Always The Bridesmaid

PruTru

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 27/11/2005
Last Updated: 24/12/2005
Status: completed

As Neville and Ginny's wedding approaches, Hermione battles depression at being trapped in a job she's not sure she enjoys anymore and her stale love life. She considers starting up a relationship with a man she doesn't feel any real passion for simply because she doesn't want to be alone. Then a chance encounter with Harry, who is secretly feeling much the same way about his own life, changes their lives forever.

Chapters

1. Three Days Till Wedding Bells Ring

2. Two Days Till Wedding Bells Ring

3. Kisses And Vows

4. Epilogue

1. Three Days Till Wedding Bells Ring

~

~

Ron once told her she was like coffee: an acquired taste. The only problem was that her particular blend was strong to point of being off-putting. So much so that very few men were brave enough to try to acquire her. She’d laughed at the time. Now she wasn’t so sure Ron’s little tidbit of information was funny after all.

Was she really off-putting? She liked to think of herself as no-nonsense, practical, fiercely loyal. Those qualities, which she knew she possessed in generous amounts, enabled her to view herself as noble, but to others she may, she reluctantly admitted to herself, come off as a bitch. Hermione Jane Granger didn’t want anyone to see her as a bitch.

Turning over in bed, she looked out of the window. She’d left the window and curtains open, since it was summer, and the full moon was bright, giving off a beautiful glow that highlighted everything in her room in blue. A cool breeze wafted into the room, bringing with it the smell of dew moistened roses from the flowerbed outside her window.

Even as she attempted to clear her busy mind of the plans she’d made for helping out with Ginny and Neville’s wedding, which would take place in three days, Hermione tried not to linger too long on the fact that her own bed was empty and cool from the early morning air coming from her window. What she wouldn’t give to have someone beside her to warm it.

Just two years ago she would have had Ron beside her as loving company to keep her warm and make her feel safe. Truthfully, she didn’t feel as if she were in danger, but there was something comforting about having a lover in bed with you in the wee hours of the morning.

Picking up her wand, Hermione shut the window, blocking the increasingly insistent breeze. She remembered the weather forecast from the Muggle news which told of an approaching rainstorm. She hoped it didn’t rain on Ginny and Neville’s wedding day. They’d planned an outside ceremony at the Burrow, and she wanted everything to be perfect for Ginny.

Too bad the same couldn’t be said for Ron. Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if Ron hadn’t somehow gotten his hands on an illegal rain-making potion and set it off in the air to force a terrible rain storm on the morning of the wedding. She’d known Ron to be many things, but overprotective was chief among them. She could remember the content of their last conversation.

“They’ll be married,” Ron said, looking at her as if that explained it all. When Hermione had only looked blankly at him, he’d gone on to elaborate. “Neville will have rights to her then. You know, man rights.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Ron!” Hermione had said the stove where she’d been heating water for tea. “They’ll be married!”

“I know! I don’t want to think of my sister having Neville doing what men do to their wives.”

“I don’t know what I find more disturbing, Ron. The fact that you still see physical intimacy amongst others as sinful, or the fact that you actually entertain images of your sister in sexual situations.”

“Don’t use the words ‘sexual’ and ‘your sister’ in the same sentence,” he said. “And I don’t sit around fantasizing about it. I just know what will happen. I tell you, I won’t get one wink of sleep that night.”

“Honestly, like they haven’t already,” Hermione said, pouring tea into his cup. Ron had gone pale then.

“You…you think they have?”

“Ron, she’s twenty one, he’s twenty two. They have needs like anyone else-”

“My little sister does not have needs!”

Ron had put down the scone he was eating then, looking on the verge of illness, and Hermione changed the subject, deciding to write the current one off as a bad job.

Hermione now found her lips curled up in a smile at the memory. Ron could be so ridiculous at times, but that was one of his more endearing qualities, in addition to being smart, loyal, brave, and caring.

Finally, as the digital read-out on her bedside clock passed the two a.m. mark, Hermione slipped into sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

The following morning brought clouds the color of scrap metal; they rolled along restlessly in the heavens, and cool air replaced the humidity that had turned the village into an inescapable sauna. Rain was inevitable.

Wrestling her frizzy hair into a tight bun as she watched the sky, Hermione thought the day looked like predawn, though it was well past eight in the morning. After putting on cream colored robes with black trim that matched the sleek lines of her dress underneath, Hermione pulled on a pair of stylish open-toed shoes and examined her reflection in the mirror.

She was a blend of natural blessings and curses. She’d been, she mused, cursed with frizzy hair, but blessed with flawless skin. She was shorter than she wanted to be, but she was happy with her figure. She was curvy where a woman should be, though she would never have the long legs Ginny had been blessed with, and she’d never have the silky locks Lavender possessed.

But there was more to a woman than being physically beautiful, and as Hermione grabbed her briefcase, prepared to Apparate to the Ministry and her job on the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad in the Department for Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, she tried to imagine what it was that drew men to women like Ginny, and Lavender, and Luna. She wondered what they had that she didn’t.

Ginny was witty, which Hermione could be too, when she so desired. Their other good friend, Luna, seemed a great deal more naïve than she really was. Fleur was sophisticated and sexy. Though Hermione didn’t really like the woman all that much, she had to admit that Lavender was vivacious and confident.

With the exception of being vivacious, for she preferred to take more subtle approach to life unless circumstances required otherwise, Hermione believed herself to have all of the qualities her girlfriends possessed in suitable measure. So why was she alone? She had only dated casually since she and Ron called it quits two and a half years before.

It wasn’t because she didn’t try. She’d tried to make something significant happen with all of her relationships since Ron, but to no avail. She was beginning to view her single status as an affront to her feminine sensibilities. She felt, at times, a failure, and she hated to fail at anything.

At the Apparition point at the Ministry of Magic, Hermione strolled through the crowd of witches and wizards. It was shift change, and those who worked nights were standing bleary eyed and tired at the fires, waiting to Floo out, or hurrying to the Apparition point to Apparate home. Meanwhile equally bleary eyed people entered the Ministry, sipping cups of coffee and tea, and trying to wake up to start their day.

“Miss Granger, you’re looking lovely today, as always.”

Kevin Kettlebottom fell into step beside her. He worked in the Office of Wizengamot Administration Services. He was a handsome man, tall, with broad shoulders, a muscular physique, a winning smile and an humble personality. He had a mop of unruly blond hair and rich green eyes the color of grass.

Four years her senior, Hermione remembered seeing Kevin around the corridors her first three years at Hogwarts. He and Percy had socialized on occasion, as she remembered, and though he’d been in Slytherin House that hadn’t stopped them. He was an oddity to her. He was from a wealthy pureblood family, but he seemed to lack the usual elitist attitude that most purebloods seemed afflicted with.

Most important to note: Kevin was definitely interested in her. He made a point to speak to her, to try to sit with her at lunch, to open doors for her, and pull out her chair. His attentions went beyond mere chivalry. There was a fire in his deep green eyes that only seemed to burn when he looked at her.

“I was hoping we could sit together at lunch this evening,” Kevin said, stopping in line beside for the lifts. “The Wizengamot, as you may know, is considering a review of the penalties for parents who allow their underage children to use their wands to do magic during school breaks, especially in regards to accidents caused by these children.”

“I’ve got quarterly reviews today,” Hermione said, dreading the day of long, boring meetings which would go over department budgetary concerns and plans for the monthly potlucks their boss, Angelica Pepper was so fond of. “I’ll sneak off around one and meet you in the canteen?”

“I was hoping I could convince you to join me at Medora’s today,” Kevin said hopefully.

“Medora’s?” Hermione said, her brows raising. One lunch there and she wouldn’t have enough money to cover her rent for two months. “Oh, I don’t know, Kevin. I can’t really afford-”

“My treat,” Kevin said, sparing her the need to explain her monetary situation. “Have you been there? I think you’d like it.”

Have I been there? Hermione thought, wondering briefly if perhaps he was teasing her. He had to know she couldn’t afford to eat at a restaurant like Medora’s. I’ve been there alright…in my dreams.

“I’ve only walked past the place,” she said. “When I shop for Christmas.”

“So, come inside for once. Join me.”

“Yes, join him,” said a witch just a few years on the other side of middle age. Two of her friends were watching them and nodding in agreement. Hermione found herself laughing and nodding, especially at the open hope in Kevin’s face.

“Yes, I’ll join you. Though I wish I could dress for the occasion.”

“Like I said earlier, you look lovely.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The prospect of enjoying lunch at Medora’s, with Kevin, distracted Hermione to the point that she took a wrong turn twice on her way to her cubicle, and ended up staring in bewilderment at strangers she mistook to be sitting at her desk. Finally she managed to get to her place and once her umbrella was stowed away, and her reports were stacked neatly on her desk for the quarterlies, which were due to begin in an hour, Hermione ran to the small refreshment table in the rear of the office pool and grabbed a cup of tea.

“Miss Granger!”

Hermione groaned inwardly as she heard Angelica Pepper’s feet pound loudly and ungracefully toward her. Fixing a neutral expression on her face, for it was the best she could manage, Hermione turned to face her boss.

“Good morning, Madam Pepper.”

“Is it true that you’re having lunch with Kevin Kettlebottom at Medora’s today?”

Hermione was unable to stop her mouth from falling open. “I’m sorry, how did you hear about that?” And what business is it of yours anyway, she added silently.

“Oh, a friend of a friend told me.”

Hermione conjured an image of the three women who’d been in line at the lifts and she sighed inwardly. They’d seemed like such sweet old birds….

“So, it’s true then?” Angelica asked.

“Yes.”

“This is just the opportunity I’ve been praying for.” Seizing Hermione’s arm in a vice-like grip, Angelica steered Hermione the short distance into her office, which was packed full with outdated reports, pictures of family, books that had absolutely no bearing on her job whatsoever, and cups of cold tea and coffee sitting precariously atop mountains of parchment. Hermione was amazed the place wasn’t buzzing with flies and crawling with ants.

Shoving Hermione into the seat across from her desk, Angelica rushed around and took her own chair, folding her hands daintily on the sticky surface of her desk.

“What do you mean by opportunity?” Hermione asked, feeling unclean in the chair. She had to consciously work not to feel disgust at the filthy mess around her. How a woman with such as this maintained a managerial position at the Ministry was beyond Hermione.

“I don’t know if you keep current with other departments, but the Wizengamot is reconsidering the penalties awarded to parents who allow their children to-”

“Oh, yes, he told me about that,” Hermione said, speaking over Madam Pepper. She was determined to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible so she could breathe some air not reeking of month old coffee and mossy scones that had been lost in the mountains of parchment about the office.

“It’s obvious the man is quite taken with you,” Angelica said. “You could agree to a few more lunches, or even dinner once in awhile. Once he knows you’re interested, you could perhaps, if you’re so inclined, tell him that it isn’t necessary to add prison sentences to the penalties in cases that don’t result in death.”

Hermione frowned, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. This woman was asking her to use her friendship with Kevin to influence future laws, but she wasn’t sure why.

“You don’t think it wise to add the threat of prison time for parents who allow their children to break the law?”

Angelica gave Hermione what she must have thought was her most winning smile, but it only served to make her look like a hungry vulture than a friendly co-worker.

“Darling, since your friend Harry Potter defeated You-Know-Who three years ago, the dementors have once again taken charge of Azkaban prison. That is incentive enough to the average citizen to steer clear of any trouble with the Ministry. Almost half of our work load is wrapped up in Accidental Magic performed by underage witches and wizards using their parents’ wands to get away with using magic outside of school. If these people have the threat of prison sentences hanging over their heads, they’re bound to be much more careful about who has control of their wands. My goodness, the children themselves are likely to start obeying the law.”

“But that’s what we want, Madam Pepper,” Hermione said incredulously. “That’s the point of adding a threat of prison.”

“Look at it this way, Miss Granger,” Angelica said, leaning forward, the smile gone from her face now. “Without work, we would be forced to downsize. If we’re forced to downsize…well…those who haven’t been with our department long will be the first to go.”

In other words, I will be the first to go, Hermione said to herself.

Angelica was threatening to fire her if she didn’t find some way to influence Kevin to speak against adding prison terms to parents who were lax in allowing their children to use their wands.

“I see,” Hermione said. “I think we understand one another, Madam Pepper.”

“Excellent,” Angelica said. “You may go.”

And you may want to have this office burned to a crisp and redecorated, Hermione thought bitterly as she stood from the chair. Her bottom momentarily fought against leaving the seat, and her robes protested being separated from a sticky substance coating the chair with a loud ripping sound that made Hermione’s stomach churn.

Rushing from the office, Hermione hurried to her cubicle where she pulled her wand and conjured a mirror. With that done, she examined a large brown stain on her robes.

“Scourgify, scourgify, scourgify,” she said, repeatedly aiming the wand at her robes until they shone bright and clean. She ran her hand over the material to make sure her hand didn’t come away sticky. Satisfied, she sat down, hands shaking, and pulled forms out of her inbox. The first report made her smile.

To: Miss H. J. Granger
From: Madam Mafalda Hopkirk
Offender: Cara Leder
Offender’s Age: 16
Offenders Address: Number 6 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

Hermione did a double take at the address. She couldn’t believe it. That was right next door to the Dursleys, Harry’s anti-magic family!

Date of Offense: 17 June 2002

Details of Offense: Miss Leder (hereafter to be referred to as the Accused) is the daughter of a Muggle and a Witch. The Accused used her mother’s wand to charm the door knocker to bite the fingers of one Dudley Dursley whenever he came to call upon her older sister, citing that Mr. Dursley was a ‘stupid great git’ and that his advances towards her Muggle sister were unwanted and she felt she ought to do something to discourage his advances. The Accused also states that she only charmed the knocker to recognize Mr. Dudley Dursley and his parents, Vernon and Petunia, all three of whom suffered injuries whilst calling at the Leder residence in regards to injuries suffered by their son, Dudley.

Action Taken: Officer Michael Rohr of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad has removed the biting charm from the door knocker and the Dursleys were treated by a trained healer who healed the cuts on their fingers.

Further Actions Requested: Signature of a member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad is required after a follow-up meeting with the aforementioned officer and Miss Leder’s parents, Mr. William and Madam Abigail Leder.

Second Officer’s Plan of Action:

Case Resolution:

Hermione would have to visit the Leder house to confirm that the lock was harmless, and then meet with the parents about Miss Leder’s behavior before she could sign the document and officially close the case.

After reading four more similar cases that would take up the rest of her work day after lunch, Hermione grabbed her reports and hurried off to the conference room lest she find herself late.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione’s brain had sunk into a torpid fog as Angelica Pepper’s voice droned on through one boring detail after another. She briefly wondered if her eyes looked as glazed as everyone else’s, and she also wondered what had happened to her ability to pay attention to dull and un-enjoyable dialogue.

She was, after all, the girl who spent five of her six years at Hogwarts sitting through Professor Binns’ boring History of Magic lessons. She had, in her fifth year, paid rapt attention to Dolores Umbridge’s informative, if not dull, speech about the Ministry interfering at Hogwarts.

But this was different. This was torture. This was a speech that induced a lethargy so deep and complete that it put everyone in the room in danger of coma. Hermione suspected her lack of ability to pay attention had less to do with the heat of forty three bodies pressed into a small conference room than the fact that the information being given was nearly identical to the meeting given three months ago.

According to Angelica they were spending too much on travel expenses and not enough on office supplies and employee incentives. Call-outs were unacceptably high, and if one expected to be excused from a days work, one had to have an excuse from a qualified healer from either St. Mungo’s or from the staff healer here at the Ministry. A better translation of that report was that Angelica was hogging the money for herself and trying to lay the blame on her subordinates.

A gob of drool tickled the corner of Hermione’s lip, and dropped, unexpectedly fast, oozing down the side of her chin. Lazily she reached up and wiped it away as she was overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness.

Damn, she thought, I almost fell asleep.

Hermione briefly entertained a fantasy of everyone laughing at her expense had she fallen off of her chair and began snoring on the floor. Then that fantasy slowly shifted to days gone by when she, Ron, and Harry had spent every moment of every day in a fight for their lives, firstly in an effort to destroy Voldemort’s Horcruxes, then in the fight to actually get to the cowardly bastard, who’d gone into hiding upon learning Harry had destroyed his precious security blanket by destroying said Horcruxes, and then possibly even greater danger once Voldemort had finally given up the ghost and his Death Eaters, lost in madness already, had come to kill them in retribution.

