Disclaimer: I don't own it, however, this is inspired by real-life events (even the beginning anecdote). Since I don't own it, I am not making any money. Believe me, I wish I were. Also, I upped the rating to PG-13 for this chapter and the next, which I am working on. I just want to be careful.
A/N: I would like to send my thanks out to Mollywobbles, my beta and friend who helped me line for line, and to Sierra, general Jack of All Trades. And, to my readers, I am so sorry this has taken so long. I hope you still find interest in the story. With DH coming, I am motivated to finish, so let's keep our fingers crossed and hope my laptop stays for the journey! A star to the person who gets the Scrubs reference!
Special Note of Thanks: To Plumgirl. She wrote this amazing story called "Must Be Approved by Crookshanks," and without it, I would not have such an inspiration for Mione's Crookshanks in this story. You all really must read it and give it the praise it deserves. -Steph
Only Once, Chapter Four:
Hermione laughed and put her wine glass down on the linen table cloth. "I thought I was the only one who had ever done anything like that," she laughed again. "Though mine's a little more tame than yours… I was so embarrassed-I just wanted to fade into the woodwork." Hermione folded her hands in front of her mouth, smiling a little to herself, remembering. "My parents are Anglican, and they raised me as such. Father Edmund, a retired priest in our parish, ate with us from time to time. He was widowed, so it was good for him to get out-my mum was especially fond of him, so she made his favourite of hers, shepherd's pie." Hermione paused, taking a sip of her wine.
"It's one of my favourites, too, actually."
Hermione smiled at her dinner partner. "It's great, one of her best." Hermione caught herself before she said: You should come over and try it sometime. She continued, "My dad likes it with a real good stout-so I split a bottle between my dad and Father Edmund for dinner and a bottle of water between me and my mum. Well, who gives beer to a priest? I set it down in front of him and took my seat, and we said Grace. Father Edmund picked up his stout and I realised in that moment what I had done, and poof! It was gone!"
"You made it disappear!"
"Well, my dad spotted it just as Father Edmund did, and he said something like, Hermione must have forgotten yours; let me get you something to drink. And he brought back another bottle, and all my worries were for nothing, because I suppose that clergy can drink, but my dad was smirking all night at me. He kept my secret, but he teased me about it for days. It's a good thing that Muggles only see what they want to."
"Indeed," Robin laughed. "Well, it would have been more impressive if you'd turned your mum's water into wine."
"I know," Hermione said, shaking with laughter. "But I think Someone's already got the corner on that market." She sat back and regarded her dinner partner. "You know, Robin, if someone had asked me where I'd be at 8 o'clock tonight, I would have said my office. This has been nice." She forced herself to be more open than she would normally let on. "Really nice. Thank you."
Robin took a sip of his wine and regarded her with what Hermione could only describe as sparkling eyes. "It really is my pleasure, Hermione," he paused. "Though, if you had asked me about my chances of success, I wouldn't have guessed that my `Granger, how about dinner?' would actually have worked. I am glad it did, however. Very glad." He smiled.
Hermione blushed and toyed with her napkin. She couldn't remember when she'd had such a nice date-because that's what she'd have to call it. A date, and no one set her up, no one bullied her into it. Actually, yes, she could. It was a few years ago, and she was at dinner with the exact man sitting across from her. Why did they stop? Oh, yes, he was her boss then. Not your boss now.
"I guess it's a good thing I don't supervise your department anymore. Very lucky for me and all," he winked. A young witch came with their check. Robin signed for it and she walked away.
Hermione cleared her throat and looked at her watch. "I should get going," she smiled apologetically.
Robin stood and helped her with her cloak and they walked in companionable silence to the Apparition point. When the queue dwindled to just them, Hermione turned to thank him again for the dinner; he ducked down and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Just a touch of pressure, a touch of warmth and Hermione was dazed. She blinked slowly.
"Thank you for dinner, Hermione. I hope that we can do this again before another three years go by." Robin smiled genuinely, shoved his hands in his pockets, and took two steps back. A soft pop and he was gone, and it was Hermione's turn to grin. She brought her fingers to her lips and pressed them there. She fought the urge to giggle as she Apparated to her flat.
~~~~~
The next week flew by for Hermione, and while she heard from Ron just once-a perfunctory apology for his sister's antics at dinner, she hadn't heard from Harry. She expected something soon, even if it was just his mail. Hedwig was an efficient post-owl, in that she brought Hermione Harry's mail if he was gone for too long. Harry had all his fan-mail sent to his solicitor, but all personal mail went straight to Number Twelve. She supposed she could just go over there and pick it up, visit with Dobby and all, but it wouldn't do to be caught by You-Know-Who.
Since when did Ginny Weasley become Lord Voldemort, Granger? She obviously had some things she needed to work out with her old housemate. Sighing, and imagining another confrontation like the one at the Warren, she put that notion to the back of her mind.
