1. Their Younger Selves

For Halloween

By: GracieInGreek

Hermione looked down at the blue robes in her hands. She gripped and ungripped the fabric, feeling the aged material flow over her fingers.

Closing her eyes, she let her body fall back against the wall as her hand traveled across her sheets and up the bed post, which she gripped after a second to haul herself up. She left the dress unzipped and open on the floor, waiting for her to step into it.

Hermione opened her eyes once she was back on her feet, and stared at herself in the mirror. Her body was marked and freckled and scarred by now, and after so long and the world so much rougher, it was really to be expected.

She rested a hand on her belly, over her navel but under her chest, where a long vine of nettles had caught her when they'd all been crawling away from one battle field and toward another.

It was ironic, she knew. That the newest and brightest wound was also the least lethal and least malicious. The nettle hadn't wanted to kill her, it just didn't want to be torn from the ground.

Turning away from her reflection as she felt a smooth curl hit her nose as it hung from the crown of her head, Hermione stood in the circle of her open dress robes, staring down at her feet centered in the pool of blue fabric. They were not as soft or small as they once were. Then again, not much of her was; leaning down, she tugged the robes up her thighs and over her hips.

She was not so much bigger then she had been at fourteen, but her body had changed as girls bodies do. Hermione bent her arms to reach behind her and it zip up as the flowy cloth fell in to place. She felt the dress stress around her hips, chest, bottom. Only around her waist was it smooth, even though her stomach was harder then most girls. As unathletic as she once had been, her body was tougher and stronger then even Ginny's by now. Only her curves kept soft. The pulling material covered the blemishes on her hips, stomach, chest, bottom, but not her arms and legs and neck.

Stepping back as she let her hands slide around her middle and down her side, ironing out creases, Hermione tilted her head at the reflection in the mirror. The robe was not too small, but too tight; she would have never even worn this out on a date, if she dated. She hadn't been that sort of girl when she was young and wore the watery periwinkle fabric in front of people.

Hermione stared into the face that seemed much more than just four years older then the face that had worn these robes last. Even her eyes were different, having seen too many things. She almost felt guilty for subjecting the younger Hermione to what these eyes and this body had been through; the younger Hermione that she could still feel spinning and smiling and lingering in the material. Her younger self was hugging her older self and trying to tug her back to years ago.

Hermione turned away from the mirror, slipping one more pin into her hair. She went to the stairs.

Standing at the top, she took a moment to watch her two best friends as they sat on the dusty couch in front of the small fire.

Ron was wearing an old hand-knit maroon sweater with a giant 'R' in the middle and too-short sleeves. He itched where the fabric stretched over his stomach.

Harry made Hermione bite down on her lips. He was wearing his school uniform from God knew how many years ago, the pants barely reaching his ankles and the faded tie like a child's. His Gryffindor robe was thrown hopefully over his shoulders; it didn't reach his waist and only the crest and the lion looked the same size as they always did. He was even wearing his old glasses--he'd had to bend them so they'd sit on his nose.

Neither had done their hair as she had, though--but then, that would not have been the true thing to do. Though it was longer and even more unkempt, the weight of Ron's red hair and the sheer wildness of Harry's black were comforting. She gripped the rickety railing. It squeaked.

They both looked up at the same time, their eyes going wide. Hermione had taken to borrowing their close lately—as a girl's blouse and her old school skirts didn't provide for good fighting gear. She understood that the sight of her in something that clung and hugged and brought back the past as it did would be somewhat of a shock.

She started climbing down the stairs, her eyes on their faces. Ron's expression was not dark and resentful as it had been four years ago, but Hermione knew that the memory of his past behavior with her in those robes was uncomfortable for him. Though he gave her a smile, he looked back to the fire before long.

Harry, on the other hand, had the exact same expression as the last time--it made Hermione smile, almost sheepish, which she knew was also a mirror of years before, somber as this occasion was.

His mouth was open as he watched her, his eyes showing the shock she brought. Her chest felt even tighter in her dress at the look, remembering the last time. It was only when she reached the landing with the tears unshed in her eyes did he blink and almost turn back to the fire. He held a hand out first.

She took it, and seated herself between them, the fabric of each of their tight-fitting clothes touching. She gripped Ron's elbow and kissed Harry's cheek, as the quiet bells of the old Grandfather clock struck and the Witching Hour ticked into place.

None of them said anything, not as the light flickered and dimmed, reflecting in Harry's glasses, bouncing off of Hermione's dress, and clashing with Ron's hair. Not as time passed and tried to twist itself backward.

There they sat, watching the fire. Their younger selves for Halloween.

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