Now she spent her time undoing people’s magical goof-ups and listening to dull reports from a woman that would have been more at home in a pig-pen instead of an office as the head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

“Miss Granger?”

“What?” She said, suddenly alert and feeling her neck and face heat up as she realized that she was drooling again, and everyone in the room was staring at her. Angelica Pepper looked stern.

“I said do you have your report on Occurrences of Underage Magic?” Angelica repeated.

“Oh, right.”

Taking out her report, Hermione stood and took the podium. “Madam Pepper,” she said in acknowledgement, opening her folder. When she did her stomach sank nearly to her shoes.

The report was actually a grocery list, a healer’s appointment for a bi-yearly gynecological exam, an appointment with her parents to get her teeth cleaned, and several bad attempts at a fictitious novel based on her life at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron.

Smiling sweetly at the sea of sleepy faces before her, Hermione shuffled the nonsensical pieces of parchment, pretending they were actually her report. She remembered the report, after all, she’d written it, and in five minutes she’d recited the information, all the while wondering what the hell she’d done with the damned thing.

“Thank you, Miss Granger. I’ll expect a copy on my desk forthwith.”

Mind racing on what to do, certain that Angelica Pepper didn’t have the least bit interest in her appointments or an outline for a novel, Hermione simply blinked. “It’ll be tomorrow before I can get it to you.”

“Why?”

“I…I have that lunch appointment with Mr. Kettlebottom,” she said significantly. “Which I should be leaving for now if I don’t want to be late.”

Angelica suddenly smiled and winked.

“Tomorrow it is, darling.” Turning back to the group she smiled brightly and said rather enthusiastically, “Am I the only one who feels the need for a potluck coming on?”

Hermione thought she heard everyone in the room groan collectively as she left to meet up with Kevin in the atrium.

~~~~~~~~~

Hermione and Kevin Apparated together from the Ministry to the sidewalk in front of Medora’s, which was located in Diagon Alley. The rain that Hermione had been expecting arrived almost at the same time they did, coming down in fat drops in a sudden violent downpour.

Hurrying inside, the maitre dhotel greeted Kevin respectfully and without asking for a reservation said “Your usual table, sir?”

“Yes, Reginald, thank you.”

Reginald led him through the restaurant, and Hermione had to make a conscious effort to keep her mouth closed. The lighting was pleasantly muted, but not too dark. Each table was lit by a gently floating sphere of crystal filled with golden light. The centerpieces of each table consisted of a bouquet of freshly cut flowers, inhabited by real fairies.

The carpet, a rich maroon in color, was soft and deep, and very springy, almost taking all effort out of the act of walking. The tables were covered in cream colored linen table cloths. The art on the walls were the handiwork of some of the most famous artists in magical history, some dating back to Roman occupation. Classical music of which Hermione was not familiar, obviously from a magical, not Muggle, composer, played softly in the background.

After ordering a fifty-five Galleon bottle of wine, Hermione allowed Kevin to order lunch for her, satisfied with his selection, and finally turned her attention back to him.

“So, has Angelica put you up to trying to cajole me into speaking against a prison sentence for parents whose children use their wands and cause accidents?” Kevin asked, pouring their wine. The bone china, the finest Hermione had ever seen, was magically filled with their selections in moments.

“How did you know?” Hermione asked, amused and surprised at the same time.

“I know her,” Kevin said. “What do you think on the matter?”

“First I want to know your stance.”

“I think something needs to be done,” Kevin said, slicing his Filet Mignon with practiced ease. The knife was so sharp, and the meat so tender, that it fell into neat little succulent slices on his plate, making her hunger grow. “There’s been a twenty one percent increase in Magical accidents and catastrophes in the past two years due to parents allowing their children to use their wands during summer vacations and holidays from school. Sometimes these accidents expose our kind to the Muggle world, generating strange stories in their news. Other times it leads to deaths…what?”

He stopped talking, looking at Hermione, who was looking at him with a smile on her face. Hermione believed she had a pretty good feel for people, and this man seemed genuinely concerned about the issue of improper magic amongst underage witches and wizards.

“I agree,” she said.

“Did she threaten you?” Kevin asked, after properly swallowing his food.

Now that she’d started eating, Hermione was amazed at the quality of the food and wine. She almost didn’t want to stop eating long enough to answer. He had an amused twinkle in his eyes. His lovely green eyes.

Oddly, she found herself suddenly missing Harry.

Putting aside that sudden and inexplicable twinge of loss, Hermione nodded. “She didn’t come right out and say anything, but she made it clear that if I didn’t convince you to lend your influence against the idea, and our department had to downsize, I’d be the first one to go.”

“I see,” Kevin said. “I’ll recommend against it, of course.”

Hermione gulped the wine, which she’d been enjoying with almost sinful delight, a little too hard and a pain shot through her chest. She tried not to cough but she failed.

“Are you alright?” Kevin asked in concern.

“No,” she said. “You just told me that you agreed with me, that the law needs to be changed. How could you vote against it?”

“I don’t want you to lose your job,” he said simply.

There’s the Slytherin in him, Hermione thought sadly. I was wondering when it would show. She put her fork down, her appetite ebbing away like a retreating wave on an ocean shore.

“So, you’re willing to allow the situation to go unchecked, to allow parents to be lax in wand security, simply because you don’t want me to lose my job?”

Hermione could see Kevin’s mind racing as he tried to figure out where things had gone so wrong.

“It’s only politics, Hermione.”

“Tell that to the next child permanently disfigured from a badly done hex. Tell that to the child who accidentally kills another child when he goes too far in a hex.”

She set the linen napkin on the table, trying to keep her temper in check.

“Hermione, I didn’t mean to anger you.”

“You haven’t angered me, Kevin. You’ve disappointed me. If you’ll excuse me, I really need to get going. I have four case resolutions to look into before I can go home.”

“Of course. I’ll see you back to the Ministry.”

“Alright.”

One of the surprises Hermione had seen was that wizards used credit cards. They were very different from the Muggle ones, made of parchment laminated in a hardening potion, and charmed for a business to deduct the appropriate amount of gold from their Gringotts accounts with a wave of the wand, but it was recognizably the same system of commerce as its Muggle counterpart.

Once they were back at the Ministry, Kevin blocked Hermione’s exit from the Apparition point.

“Hermione, I’m sorry,” he said, with aching sincerity in his face.

Hermione sighed. She was overreacting, of course, but she couldn’t explain to herself why. He’d had her best interests at heart, after all, so what was her problem?

“I’m sorry too, Kevin. I may have overreacted a bit. It’s just that there are some things in life more important than a job, or money or…never mind.”

“You’re absolutely right, and I’m not saying that merely to mollify you, Hermione. I genuinely understand your point of view.”

She smiled. “Well, I really do have case resolutions to tend to.”

“Perhaps, if you’re not too upset, you’ll give me another chance? We could meet for lunch again tomorrow.”

Hermione tilted her head and examined Kevin. His eyes were so open and honest. Once again that strange pang of loss stabbed at her. She hadn’t seen Harry in so long, even though they both worked for the Ministry. They seemed to keep missing one another, drifting apart.

“If my schedule is free, yes. Better…I’m attending the wedding of two dear friends. I would very much enjoy your company since I don’t have a date anyway.”

“I would be honored, truly,” he said with such genuine alacrity that she found herself on the verge of giggling again. She was going mad….She scribbled the Weasley’s address down on a spare piece of wrinkled parchment and handed it to him.

“That’s where the wedding will be. I’ll be there all day, helping out with last minute preparations, but the guests are due to arrive at four. I hope to see you then.”

“I will be there with bells on,” he said, tucking the scrap of parchment into the breast pocket of his robes. “Figuratively, at any rate.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Number Six Privet Drive was situated exactly one door away from the Dursley residence. She hadn’t seen the place where Harry had grown up since those few painful weeks she and Ron had come to stay with Harry until his seventeenth birthday. That had been five years before. It was strange how the place looked exactly the same now as it had the day she’d left it.

Hermione wasn’t surprised, either, that not only was Dudley Dursley still living at home with his parents, but he’d been so lazy as to turn his attentions on a girl within waddling distance of his front door.

Hermione examined the street. She was receiving odd glances from several of the neighbors who were out and about, mowing their lawns, tending to flower beds partially withered from the heat wave that had been alleviated by the clouds overhead. The rain that had fallen in Diagon Alley had yet to reach Surrey. As she enjoyed a light and cool breeze, she reminded herself that she should have taken her robes off before venturing into a predominantly Muggle neighborhood such as this.

Waving a hand very cautiously over the door knocker, Hermione found it to be harmless, at least to her. She used it to pound three times solidly against the oak door. A few moments later the door opened a girl answered the door, dripping wet and wearing an embarrassingly abbreviated bikini. She had silky blond hair piled atop her head, crystal blue eyes as clear as a cloudless summer sky, and flawless skin. She towered over Hermione, standing at least 70 inches. Hermione suddenly didn’t blame Dudley for his infatuation. Any boy would fall in love upon sight of this young woman.

“Hello,” she said politely.

“Hello. My name is Hermione Granger. I’m the follow up Officer from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad.”

“Oh, right,” the young woman said, nodding. “I was hoping that other bloke would be coming back, even though he said someone else would be verifying his work.”

I’ll bet, Hermione thought. Mark Rohr was handsome enough to have garnered the attention of many a female staff member in the AMRS.

“Sorry, you’re stuck with me. You would be…”

“Belinda Leder,” she said, offering a hand. “I’m a Muggle. My step sister Cara is the one who did the wonky trick on the door. Would you like to come in?”

“Yes. Are your parents home?”

“My Stepmum is. I’m visiting from University.”

“I see. How old are you?”

“Nineteen. I turn twenty in two weeks. Have a seat. I’ll get Abby.”

Hermione took a seat in the sitting room. The back door was open on a small back porch. There was an above-ground pool in the back. A few moments later there was a loud crack and a plumpish middle-aged witch with long black hair, streaked with gray, Apparated before Hermione. Belinda came bounding down the stairs a few moments later, shaking her head with a smile.

“I wish I could do that,” Belinda said, a hint of jealousy in her voice. “I’ll be out back in the pool, Abby. Unless you need me?”

“No,” Hermione said. “I just need to speak with Madam Leder.”

Belinda shut the door behind her and Abigail Leder pulled her wand, conjuring a tea service and pouring tea for the both of them.

“This is really very embarrassing,” Abigail said, after shaking Hermione’s hand. “But it seems Cara got one in on me.”

“What house is your daughter in?”

“Hufflepuff, as was I,” Abigail said. “She begins her sixth term this September. So, what will happen now?”

Hermione was grateful that the woman didn’t weave some elaborate tale in an effort to make herself out to be an innocent victim. She merely waited to see what Hermione’s judgment would be.

Her mind went to Dudley, and the time Ron had made the mistake of getting into a wrestling match with him for peeping at her while she showered their second night in the house. Dudley knew a little something about wrestling, and he’d nearly caused Ron genuine injury until Harry had hexed him off of Ron. Hermione remembered the look of deep satisfaction on Harry’s face as he’d finally gotten to use magic against his cousin.

“Miss Granger?” Abigail said, her tea stopped half way to her lips. “Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, realizing she’d been staring into space at the memory. “Where is your daughter?”

“Ironing. She’s been grounded and made to do the laundry by herself as punishment.

“This is a first offense,” Hermione said, “so I’m inclined to impose the minimum punishment of a thirty Galleon fine and a suspension of all magic in the house for two weeks.”

“That’s the minimum?” said Abigail, looking shocked.

“Be thankful. The Wizengamot is considering legislation to add a mandatory sentence of time served in Azkaban for such an offense, even on a first time basis.”

Abigail swallowed hard, her eyes watering from taking down too much tea. “I see. Azkaban. Well, I’m just grateful it hasn’t come to that. Shall I give you the gold or…”

“No. You’ll need to stop off at the Ministry in London and pay the clerk,” said Hermione, pulling out the forms. “You have three days to pay or the sentence doubles. And remember, you may pay in Muggle currency if that’s more convenient, but it must be notes, not a cheque.”

Once the forms had been signed Hermione stepped outside, looking around the quaint neighborhood to be sure she was alone before Disapparating to the next case resolution, when she heard a voice she’d never imagined she’d hear on Privet drive, that sent her pulse to racing, behind the door of the Dursley house.

“After all those years of treating me like I had the plague, you’re trying to play the family card? I don’t believe it.”

“I didn’t treat you like you had the plague! That was Mum and Dad who did that.”

“You’re right, Dudders. They treated me like I had the plague, you treated me like a punching bag.”

“Just one little love potion is all I’m asking for, Harry. I’ll even pay you for it.”

The door to number four opened and Harry Potter, all six feet two inches of him, stepped out, dressed in full wizard attire with the crest of the Auror department (two wands engaged in battle with electrical magic coursing between the tips) on the breast of his robes, his mop of unruly black hair barely obscuring the scar on his forehead, green eyes partially hidden behind his glasses. He stood out as a wizard on this street full of Muggles as much as she did a witch.

Harry was so engrossed in his argument with his cousin that he didn’t even see her standing on the stoop beside him, barely five feet away, but that could have something to do with the snowy white owl sitting on his shoulder, Hedwig the second, daughter of his first owl, who had died by taking an Avada Kedavra curse from a Death Eater in Harry’s stead. Harry had worked hard to save Hedwig’s clutch from dying off, but only this owl hatched, and she’d come out looking just like Hedwig.

“Besides,” Harry said scathingly, “I don’t think even a full dose of undiluted Amortentia from concentrate could make a girl like that bat an eyelash at you Big D.”

Harry had his back to Dudley, examining the street, so he didn’t see the rage pass over his cousin’s pudgy face, or see his cousin’s ham-sized fist raise to strike, but Hermione did. She had her wand raised in the blink of an eye and cast a non-verbal freezing charm. Harry didn’t turn until Dudley’s massive, frozen frame, fell backward, hitting the floor of the foyer with a hard thump.

Harry spun then, saw Hermione quickly concealing her wand, and his face broke into a beaming grin.

“Hermione!”

Hedwig the second hooted indignantly as Harry lunged for Hermione, upsetting her from his shoulder, and she flew to the lamp post on the street to watch her owner pull Hermione into a fierce, breath-stealing hug.

“Harry,” she said, her heart filling with unexpected emotion. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed Harry until she’d laid eyes on him.

“It’s been what, four months since we’ve spoken?” Harry said, stepping back and holding on to her shoulders, “and then it was in the lift on the way to meetings.”

“We haven’t really talked in almost a year,” she said, surprised by the sadness that came into her heart upon realizing how far apart they’d drifted.

“Yeah,” Harry said, her feelings reflected in his vivid green eyes. “It’s been too long. What do you say we meet for drinks tonight? I’m not doing anything, and it’d be great to spend the evening with you.”

Hermione bit her lip and then said, “I promised Ginny I’d visit the florist. She’s worried the order won’t be completed in time.”

“Why don’t we go together?” Harry suggested. “After that, we’ll have those drinks.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. Meet me outside of The Magical Green tonight at six?”

“I look forward to it.”

Hermione looked at Dudley, who was eyeing her with two angry eyes, perfectly frozen on the floor. “He was about to hit you from behind,” she said, by way of explanation.

“What else is new?” Harry replied, shaking his head at his cousin.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Mr. Himptin,” Hermione said, sighing in frustration. Standing behind Mr. Brian Himptin, a handsome, if not supremely arrogant, wizard was four rambunctious boys running about the room behind him, ages ten, eleven, twelve, and fourteen. The fourteen year old had used his father’s wand to jinx Mr. Himptins sister, turning her green and giving her devilish red horns that sprouted from the top of her head.

“What is there to discuss?” Himptin said, his face flushed with anger. “My son apologized to his aunt, she forgave him, so what is the problem here?”

“The problem, sir, is your lack of concern for the issue at hand. Your son broke the law, and you don’t seem to even care that he hurt your own sister!”

“He’s a fourteen year old boy. They do things like that. It isn’t as if he intended to cause her harm, he was only playing.”

“You’re making excuses for his atrocious behavior. What kind of impact do you think this will have-”

“Darling, are you going let a Mudblood tell you how to raise our children?”

A tall, regal woman with auburn hair and brown eyes had entered the room behind her husband. She stalked toward Hermione, nose high in the air. Hermione recognized her as a woman from the Official Gobstones Club, in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. If Hermione wasn’t mistaken, she was one of Arthur’s cousins.

“That’s a very good point Alexandria,” Mr. Himptin said, looking disdainfully at Hermione.

She felt that old familiar sting of hurt upon being called a Mudblood. She tried not to let it get to her, but she couldn’t help herself, and the hurt quickly turned to anger.

“Mudblood, ey?” Hermione said, pulling out her case report. “Very well. It is the finding of this officer that you are not only rude and recalcitrant, but you are unabashed at your complete lack of control over your children and your wand. This Mudblood intends to institute the stiffest punishment I have at my disposal, which is a one hundred Galleon fine and the arrest of your right to perform magic in this house until the start of the school term on September first-”

“That’s preposterous!” Alexandria said, her mouth hanging open in the most unflattering manner.

“You’re going to give us a one hundred Galleon fine, and no magic for the rest of the summer for some green skin and horns? You can’t do that!” Brian said, his arms hanging limp at his sides.

“Oh, but I can,” Hermione said, feeling dark satisfaction at their shock and bewilderment. “You see, it is my job to determine whether or not parents are genuinely repentant for the mistakes made with allowing their wand to get into their children’s hands. Apparently you are not.”

“Well, wait one moment now,” Alexandra said, plastering a phony smile on her face. “We’re sorry about the Mudblood comment. That was completely uncalled for.”

“It was, it was,” Brian said, nodding in agreement. “We didn’t mean it. Come now, why don’t you join us for a spot of tea? Perhaps we could work something out to your…satisfaction? I’m sure your job doesn’t pay as much as you’d probably like. A nice little bonus, under the table as it were, would do you some good, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure it would,” Alexandria said, looking as though she were smiling around a terrible pain.

“Are you trying to bribe me?” Hermione asked slowly. “Because if you are, that carries a prison term-”

“No!” Alexandria and Brian said at once, holding up their hands to placate her.

“No bribes here,” Brian said quickly. “You say, one hundred Galleons?”

“That’s not so bad,” Alexandria said, still smiling her phony smile. “We can afford it.”

“I’m sure you can,” Hermione said, enjoying the sight of the two snobs squirming before her. She could imagine how they would curse her once she’d left the premises, but she didn’t care. “If magic is performed by anyone in this house before the first of September, you will have to pay an additional two hundred Galleon fine and the wand of the offender in question will be confiscated for six months. Get control of your wands and your children,” Hermione cautioned. “The Wizengamot is considering adding a mandatory prison sentence for first offenses.”

She signed off on the case, glad to be finished for the day, and Disapparated to the sight of two phony grins plastered to the Himptin’s faces, and the sound of their children screaming like wild animals in the background.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stepping into The Magical Green was very much like stepping into paradise. The smell of literally thousands of magical and non-magical flowers and plants blended together to make a natural aroma that soothed the pent up tension left in her muscles pinched and aching from her last appointment.

If they only hadn’t called me a Mudblood, Hermione thought, breathing in the beautiful scent of the flowers and freshly cut grass of the floor of the shop. A headache had begun to throb in the back of her head, and she could just imagine her blood pressure had been sky high after dealing with the Himptins.

A loud sneeze drew her attention away from three small Whomping Willow saplings that were beating an unfortunate gardener attempting to replant them to give them more room to grow. Harry Potter emerged from behind a row of chrysanthemums, rubbing his nose, his eyes watering.

“I didn’t know you were allergic to flowers,” Hermione said. Harry was, like her, still in his robes from work.

“Not all flowers, just those Misting Merryports,” said Harry.

Misting Merryports were a magical plant named after the witch who’d discovered them. They were beautiful, possessing vividly colored, fleshy petals. They were popular because they were perennials, having an indefinite lifespan when well fed. They had pods in the center that burst and sprayed out a fragrant mist that eliminated the need for air fresheners.

“You’re in trouble,” Hermione said, “Ginny wants them at her wedding.”

“Oh, you’re kidding!” Harry said, sneezing again. His eyes were terribly red and swollen.

“We’d better get you out of here,” Hermione said, leading him further into the shop and away from the smell of the Misting Merryports. She left him beside some harmless, run of the mill white roses, and went to check on the order for wedding. Once that was completed, she found Harry leaning on an empty table, staring at a fishpond with Lotus’s floating on the surface.

Since he was unaware of her presence, Hermione took a few moments to enjoy his profile. Harry had really grown into a handsome man. He wasn’t just tall and muscular, he was kind of rugged. He had the traces of beard stubble which gave his strong jaw line a bluish tint. She’d always been able to appreciate Harry’s physical qualities, but as time passed, he became much more pleasurable to look at.

Harry was definitely easy on the eyes, and she wondered if he was seeing anyone. As far as she knew he’d never allowed himself to get really close to a woman. His first excuse had been a fear of Voldemort using that person to hurt him. His second excuse…she didn’t know of a second reason for him to deny himself a companion. He and Ginny had tried to make it work after he’d killed Voldemort, but they’d drifted apart, and Neville had caught her, but no one had caught Harry.

“Harry, ready to go?”

Harry stood and offered her his arm, which she took, enjoying the feel of the hard bicep under his robe. He smelled like fresh air and a faint trace of aftershave, which Hermione found very pleasant. She’d always loved the way Harry and Ron smelled. They’d always been masculine but fresh.

“I was thinking we could walk to the Leaky Cauldron,” Harry said. “It’s not far from here.”

“A walk would be nice,” Hermione said.