In the meantime, she had some errands to run, and she figured it wouldn't hurt to go shopping in Diagon Alley for some robes and supplies, and to pick up some treats for Crookshanks at Eeylops… She longed to spoil him, but he was getting a little portly.
After a bit of a splurge at Madam Malkins, she decided she'd tuck in for just a moment at Quality Quidditch Supplies, thinking about how scandalous this would look to Ron and Harry if they caught her… But it was a good idea to stay apprised of the market when you had two fanatics to shop for! She was browsing the twig dehumidifiers and trying to remember which species tree was used for Harry's broom end. She knew it was a tree that grows in cold climates, but it wasn't a conifer…
"Wych elm for me, linden for Ron."
Hermione's heart leapt in her throat, and almost instantly her wand was in-hand. She took a calming breath, knowing who it was as she felt his hand remove her wand and turn her around. She closed her eyes in relief and rested her head against Harry's chest. "Merlin, Harry, make some noise!" she half-laughed, still a little shaken. Harry hugged her, and Hermione knew he had a smile on his face. She pulled back to look at him.
"I did, I even stood next to you for a whole minute looking at the same display. You were in a completely different world." Harry laughed.
Hermione nodded, her heart finally back to its normal rhythm. "I forgive you, Harry," she teased, and picked up the box she had dropped in surprise. She took a good look at him and was about to ask about fifty questions when Harry interjected.
"Why, thank you for your forgiveness, `Mione," he grinned. "To answer your questions, because I know you have them, I am back for the day, and no, I am not done with my assignment; I leave again in the morning. Yes, I would appreciate it if you went to Number Twelve and picked up my mail, if that's no trouble. I had to send Hedwig out, so she can't bring it, and I think there's a lot. I'm here to pick up a few supplies for my broom," he said, holding up a package, "which I am using, very much, thank you again for that commission to have it made. Also, I'm glad I ran into you, can you sign this?" He produced a paper from between his fingers.
Hermione smiled at his ability to read her thoughts, took the parchment and pulled him over to a bench in front of a selection of trainers. She read the document carefully; it was the contract details to Bandy, Borks & Tuttle, the jeweller Harry had commission Ginny's engagement ring.
"You look really well, Hermione." Harry said, matter-of-factly.
Hermione looked up in surprise from her reading, raising an eyebrow. "Thanks, Harry. You, on the other hand, look like hell." He did. Harry's hair was messier than usual, and Hermione questioned the date of its last washing. He had some circles under his eyes, a five o'clock shadow, which actually looked quite nice, and he looked like he could use a good long nap.
"Oh, Hermione, you must win all the boys with your sweet words," Harry said with good humour, but Hermione had already turned back to the parchment in front of her.
She read the rest of the details quickly and looked at Harry with questioning eyes, and he explained. "I don't know how long I'm going to be up north-and," he looked around, and suddenly there was a privacy ward surrounding them. Good thinking, Harry. "There were some snags with Gin's ring, so I might not be here to inspect it, and then pick it up. I might need you to witness the charm-setting, which I didn't know they needed me to do, and then to pick it up when it's all finalized, and then to go to Gringotts and put it in my family vault until I get back." Harry took a breath. "I have to run and get the jeweller and then we go to Gringotts and get it notarized… So, what do you say, Hermione Jane?"
Hermione took Harry's proffered quill and deftly wrote Hermione Jane Granger in her neat script and dated it. She tapped it with her wand, giving it her personal seal, and handed it back to Harry. He took it in his hand and it disappeared. "I really have to run; I'm meeting Ginny for dinner at six. I've not seen her in an age." Hermione thought he looked a little tired and wished he could at least take a day to rest up before he "went back north," which she understood to mean Azkaban. She again fought down the feeling that she should have gone to the Academy rather than work at St. Mungo's. She smiled with what she hoped was a bright, not-worried-best-friend smile, and was rewarded with "Don't worry," which she knew he'd say. Hermione rolled her eyes and stood up.
"If you're up north, Harry, use this," she said, using her wand to demonstrate her bluebell charm.
"Works every time. Thanks, `Mione," he said, rising to his feet. Harry dropped a perfunctory kiss on her forehead, his slight stubble grazing her skin. Hermione's skin tingled from the sensation.
He looked at his watch and did a slight wave with his right hand; the privacy ward disappeared. "I've got to go. Thanks again, Hermione." He looked like he wanted to say more, but shook his head. "I don't know when I'll be back, but I'll try to floo you." And he was gone out the front door, leaving behind him the jingle of the bells on the door.
She gathered her purchases and left the store; she had to stop by her apartment and then to Number Twelve to get Harry's mail. She wondered if Dobby'd let her fix him dinner…
~~~~~
Hermione shivered as she stepped out of the lecture hall at St. George's. It was overcast, and she felt as though snow might start falling at any moment. She hated the first snow in the city, as everything was dirty and grey, but the event itself was so exciting.
