard Luna's voice at Ginny's birthday party.

Oh, and by the way. Any witch or wizard who breathed word that Ron Weasley felt bubbly, for any reason, was dead!

In the days between Harry's and Ginny's birthday parties, Ron began to think more and more about Luna Lovegood. Harry was right: she was a girl. And a damn fine good looking bird, if Ron did say so himself. Sure, he'd always known she was female. Harry hadn't done this, but essentially until he pointed out that Luna had boobs, Ron never really did think about her as a girl. All she'd ever been was "Loony Lovegood."

Lovegood... Ron snickered to himself. I hope so!

So, while he was still stuck at Grimmauld Place, as he began to consider her more and more, as he continued to write to her on a daily basis, he quickly realized that he was looking forward to each letter.

She was just so unusual. And that made her all the more interesting. Let's be honest. Lavender was pretty hot. And she had a great rack. But... she was a little too predictable. Boys, makeup, gossiping, and Witch Weekly. That pretty much summed her up. About the only thing that would surprise him about her was if it was revealed that she and Parvati really were more than just friends.

There was a time when the thought of that would send Ron's mind spinning as blood was redirected away from his brain. But he hadn't had that dream anymore. No, his dreams had started to become a little bit stranger, and a whole lot more interesting.

Oh, they all started out seemingly innocent enough: Luna would tell him all about mating habits of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack or the fertility rate of the Umgubular Slashkilter, or why Nargles liked mistletoe so much (curious how Ron now seemed to remember the names). They would frequently end with any number of her singing, or humming, different renditions of "Weasley is My King" and Ron...

Well, no one could say that Ron was inept at performing cleaning charms. Now, he was a bona fide expert, not only in casting, but doing it nearly silently so as to not wake Harry. Okay, maybe it wasn't so curious as to why Ron seemed to remember those topics.

In any event, none of that had ever happened with Hermione. Seeing her never quickened his pulse (unless he was mad because they'd been arguing). If given a choice of watching a Quidditch game he'd already seen and doing something, anything, alone with Hermione, he'd've taken the Quidditch game.

Especially if he had to be alone with her for an extended period... without Harry there to help buffer them. It was strange. Ron had been alone with Hermione lots of times before, without Harry. But rarely were they alone, alone. They'd always been in the common room, or in Hogsmeade with other people around.

And even on the rare times that they were truly away from everyone else when they were on prefect patrols, they were simply co-occupying the same isolated area. They weren't there to be alone with each other.

And Ron had certainly had never tried to imagine what Hermione might look like beneath her robes.

Harry was right. Maybe I never did fancy Hermione. The three of them had been best friends. Harry his best mate, and Hermione his best female friend. Somehow he had misidentified his feelings for her. He had liked her more other than other girls. More than Lavender, more than Fleur.

But he had liked her differently than he liked other girls. With Lavender, he looked forward to the weekend when she wore those V-necked shirts of hers. If he timed it just right, he could manage quite the eyeful if he waited to stand up to leave the table in the Great Hall until right as she leaned forward to grab the pumpkin juice.

And as for Fleur, well, he was almost late to class once or twice every week in fourth year because he'd on occasion take the long route to class. A route which incidentally happened to be exactly ten feet behind Fleur as she made her way to class. Beauxbatons robes weren't as form-fitting the jeans Lavender often wore, but they did accentuate curves quite nicely.

Ron did feel something special for Hermione, but it wasn't anything like that. She was special to him. He was protective of her (when he didn't want to hex her), just like he was of his sister. And because she was a girl who wasn't his sister, that must have meant he fancied her, right?

After all, she was his. The thing was though that that feeling wasn't one of petty possession and chauvinism. No, she was his best friend, so she was his, exactly the same how Harry was his. And he was theirs. They were best friends. No one could come between them. Or could be allowed to.

And so he became jealous of others who showed an interest in her. He became mad at her when she didn't choose him. And he did the things he knew a boyfriend was supposed to do... be jealous of others. He even bought girly things for her like perfume. It was irrelevant that she never wore perfume; he just knew he was supposed to buy it.

He would even egg her on sometimes in their rows, just to keep that... intensity... that passion alive. So many people had said they quarreled like an old married couple, that that had to be a good thing, right?