~~~~~~~~~~

The walk was more than nice. Hermione, arm still looped with Harry’s, strolled along casually beside him in companionable silence. She loved that about her relationship with Harry. They could be together in perfect quiet and never feel ill at ease.

Unfortunately their lazy stroll turned into a mad dash for the Leaky Cauldron when the rain kicked up again. Hermione knew Harry could have gone much faster, but her shoes had not been designed for running, and she didn’t feel secure in moving too quickly. She didn’t want to sprain her ankle only three days from Ginny’s wedding.

The Leaky Cauldron was blessedly warm compared to the chill air that had come in with the freak storm front that had taken over much of the country. The air smelled of a variety of roasting meats and vegetables. The lighting was muted and warm, the cherry wood of the furniture dark and gleaming from a fresh oiling, and the booths cozy and soft. Soaking wet, Harry and Hermione took a seat next to a blazing fire.

“I can’t believe how cold it’s gotten,” Harry said, sitting down beside her. “I hope things look up for Ginny and Neville’s wedding. I’d hate for them to have to postpone.”

“So do I,” Hermione said, rubbing her hands together. Harry surprised her by suddenly taking them in his and blowing onto them.

Though he’d done this for her on many occasions over the course of their friendship, this time was different. This time Hermione felt a strange tingling over her entire body, and she had to gulp as her mouth had gone suddenly dry. Oblivious to her reaction, Harry ministered to her hands until they were warm.

“Better?” he asked, rubbing her hands between his and massaging her fingers.

“Much, thank you.”

Harry looked directly at her and smiled.

“What?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t realize I’d missed you so much until I saw you at Aunt Petunia’s.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” she said honestly. Tom arrived and Hermione ordered them a bottle and some of his beef stew for dinner.

“What have you been doing with yourself, Harry?”

Harry took a sip of wine and shook his head. “Rounding up Dark wizards and witches for the Ministry. You’d be surprised how much Dark activity is going on, even after Voldemort’s fall. What about you?”

Hermione fiddled with her spoon, pushing it around the thick, steaming stew, unearthing chunks of beef and carrots and potatoes, but she had no real desire to eat. Her hands, she realized, still tingled, and she wondered at her reaction.

“Same as always, you know, cleaning up people’s mistakes with magic.”

“You don’t sound very happy,” Harry said, eyeing her shrewdly.

“Of course I’m happy!”

Harry leaned back in the booth, stretching his long legs out in front of him. His robes fell open, revealing a simple white dress shirt, tucked into a pair of black slacks. It was odd how she’d never really noticed how flat but powerful Harry’s body was.

What am I doing? Hermione wondered, tearing her eyes away from Harry, who was holding his glass of wine up and looking at the fire through the deep red liquid.

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about your job is all,” Harry said. He looked away from the wine and back to her. She immediately broke eye contact, feeling her neck go warm. He had the most penetrating gaze. She feared he would look right through her.

So what if he looks through me? I’ve never had anything to hide from Harry, Hermione thought, still confused at the unusual turmoil that had arisen within.

“It’s a job. It pays the rent.”

Harry laughed.

“What?”

“It pays the rent…When did we become adults, Hermione? When did we become concerned with rent, and groceries, and jobs?”

Hermione laughed with him. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I sit up and I expect to find myself in my four poster at Hogwarts. Those were the days.”

“Mmm…Life was exciting.”

“Too exciting at times.”

“Dangerous.”

“You still have plenty of danger in your life.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have my best mates to face it with me,” Harry said. “Ron plays for the Chudley Cannons, you clean up after people’s magical mistakes, and I take down evil men and women with delusions of world domination.”

“Don’t you have a partner?”

“Tonks,” he said. “But she’s due for a promotion, and she mothers me.”

Hermione laughed. “She doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does. She and Remus seem to think they’re my adopted parents. She’s got it in her head to find me a wife.”

Hermione, who’d finally taken a bite of stew, gagged. “A wife?” she said, coughing. Harry patted her on the back. “Thanks.”

“Sometimes I’m tempted to…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Holding back on me now, Harry?”

Harry grinned. “Never. Sometimes I’m tempted to let them arrange something for me. I’m a little tired of being alone.”

“I know the feeling.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend? What happened with you and Krum?”

“Fell apart.”

“You and Robert?”

“Fell apart,” Hermione repeated, blushing.

“Peter, Anson, Gene?”

“Fell apart,” she repeated, sadly. “And how did you even know about Anson and Gene? I never told you about them.”

“Word travels. I mean, you are famous, you know.”

“Yeah, famous. And bored.”

Harry began to look concerned and he sat up. “Is something wrong, Hermione?”

“No. Let’s not talk about our love lives and our jobs, Harry. We’d only depress ourselves, and I want to cheer up.”

“Then let’s talk about days gone by,” Harry proposed, raising his wine glass, and she did likewise.

The evening passed amicably then. They rehashed some of the better moments of their lives at school, from the day they met on the train until they went their separate ways three years ago to pursue their own careers. The wine and the conversation lasted until ten in the evening, when Harry and Hermione stood on wobbly legs.

“My flat is right here in Diagon Alley,” Harry said with a hiccup. “You should walk back to my place and then Floo home instead of trying to Apparate all the way to Hogsmeade.”

“I think you’re right,” she said, moving woozily toward the door. “When did you move to Diagon Alley?”

“Three months ago,” he said, around yet another hiccup. Hermione leaned heavily on Harry’s arm, grateful that he was a bit steadier on his feet than she was on hers. She never could hold her drink like Harry.

The rain now fell in a soft drizzle. Harry moved to conjure an umbrella but Hermione halted him.

“I’d rather have the cool water on my face. I’m a bit dizzy.”

“Alright.”

They walked along in companionable silence, passing a few people on the street. After walking nearly fifteen minutes they came to Harry’s flat, which was located above an apothecary.

Though it looked small on the outside, the engorgement charm made the inside very large. The flat offered vaulted ceilings, ornately carved wood work, expensive and comfortable furniture, and heavy velvet drapes to cover the windows, and shining wood floors.

“You’re certainly living in style,” Hermione said, looking around his new apartment. “Your last place looked like a beggar lived in it.”

“Mother Tonks decorated,” said Harry, by way of explanation.

“Mother Tonks,” Hermione repeated, snorting with laughter as she collapsed on a leather couch. “Do you call her that to her face?”

“Of course not,” Harry said. “I enjoy the ability to walk straight a little too much.”

He sat next to her so that his right side was pressed to her left. She settled into the crook of his arm, wondering if she would pass out right there. She’d imbibed too much wine and had not eaten enough food.

“I should go,” she said, sighing.

“It’s nice having an old friend for company,” Harry said. “You, Ron and me are going to have to learn to make time for one another. I don’t want to grow apart from the two of you.”

Hermione looked up at Harry. “I agree. It would be nice to have dinner once in awhile.”

He was looking back at her, and the silence between them lingered, and stretched until it went from being comfortable and familiar to something new and dangerously charged. The smile slid off of Harry’s face, and she thought she heard his breath quicken. His eyes were hooded, and she gulped as she realized their faces, their lips, were entirely too close. If she didn’t do something soon, they would meet in a kiss that was anything but platonic.

“I should get home,” she said, panicking. She got to her feet as Harry pulled way. She hadn’t even realized he’d wrapped a hand around her lower back and rested it on her waist until she stood.

“Right,” he said, also gulping and frowning. She imagined he was as surprised by what had almost happened as she was. “Um…right.”

“I see you have Floo powder,” said Hermione. Her voice was oddly high and a little frantic.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Plenty. I usually Apparate everywhere, I hardly use the stuff.”

Taking a pinch of the powder, Hermione stepped into the cold hearth. “I’ll see you….When will I see you?”

“Ginny’s wedding,” Harry said. “Say, Hermione, why don’t we go together? I don’t have a date, do you?”

“Oh,” she said, biting her lower lip. “I’m sorry, Harry, but I asked Kevin Kettlebottom if he’d like to join me. I didn’t know I’d be seeing you.”

An odd look stole over Harry’s face. He suddenly sounded cool when he spoke. “Oh, Kevin Kettlebottom.”

“Yes. You object to him?”

“No, I’m sure he’s nice enough. Well…I’ll see you then.”

“Perhaps we can have lunch sometime?”

“I’d like that. Good-night.”

Wondering at Harry’s strange shift in attitude, Hermione offered a faltering smile before saying, “Granger house, Hogsmeade.” She through the powder at her feet and spun away in a flash of green flame.

2. Two Days Till Wedding Bells Ring

*

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*

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The alarm clock on Hermione’s bedside table beeped loudly, insisting she rise from an alcohol-induced sleep to face another day. She had a full schedule ahead of her, and she was taking off the following day from work to spend the night at the Burrow to help with the final preparations of the wedding, but she wanted to stay in bed.

Hermione groaned as she realized she’d caught the sniffles from the rain the night before, and her eyes, crusted with sleep and cold, watered as light poured in from the open window. In her current state it seemed God himself was determined to punish her for her overindulgence in drink the night before by using the sun as an enemy. The clouds had not completely gone, but they broke apart, allowing the sun to sporadically glare at her through the window. Waving her wand, she closed the heavy drapes and swung her feet out of bed and onto the cold parquet floor.

Her belly churned at once, and for a moment Hermione sat frozen, pleading fearfully with her stomach to just hold down the bile long enough for her to get to the bathroom. She slid off the bed, groaning as her stomach bubbled and churned, and shuffled miserably to the full bath just off from her bedroom.

The toilet welcomed a smelly conglomeration of bile, undigested beef stew, and wine. She retched until she dry heaved, and then rinsed out her mouth and washed her face. Her head throbbed so terribly that she though it would be the death of her. Could one die from a headache, she briefly wondered. Looking into the mirror, Hermione saw she had puffy, swollen eyes, complete with dark circles and deathly pale skin.

“Please God…let me get through this and I’ll never drink again.”

She remembered the countless times she’d uttered that same prayer in the partying days after Harry had defeated Voldemort, and, despite her physical misery, she began to chuckle. It didn’t last long, as laughing, moving, and generally having the audacity to breathe made her head throb.

Gingerly, Hermione reached up into the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of Pepperup potion. Unfortunately, there was only half a dose left. Moaning, she took what little bit was there, watched steam pour from her ears, and then threw the bottle into the rubbish bin beneath the sink. Her headache was reduced from deathly unbearable to merely excruciating, but her stomach was still sensitive and bouts of nausea threatened to overcome her several times as she showered and dressed in Muggle jeans and a white t-shirt, and trainers.

Even with her physical misery, Hermione had not been able to shake the memory of what had happened at Harry’s flat the night before. He’d been about to kiss her, she was sure of it. The idea of kissing Harry Potter was absurd. They’d always been the best of friends, nothing more. They were not even remotely attracted to one another.