"Did you like it, Hermione? I thought the lecturer had a lot to bring to the table." Robin asked, falling in step beside her.
"Oh, yes, I did! I mean, I was familiar, very familiar, with Hippocrates already, seeing it is some of what I do and all, but I love learning about things from a Muggle perspective," she veritably gushed.
"I thought you were going to fall out of your chair in excitement when they opened the floor to questions." Robin teased Hermione, nudging her with his elbow as they began their way back toward Kingston and the local Apparition point.
Hermione blushed slightly, her face warming in the cold, and cleared her throat. "Well, what an opportunity, to pick Dr. Beaumont's brain on Hippocrates' perspective and practice. How many times am I going to get that chance? He's the expert at the university and all." She sighed happily. "It was absolutely fascinating!"
Robin smiled. "I really thought so, too-the way he brought the old mythology of Asclepius in and steered some of the lecture that way, I thought-"
"That he was going to bring magic into the discussion, too!" Hermione finished for him enthusiastically.
"Exactly!" he replied in earnest. He opened the door to a telephone kiosk that was marked "Out of Order" and ushered Hermione inside. She shut the door, and a moment later, she was stepping out of the shadows of the market place when she heard a soft pop behind her.
Robin took a deep breath and looked around to make sure no one saw them, and then looked to Hermione with raised eyebrows, as if to say what next?
Hermione smiled at him; she didn't want the evening to end-there were still so many things to discuss about the lecture. She put her gloved hand into his and led him to the "Doctors Orders" café, which was in the Doc Martens store.
"You're joking, right?" Robin laughed. Hermione laughed, too, and hung a right down the road, pulling him after her. It had started to snow, and the yellow of the street lamps mixed with the falling flakes gave him a children's story look, with his coat and scarf and snow dusting his dark locks. She opened the door to a little bistro that she knew for a fact had great coffee this time of night and took a seat near the far wall.
A waitress brought their order quickly, and the two delved into the minutiae of the history of Ancient Greek medicine and resolved the conversation with a promise to attend the Archimedes lecture the following week. Hermione was most pleased.
Robin took a drink of his Americano and leaned back in the booth, a tired smile playing on his lips. Hermione was slowly enjoying her chamomile, which she was keeping warm with an old-remembered charm. "What has you smiling?" Hermione asked, admonishing herself for hoping it was her.
"I was just thinking about when I first made your acquaintance, is all. Somehow, I figured you were just this way."
Just what way? her heart screamed at her lips to ask. Instead, "What, at the new staff meeting when I started?" She laughed self-depreciatingly. "I was one of a hundred. How could you point me out then?" she asked, forgetting that who she was always preceded her.
Robin shook his head. "You must have forgotten, Hermione. I was a resident Healer in Spell Damage back about eight years ago. You were a patient in my ward; however, I believed you belonged on the ground floor, in Artefact Incidents. The chief of medicine was pretty certain you belonged where you were, so I treated you."
I should have been, yes. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise-so few people knew anything about her, Harry and Ron's whereabouts during that time. She picked up her teacup, hoping the steam would hide her expression. If Robin noticed Hermione's discomfort, he hid it well.
"You were an amazing patient, Hermione. You never complained, though I knew you were in a lot of pain, and you were quite the diagnostician even then… I remember Healer Barron trying to get more information out of you about what happened, but you were cool as anything. I figured then that you didn't want to get in trouble for doing something illegal, but my guess now is that you just couldn't say anything. I'm glad we got you straightened out before you snuck out of there," he teased.
Hermione relaxed; he wasn't going to pry, even after all these years. She shook her head softly, not believing that he would remember one case eight years ago. She wasn't there but three days! "You must have taken quite an interest, I imagine, seeing as I snuck out of there as soon as I could," she smirked.
"Yes," Robin laughed without humour. "Practically as soon as you could stand up on your own, if I remember correctly. One moment, I was walking out of your room to get you some more salve for your scalp and hands, and when I returned, the window was opened, and you were gone, as were your friends." He laughed again, but this time his eyes twinkled. "We searched the hospital all afternoon, but we all knew you were gone… Which I have to say surprised me; they were beside themselves that you were seriously hurt."
"They were worried, really worried," Hermione agreed, remembering how horrified Ron was at her very appearance. He kept murmuring "your hair, your hair" as if he were mourning it, and Harry wore a look like part of him was dying until the Healer told them she was going to recover. Hufflepuff's Cup was an important lesson learned the hard way. She shook those thoughts from her head, and remembering how they had escaped the hospital, she blushed appropriately and gingerly touched her curls. Madam Pomfrey would have hunted her down! "I guess I should apologise."
"Not at all!" he exclaimed. "I am pleased to see you recovered well. Takes a mighty strong curse to do to you what it did," he said, indicating her hair with a piece of biscotti. He dunked it in his coffee. "Or should I say cursed object?"