But it wasn't. When Harry said it, it finally made so much sense. It wasn't sexual tension between them. It was anger. When they fought, he didn't do it because he wanted snog her or take her to a bed and have his way with her. He fought with her because he was upset. Because he knew he was wrong and she was right, and he just couldn't let her have that without putting up some sort of fight.

But that wasn't the case with Luna. To Ron, Hermione was painfully predictable. Books, studying and spew... er, rather S.P.E.W. That's all she was. It was part of the reason he was glad he wasn't the one to get landed at her house for half of the summer. And even though once he got there and realized that her house actually seemed, well, normal (for a Muggle home, anyway), it was still filled with bookshelves. And that was enough for him.

But Luna on the other hand, now she was completely unpredictable. Every letter she wrote could be completely different. From Heliopaths to her allegations of a plot by the Hollyhead Harpies to hypnotize the oppositions' Seekers, he never knew what to expect with her. And for some reason, he found that exciting. And... exciting, as was evidenced in the noticeable increase in his underwear turnover rate.

Yes, for the very first time, Ronald Weasley was looking forward to the end of summer holiday. (Technically, the summer before his first year couldn't be counted, as that was essentially an eleven year holiday). Partly because it would be good to be back at Hogwarts. But mostly because Luna was due to be back on the thirty-first.

He didn't know what time she was due back that day, but he wanted to try to find a chance, and an excuse, to go and visit her before they headed back to school. He was hoping for a chance to show her how he felt about her. Now that he was sure he really did fancy her, he couldn't screw things up that badly.

Could he?

* * *

Over on his side of the room, Harry was relieved to find that the rodent population of King George's Park must have been average or slightly below that out in the wild for Hedwig decided she was content with only three eggs.

Ron's tiny Scops owl, Pig, had been getting along just fine with Hedwig and Metis now. Part of it was because (based on Luna's recommendation) Ron had actually started paying more attention to the energized puffball of feathers. In short, he started giving him the same kind of affectionate attention Hedwig was used to.

By the way, any witch or wizard who could "accidentally" let it slip to Luna that Ron could be very affectionate could expect to find a very large bar of Honeyduke's chocolate waiting for them.

And part of the reason for Pig's mellowing the presence of Metis. Now that the diminutive owl knew that Harry's extremely sexy familiar was no longer single, he stopped trying to impress her. After friendly owlish congratulations to the expecting couple, the three avians got along, well, like birds of a feather.

And besides, Pig had his eye on a new owl: the Lovegood's. And when no one was looking, that little minx of a barn owl definitely enjoyed playing hard to get.

Neville had been spending an increasing amount of time at the Burrow lately. Mostly they were finishing their homework, safely chaperoned by an unseen eye. There actually was a very good reason Neville was over so much; he didn't want Ginny over at his house. Over the weekend, Neville had invited Ginny over to his house to see his greenhouse.

And no, that wasn't a euphemism for something else. He really invited her over to see his greenhouse.

When they tumbled out of the Floo, Neville's gran did not miss the smile the two of them shared as he helped her stand up. Neville had yet to tell his grandmother about Ginny, which was also part of the reason for their visit.

Augusta Longbottom constantly encouraged her grandson to find himself a girlfriend. By "encouraged," what that really meant was that she constantly reminded him that he didn't have one, that people might start to wonder about him, and that he should find himself some courage and just ask someone... anyone.

Every time he returned from the Burrow, Neville could feel his grandmother's calculating stare. She always asked him what he did while he was visiting the Weasleys... why he was there, who had invited him, and who was there with him. At first embarrassed that he was visiting a girl, and then later wanting to keep it a surprise until he could formally introduce Ginny, Neville had always replied that he was just visiting "a friend."

Augusta knew of the Weasleys as another pureblood family (not that that mattered), but wasn't familiar with them personally. She was only vaguely aware that they had a daughter (as she had never been there when Ginny called), but she was acutely aware that they had six sons.

Most days, Augusta left the house and spent much of the day with the three other women that formed her sewing circle. The sewing circle was less actual garment manufacture as it was sitting in front of a window overlooking Diagon Alley. They would watch and "comment" on the people walking by, all the while gossiping, sipping sherry, and complaining in general of all the failures in their lives.