It was the wine, she thought. Wine made people do strange things. Things they regretted. She was glad she’d left before they did something to ruin their friendship.

I’m not attracted to Harry, Hermione told herself. He’s not attracted to me either. It was a fluke. It was the wine, and our happiness at seeing one another after being apart for so long. We’re best friends, we love each other, but that’s all it was….

Blaming the incident between her and Harry of the previous evening on the wine, and keeping up a steady stream of reassurances that settled her already frantic nerves, Hermione grabbed her briefcase, and the report she was supposed to have given the previous afternoon to Angelica Pepper, and Apparated to the ministry, a pair of standard black robes tossed over one arm.

*

*

The healer’s office, located just off the atrium, and across from the cafeteria, was blessedly empty when Hermione arrived.

“Hello Miss Granger,” the healer, an older wizard with gray hair, a wizened face and kind brown eyes greeted her as she entered the office.

“Mr. Parks,” she said, pulling on her robes.

“You don’t look as if you feel very good.”

“I don’t,” she admitted. “I had dinner last night with an old friend and had too much to drink.”

“Ah,” he said, smiling and going over to a shelf of potions. He perused them with one long, thin finger and then settled on a small white bottle. He mixed it and a few other ingredients into a cup, stirred, and handed it to her, along with a slice of bread.

“This is very spicy,” he said, “but it will make you feel better. Drink that, then chew the bread, and then spit it into the cup.”

She drank down the potion, and indeed it was spicy. It had a strong cinnamon and black pepper flavor, and her mouth set on fire. She quickly put the bread into her mouth and sucked on it, moving it about her mouth. It soothed her tongue, brining her relief, and when the burning had nearly gone, she spit the bread out. She noted by the time she was done her headache had gone, and her nausea had been reduced to mild queasiness.

“Thank you, Healer Parks.”

“No problem,” he said. “You’ll be all better in an hour. Be sure to sign the forms at the door to bill your insurance, and you’re all done.”

Hermione slung her robes over her head, realizing she’d left her bushy hair down, and signed the forms by the door. Waving good-bye to the healer, she left and got in queue for the lifts. The older women from the day before smiled at her, but she merely turned her head, pretending not to have seen them, and waited for the next lift.

“Morning.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, as Harry stepped in line beside her. She was a bit late for work, due to her detour to the healer’s office, which explained why she was running into him now.

They stood in silence, his hands shoved into his pockets. Apparently what had happened the night before had not been solely in her imagination, and it had left him feeling awkward too.

“So,” he said. “I was thinking that it would be nice to eat lunch today.”

“Yes,” she said dryly, “it would be nice to eat lunch. I find I like to eat lunch every day.”

Harry chuckled and nodded. “Perhaps we could enjoy lunch together, then?”

“I was about to ask her that same question,” said another, heavier voice. Kevin Kettlebottom had approached and Hermione had not even heard him. “Mr. Potter.”

“Mr. Kettlebottom,” Harry said. Hermione looked between the two men. Kevin had an inelastic grin on his face that failed to reach his eyes, and Harry didn’t bother with a phony grin of his own. He merely gazed serenely at Kevin, straightening his back and giving himself a two inch height advantage over his blond counterpart. Both men had green eyes, but they were polar opposites. Kevin’s had clouded and gone very deep, while Harry’s seemed to shine vividly.

“Well, we could all eat together,” Hermione suggested, wondering what was going on. It couldn’t be jealousy over her, for Kevin had no claim on her, and Harry was a platonic friend.

“I don’t want to intrude,” Harry said, bowing formally to her. “I’ll see you at the wedding this weekend. Hermione.”

He turned on his heel and stalked away. Harry had never, in the eleven years she’d known him, been so formal with her. Watching after him in bewilderment, she allowed Kevin to steer her into the waiting lift where a few of her co-workers were already waiting, watching her with closed expressions.

“Are you wearing jeans under your robes?” Kevin asked, examining her legs.

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said.

“I thought I saw you with him last night,” Kevin said, his voice was laced with suspicion and Hermione knew that everyone in the lift was listening in for theirs was the only conversation now. “You must have gotten home too late to pick out something…more appropriate for the office.”

Hermione pulled her mind away from Harry and looked up at Kevin. He was fishing to discover if she’d spent the night with Harry. It annoyed her. He was jealous when he didn’t have a right to be. So they’d had one lunch date; that didn’t entitle him to question her about her personal life.

“I overslept this morning,” she said coolly. “Besides, I have a few case resolutions in a rural area to look into.”

“Rural,” he said, nodding. “Well then, it would make sense not to soil good clothes on someone’s farm.”

The lift jangled to a stop and Hermione hurried out, suddenly wanting to be away from him.

“I’ll stop by your office at one,” Kevin said. Hermione nodded and waved him away, heading for the beverage table to pour a cup of strong coffee. Taking a stale, hard donut from the tray, she slipped her report in the bin hanging on Madam Pepper’s office door, and headed for her cubicle to sign off on her cases from the previous day.

*

*

Dull, mindless case reviews filled Hermione’s morning, which gave her entirely too much time to think about the encounter outside the lift, and silly theories that Harry could have been jealous over her played through her mind. She wondered how she’d really feel if it turned out to be the case, and surprisingly she didn’t find it at all unpleasant, just odd.

A romance with Harry….

Hermione had never allowed herself to really contemplate such a thing. Though she was aware of how handsome Harry was, she’d never entertained fantasies about him; she’d never tried to spy him naked, or topless, or gazed upon his lips and wondered what it would be like to taste them. She’d never lain in bed at night and imagined his rough hands on her hot, soft flesh….

Hermione suddenly blinked, gulped down a mouthful of excess saliva, and forced her mind away from that train of thought altogether. No, she’d never thought of those things with Harry, and she never would. He was her friend, only her friend, and it would stay that way.

The coffee having done its job by waking her up, now had worked its way through her kidneys and into her bladder. She put her quill down, checked to make sure her purse was locked securely in her desk, and went to the ladies room.

Hermione was just finishing up when two women entered. She recognized their voices as women who worked in her department, Janet Forsythe and Beth Bender.

“I mean it’s just disgusting,” Beth was saying. “I couldn’t believe my ears when we were in the lift.”

“I know,” Janet answered. “Harry Potter and Kevin Kettlebottom in competition over Hermione Granger of all people. I mean, they’re only the two most desirable bachelors in the world.”

Janet had said Hermione’s name as if she were speaking of some loathsome, filthy thing instead of a human being.

“What does Granger have that I don’t?” Janet asked.

“She has nothing on either of us, Jan. She’s a bushy-haired, skinny little Mudblood, and I’ll be damned if I can figure out what hold she has over men like Harry Potter and Kevin Kettlebottom.”

Hermione flung the door of her stall open, angry, and confronted the comically shocked faces of Janet and Beth.

“Oh! Hermione!” Beth said, holding a hand to her rather flat chest and breathing heavily.

“Pardon the bushy-haired, skinny little Mudblood,” Hermione said angrily, “as she washes her unworthy hands, would you?”

She shoved between them, and they stepped hurriedly apart. Hermione forwent drying her hands. She didn’t wish to be in the room with them any longer than she had to, and they said nothing else in way of an apology, and watched her with cool gazes as she exited the washroom.

Hermione blinked back tears of anger and hurt. Even after so many years, that word still got under her skin, it still hurt. As she moved blindly along toward the office pool she berated herself. She’d faced down Death Eaters, she’d put herself in danger for friends and strangers alike without crying, yet that one word could still hurt enough to wet her eyes with tears. She supposed part of her chagrin had to do with the fact that before hearing Janet and Beth refer to her with the ugliest epithet in the Wizarding world, she’d believed them to like her. They’d always been so friendly.

The clock set into the corridor that led to her office pool chimed once, signaling the one o’clock hour, and the lift clanged to a stop with Kevin waiting inside.

“Ah, Hermione,” he said, but the smile slid off his face when he saw her wet eyes which she was still blinking furiously. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Let’s go to lunch.”

Hermione glared at Janet and Beth, who’d emerged into the corridor from the bathroom. They gave Kevin charming smiles, ignoring her completely.

“Ladies,” he said, nodding to each of them before stepping in behind Hermione. Once the lift reached the atrium, Kevin opened it for her and stepped out behind her. “Did they say something to offend you?”

“I’m a grown woman,” she said. “I don’t need to cry to someone every time something happens.”

“You’re upset, Hermione,” Kevin said, falling into step beside her, keeping pace with her fast, angry gait. “Why don’t you talk to me?”

Hermione sighed and then told him what had happened. Kevin frowned when she was finished.

“I’m very sorry,” he said. “That’s terrible. The Ministry should make that word illegal. There should be an automatic ten Galleon fine for uttering it.”

Hermione smiled despite herself. “Kevin, really.”

“There should. Someone such as yourself should never be made to feel inferior by the likes of their kind.”

“I’ve never felt inferior,” Hermione said honestly. “I know I’m as good as any pureblood, if not better. It’s just…I don’t know. It’s not important.”

“It is to me,” Kevin said softly.

Hermione suddenly felt very warm and entered the cafeteria, grateful to be able to busy herself with loading her tray. They found a table, all the while enjoying conversation about her upcoming work schedule, about the case resolutions she would have to work on that afternoon.

Though Hermione didn’t find her job the least exciting anymore, Kevin seemed genuinely interested, and that is what mattered to her.

“Not very exciting, I know,” Hermione said, taking a sip of milk.

“You say that a lot,” Kevin said. “Don’t you like your job?”

“It’s not what I thought it would be,” Hermione admitted. “I thought I’d be helping people.”

“You do,” he said. “I specifically remember a case you handled, where a man accidentally turned his daughter into a pelican and couldn’t figure out where he went wrong in the charm. When he tried to undo it she came back pink with feathers instead of hair and you were the only one in your department who was able to help. You saved that girl from a lifetime of ridicule.”

Hermione smiled. “Yes, I know I help people…”

“It’s not as satisfying as you thought it would be,” he said, nodding. “You want to help, but you want it to be exciting, and maybe a little dangerous.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. She was surprised by how well he understood her. “You’re not using Legilimency against me, are you?” she said, smiling.

Kevin grinned and placed his right hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear I am not, nor would I ever. It’s just that I know your history. You did a lot of amazing things very young in life. Everything after that has to be anticlimactic.”

Movement behind Kevin caught Hermione’s attention. She saw Harry standing from a table, taking his tray with him as he walked by, apparently unaware of her presence.

“Harry!” Hermione said, waving her hand and beckoning him to come over. She thought she heard a small noise from Kevin, a sigh, or perhaps a light grunt. She looked at him, but his face was inscrutable.

Harry nodded at her and emptied his tray, but instead of coming over to her table, he left without another look back. A stab of bewilderment and hurt pierced her chest, and she was surprised by the intensity of it. Harry had never snubbed her, and had it not happened just now, she never would have believed it possible.

“How rude,” Kevin said, looking after Harry, and though his face was turned from her, she thought she saw a flash of satisfaction pass through his eyes before he looked back at her.

“Well, it’s getting late,” Hermione said. “I really must get going if I want to finish up at a decent hour.”

“You’re not coming in tomorrow, are you?”

“How did you know that?” Hermione asked, surprised that he was that familiar with her work schedule.

“I assumed you wouldn’t, not with the wedding so close. I’ll see you Saturday, at the Weasley residence.”

“I look forward to it,” Hermione said, allowing Kevin to escort her to the lifts before going back to her office to collect her robes and bag.

*

*

Hermione sighed. The clusters of clouds that dotted the sky were beginning to once again congregate into one solid, black mass. Cool breezes blew away the summer heat that had returned as the clouds had dissipated. Though it was not from cold, it was far from hot, making early summer feel more like mid-autumn.

Hermione’s last case of the day took place on a small Muggle milk farm. Apparently the man’s neighbor, a wizard, was trying to help the farmer out of a tight spot when his aging cows milk output had begun to decline. Unfortunately his spell overshot and the cows began spraying milk, so much so that once all containers, buckets, cups, pots, and pans the farmer owned had been filled to capacity, the poor animals began to flood the barn. By the time a member of the Squad had rectified the situation, the ground was saturated with milk going sour in the summer heat.

Hermione looked down in disgust at the sticky white lumps of curdled milk stuck to the bottom of her trainers. She’d taken it upon herself to Vanish the excess milk and Obliviate the farmer before leaving, but his property held a beautiful pond that was now reflecting the tumultuous sky, and she’d decided to sit for a moment before going to Ginny’s flat to try on her bridesmaid dress once again.

The increasing breeze blew across the surface of the pond, rippling it at first, but quickly turning those ripples to choppy little waves. She gazed at the tumultuous surface, identifying with it, for her own life felt much the same way.

Harry’s question from the previous night came back to Hermione. When had they become grown-ups? When had being an adult, when had living life, become a thankless job that began the moment she woke up and didn’t end until her eyes closed in sleep at night? She knew she was too young to be so jaded, but she couldn’t change her dreary world view.

When, Hermione continued to muse sadly, had she allowed herself to settle for being lonely? She tried to examine her life with a neutral eye. She had a job she believed in on an intellectual level, for it was responsible, and she did help people in some ways, but the excitement of it had long since worn off for her. She was healthy. Her family and friends were safe…but she was alone.

It was possible, she knew, to be alone, but not lonely, but that was not the case for her. She was lonely. She was living a life that she was only marginally satisfied with, and it was impossible to be truly happy in circumstances like that.

She thought back to the days when she, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna had been a tight unit, fighting side by side against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. At that time, when the future had been so uncertain, there was one thing that had never been in question: she was loved, needed, and above all else, wanted.

Many people loved her, she knew this, but no one was in love with her.

Many people needed her to do her job, but no one needed her to complete them, to comfort them, to be their voice of reason and the calm eye in the storm that life could so easily become.

Many people wanted her to visit, to be their friend, to come around, but no one wanted to reach out to her in the dead of night and make love to her, hold her, kiss her.

No one.

An image of Kevin’s handsome face came to her. He was interested in her. He was misguided on some things, his morals were slightly questionable, but he was interested, and she believed he had his heart in the right place. He would need and want her, and perhaps, if things went on long enough, he would love her. She could give him a chance. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. She could, she mused, learn to love him.

But could she return those feelings? She tried to imagine the feel of Kevin’s arms around her, looking into his green eyes to see passion for her burning within, she felt nothing in return.

Then, as the mirage of an oasis rippled up from the heat of a desert floor to take shape in the desires of a dying man desperate for life-giving water, the blond hair of her mental image of Kevin darkened to black and became a wild mess, the deep green of his eyes lightened, becoming vivid and bright, until it was no longer Kevin who looked at her, but Harry. He looked at her as he had the night before, eyes hooded, filled with longing, sweet, delicious breath coming in faster, lighter gasps, and one powerful arm circled her waist, heavy, and solid, reaching, needing, wanting….

Then, with the blink of an eye the mirage was gone, and Hermione was left staring at the pond, shaking her head. What she felt for Harry wasn’t passion. It was friendship, and what he felt for her was the same.

I’m just lonely, she reasoned with herself. That’s all, lonely. The love I feel for Harry is old and familiar, and…platonic. He’s a good friend, and I’m depressed, and I’m looking for someone to save me.

Well, she was a woman now, not a little girl. She could save herself, and she would do it without allowing herself to further wallow in self-pity.

Hermione slapped at what she thought was a bug on her cheek, but her fingers came away wet. It wasn’t a bug after all, but a tear.

*

*

“Ginny,” Hermione said, sighing in exasperation. “The dress is perfect.”

“No,” Ginny said, shaking her head and examining her reflection in the mirror. “There’s something off, and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Yeah, you,” Hermione groused.

Ginny’s flat was empty save for the kitchen furniture, a mattress on the floor of her bedroom, and a few cups to drink out of. All of her personal belongings had been moved to the house she and Neville would share in Hogsmeade. Hermione was grateful it was only her and Ginny. She didn’t feel much like company as she checked the fit of her bridesmaid dress. Ginny walked around her, looking over every detail, frowning.

“It’s too long,” Hermione said.

“No,” Ginny disagreed, continuing to shake her head.

“To short?”