Hermione made a point of looking everywhere but Robin and tucked her hair behind her ears. "You should say you did a good job, regardless of the cause of the problem, which I would agree with," she said, finally looking at him.
"Well, I say object because of the clue you left behind," he winked. "With a clue, you can figure out almost anything."
Hermione was intrigued. She remembered almost nothing about her brief stay at St. Mungo's. "Oh? I left a clue, did I?"
"Yes, a blank book titled Vessels. It looked fairly old, so my guess was you touched the wrong one on accident, much like Donovan did in drinking from the wrong chalice in Indiana Jones."
Hermione laughed at the reference. "I won't say, one way or another, but that was an excellent trilogy!" That's where that book went!
"Indeed it was," Robin said with reverence. Hermione had a feeling that he had seen his fair share of Muggle films over the years. He had mentioned that his grandmother was a Muggle.
Robin looked at his watch, and noting it was close to midnight, put a few quid on the table and helped Hermione with her cloak. When they stepped outside, there was a slushy layer of grey snow on the ground, and the six-year-old inside Hermione was disappointed that it wasn't beautiful.
"The next snow will be better," Robin commented. Hermione nodded, knowing it would be so. "Can I walk you home? You live close by, right?"
Hermione smiled and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led him the few blocks to the pizza parlour that was under her apartment.
"Here we are!" Hermione pointed to the three windows above Angelo's. The picture window in the middle held a lone candle burning, courtesy of a self-crafted non-combustible charm. She thought it gave the apartment a welcoming look.
"This is a great set-up, Hermione!" Robin said, enthusiastically. He took a deep breath of garlic and sauce goodness.
"I am the envy of all who know me," she acknowledged, looking up at the picture window again and noticing Crookshanks. He was waiting up for her, the darling.
"I better go, someone's waiting up for me," Hermione said, pointing out Crookshanks.
Robin nodded sagely. "I should let you go, then," he said, turning his attention to her. Hermione's heart started to pound in expectation.
"I know that once I sleep on what we heard tonight at the lecture, that I'll want to discuss it more, Hermione." Robin said, leading her.
She smiled, heart fluttering. "Mmm. I agree."
"Have lunch with me on Tuesday," he breathed, his eyes suddenly becoming all Hermione could focus on.
"Mmm. I agree," she repeated randomly, incapable of proper thought.
Robin laughed and brought his lips to hers. His nose was cold, but the rest of him was so warm, and after a moment, she opened up to his ministrations and she could taste the bitterness of the coffee he drank, smell the musk in his aftershave, and feel the heady pressure of his lips. She really had no coherent thought of how long they stood there like that, but when a car drove by and someone cat-called out the window at them, they pulled apart. One leather-gloved hand was on her cheek, while the other was holding her to him at her waist. Hermione was surprised to find her hands affixed to the lapels of his coat.
He sighed, content, and pecked her quickly on the lips. "Have a good night, Hermione."
Hermione realised it was her turn to say something, but for the life of her, she couldn't think of what, except that people driving by in cars at midnight were too nosy. And that Tuesday couldn't get here fast enough. That second thought sounded more appropriate.
"Tuesday, then," she said, fumbling for her keys.
Robin blushed and smiled goofily. "Yeah, Tuesday." He indicated the front door of her flat. "I'll wait until you're in."
Hermione had completely forgotten she was supposed to be leaving. She numbly walked the two steps to her door and slid the key in the lock. She turned to look back at her date, at Robin, to see him standing with his hands in his pockets under the street lights, with slush about his feet and a small smile on his lips. She turned the key and cracked the door.
"Goodnight, Robin," she said, stepping through the door, turning in time to see him Disapparate. She locked the door behind her and pulled her wand out to set a few security charms. As she climbed the stairs, Hermione Granger could not stop smiling.
~~~~
Hermione had had a wonderful week, absolutely wonderful. Her work, while still fairly depressing at times, was as fulfilling as ever. She was working her way, every day, to finding more solutions for those that suffered at Voldemort's hand. She not only found it rewarding, but it gave her hope that someday his vile name would just be a shadow on the history of the world. The contributions she was making to subject of wizarding medicine would, she hoped, make up for some of what Voldemort stole in innocence from everyone. She knew she'd never be the same-Harry's sneaking up on her and her almost blasting his head off was indication enough-but perhaps their children would grow to know a better world.
She smiled contentedly at her reflection in her hall mirror, adjusting the silver pendant her mother gave her around her neck. She realized she was being philosophical, but she was just really happy. She even managed to get out of the office by five-thirty, which almost never happened. She put on her scarf, pulled on her cloak and stepped to the door. A tiny scops owl appeared at her window. Hermione let the poor thing in from the cold, got an owl treat and as soon as she'd untied the letter, the little owl flew off. Unrolling it, she scanned it quickly.