Neville's father Frank had always been quite popular with the ladies when he was growing up; Augusta had been so proud of him. Even to this day she constantly asked herself why he had settled for that Alice woman. She certainly wasn't good enough for her only son, Augusta knew.

She'd been rather disappointed when Frank had asked Alice to marry him. She knew that he could have done so much better. She especially didn't like the fact that the woman was an Auror as well. The last thing she wanted was for that woman to make a widower of her son. When Augusta learned Alice was pregnant, that was what clinched it for her. Now she knew: her son had gotten... that woman pregnant.

That was why Frank was marrying her. Augusta was furious with her son.

She refused to see the fact that Neville's date of birth suggested he'd been conceived some fifteen months after Frank and Alice had been married.

So, with Neville not the handsome, strapping young man that Frank had been, Augusta began to worry about him. He was shy, quiet. He certainly was not masculine. She therefore kept after him to make sure he found himself a girlfriend. She worried about him spending so much time with a family with six young men in it. She didn't know if she would be able to bear it if her grandson turned out... well, if he broke her heart by not carrying on the family honor, to say nothing of the family line.

And so it was tremendous amount of relief Neville's grandmother saw that it was a girl who appeared in the flames shortly after her grandson. He had told her he would be bringing a visitor over this afternoon, that he wanted her to meet "someone." Never had such a perfectly innocuous word caused her so much anxiety.

Normally restricting her imbibing to her sewing circle, Augusta had even poured herself a small glass of sherry just to calm her nerves as she waited for the fireplace to flare to life so she could see who it was he brought home to her.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't a small glass. And maybe it wasn't just one.

Ginerva Weasley definitely felt herself under close scrutiny as Neville introduced her as his girlfriend. It had been over a week now, and they had done enough snogging (seventeen "sessions" by Neville's count) to warrant calling it official. So Ginny let him know it was okay that he called her his girlfriend.

As Neville said the words, Ginny paid no attention to the weak, distant voice in the back of her mind that was the dying breath of Super!Ginny (or was it Ginny-Sue?) objecting, "It's only temporary!"

After the cold, stiff, and formal introduction (his grandmother said nary a word), Neville directed Ginny out of the parlor room.

As her grandson led the young Weasley girl (she knew what they said about redheads) out towards the small glass-enclosed building in the back yard, her mind wandered back to her own son. She poured herself one last glass of sherry as she stewed over how that woman had ruined her son's life... and hers by extension.

"Sorry about Gran," Neville apologized. "I don't know what's the matter. Honestly, I think she's a bit pissed," he said incredulously.

Ginny was about to shrug off his apology, saying that she too smelled the alcohol when, right as Neville opened the door for her, something he'd said earlier that week suddenly popped back into her mind.

"You built this?" she asked in awe, forgetting the odd introduction as they entered the eight foot wide by sixteen foot long by six foot tall glass enclosure. Actually, the walls were six feet tall, but the center of the ceiling was about ten feet off the ground, as there was a sloped roof.

"Well, I assembled it," he corrected as he pointed out the numerous two foot by six foot panels that revealed how it was put together.

"It's just a do-it-yourself kit I ordered from a Herbology magazine I get. I actually ordered it right before we left school and had it delivered here. Moving all of these plants out of my bedroom and into here... it helped keep me busy... you know, after that night at the Ministry. It's nothing really," Neville said dismissively, turning back to the structure, "all the pieces just fit together."

Ginny, who had been holding his hand as they walked, let go for a brief moment. She quickly wrapped her arm around his and then took his hand again.

"Hey, don't sell yourself short," Ginny said softly. "It's not nothing. I couldn't have done anything like this," she said as she waved her free hand around the room. "Look at this. This room is full of life. There are people out there, Hogwarts students even, and all they care about is death and destruction."

Ginny looked up at Neville, who was taller than her, and smiled. Her left arm still wrapped around his right, she took hold of his other free hand. "And speaking of things fitting together..."

Neville smiled and leaned forward to initiate their eighteenth snogging session. After a minute or so, they separated and he finished the guided tour of the plants. In all honesty, Ginny still didn't really care much for Herbology. But she did like that it Neville enjoyed it. She got the distinct impression that not many things did make him happy-in this house especially-so she was more than willing to indulge him.