“No.”

“Too tight, too loose, the color doesn’t go with my hair, my eyes, what is it?”

Ginny looked sharply at Hermione. “What’s wrong, Hermione?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said, holding up a small bouquet of white and red roses that had been put under a refreshing charm to keep them from wilting. According to Ginny, they had been passed down from her great-great-grandmother on her mother’s side, but they were just as fresh as they were the moment they’d been cut almost a hundred years previous.

“Hermione, we’re as good as sisters. You can tell me anything.”

“I know.”

“So confide now,” Ginny said, squeezing Hermione’s arm comfortingly, “before you do something to ruin my wedding.”

Hermione looked up and Ginny burst into laughter. Her skin was glowing, as was her hair and eyes. Hermione didn’t think she’d ever seen someone look so happy.

“I want what you have with Neville.”

“Sorry, Neville’s taken,” Ginny said, standing from her crouch in front of Hermione to sit beside her, “but Kevin Kettlebottom isn’t.”

“Not you too,” Hermione thought, rolling her eyes. “How could you possibly know about him?”

“Harry,” Ginny said. “He’s angry about the two of you.”

“Is he?” Hermione said, trying to sound nonchalant, but inside she felt a sudden wave of excitement and child-like giddiness she thought she’d scream and roll about the floor, thrashing like a mad woman. She chided herself for her feelings. It was just Harry, after all. He was just her best guy friend.

“I can’t really blame him.”

“Why?” Hermione asked. She half-hoped Ginny would confide that Harry was sick with jealousy.

“Don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

Hermione looked at Ginny in bewilderment, and Ginny looked as if she wasn’t entirely certain how much she should tell.

“Maybe you should ask Harry,” Ginny said.

“Ginny, what about Kevin and Harry?” Hermione demanded, her elation of a few moments ago evaporating like water on a hot desert rock. “They don’t like one another, why?”

“Kevin is Lucius Malfoy’s youngest nephew,” Ginny said, as if that should explain everything.

Hermione’s mouth fell open. How cold this detail have gotten past her? And why hadn’t she seen a family resemblance before?

“Harry doesn’t like Kevin because he’s related to the Malfoys?”

“No, Harry doesn’t like Kevin because they nearly killed one another the night Harry killed Draco.”

Hermione thought back to the night of Draco’s death. They’d all been there during that battle, and they’d all left together to return to the flat they’d shared in London at the time.

“I don’t recall meeting Kevin that night.”

“You wouldn’t,” Ginny said. “Harry was called to the Ministry to give a report, after you and Ron were um…indisposed.”

That part, Hermione remembered quite well. “Oh, right.”

“I went with him. Kevin was beside himself with a rage. He drew his wand, tried to duel with Harry, tried to kill him.”

“And Harry didn’t press charges?”

Ginny gulped and looked away. There was something she was holding back, and it was beginning to annoy Hermione.

“Are you trying to protect me from something? I’m a big girl, Ginny, I can handle whatever you have to say.”

“I asked Harry not to press charges. I was upset already…Hermione, do you know why Harry and I broke up?”

“I assumed you’d grown apart,” Hermione said.

“We did, but it wasn’t that simple.”

Ginny stared out of the kitchen window, becoming lost in thought. Her skin was flushed red, and her freckles stood out in sharp relief. Hermione waited patiently for her to speak.

“I made a mistake,” Ginny said. “Harry was so involved in finding the Horcruxes, he was so angry at having to team up with Snape and Draco to accomplish that…he stopped touching me, stopped talking to me, or even really looking at me. I was hurt and lonely and…”

Ginny drifted into silence and Hermione’s stomach went cold with dread.

“Oh, God,” Hermione said, suddenly seeing where Ginny was going. “You didn’t. Not with Draco-”

“Do you think I’m proud of it?” Ginny snapped, angry but somehow managing to look contrite at the same time.

“No, of course I don’t,” Hermione said. “I’m sorry, I rushed to judgment.”

Hermione remembered how hard it was to get through to Harry in the last few months leading to the final fight with Voldemort. She’d never considered how it had been from Ginny’s unique standpoint, as his lover.

“I never slept with Draco. I turned to him, I confided in him. He was like a snake. He saw I was vulnerable and he took advantage of the opportunity. I kissed him once and that happened to be the time Harry caught us. I think what hurt Harry most was that I’d let Draco get close, while he’d gotten so far away.”

Ginny turned from the window and busied herself making tea, but her profile was heavy with regret and sadness.

“Anyway,” she continued with a deep breath. She sat at the table and brought Hermione some tea as well, “Harry and I broke up after that. Voldemort fell, Snape was killed, and I thought it was over. All of it, the whole damn thing, but then Draco had to go and be stupid and try to pick up where Voldemort had left off. That man was such as fool.”

There was anger in her voice, and it was born of the injustice of senseless loss. Hermione wondered if Ginny had told her everything. Was the loss she was angry about in regards to Draco or Harry? Perhaps it was both, and Hermione decided not to press. Every woman had her secret places, deep in her heart, that no one else had any business peeping into. This was one of Ginny’s.

“Harry was sent to bring Draco in. You know how that went. He was forced to kill Draco, but Kevin was close to him. He was like an older brother to Draco, and he wanted revenge. I convinced Harry that what Kevin had done was out of grief for his cousin, to let it go.”

“Do you regret it?” Hermione asked, allowing her tea to go cold, forgotten.

Ginny shook her head. “No. I think Kevin is a good man, Hermione. Harry can’t see it because of the past he’s had with the Malfoy’s, but Kevin was never like them. You can see that for yourself.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said. “I can see it.”

“If you’re lonely, and I can see that you are, open yourself to the possibility. Harry’s a good friend, but he’s not your father, no matter how overprotective he may act. Don’t let him decide who you give your heart to.”

But it wasn’t Harry’s over protectiveness that gave Hermione pause; it was her confused feelings. The way Harry had departed the lunch room earlier that day without coming to say hello had hurt her more than she cared to admit, and that night at his apartment, that she felt she was making too much of, but it at the same time had been so significant.

It was an almost kiss, Hermione said to herself miserably, looking at her reflection in the still surface of her tea and thinking back to the previous night. Almost kisses don’t mean anything…do they?

Standing, Hermione turned back to the mirror and examined the dress. It was at that moment she realized the flaw in the dress that Ginny could not.

“The dress is too long, Ginny,” she said softly.

Sighing heavily, Ginny looked into Hermione’s eyes, a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah, Hermione. I believe you’re right.”

*

*

Night fell, Neville arrived with a bottle of wine and eyes only for Ginny, so Hermione bade them a good-night. She returned to her cottage in Hogsmeade and found Hedwig the second perched outside her bedroom window, waiting patiently. She opened the window and allowed the bird to enter on a cool, wet breeze, quickly untying the letter before giving her an owl treat and a sip of water.

Dear Hermione,

I want to apologize for my behavior
earlier today in the cafeteria. It was
uncalled for. I hope you’ll meet me
tomorrow for a walk. I’m coming to
Hogwarts to meet with Professor
McGonagall tomorrow morning at
nine. I think she’s going to
hit me up to take over the job of
Defense Against The Dark Arts. I
keep turning it down, but she’s
determined to have me. Do you think
we could walk around the lake once
for old times’ sake?

Harry.

Hermione scribbled down a reply, telling him she would meet him beside the lake at ten a.m. Once she tied her response to Hedwig’s leg she quickly undressed and climbed into bed, wide awake.

Images of the look in Neville and Ginny’s eyes as they’d gazed at one another arose in Hermione’s mind. She could imagine what they were doing at this very moment, and it depressed and frustrated her to realize she hadn’t made love in over a year.

Frustration ebbed into a surge of need and desire. She called up an image of Kevin’s face to replace Ginny and Neville, and feeling slightly self-conscious, she rested one hand casually on her chest, and eased the other under the blanket to rest on her lower stomach.

I can’t do this, Hermione thought in embarrassment, but her body ached with need. It had been so long....

She entertained a fantasy of Kevin’s lips on hers, of his hands running over her body, but the longer she thought of him the more the heat of her need cooled. Something was lacking.

Harry’s face kept attempting to intrude. Hermione fought it. She had never tried to pleasure herself to an image of Harry, imagining it would be too awkward. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, she allowed Harry to replace Kevin.

As an image of Harry’s lips claiming hers, his tongue searching her mouth, his hands exploring her body, pressed against her, hot with need, she felt her nipples harden, and heat pooled between her legs.

Sighing with content, Hermione pushed one hand under her blouse, and the other deep into her knickers.

3. Kisses And Vows

Note: I thought that it would be better to combine two ten page chapters to make one suitably long one.

Part Three – Sweet Kisses

Though many things in Hermione’s life would change over the years, Hogwarts, she knew, would remain the same. It was as if the place was frozen in time, and as she approached the castle she found herself smiling, indulging in a fantasy that she was heading home to Gryffindor tower, to all of her friends, and to a steady, reassuring routine of daily classes.

She waved to tiny Professor Flitwick as she circumvented the castle and took the path to the lake. There was the old tree where she, Harry, and Ron had spent so much time relaxing and studying, unable to appreciate the beauty and simplicity of their youth when they’d been students here.

She’d just reached the tree when she heard footsteps approach. She turned. Harry was coming, lips pulled up in a smile. She returned it and opened her arms, hugging him close, grateful that the awkwardness she’d feared she’d feel upon seeing him after what she’d done in bed the night before was not present. Instead, she held on perhaps a bit longer than necessary, enjoying the feel of his powerful arms around her waist. The real thing was so much better than the fantasy.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looping her arm in his and leading her around the lake. The water lapped quietly and rhythmically at the pebble-strewn shore, which crunched beneath their boots as they walked.

“Sorry for what?”

“Yesterday,” said Harry. “Kettlebottom and I don’t get on very well, Hermione. We have a history.”

“I know. Ginny told me,” Hermione said softly. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me.”

“What happened between Draco and Ginny was private.”

“No, not about that. I’m talking about your duel with Kevin at the Ministry the night you had to kill Draco. Does Ron know?”

“Not unless Ginny told him.”

They fell back into silence. Hermione watched the tentacles of the Giant Squid splash about the lake, her mind filled with questions that she was wary to ask.

“There’s so many questions I want to ask,” she said, “but I don’t want to pry.”

“Since when have you ever cared about prying into my life?” Harry asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. His tone was casual, and he was smiling, but his words stung her to the quick.

Hermione came up short, offended, pulled her away, and stuck her nose straight into the air, her back stiff as a board. Harry stepped back and looked her over, frowning.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione demanded.

“What?”

“Don’t be coy, Harry. You just accused me of being a busybody.”

“I did not!” Harry said, looking almost comically surprised by the turn their conversation had taken.

“You make it sound as if I make it a habit to pry into your personal life.”

“Well you did, but that was your way. I mean, that’s what best friends do.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Well, you did, before.”

“Before what?”

“Before you drifted away,” he said.

Hermione was suddenly at a loss for words, which very rarely happened to her. Before she drifted away? She wasn’t sure if she should be angry or not, but she was certainly confused.

“I didn’t drift away Harry. You closed yourself off years ago, from Ginny, from me, and Ron…everyone. You’ve become a stranger.”

Harry stared at her. He had a hard, angry look in his eyes, but she didn’t feel as if any of that anger was directed at her. Harry turned and started for the school, and Hermione stood ready to watch him walk away, but something just wouldn’t let her.

As if some invisible outside force shoved her in the back, Hermione lurched forward, her heart pounding, consciously aware that she had no idea what she was going to do to reach him. All she knew was that right now instinct would serve her better than intellect.

She reached out, grabbed a hand full of his robes, and pulled. He could have kept moving, he was so much bigger and stronger than she was, but he allowed her to stop him. She threw her arms around his waist and squeezed tight, determined that nothing would separate them. Not even Harry.

For a few moments Harry stood stiff, arms limp at his sides, but then slowly he lifted his arms and wrapped them around her, and lowered his head until his cheek was resting atop her head.

“We were once best friends,” Hermione said. “How did we get this way?”

“Me,” he said. “You’re right, I’ve pulled away.”

“Why? Don’t you love…us…anymore?” Hermione faltered in her words. She’d wanted to ask if he loved her, but a foolish sense of schoolgirl shyness overtook her and she included Ron in her question. She wondered if Harry could see through her flimsy mask.

“Of course I do,” Harry said.

Jupiter, the king of the gods, may as well have struck her heart with a rod of lightning, for it suddenly raced. There was something in the way Harry was standing, the feel of his arms, his breath coming in warm bursts that warmed her face and neck, that excited her.

She felt him run a hand slowly, lovingly up her back and to her neck. He’d never, in the eleven years she’d known him, touched her this way. It was warm, and intimate, the touch of a hopeful lover.

“Hermione,” he whispered, making her gulp. There was so much emotion, so much need and want in his voice, that it made her tremble.

Her eyes closed, Hermione tilted her head back. No amount of internal dialogue, of intellectual reasoning, would convince her that this was wrong. The way she felt now, needed and wanted by someone else, was what she’d been searching for all of her adult life.

Harry’s lips, soft and warm, gently collided with hers. She seemed unable to consciously control any part of her body, and her lips simply parted, granting him complete access. Harry’s tongue plundered her mouth, slowly at first, but then hungrily. The harder he kissed her the weaker her knees became, until most of her weight rested in Harry’s powerful arms.

She didn’t know how long the kiss lasted, only that by the time their lips parted she felt giddy, drunk with love.

Hermione opened her eyes and looked into Harry’s, seeing in them everything she’d ever longed to see. Need, want, love.

“I’m sorry,” a familiar voice said. Hermione’s knees found their strength and she stood back. Harry reluctantly released her. “I hate to interrupt.”

“Remus,” Harry said. “What brings you here?”

Remus Lupin was grinning down at them from the top of the hill. He approached, his hands behind his back.

“Nymph sent me,” Remus said. “We’ve got a situation with…er…you know who.”

“You’re kidding!” Hermione said, her mouth dropping open in shock. “He can’t be back, I saw him die!”

“No,” Harry said, grinning broadly at her mistake. “Not Voldemort. He means my latest case.” Looking back at Remus he said, “I’ll be right there.”

Nodding at Hermione, Remus turned and started for the gate.

“Don’t go to the wedding with Kevin tomorrow, Hermione,” Harry said.

“You want to take his place?”

“If I can make it, yes,” Harry said.

“You won’t be there?” Hermione said, disappointed.

“I hope so, but I can’t promise. I’ve got a really important case going on.”

“What is the case?” Hermione asked.

“I can’t discuss it. Not yet,” Harry said vaguely.

“I can’t just cancel him,” Hermione said. “He’ll want to know why.”

Harry’s eyes flashed angrily. This time she did get the feeling he was upset with her.

“You still want to go with him, after what just happened between us?” Harry asked.

“No, I don’t, but he’s a friend and-”

“He’s not a friend anymore, drop him. I don’t want you anywhere near him, Hermione.”

The elation from the kiss she and Harry had shared moments before was quickly evaporating. She loved Harry, but she would not stand for being treated as property instead of being treated as a person.

“Harry, kissing me once doesn’t give you the right to tell me who I can and cannot be friends with.”

“It isn’t like that, Hermione,” Harry said. “I have my reasons for asking you to stay away from Kettlebottom.”

“What reasons?”

“I can’t say,” he insisted, raising his voice. “I have to go.”

“Harry-”

“I have to go,” He insisted. “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

He hurried off after Remus, leaving her bewildered and upset. She waited until he was gone before leaving school grounds and Apparating to the Burrow.

*

*

“You haven’t been here all day,” Ginny said, examining Hermione’s dress. The hem had been raised to suit Ginny, but Hermione couldn’t concentrate on the tasks at hand. All she could do was think about Harry.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said. “I’ve got things on my mind.”

“Kevin?”

“Sort of. Harry told me to stay away from him, not to attend the wedding with him tomorrow.” Said Hermione, omitting the incredible kiss that her preceded Harry’s unseemly little territorial pissing act.

“Why?”

“He didn’t say. What would you do?”

“I’d go with Kevin,” Ginny said. “Unless Harry gave me a reason…say,” Ginny said, looking at Hermione, suddenly shrewd.

“What?”

“Why is Harry trying so hard to come between you and Kevin? Are you seeing Harry?”