Dear Miss Granger,
Recognizing the absence of Mr. Harry Potter, your Presence is requested to further the Ring Banding and Charming process at nine o'clock on the morning of December fourth. Please bring yourself to the upper chamber.
G. Mickelwaite
BB&T
"Not that obnoxious man again," Hermione groaned. She stuck the note in her pocketbook and headed out the door, locking it behind her. She wasn't about to let tomorrow morning ruin her night.
~~~~
Hermione stood in the foyer of Mangosteen Thai waiting for Robin. They were going to grab some dinner before popping over to the Archimedes lecture in Grosvenor Street. She'd been there about five minutes when Robin appeared at her side.
"Sorry, Hermione. I got caught up in the office a little longer than I would have liked." He dropped a quick kiss on her lips. "I hope you weren't waiting long?"
"Not at all, I just got here myself," Hermione said, as a waitress led them to their table.
Robin pulled her chair out for her and she sat. As they both knew exactly what they wanted, the waitress went away with their orders. There was the requisite discussing of the hospital and their days, and once their drinks were refilled, Robin sat back in the booth and eyed Hermione, like he was about to get really personal.
"The other day, you got to ask me all about growing up on four continents and about my brothers, so I was hoping I'd get to hear about your family," he smiled.
"There really isn't a lot to tell. I'm an only child and my parents are dentists. We travelled a lot for the holidays, mainly in France to visit my grand-mère and to go skiing," Hermione shrugged. "That's about it."
"That's it?" Robin asked sceptically.
"Pretty much," Hermione said thoughtfully. "They're my family in the traditional sense, but I've not really lived with them since I was eleven."
"So, your family in the non-traditional sense would be… Ron Weasley and Harry Potter?" Robin suggested.
Hermione smiled. "You could say that."
Robin eyed her carefully. "I don't want this to sound flippant, I'm not trying to imply anything, but-"
"You want to know if Ron, Harry and I are really friends or if it's a charade?" Hermione teased, enjoying the flush of colour that stained his cheeks. She patted his arm to reassure him and then settled back into the seat. "It's okay, really, to be suspicious. Especially, I would think, since I've made an effort to not talk about them all the time-it's something I've had to work on," she smiled. "It got me into trouble before with an old boyfriend of mine back at Hogwarts." Now it was her turn to blush as she realized she likened Robin to Viktor. They hadn't talked about that yet, titles-anxiously comfortable where they were for the moment. "It's only natural to wonder if we pose for the cameras and never talk afterwards."
"Well? Since you brought that up, what's the story? I was going to ask you about your trips to France, but if you want to talk about them, that's okay with me," he grinned.
"Nice save, Brownbeck," Hermione smiled. "But about Harry and Ron…"
"Yes, Harry and Ron," he urged.
"Well, Ron's an open-book. Just about everything he's feeling is apparent the moment he feels it. He's so funny and he's so genuine. He taught me how to laugh at myself, which was a talent I was severely lacking. Ron's the most faithful person I know, as well as the best eater. He could win contests, that one. I think you'd really like him. I actually can't believe you've not met him, outside of that one time," Hermione said, referring to when she was hospitalized.
"I did meet him then, but I think he gave a pseudonym," Robin said.
"Roonil Wazlib?" Hermione asked, laughing.
"Yes, what a strange person, I thought, especially since the whole world knows he's a Weasley. There's no hiding that hair." Robin thought for a moment. "But yes, I have met him, when the Minister of Magic was hospitalized last year for drinking an expired potion. He discussed St. Mungo's security, or lack thereof, I should say, with myself and a few other directors. He's quite dedicated."
Hermione nodded in agreement. "He really is."
"And Harry?" Robin asked. "I don't think I've met him, though I've seen him around St. Mungo's… Visiting you, I presume."
"He does, sometimes," Hermione acknowledged.
"Hermione?" Robin asked, peering at her. "You alright?"
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Yeah," she took a sip of her water.
"So, what about Harry?" he asked, not convinced that she was, indeed, alright.
"Oh! Right, sorry. I was thinking." She tried to find the right words. "Harry's… well, this is going to sound stupid, but Harry's… just Harry. He's just your normal, average guy."
"You have to give me a little more than that, Hermione. You've known him for, what, fifteen, sixteen years now? Certainly he's more than `average.' You sounded like you could go on about Ron for ages."
Hermione did laugh at that. "I think I could, actually. Ron's a pretty interesting guy." She paused. "And, Harry is more interesting than `average' indicates, don't get me wrong. It's hard to describe, though… I don't want you to think he's larger than life, because he's really down to earth," Hermione said earnestly.
"I suppose that's hard when you're called "The One Who Conquered," everywhere you go, isn't it?" Robin asked, a new respect for Average Harry evident in his voice.