Right as they were about to leave, Neville stopped suddenly, frowning at what appeared to be an empty pot on one of the shelves.

"Oh no," he said softly as he picked it up. Now closer to her, Ginny could see that there had been a plant in it, but the dirt looked as if it had been pulled out, roots and all. Drawing his wand with no urgency, Neville set the pot back and turned to the rather gangly-looking plant that was next to it.

He reached out and touched a few branches that had what appeared to be pea pods on them. As he did so, small vines began to creep out and try to grab his hand. The vines were so small that Neville wasn't even remotely in danger. Nonetheless, he did swat the vines with his wand. To be honest, it almost looked more like spanking than repelling.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, curious. The vines having retreated, Neville stepped back.

"Harry gave me a carnivorous Muggle plant for my birthday. This other one is carnivorous too, and releases a scent that attracts insects, so I put them near each other. I figured they could catch flies together.

"You see these large, shiny broad leaves?" he asked, pointing at the larger plant. "That shine is sticky. When an insect lands on it, the leaves curl up and trap the insect." He then pointed at an example. What Ginny had mistaken for a pea pod was in fact a closed trap. She also noticed that all of the closed traps were on the side closest to the now empty pot.

"I guess this one didn't like the competition."

"You're saying your plant... ate Harry's?" Ginny asked; Neville nodded. "I don't know whether to laugh or not."

Neville chuckled slightly. "Well, at least now I know why these things always grow isolated out in the wild. I don't know how I'm going to tell Harry."

Ginny smiled. She really liked seeing Neville enjoy himself like this. Nineteen, she thought to herself, and closed the distance between then once again.

"WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?!!" Augusta Longbottom roared from outside the greenhouse.

Neville and Ginny jumped apart, both scared nearly to death.

"Gran!" Neville gasped.

"SILENCE!" she hissed, shaking her crooked finger at her grandson as she strode into the glass building. It probably explained a lot, but the shaking was probably as much to do with inebriation as it was infuriation. She then pointed her finger at Ginny menacingly. The unsteadiness was not at all amusing.

"And you... GET OUT OF HERE! You... you... tramp... you scarlet woman... you HARLOT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!"

"GRAN!!" Neville shouted.

"You hold your tongue, young man! Or perhaps I should have her do it for you?" she said viciously. "All this time I've been worried about you becoming a nancy boy. Well, you've proved me wrong in grand fashion!" The sarcasm didn't drip from her words, it poured.

Augusta turned back towards Ginny. "If you've so much as caused a single impure thought in my grandson, I'll curse you and your entire FAMILY!!

"GRAN!!" Neville screamed. "SHUT UP!" Neville couldn't help but glance at Ginny for a second.

Nothing about this situation was even remotely funny, but Ginny did not miss that. That was not anger; that was a blush.

"Oh, what would your father say if he saw you in here, fornicating with this... this red-haired... succubus?!"

Neville stood silently for a moment, beginning to barely shake. "What do you care?!" he spat. "You don't even like going to visit him anymore! Or Mum!" He then turned to Ginny and smiled, or at least tried to.

"Why don't you go home? You don't need to be here for this." He then leaned forward and kissed her for just a moment.

"DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM!" Augusta shrieked at Ginny.

Of their nineteen previous snogging interludes, some were hesitant, some bold. Some were tame and some could (and did) raise more than just eyebrows. But this one was by far the softest and gentlest they'd yet shared. And yet it somehow it said more than any of the others.

Ginny quickly escaped out the greenhouse's back door. At first she walked, but as she could hear Neville's raised voice-muffled by the wall between them-shouting at his grandmother, she began to walk faster and faster. Tears started to stream down her face. As she ran up the small lawn back to the house, the greenhouse front door was now directly behind her.

"I don't want you seeing her EVER AGAIN! I'll not have you living a life of sin in my house!" Ginny felt as the words stabbed her through the heart. Whatever Neville's reply was, she did not hear it as she burst into the house and ran to the fireplace. It was only with an incredible amount of will power that she was able to clearly pronounce her destination that led her back home.