“No!” Hermione said, shaking her head adamantly and upsetting the flowers that had been loosely pinned to her hair.

Ginny stared hard at Hermione, who was now hoping that Harry hadn’t taught her Legilimency in their time together as a couple.

“What’s going on, Hermione?”

“Nothing, I swear.”

“You can tell me,” Ginny said lightly. A little too lightly, in Hermione’s opinion. “I’m over Harry, Hermione. I’m getting married tomorrow, aren’t I? If something is going on between you and Harry, you can tell me.”

“It’s nothing, Ginny, really,” Hermione insisted, feeling guilty for lying, but wary at the same time. She knew all too well from her experience with Ron and Lavender how much it hurt to see an ex with another person, especially one of your friends. “Really, there’s nothing.”

“Fine,” Ginny said, seeming to accept Hermione’s lie. “Like I told you before, don’t let Harry chose who you’ll be with. Bring Kevin, unless Harry gives you a good reason not to.”

Hermione nodded, and once Ginny was satisfied with the bridesmaid dresses they made arrangements to meet with the caterer, check the seating arrangements, and to make sure the flowers were ready. Hermione pitied the caterer and the sweet old witch who owned the Magical Green. Though Hermione knew everything was going perfectly according to schedule, Ginny insisted on checking and rechecking everything.

“Ginny, you’re going to make the caterer hex you, if you don’t leave him alone,” Hermione said, preparing to Floo to Diagon Alley with Ginny, who was stuffing her wand into the back pocket of her jeans.

“I know, but everything has to be perfect.”

“It will be,” Hermione assured her, but Ginny only fidgeted with her bag and Hermione sighed, taking pity on her. “Fine, let’s go check the order. Merlin forbid he forgets Fleur’s order for bouillabaisse.”

Smiling happily, Ginny took up a pinch of Floo Powder and stepped into the hearth.

*

*

“Satisfied?” the caterer said, exasperated. He put his hands on his hips and glared at Ginny, who was looking over the cake, which featured tiny, realistic replicas of her and Neville kissing at the top.

“You have a protection-”

“Protection charm on the cake, yes,” the caterer said, harried. Hermione had never seen a more beautiful and feminine man. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure if he was a man. Regardless of his sexual identity, he made steak tartar to kill for. “You-Know-Who himself couldn’t nick a finger of icing off this thing before you and your husband cut it, darling, I swear it!”

“Fine,” Ginny said testily. “I’m just trying to make sure-”

“That everything will be perfect?” the cater said, talking over Ginny.”

“Is that Harry?” Hermione said, pointing out of the shop window. Ginny and the caterer looked up.

“I think it is,” Ginny said. “So?”

“He’s supposed to be on a case with Tonks,” Hermione said absently. A sigh from the caterer pulled Hermione’s attention away from the street after Harry had passed. “I wonder if it’s somewhere close to here?”

“Harry Potter,” the caterer said wistfully. “What beautiful eyes he has. What sumptuous lips, what a powerful body.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said, lost in memories of the kiss they’d shared that morning.

“I’d curse my own mum to get a hold of his…well…never mind that” the caterer’s voice faded away. “Satisfied, Miss Weasley?”

“That’ll be Madam Longbottom tomorrow,” Ginny said, happily, watching the tiny replica of herself grab Neville’s bum.

“That’s another thing,” the caterer said, exasperated but amused, “I keep having to hide this cake from customers, the way those little dolls carry on, it’s shameful! I hope they behave at the ceremony tomorrow. There’ll be children there, you know.”

Hermione listened to Ginny and caterer but her mind was on Harry, and that kiss, and just what she would do about Kevin Kettlebottom.

*

*

Dinner at the Leaky Cauldron was a noisy affair as the place was packed full. Hermione and Ginny were due to meet Neville, who cancelled at the last minute, citing a problem at his grandmother’s house. Ginny, for her part, had nothing left to do for the day, and it had taken the threat of a halitosis curse to keep her from going back to check on the cake once again.

“You’re scared,” Hermione said, looking at Ginny, who was shoving food around on her plate without eating. “And this is how you’re dealing.”

“Am I that obvious?” Ginny said dryly.

“What are you afraid of?”

Sighing, Ginny put down her fork, laced her finger together on the table and looked at Hermione.

“I’m going to be a married woman. Neville and I are going to share everything.”

Hermione frowned, not quite understanding Ginny’s dilemma. “So?”

“I’m Ginny Weasley. I know who I am, I understand my life, myself, and I’m happy. But tomorrow I’m going to become someone else.”

Hermione laughed. “No you’re not, Ginny. You’ll still be you.”

“No, I’m not,” Ginny insisted. “I’ll have a new name, a new house. It won’t be just me anymore. It’ll be me and Neville. Our house, our bed, our life. I hope I can do it.”

Hermione was silent. She’d never really considered what it meant to get married. One did change their identity to some extent, especially a woman, regardless if she took her husband’s name.

“I’ve never thought of it that way,” Hermione said. “You know what’s strange about being a woman?”

“What?” Ginny asked, sipping her wine.

“Our identity seems so dependent on the men in our lives. You go from being your father’s daughter to your husband’s wife.”

“Doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Ginny said. “I think if I didn’t love Neville so much I’d be angry that people will think of me as ‘Neville’s wife’. But then a part of me looks forward to it.”

“Miss Granger.”

Hermione looked up and saw Tom standing over her. He handed her a piece of yellow parchment.

“An owl tried to bring this in,” he said. “I thought I’d deliver it personally.”

“Thank you, Tom,” she said, taking the parchment. It bore her office seal, which she broke open to read, and her mouth fell open. “Oh my!”

To: Miss H J Granger.

From: Madam Angelica Pepper

Situation: Cauldron explosion. Dangerous, and possibly illegal, potion present. Healers from St. Mungo’s unable to gain clearance from the Ministry without approval from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad.

Your Designation: First responder.

Status: Urgent. Please respond forthwith.

“What’s wrong?” Ginny asked.

“It’s a first responder case. I have to go.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Ginny asked, standing as well.

“It could be,” Hermione conceded. “There’s been a cauldron explosion. Someone was brewing something illegal.”

“Need some backup?”

“No, I’ll be fine. They always make these things sound worse than they usually are. I’ll come back to the Burrow once I’ve finished this.”

Hermione checked the address once more before rushing outside to Apparate to the accident. Hermione felt a the thrill of excitement. She’d been stuck on case resolutions for so long she’d forgotten what had attracted her to this job to begin with: firs responder cases. One never knew what they’d be walking in to, or how grand or complex the mistake they would have to fix would be.

*

*

The cabin was on fire, the flames consuming it burning a brilliant and unnatural pink. It was pretty, but smelled heavily of sulfur and moonstone. Fortunately the cabin was on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, away from Muggle eyes.

A team of healers from St. Mungo’s stood in a tight group outside, their faces glowing in the light of the pink flames. Several junior law enforcement officers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement milled about, looking anxious.

“Miss Granger? Norbert Bertram, pleased to meet you.”

Hermione offered her hand to a tall, handsome man in his early forties, and wearing crisp gray robes. “Anyone inside?” Hermione asked.

“The owner of the house, Ephraim Hillstone. He’s got several severe burns, but he’s surrounded by that fire and we can’t get to him.”

“No one has extinguished the fire?”

“We can’t,” he said. “That’s why we called you. We don’t know what he was brewing. Most likely he was experimenting in there.”

“Sulfur and moonstone, pink flames…” Hermione said, thinking aloud. “Excuse me, Mr. Bertram.”

Hermione pulled her wand and approached the fire, trying several extinguishing charms. Apparently it didn’t require oxygen to burn, which made the fire purely magical.

“He’s trying to brew a chemical to make Gabrathian fire,” Hermione informed Bertram.

“That’s illegal,” Bertram said unnecessarily.

Hermione nodded, biting back a grin, and looked at the group of healers waiting to get inside. An idea occurred to her. The formula the man had been brewing was incomplete, which meant the fire could still be extinguished. It would be difficult, but it could be done. She pulled out a piece of parchment and a Muggle pen that she liked to keep handy since they didn’t require dipping in ink, and wrote down a list of ingredients.

“I’ll need to brew that in a stone cauldron,” Hermione said. “Standard size fifteen.”

Bertram frowned. “Stone cauldrons are only used in Dark magic. You’ll need a permit-”

“I’m authorized in emergency situations,” Hermione said, working up a combination charm that would contain the fire until a solution could be made to extinguish it. “You can see my permit on record at the Ministry, but check that later. Right now I need those ingredients before this fire spreads from the house.”

“Right away,” Bertram said, Disapparating with a loud crack.

Hermione turned her wand on the fire, breathing through her mouth to minimize the smell hanging about the place, and in a few moments a white mist sprayed from her wand and engulfed the flames. The healers cheered as the progress of the fire came to a halt, and they were able to move inside to retrieve Mr. Hillstone.

Two hours later Hermione finished the extinguishing potion. She levitated the cauldron, which was large enough for three adult men to sit comfortably inside, into the air as a few ministry workers Vanished the roof from the house. Pouring the potion over the flames, everyone applauded her once again as slowly the flames flickered, and then died.

“Very well done, Hermione.”

Hermione lowered the cauldron and watched Kevin approach, dressed casually in a shirt and slacks.

“Kevin,” she said, feeling awkward. “What brings you here?”

“I live right over there,” he said, pointing down the lane to an impressive two story structure. “I’ve been here for quite some time, watching you work. I’m impressed. You really know your business.”

“Thanks.”

“May I interest you in a cup of tea?”

“Oh, that’s nice of you, but I think I’m going to just go home. But I would like to talk with you.”

“Shall we walk, then?”

“Alright.”

Hermione waved at the officers on duty, signed their reports, and then started down the lane with Kevin, gathering her thoughts. Hogwarts was barely visible in the distance, and the lights of the village glittered in the night, yellow and warm, welcoming.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m going to have to break our date to the wedding tomorrow,” she said.

Kevin remained silent. She was almost afraid to look up at him, but when she did, she found him looking straight at her.

“May I ask why?”

“Harry.”

“I see,” he said.

“I found out what happened between the two of you,” she said, but she was quick to add “but that’s not why I’m breaking the date.”

“Then why?”

“There’s something between Harry and me. It’s new, and fragile, but I want it.”

“And you don’t want that with me?”

“Kevin-”

“No, I’m sorry,” he said, stopping in front of his house. He looked hurt, and a little angry, but his words remained respectful. “I shouldn’t have asked you that. You don’t owe me an explanation. I’m just disappointed, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

“Does your…whatever you have with Potter…does that mean we can’t be friends?”

“Harry doesn’t choose my friends,” Hermione said. “If friendship is enough for you, then I’d very much like that.”

“So would I,” Kevin said. He seemed genuine, but hurt, and guilt pressed in on Hermione from all sides.

“I’ll see you at work on Monday,” she said.

Nodding, but saying nothing, Kevin turned onto the walk and entered his house, shutting the door without looking back. Sighing, Hermione Apparated home, wanting to put an end to one of the most confusing days she’d ever known.

*

*

Wedding Bells Ring

“Okay, Ginny, just breathe,” Hermione instructed. “You’re going to be fine.”

Ginny plopped unceremoniously onto the pouf in the bedroom she’d used while growing up at the Burrow. Fleur, Luna, and Lavender watched her from the door.

“Darling,” Fleur said, coming to sit beside her. “You ‘ave nuzzing to fear. Believe me, I know. Thees iz just cold feet.”

“Trust her,” Lavender said. “She’s already been married, she knows the ceremony isn’t hard.”

“I don’t understand,” Luna said, her hair looking full and shiny, instead of stringy, for the first time since Hermione had met her. “All you’re doing is taking a vow. Then you can sit down, if you want.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and then knelt before Ginny. “Ginny, I watched you knee Lord Voldemort himself in the balls once, now I know you can stand up in front of a crowd and repeat some vows.”

“That was easy, he was choking me. I’d rather knee Voldemort in the balls again than go out there,” Ginny said, looking green all of a sudden. “I’m going to vomit.”

Hermione Summoned a make-up basket from the dresser, dumped out the contents, and held it up to Ginny, who did indeed vomit.

“Feel better?” Hermione asked.

“No,” Ginny said. She used her wand to clean her mouth, and Hermione was amazed by how much her wand trembled in her grip.

“Girls, could I have a moment?” Hermione asked. Fleur, Lavender, and Luna all shrugged and left the room.

“We’ll be downstairs,” Lavender said.

Taking the spot that Fleur vacated, Hermione put her arm around Ginny. They were facing the dresser mirror, and Hermione smiled.

“You’re beautiful, Ginny,” Hermione said. “And I love you.”

Ginny burst into tears. “I’m acting like a girly girl.”

“It’s about time,” Hermione said, laughing.

“I’m supposed to be strong and tough.”

“You’re one of the strongest, toughest people I know,” Hermione replied.

“I don’t feel that way now.”

“You don’t have to go through with this,” Hermione said. “But you love Neville, he loves you, right?”

“Yes,” Ginny said, with satisfying immediacy and certainty.

Hermione studied Ginny’s reflection. The young woman beside her made a stunning bride, and for one moment, however brief, she was deeply jealous.

Oh no, no, no, Hermione said sternly to herself, I’m not going to allow myself to wallow in self-pity.

“Harry didn’t come,” Ginny said, looking Hermione’s reflection in the eye. “How do you feel about that?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m no fool, Hermione. You’ve been asking about him all day. Kevin didn’t show. I’m guessing you cancelled to be with Harry.”

“Ginny-”

“Hermione,” Ginny said, looking away from the mirror and directly at Hermione. “I’m okay with that. Really. I have a man I love.”

“Then go out there and marry him,” Hermione said, smiling. “He’s waiting for you. And if I know Neville, he’s scared witless right now, wondering where you are.”

Ginny grinned and nodded, getting to her feet with a confidence that had been sorely lacking when she’d stumbled into the room a few minutes before.

“Let’s do this thing,” Ginny said.

“That’s my girl.”

Hermione gripped Ginny’s hand and together, they went downstairs to meet up with Arthur.

*

*

The ceremony went well. Ginny’s voice was confident, Neville’s voice was small, but filled with happiness. Molly wept on Arthur’s shoulder, who in turn, cried into her hair.

Hermione tried her best to concentrate on the exchange of vows, but her eyes kept skimming the crowd. Harry was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Tonks’ shock of pink hair, or Remus’ graying brown hair.

Why didn’t they come? Hermione wondered. Are they in danger? Is Harry hurt?

The guests cheered as Neville and Ginny kissed. Coming to her senses, Hermione clapped with everyone else as the two raced down the center aisle, cowering under a shower of confetti and bubbles from the many wands in the audience.

*

*

“They’re so much in love,” Lavender said, later that evening. “It’s beautiful.”

Hermione had taken her shoes off and was fanning herself with a program. She’d drank so much punch she was sick of it. Following Lavender’s gaze, she found Neville and Ginny dancing to a slow number being played by the band. Their eyes were locked together, and it was obvious that they were oblivious to everyone and everything else in the world. Hermione doubted they could even hear the music. They were just moving and being, as one.

Hermione’s mind went back to the kiss she and Harry had shared beside the lake the day before. Would they ever have a moment like the one Neville and Ginny were enjoying? She’d wanted, needed, to see Harry after the kiss they’d shared. She wanted to talk about it, about them. She’d wanted another kiss, but he was out of contact.

She couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he was avoiding her. Maybe he regretted the kiss. Maybe he felt it had been a mistake, and didn’t want to hurt her feelings by telling her they would have to remain strictly friends.

“They make a beautiful couple,” Hermione agreed absently.

“I wonder where Harry, Tonks, and Remus are,” Lavender said absently. “Do you think Harry declined to come because of some lingering feelings for Ginny?”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you, Lavender?” Hermione asked, more amused than annoyed.

“Whatever do you mean?” Lavender asked with mock innocence.

“You love to gossip. I suppose old habits die hard.”

Lavender laughed, unabashed, and Ron chose that moment to make an appearance. He looked harried, agitated.

“What’s the matter, love?” Lavender asked.

“Nothing,” Ron said, watching Neville and Ginny. “D’you think it’s possible to get Neville so drunk he couldn’t…you know…later?”