"Yes, it really is," Hermione agreed. "Imagine using the same broom for years, and suddenly the manufacturer finds out you fly an old version of the Firebolt. Suddenly, they want to slap your face on their product. Now, imagine the same thing with the type of trainers you wear, your optometrist, your grocer, and the toothpaste you buy. That's what Harry's life was like for a while, and he works very hard at staying out of the public eye, and Ron and I protect what privacy he has with everything we've got." Hermione paused and took another sip of her water and continued.
"What's Harry like? His favourite candy is Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans; he likes treacle tart for dessert, and can't eat breakfast before playing a Quidditch match because he gets too nervous. Harry's not a hero. Not like everyone thinks. He didn't sign up for that prophesy or to be Voldemort's whipping boy, but he didn't back down from it, either. Harry always does what's right; he always has, and he could have chosen not to."
"Lucky for the rest of us, eh?" Robin asked.
"You have no idea." Hermione took another sip of water. "Well, I take that back. You were at St. Mungo's during the Occupation, and you worked in Spell Damage. You know exactly what I am talking about."
"Unfortunately, yes, I do," Robin said sadly. He motioned to the waitress for the check. "I think we need to get going if we're going to make it on time."
"Oh, yes," Hermione declared, grateful for the change in subject; she was really looking forward to tonight's lecture.
~~~
"I can't believe we ran into Professor Vector!" Hermione exclaimed. "I figured she'd be at Hogwarts, but I forget that not all Hogwarts professors actually live at Hogwarts." Hermione took a few steps out of the crowd. "How lucky that you'd read her book!"
"Well, Septima Vector is a leader in the modern thinking of Arithmancy. My tutor had me reading more than anything, and her theorems were on my booklists. Sometimes I wonder that I got to use my wand at all." Robin said good-naturedly.
"She was impressed, I could tell," Hermione reassured. "I got the feeling she'd wished you'd been in her classes."
"After meeting her, I kind of wish I had been," he agreed. "Going to a school like Hogwarts would have been great-but getting to travel with my parents, doing research with my dad, I don't know if I would have changed that."
Hermione couldn't imagine what she would have been like if she'd not gone to Hogwarts… At eleven, before she'd gotten her letter, she wouldn't have, in her wildest dreams, guessed she'd go for the ride of a lifetime with two unlikely boys, that's for sure. But she wouldn't trade her time at Hogwarts for anything.
"Hogwarts, for a girl like me, became the closest thing I could have imagined to Heaven on Earth. There, I made friends, and I had all the books I could ever want to read," Hermione paused while Robin laughed, "and I had the most amazing time. I wouldn't change a thing, either."
"Even though you didn't finish?" Robin asked, alluding to the well-known fact that Hermione was the only official non-graduate on the staff. Even the gift shop girl had a diploma from Hogwarts.
"Oh, yes. That doesn't mean much anyway. I could take my N.E.W.T.s today and probably get Outstandings in all of them," Hermione said, "without studying," she smirked. Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, Sthey began the walk back to Hermione's apartment.
"I imagine you wouldn't need to study."
"Well, I think you're right, to a point. There came a time when I realised that my studying not only benefited me, but probably every person I have come into contact with on a professional level, as well as in my personal life. So, I worked even harder. It's saved my arse any number of times."
"And Harry Potter's, too, I gather," Robin said softly.
"Yes, I suppose so," Hermione murmured. "But, I can't take much credit."
"I don't know, Hermione…you're pretty bright, so I hear," he teased.
Hermione shook her head. "I know what everyone says, that I'm `His Amazing Heroine,' which I guess the press think is some clever synonym for my name. Do you know that there are scores of little witches running around named Hermione now? How awful! No one knows how to say it without being told." She sighed. "But in all seriousness, Robin… Everything Harry did, when it came down to it, was on his own. Perhaps a few times at Hogwarts, I got him out of tight spots. There are enough legends about us at that school to fill a library of books, and probably over half of them are true, but books and cleverness only go so far. After that, bravery has to take over. If there's anything Harry Potter has, it's bravery. Fortune favours the brave." Thank God.
Robin thought it all over for a minute. "You mean that hippogriff story is true?"
Hermione tossed her head back and laughed heartily. "It depends on what you heard, but yes, it's true. What else?"
"You tricked that Ministry woman and taught your own classes?" Rob asked, quite impressed.
"I didn't teach them, Harry did, but over twenty of us took Defence Against the Dark Arts behind her back. An awful, horrid year, that was."
"I bet it was. I was well into my training to be a Healer at that point, but I can't imagine the Ministry interfering like that. That was a dark time for everyone."
Hermione heartily agreed. She was afraid when Harry's name had been put into the Goblet of Fire that they weren't going to get through the year, but they did. After that, however, they were presented with a bureaucratic monster-Umbridge represented everything in the Ministry and she brought it to Hogwarts.
"I suppose it must be really strange to hear about my time at Hogwarts like this-the three of us rarely give interviews, and never apart. I remember telling Harry when I'd met him that I'd read all about him, and now, there's almost nothing written about us and the Lost Years," Hermione paused reflectively. "What a strange turn of events that is."
"I guess you could call it strange, but it's part of who you are, Hermione, and I very much like that person. You can talk about how you came to be who you are as much or as little as you want."
"I'll take you up on that and stop talking about it. There's a lot I'd rather just not think about," she said gratefully.
"Fair enough… Just one more thing, though…" Robin asked, his eyes smiling.
"Oh?"
"Were you really Petrified for a whole term? By a basilisk?"
"Quite a number of weeks, and yes, by a basilisk." She stole a look at Robin's expression. "Don't look that way!" she laughed. "It's not like it hurt, and we had mandrakes on-hand, so I was fine." She let go of Robin's arm and stepped behind the dumpster Apparition point. She Apparated back to her neighbourhood, and a moment later, Robin was right at her side. She led him to her apartment and invited him up for a spot of tea, the idea of which both frightened and excited her.
She opened the door to her flat, and Crookshanks, true to his nature, slunk off the window seat and came up to inspect Robin. Hermione waited as her half-kneazle sniffed and scrutinized their guest. She didn't realise she was holding her breath until Crookshanks turned his squashed face up to her and gave her a look that seemed to say He'll do, but you need to feed me now. She picked him up, stroking his beautiful coat. She smiled at Robin, "Crookshanks says you can come in." She flipped a switch and two lamps came on in her front room. "Make yourself at home while I feed him and ready the tea. I'll only be a minute." She made a mental note to thank Dobby for straightening her flat in exchange for dinner, because she noticed he'd been by to tidy up again.
Hermione readied Crookshanks' dinner, which she should have given him before she left; she was such a bad owner! Once that was done, and he was happily eating on the counter, she looked for her kettle and a two tea cups and saucers that actually matched, which was proving to be a problem. She found Harry's favourite, and Ron's favourite, and her mum's favourite, but none of them matched. Finally, she transfigured two of them to a classic red-toile pattern, filled the kettle with water, tapped it with her wand and grabbed some biscuits.
Crookshanks stopped enjoying his Felix Feasties Skinny Kitty Chicken & Tuna to hiss and wave his bottlebrush tail at Hermione to get her attention.
"What is it, Crooksie?" Hermione crooned. "Don't you like your dinner?"
Don't be daft, Mownie. It's diet food, I'm not supposed to like it, his little upturned expression said.
"Well, I'm worried about your weight, Crookshanks. I know you sneak snacks when I'm not here."
Should you expect less? How am I to live on this stuff?
"What is it, Crookshanks?" Hermione was wondering if there was a point.
Crookshanks hopped off the counter and stuck his face around the doorjamb, and turned and looked at Hermione as if she were indeed stupid.
"Ooooh. You're worried about me."
Crookshanks wasn't even going to dignify that with an answer.
"Crooksie, you don't have to worry about me. I didn't shave my legs on purpose, and he's not about to find out," Hermione explained, pointing to her stocking-clad legs.
Well, go bohemian all you want, Mownie, if that's your thing. I know how you witches work, his expression told all. I tore up your bedroom after the house-elf left to make double sure.
Hermione didn't know whether to be pleased or angry with how he chose to protect her. She smiled. "I have to hand it to you, Crookshanks; you know how to get your way." She scratched him behind his ear and walked out of the kitchen.
Robin was in front of the fireplace, admiring the photos she had displayed on her mantle. He had started a cheery fire while she was debating virtue-keeping in the kitchen, which she appreciated. Her apartment was well-situated, but it was old and chilly. She admired the silhouette his tall form made in contrast to the fire for a moment before she put the tray down on the table. She heard sheets ripping in her bedroom and the scratch of claws on her four-poster. Crookshanks must have been finishing the job. She shot a silencio back in the general direction of her bedroom, hoping that Robin didn't notice. She slipped her shoes off, out of habit, and tucked her stockinged feet under her on the sofa. She watched Robin take in all the personal details of her apartment.
"This is a nice one, Hermione," he said, indicating a photo at Bill's wedding reception, where she, Harry and Ron were trying to dance some slow dance together. Her hair, which had looked nice for a total of fifteen minutes, was falling down in the back. Both Ron and Harry looked great in their dress robes, and if she remembered correctly, she had charmed her shoes to protect her toes.
Hermione smiled, "That was a great day. Ron's brother, Bill, married Fleur Delacour, and it was the biggest party I'd ever been to."
Robin admired the photo for a moment longer, and moved on to examine her bookcase, stopping to thumb through a pharmaceutical manual she had on the sofa table. He put it back and in doing so, knocked over the nice six-inch stack of mail Dobby had brought over that afternoon.