“Are you still on about that?” Lavender asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I’ve got news for you, Ron,” Hermione said. “They already have. Ginny told me.”

“Aw, man…” Ron said, looking disgusted.

“Come on,” Lavender said, taking Ron’s hand and leading him to the dance floor.

Hermione danced a few numbers with Fred and George, Bill, and Mr. Weasley, and slowly the sun began to fade, but Harry had not made an appearance. Finally, depressed and too tired to hide it any longer, Hermione snuck toward the house. She was almost at the kitchen door when Remus Lupin emerged, dressed in work robes, and a half-healed cut on his right cheek.

“Hermione, there you are,” he said, and fear stabbed at Hermione’s stomach.

“What’s the matter?”

“Harry was hurt-”

“Oh, God!” she said, fearing the worst before Lupin could finish the sentence. “What happened?”

“He’s alive,” Lupin said. “He’s been in St. Mungo’s most of the day. He was hurt during an arrest, but there’s more work that he and Tonks needs to complete, a few more wizards to bring in. He wanted me to let you know why he didn’t come to the wedding.”

“And Tonks? Is she alright?”

“She’s fine. We’ve been with Harry all day.”

“If he was hurt, why is he going back out? Can’t the ministry replace him?”

Lupin shook his head. “He won’t hear of it. You know how Harry is, Hermione. He always gets his man.”

“I know. I’m just afraid it’s going to get him killed one of these days.”

Remus said nothing, but touched her arm. “Now you know. I’ll see you later.”

Kissing Hermione on the cheek, Remus moved into the crowd, seeking Neville and Ginny to wish them well and inform them of what had happened. Since the cake had been cut, Hermione decided she didn’t care if it was rude or not to slip away. She wanted a quiet drink of something that offered more kick than virgin fruit punch.

*

*

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded to capacity, which was odd for a Thursday night. Hermione pushed her way through, recognizing several faces from the Ministry, but Neville and Ginny had not arrived for their arranged dinner date. She decided to order a drink when she ran into a man standing up from the bar.

“Oh, Kevin!” Hermione said, her mouth falling open in horror as his wine sloshed over his perfectly clean white shirt. “I’m so sorry!”

“Hermione,” he said brightly, smiling and seeming genuinely happy to see her, even though doing so had earned him a glass of cold wine down his front. “Don’t worry about it, love. This is nothing a little scouring charm can’t cure.”

“Care to join me at the bar?”

Hermione hesitated, but then nodded and took a seat that faced the entrance from Diagon Alley. This way she would be able to see if Harry decided to stop in for a drink since he’d missed the wedding.

“Expecting someone?” Kevin asked, watching her watch the entrance. She could see from the shine in his eyes he’d had more than one drink, though he was far from drunk.

“No,” Hermione said. “Just a habit, I suppose.”

“Was it a good wedding?”

“One of the best,” Hermione said.

“Weddings make me uncomfortable,” Kevin confided. Hermione accepted her drink order from Tom and raised her eyebrows at Kevin.

“Do they? Why?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I think it has something to do with the fact that my mother keeps giving me pointed glares whenever the bride walks down the aisle.”

Hermione laughed. “I’ve been to nine weddings over the past three years alone.”

“Nine? That’s quite a bit.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “I’ve been a bridesmaid in five of them. Always the bridesmaid….”

“Never the bride,” Kevin finished for her. He was looking at her very closely. “Do you regret that?”

Hermione almost said no by rote, but stopped at the last second to think about it. How much, she wondered, should she trust to tell this man? Kevin’s eyes were soft and open, unassuming and undemanding.

“Yes, it bothers me,” she finally said.

Kevin nodded, and sensing the pain the conversation was causing Hermione, changed the subject to the Wizengamot. They never talked about his work, it was always about her. She found that he was very passionate about his work, something she wished she felt for her own job.

The night passed quickly and Harry failed to show, but Hermione had stopped noticing. Kevin had a way of absorbing her into conversation so that she didn’t even notice there was anyone else in the room but him, with the exception of the occasional loud, drunken shouts of a few young wizards in the rear of the bar.

“I’ve taken a room upstairs,” he said, and for one moment Hermione thought he was asking her up. She nearly snorted the last of her drink, but kept it in check. “I’m going to go change and then we’re going dancing.”

Hermione laughed nervously. “It’s almost midnight, Kevin.”

“The best time for dancing, my dear,” he said. “What, are you too old? Have you run out of spunk?”

“Never,” she said.

“Then come on. I’ll change and we’ll find another place.”

It wasn’t necessary for her to go to his room, Hermione knew, but the idea of telling him no, she’d wait at the bar seemed absurd. She’d already told him she had something with Harry, and that they could be only friends. Surely he understood and accepted that.

Hermione hopped down, somewhat unsteadily, from the bar stool and followed him up, imagining what it must look like to the other guests to follow a man upstairs, and she hoped it didn’t get back to Harry.

*

*

The music that had been playing downstairs died completely out once Kevin closed the door to his sizable room. Despite its age and reasonable price, everyone knew that the Leaky Cauldron was the best place in Britain to spend the night. The beds were big and soft, and the fires always warmed the room just right. One blazed in the hearth, putting out just enough heat to dispel the unseasonable chill that had followed the rain that had moved in over much of the country.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Kevin said, disappearing into the private bath.

Hermione still felt uneasy. She and Harry hadn’t promised themselves to each other, but she still felt she was being disloyal in some way to him by coming to Kevin’s room. She tried to remind herself that they weren’t doing anything wrong. They were simply going to go out on the town as platonic friends. Hermione continued to worry as she sat down gingerly on the corner of the bed to wait.

Kevin strolled past her, topless, and went to the dresser in front of the bed. His skin was pale and it was easy to trace the blue web of veins that zigzagged under his flesh. He wasn’t a large, broad man like Harry, but he was well cut and slender. Hermione felt herself blushing when Kevin suddenly stopped in his perusal of a new shirt and looked over his shoulder at her, his dark green eyes partially obscured in a curtain of light blond hair.

The look he gave her in that moment made Hermione’s skin break out in goose flesh. It was pure, unadulterated need and desire.

“I should leave now, Kevin,” Hermione said, standing, but Kevin crossed the distance from the bed to the dresser in one big step, which was easy for him to accomplish with his long legs.

Hermione saw him coming, and she hadn’t the time to stop him. She turned her head at the last possible second so that Kevin’s mouth landed on her neck instead of her lips.

Kevin’s searching mouth searched the tender flesh of her neck, and his hands groped with expert ease the most intimate parts of her body, as if he had rights to her that she had never given.

“Hermione,” Kevin mumbled, holding her tightly and pushing her toward the bed, where he collapsed atop her. He claimed her lips in a forceful kiss. She pushed against him, but he was strong, and her resistance was ineffectual. Fear blossomed in her stomach, as his hands became more insistent.

“Kevin, I can’t,” Hermione said.

“If you just give me a chance,” he said in a pleading voice, “you’ll see how good we can be together.”

“Kevin, stop.”

But he didn’t stop. Instead he covered her lips in another kiss, holding onto her tightly, one hand searching under the bridesmaid dress she still wore from the wedding, trying to find her knickers. She shoved at his hands and began to struggle. Her wand was strapped to her right leg, out of reach due to the awkward way Kevin had sprawled against her.

Finally she broke free of his lips and shoved hard against him.

“Kevin, stop! I mean it, get off me!”

“Hermione-”

“No!”

She brought a hand up, slapping him hard across the face, and he seemed to come to himself then.

“Get off me. Let me up!”

He rolled over, and she pulled herself from beneath him, panting for breath. He seemed shocked at his own behavior.

“Hermione…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Our friendship is over,” Hermione said, gulping, and pulling her wand, just in case he came at her again. She backed toward the door; she couldn’t Dispparate due to the security charms in place over the building. Kevin remained on the bed, watching her with sad eyes, but he made no further advances on her.

She ran from the room, tears of anger and misplaced guilt stung her eyes. Why had she even gone to his room to begin with? No woman in her right man went to a man’s bedroom unless she intended to sleep with him.

Hermione heard the rain falling outside and didn’t care if she caught another cold. She needed cool wind and water on her face. She ran into the night, clutching her wand in her hand, unseeing, unheeding of any possible dangers that lurked in the night.

She didn’t give any conscious thought to where her feet took her, and time had no longer held any meaning for her. When she finally stopped, Hermione found herself outside of the apothecary below Harry’s flat. The windows of his place were completely dark. He wasn’t home.

The stairs that led to the door of the apartment were steep, but in a few seconds she stood before Harry’s front door, which was guarded by one of the familiar old gargoyles from Hogwarts, and Hermione remembered the day McGonagall had given it to Harry.

She prepared to begin guessing the entry word when the statue suddenly looked at her, sprang to life, and stepped quietly aside where it waited for her to pass. The lock clicked open of its own accord before her, and slowly the door drifted open. Hermione was suddenly overcome with emotion, and sobbing, she entered Harry’s apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~

One of Harry’s shirts lay discarded on the floor of his bedroom. Hermione peeled off her wet clothes, pulled on Harry’s shirt, and then crawled into his bed. The sheets were the finest linen, and they were soft, holding his scent well. She nestled deep inside the sheets and buried her face in his pillow. Now dry and warm, the soft bed and Harry’s musky, clean smell conspired to calm her. She listened to the rain pound against the window, wishing he were there for her like he had been in the old days.

Hermione thought of his job then. He was an Auror. His job was dangerous, and he was doing it without her and Ron there to watch his back. The memory of Remus coming and telling her that Harry had been hurt returned. What if something happened to him? What if he went out one day and didn’t return? How would she live without Harry?

The idea of a world without Harry was so utterly foreign to Hermione that it chilled her in ways cold rain never could. She took in a deep breath, feeling as if he were there somehow, and slowly she drifted off into a restless half-sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

At some point the image of Harry’s face, merely inches from hers, went from being a dream to being a reality. It was still dark, and rain still raged against the windows, but the weight depressing the bed beside her was very real. So were the bright green eyes looking at her without the glasses to cover them, and the hand that gently caressed her face.

“I love you,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She’d only told Harry that once before, three years ago, just as he’d gone into the graveyard to fight Voldemort for the last time over his parents’ graves.

“I love you too,” he said, just as softly.

“I feel like I’m drowning,” she said, hot tears falling from her eyes. He gently wiped them away with the flat, soft flesh of his thumb. “Save me?”

“Always,” Harry said, without hesitation.

Harry’s lips softly claimed hers. She breathed deep the scent of him, and reveled in the taste of him, as he kissed her. At first the kiss was light, but then it deepened, and all the pain and uncertainty in her heart was forgotten. Harry took Hermione into his arms, and he became her world.

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

Epilogue coming soon!

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4. Epilogue

*

*

Author’s Note: I am so sorry it took so long to get this chapter to you, but I had the worst case of writer’s block ever. I hope you find this ending worthy. It was so hard to get it onto “paper”.

Epilogue

Harry gave one last gasp before laying his face on Hermione’s sweat-soaked chest. Drops of sweat on Harry’s shoulders and back glistened in the morning sun, which had returned that weekend. Hermione reluctantly released him, allowing him to part from her body and come to rest beside her.

Their breathing eased into a slow, comfortable rhythm, while she stroked sweat-matted locks away from his face. They’d elected to play hooky from work, which Hermione fretted about.

“We’re going to get fired,” she said. Harry leaned up on one elbow and took her hand in his, kissing her fingers.

“Let them fire us. We’ll move to the Bahamas and spend the rest of our lives luxuriating on the beach and making love in the middle of the afternoon on the lanai.”

Hermione laughed. “That’s a beautiful dream, but not very practical. I can’t afford to lose my job. I wouldn’t be able to pay my mortgage, and then where would I be?”

“You could be here, with me,” Harry said, and he looked so serious that Hermione was momentarily struck speechless.

“What?”

“Think about it,” Harry said. “I’ve been thinking about it since I came home and found you waiting for me. I don’t want to spend one more night in this bed without you in it beside me.” He leaned in and kissed her, softly, slowly, laying a hand on her breast, over her heart. “Beneath me, on top of me,” he said, kissing her again.

“Harry, that’s an awfully big decision.”

“Why? We’ve lived together before.”

“That was different. We were different.”

“We’re best friends. It’s not like we have to get to know each other to see if we can stand living together. I love you. I want to be-”

“Well, look what we have here!”

“Tonks!” Harry shouted. He struggled to cover himself and Hermione, but Tonks only laughed.

“It’s okay, Harry, I’ve seen one of those already,” Tonks said jovially. “Remus has one too, you know.”

“This is my bedroom!” Harry shouted, finally covered up. Hermione had never seen anyone blush as hard as Harry did now.

“Remus and I have one of these as well,” she said, looking around. “Now get up, the both of you. Meet me in the sitting room, I have news. Potter, you’ll want to shower….Actually, you both will, considering you look fresh from it. I think if I’d had gotten here five minutes earlier I would have seen-”

“Out!” Harry shouted, throwing a pillow at Tonks with all his might. She waved her wand lazily and the pillow turned to mist. Winking at Hermione, she turned and shut the door.

“You heard her,” Hermione said. “We do need to shower.”

* * *

“Took you long enough,” Tonks said, twenty minutes later.

“I dropped the soap and Harry…never mind,” Hermione said, her voice trailing away as her neck and face suddenly felt warm.

“Anyway,” Tonks said, her eyes twinkling as she motioned to a few photos and some parchment on the table.

Hermione looked at the photos. They were of five wizards and two witches, all of them glaring rebelliously forward. The dates on the mug shots were three days old, the night Harry came home to her.

Home to me…Hermione thought. Home….

She pulled herself away from the conversation of her moving in, which she and Harry had ignored in the shower, and looked at the photos.

“A breakout?” Harry said, examining a report with the Auror department logo emblazoned on the front. He looked both disbelieving and horrified. “All of them? How?”

“It was an inside job,” Tonks said. “We had them set to Floo to Azkaban from the processing department at the Ministry, but they never arrived. Someone changed the destinations, someone with access to the Transport Charms.”

“Who do you know from the Department of Magical Transport that would do something like this?” Hermione asked.

“It doesn’t have to be anyone from that department. Just someone with Ministry access,” Harry said. Tonks nodded gravely in agreement.

“Remus is looking it over, trying to regress the changes in the charm to see the final destination, but he doesn’t think anyone will be able to figure out the exact location of the final destination. The person covered their tracks too well, used too solid a Confundus Charm in addition to the route change.” She heaved a sigh. “The best we’ve been able to determine so far is Hogsmeade.”

“There are thousands of houses and businesses in Hogsmeade,” Harry said, sighing. The place had recently experienced a population explosion as witches and wizards desired to distance themselves further from the Muggle world since the end of the war. It was a true luxury to be able to use magic at any time you desired without fear of a Muggle seeing you. Unfortunately, this had driven up the property value so that only the wealthiest could buy space in the newly expanded borders of the village.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked. Harry and Tonks shared a look.

“We can’t say, Hermione,” Tonks said. “That’s why I haven’t gone into greater detail, and that’s why I have to snatch Harry away from you for a few hours, maybe even the rest of the day.”

Hermione nodded. “I understand. I have to go back to my place anyway. I need new clothes.” She was dressed in a pair of Harry’s boxers and one of his tee-shirts. Harry had told her she looked sexy, but she wanted to put her own clothes on.

Harry and Tonks stood, and after a slow, soft kiss, Harry stood back.

“Why don’t the two of you bring Remus to my house tonight for dinner?” Hermione asked. “I’ll cook for you.”

“Sounds wonderful,” said Tonks. “See you tonight.”

They Disapparated. Hermione soon followed, heading to her house in Hogsmeade, which she’d wisely moved into before the village had grown suddenly popular.

* * *

Hermione finished changing just as the Proximity Charm alerted her that company had Apparated nearby. She looked out of the window and found her boss, Angelica Pepper, marching up the road, straight toward her cottage. Sighing, Hermione went to the door and opened it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Angelica demanded, before Hermione could even give her a proper greeting.

“I’m sorry?”

“Word got back to me that you went up to Kettlebottom’s room at the Leaky Cauldron, and then deserted him a few minutes later. He hasn’t been seen at the Ministry since! What did you do?”

“He tried to force himself on me!” Hermione shouted. She expected Madam Pepper’s anger to replaced with sympathy. Instead Angelica threw her hands up in disgust.

“Of course he did! You went to his bedroom for Merlin’s sake! I mean, the man has to stay there until his house is finished. You’ve humiliated him, obviously, as this is bound to get out!” Angelica continued, cutting Hermione’s indignant response off. “Now he’s going to vote against me, I know it!”

“Vote? That’s all you care about is a stupid vote? I thought the man was going to rape me!”

“Do you realize what this will do to us?” Angelica continued, unfazed by Hermione’s outburst. She continued as if she couldn’t even hear what Hermione had to say. “We’ll lose so much business. I’m going to have to struggle to keep my position! Well, this is all your fault-”

“I quit,” Hermione said suddenly, before she realized completely what she was doing. Angelica blinked stupidly at her.

“What?”

“I said ‘I quit’,” Hermione informed her. “I’ve had it with that job, but more importantly, I’ve had it with you. Good-day.”

Hermione slammed the door on Angelica’s stunned, comically open-mouthed expression, and leaned against the door, breathing heavy and shaking.

“Oh, God, I just quit my job! I’ve got a mortgage and I’m unemployed...” Suddenly Hermione burst out laughing, riding high on the feeling of telling Angelica Pepper off. “And I’ve never been happier.”

Giggling happy, she checked to make sure Angelica had gone. Seeing that she was alone, Hermione grabbed her purse, her wand, and charmed the door locked. Stepping out to the curb, she lifted her wand, summoning a taxi, since the village market was a little too far away to walk, even on a fine day as this. A yellow and red horse-drawn carriage appeared before her, and the driver opened the door, helping her inside before taking off down the dirt lane that led to the cobblestone rode into the village.

* * *

Hogsmeade Village Market offered the freshest in fruits, vegetables, meats, fish, and beverages. Hermione enjoyed strolling through the store, the sky of which was charmed to reflect outside so that it was like there was no roof on the place. The selection of tomatoes gleamed wet from the spray, fat and juicy and a deep shade of red. She chose a couple and bagged them, putting them into the basket that bobbed gently along behind her.

But as much as she enjoyed choosing the fresh ingredients she needed for that nights lasagna dinner, something bothered her about her meeting with Angelica, and about the photo’s she’d seen at Harry’s apartment, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Finishing up, Hermione paid for her purchases and went out to the curb to flag another taxi. She wanted the sauce to cook for a few hours in order for the ingredients to blend properly. Climbing into the taxi, Hermione’s eye caught sight of the house that had burned in the fire. It stood, a charred scar on the otherwise flawless landscape of Hogsmeade village.

The feeling of unease doubled. The house… As Hermione’s taxi slowly moved through the streets, heading for her modest stone cottage, something hit her like the proverbial ton of bricks.

“Driver, take me to Hogwarts, at once,” she said urgently. “The faster you get me there, the bigger the tip.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the driver said, turning the wagon around in the center of the wide street and plowing for Hogwarts, which sat upon a distant hill, a lonely but noble sentry on the highest peak of Hogsmeade village.

* * *

“Hermione,” Professor McGonagall said, standing from her desk in the headmaster’s office. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Headmaster,” Hermione said.

“Now, now, what have I told you?”

“Minerva, I’m sorry,” Hermione said. “I forget sometimes.”

“Is there something the matter, darling?”

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. “I hope not, but I think there is. May I use Professor Dumbledore’s Pensieve?”

Judging by the distress on Hermione’s face, Professor McGonagall nodded and retrieved the old stone basin and brought it to the desk. Hermione thought back to the appropriate memory and dropped into the Pensieve. The surface shimmered and rippled, but when it settled, she saw herself sitting beside Harry on the couch, looking at the pictures and the forms on the people who’d escaped from the Ministry.

Plunging into the memory, Hermione sat down inside the image of herself and leaned forward, examining closely the documents. The name of one of the escapees jumped out at her. Dread welling up in her stomach, Hermione quickly left the memory and put it back in her head, before taking out another. A few minutes later, she had that memory back in her mind too.

“Thank you Professor, now I need your help,” she said urgently.

“Yes, of course,” Minerva said. “What can I do?”

“I need you to contact Remus Lupin, or Kingsley Shacklebolt, and tell them I know where the escapees from Harry and Tonks’ latest case have gone. Right here in Hogsmeade.”

Hermione gave her the address, and then ran for the door.

“Where will you be?”

“I’ll be at that address!” Hermione shouted.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later Hermione had Apparated her purchases home and paid the driver off. She now stood in front of the charred remains of the house that she had been sent to extinguish a few nights before.

Part of her was shocked, while some part of her, deeper inside, knew she shouldn’t be. She stood in the shadow of the trees, watching the house down the lain. Sure enough, Kevin Kettlebottom Apparated on the road and made his way to the house.

What did you expect? Hermione scolded herself. His mother was a Malfoy, after all.

He’d just about reached the door when he stopped, as if sensing he was being watched. Slowly, he turned to her. She stood her ground, not knowing if she should pretend not to know anything, or if she should Apparate to safety. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall had placed powerful anti-intruder Charms on her house. She’d be safe there until she could Floo to the Ministry.

She was about to do just that when Kevin’s wand was out and pointing in her direction. It occurred to her then that he was most likely a powerful Legilimens, and he’d been looking her dead in the eye while she’d plotted what she should do.

Hermione brought her wand up, blocking his spell, and sending a few of her own. She and Kevin performed a long distance duel, which was going well in her favor until she heard several loud cracks around her.

Hermione spun, finding she was surrounded by several of the people whose picture she’d seen at Harry’s that morning, and she was surrounded by some kind of sphere that lit up whenever she tried to Apparate out. Kevin approached from the other house at a run. He reached her, his eyes looking sad.

“You just had to come here, didn’t you?” he said sadly. “It’s a shame. I really did care for you, Hermione.”

“Then whatever it is you’re planning, don’t do it.”

Kevin shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “You don’t even know what you’re going to die for, do you? It’s too bad.”

“You plan to kill me? Someone you claim to care for?” Hermione asked, trying to appeal to his softer, human side. Assuming he actually had one. Considering what had happened at the Leaky Cauldron, and the fact that he’d helped seven dangerous fugitives escape justice, and that he’d once tried to kill Harry…she doubted there was much of her ideal of humanity inside of him.

“I care for revenge more than anything, or anyone, else.” Kevin plucked Hermione’s wand from her hand and looked at the others. “Take her inside. We can’t do it out here on the street.”

Kevin and the three wizards who’d come out to capture her led Hermione down the lane and into the house. She couldn’t Disapparate, and they had her wand. She was afraid, genuinely afraid, for the first time in many years. Not since the old days had she felt the kind of fear for her safety that she felt now.

I’ll never see Harry, or Ron, or Ginny, or any of my other friends again, Hermione thought to herself. Each step closer to the house meant a step closer to her demise. Her mind raced. She didn’t know what to do, or how to get out of this situation. If only someone would come along. She could yell out for help, or tell them to call the Ministry.

Sometimes you don’t have your wand, said Harry’s voice, something he’d said to her years ago. Sometimes all you’ve got are your fists and your guts, and your will to live.

Kevin had her wand held loosely at his side. He was walking just to her right. If she snatched it from his hand she may get it, or she may not. If she missed there would be a struggle. All she knew was that she wasn’t going to walk meekly to her death.

Hermione sucked in great lungfuls of air and let out a piercing, nerve tickling, hair raising scream that echoed through the quiet streets of Hogsmeade like nails on a chalkboard in a quiet classroom.

Distracted, Kevin spun around, his arms swinging somewhat loosely. She snatched her wand from his hand and, without worrying about proper pointing and prim spell-casting.

“Finite!” The spell lifted as several people came running out of their houses to investigate the source of the noise. Hermione drove an elbow into the groin of the wizard to her left and he doubled over, howling in pain, and she shoved past him, making a dash for the cabin that had burned, hoping to get enough room to properly Disapparate without splinching herself, but something hot hit her in the middle of her back, between her shoulder blades, and suddenly she couldn’t feel her body.

Hermione landed face first in the soil, feeling oddly disembodied, pain free but scared. Several people had disappeared into their houses. She prayed that one of them would have the good graces to call the Ministry and tell them what they’d witnessed.

“Bring her into the house,” Kevin snarled, sounding like a rabid dog, more than a man. “Someone will have notified the Ministry by now.”

“Just kill her!” The wizard Hermione had punched said, his voice wavering with pain.

“We’ll need her for leverage against Potter,” Kevin said. “Into the house! Now!”

Hermione slowly regained feeling in her body, but the spell had not worn completely off, for she felt very weak. At leat fifteen minutes had passed from the time she’d been hit with the spell until now, and there was no sign of Harry or any Auror’s that she could see from her place in the sitting room. The curtains were drawn, shutting out the view of the street outside. She prayed someone had contacted the ministry and hadn’t just gone back to their houses pretending nothing was wrong.

Kevin paced, hands behind his back, tapping his wand in his palm, her wand hooked into his belt. Once in awhile he looked over at her, slumped in the chair, but deigned her unworthy to receive a single word of explanation.

“Kevin…” Hermione rasped.

“How did you figure it out?” he asked suddenly. “How did you know I was connected?”

“My boss stopped by my house today. She said that you were staying at the Leaky Cauldron until your house was finished. I didn’t realize it was one of the new constructions on the outskirts of town until Angelica said so. The night I put out the fire…I had assumed this was your house until I remembered that it belonged to the Leftwich family. Then I saw that one of the escapee’s was named Leftwhich, and I connected it from there.”

An alarm went off from a Sneakoscope in the corner.

“It’s about time,” Kevin said in a harsh voice. “Potter and his Auror’s have been here for ten minutes, hiding, waiting to spring some ridiculous trap.”

Five wizards and two witches entered the room, all of them hooded. Not that it mattered to Hermione. She’d seen their faces already, from the photo’s at Harry’s. She watched as they formed a half circle around Kevin, who now had his back to Hermione. One of the witches had a red velvet pillow with a golden chain, which was attached to a silver medallion. Kevin picked it up and examined it before turning toward her.

His face was full of rapture as he said “Do you know what this is, Hermione?”

Hermione examined the medallion. It was half the size of a Galleon, thin, and had an image of a sun with a serpent wrapped about it etched on the side presented to her. She’d never seen anything like it.

“No,” she said.

“It’s a Wrath Medallion, fashioned by an ancient Dark Witch named Niobe. She lived and practiced in Athens, over a thousand years ago. She made three such Medallions before she was hunted down and executed by Wizards of Light. The other two were destroyed, but this one survived. With this Medallion, I will be unstoppable, and I’ll have my revenge against Potter for what he did to my cousin, and my family.”

“Forgive me for interrupting your terribly gripping monologue,” Hermione said in a scathing tone, “but if the medallion is destructible, and this Niobe woman was killed when she possessed three of them, what makes you think you’ll fare any better with the one medallion?”

The smile on Kevin’s face faltered, but just for a moment. “Clever girl,” he said, holding the medallion up for examination. “One must truly desire vengeance, and give in to pure, total hatred for one’s enemies for this to work at its best. Niobe tired when she gave up her hate. I will not do so. I’ve wanted vengeance for too long. I won’t be denied now.”

The front door of the house exploded inward, sending dust and chips of wood showering into the sitting room. Without hesitation, Kevin slipped the medallion about his neck. It turned black, so that it looked like polished coal instead of silver. Kevin’s hair and eyes also turned black, and his companions bowed down to him.

“Shall we fight the Auror’s now, my lord?” one of the witches asked. Kevin shook his head.

“Kill them all, but leave Potter for me.”

Hermione watched as Harry rushed through the hole that had once been the front door, followed by Tonks, telling him to follow the plan. Apparently Harry had other ideas. He leveled his wand at Kevin, hurling one silent curse after the other at him, but with no effect. The spells simply bounced off him, as if he were encased in a protective bubble.

Auror after Auror filed into the room, hurling curses at the men and women behind Kevin. The two witches, who’d been standing beside Kevin, fell under the onslaught, but the others fought back.

Kevin brought his wand up, leveled it at Harry, and aimed a spell at him. Harry deftly deflected everything that Kevin through at him, but none of his spells could harm Kevin. Apparently the medallion didn’t enhance one’s own power, but protected you from everyone else’s magic.

The fight was beginning to intensify, and Hermione managed to fall to the floor and crawl toward Harry. She felt so weak….The others with Kevin began to succumb to the onslaught of spells from the Aurors. Soon, only Kevin remained.

She reached Kevin and tried to grab her wand but he saw her and, lowering his wand, completely immune to the spells being thrown at him from the others, grabbed her by the hair and hauled her to her feet. Harry, Tonks, and the other Aurors halted, their wands in various positions, ready to strike.

“Go on, Harry. Curse her,” Kevin said, his voice soft but oddly heavy.

“Let her go. This is between us,” Harry said. “Just you and me.”

Kevin leveled his wand at Hermione, and she saw real fear in Harry’s eyes for the first time in many years.

“No!” Harry said, laying his own wand down.

“Harry, don’t,” Hermione pleaded.

“I’m untouchable,” Kevin said in his strange voice, “but you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Harry said, glancing at Hermione. She’d never seen him look at her with so much love in his eyes. “I’ll give up, just let her go.”

Kevin turned his wand on Harry and fired a spell. He dove to the side to avoid it. Summoning the last of her strength, Hermione shoved into Kevin with everything she had. He stumbled to the right, and as he looked at her in rage, shoving her away. Tonks ran forward, toward Kevin, hand outstretched.

Seeing what was coming a tad too late, Kevin tried to raise his wand to attack, but Tonks was faster. Her hand wrapped around the medallion and she ripped it from him. There was a flash of light as the chain broke, and Tonks was thrown back, the medallion clutched in her hand. Both she and Kevin fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

Hermione looked up and saw Harry rushing toward her. “Hermione, are you okay?”

“I think so,” she said. “He hit me with a weakness spell. I’ll be okay, check on Tonks.”

Harry kissed her before rushing to Tonks. The other Auror’s had bound Kevin and his accomplices, but Tonks was unconscious, and Hermione worried for her.

*****

A few days later

“A nice, shiny medal,” Tonks said. She was sitting up in bed at St. Mungo’s, having undergone extensive treatment with potions and bed rest. She held up the Medal of Valor, First Class, and Remus kissed her lightly.

“Not a bad way to enter your new upstairs office,” Remus said.

“Harry tells us you’ve decided to apply for the Auror Academy,” Tonks said, looking at Hermione.

“I am. I didn’t realize how much I miss the danger until this thing with Kevin,” Hermione said. Tonks, Remus, and Harry smiled. “Plus, I miss watching over Harry.”

“What was the sentence for Kevin and his cronies?” Tonks asked. “I don’t get a lot of news updates in here.”

“Life in Azkaban,” Harry said. “Not only did he attempt to kill me, but it seems he’d used the Cruciatus Curse on the curator of the museum that held the map that led to Niobe’s cave, where they found the components to reform the medallion.”

Harry and Hermione spent another twenty minutes talking with Tonks, when it became clear that she wanted some alone time with Remus. They said their good-byes and then, hand in hand, left the ward, heading for the entrance.

“So,” Harry said, “I’ve gotten you to agree to become an Auror, but you haven’t given me an answer on whether or not you’ll move in with me. I mean, you practically live there anyway.”

Hermione’s cheeks reddened, and Harry snorted.

“I can’t believe you have it in you to blush after some of the things you showed me over the weekend. Dirty, naughty things-”

“Quiet before someone hears you!” Hermione said, punching him playfully on the arm.

“We belong together, Hermione,” Harry said earnestly. “There’s no reason we should be apart.”

“You’re right,” she said. “But you’ll have to move into my place. You’re only renting your flat, I’m buying my cottage. I love Hogsmeade, Harry. I don’t want to leave it.”

“Deal,” he said, grinning broadly. “I can’t wait to tell Ron and our other friends.”

“You know Mrs. Weasley will insist we get married,” Hermione said, smiling at the idea of telling Mrs. Weasley and the others.

“So do I,” Harry said. Hermione glanced at him.

“We’ve gone from moving in together to marriage, already?” she asked, laughing.

“In due time,” Harry said, wrapping an arm around her, and holding her close as they left the hospital.