He fixed it with a flick of his wand, and noticed that the envelopes were addressed to variations of Harry James Potter. He looked up at her curiously. "There's no address on these. No one knows where Harry Potter lives, so…either he lives here, and that's why you silencioed the back of the flat, or I need to report you to the Owl Post Authority," he winked.
"Not quite," Hermione laughed. "I take his mail when he's out of town, and you're right, only about twenty people know where he lives, and I couldn't tell you if I wanted to-it's protected by the Fidelius Charm, and the Secret Keeper for that died a long time ago," she said, thinking of Dumbledore. "I couldn't even lead you there by accident, you'd never see it." Hermione motioned for him to have a seat on the sofa, and she handed him a cup of tea.
"That's strange that the Charm is still in place, if the Secret Keeper is dead…"
Hermione smiled bittersweetly. "A charm cast by Albus Dumbledore is not easily broken." Robin nodded in understanding, and they were quiet for a moment. Hermione found it comforting that wizards still took a moment of silence at the mention of that great man's name.
Robin cleared his throat, "But that's got to be really convenient for Harry, the privacy and all."
Hermione nodded. "It is and it isn't. Since so "many" people know, any of us can walk in whenever we want, but most of us owl first. Back in the days of the Order of the Phoenix, people were used to coming and going. Now that Harry's got a private life and no Lord Voldemort on his tail, it's good. It could be better, though."
"Were you in the Order of the Phoenix?" Robin asked, his voice taking on an awed quality.
"Merlin, no! I was considered `too young' when it was reinstated, and never bothered to officially join when I quit being too young." She tsked. "You don't want to hear about that." And, that's not exactly cheery conversation, is it, Granger?
Robin raised his eyebrow. "What do you want to talk about, then?"
Hermione fought the desire to blush, and summoned all her courage to ask him something that had been on her mind for a while. "Why now?" When he responded with a confused look, she expanded. "I guess I'm just curious to know why you asked me to dinner again, after…well, after-"
"After a couple of half-dates and then three years of nothing?" Robin summed up.
"Yes," Hermione said, hiding behind her teacup. "There wasn't anything saying we couldn't date at work, and things were going along well, I thought… I mean, I'm not complaining now…but for curiosity's sake…" she trailed off.
Robin put his teacup down on the coffee table and looked at Hermione full-on. She got nervous and pulled her teacup down.
"That's a fair question." He took a breath. "The truth is, it was so soon after the Fall of Voldemort," Hermione noted that the name sounded thick in his mouth-as if he'd not had a lot of practice saying it. He continued, "and with all the press and reporters, even months after you started working at St. Mungo's, and no one knowing where you'd even been for about six years, what'd you'd been doing… I worried, after a while, that you figured I was after the same information as everyone else, and I didn't want that."
Hermione put her teacup on the table and grabbed his hand. She was about to say… something-she wasn't sure what-when he went on.
"I'd worried that I'd mucked it all up," he gave her a lopsided grin. "And I didn't want to do that twice. Eventually," he squeezed her hand, "I couldn't hold it in, and I suggested I see you outside of work. After that, I realized I would muck it up for good if I didn't… And I am so glad I did, Hermione. You're the most amazing witch I've ever met-I thought that when I met you when you were nineteen. You'd already known what was wrong, how to treat it… I could tell you were only there because your friends were so concerned … In fact, I think what did it for me was that you asked how I was, even though you were in so much pain. Who does that? Just you, Hermione."
The room closed in around Hermione and suddenly she was not close enough to him. She raised herself up on her knees, placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him soundly, tugging at his bottom lip as she pulled away to look at him. Robin's gaze went from amazed to resolute as he leaned in to kiss her back, one hand going to the small of her waist to anchor her, and the other underneath her long hair. Hermione was pleased to discover his soft hair and strong neck and she could swear she felt rather than heard a deep rumble of pleasure reverberate through his chest. She moved off her knees to sit more comfortably on the sofa, Robin shifting in complement. She relaxed more fully when she realised she could get used to this, and Robin pushed her gently back until she was completely underneath him, his broad form over her.
"Is this okay?" he asked, breathless, his eyes shifting their gaze from hers to her lips and back up again.
Hermione didn't even have to think about it; she smiled and so did he. She reached up to pull him down, and before long, he'd moved from her lips to behind her ear, and from there down the column of her throat. He had switched to her other side when she realised she let out a sound between a sigh and a moan when he captured the dip between where her clavicles met.
"I think I've found your sweet spot," he murmured against her skin.
"One of them," she gasped, pulling his face back up to hers. Her skirt had long ridden up past the point of school-girl propriety, and she knew for certain that Robin'd noticed.
He smiled against her lips as his hand travelled from her waist to meet the edge of her skirt. He massaged the bit of skin above the lace top of her stocking, when Hermione started to shuffle through charms in the back of her mind for depilatation, and wondered if she could manage a non-verbal, wandless charm while Robin performed such wonderful-oh!
"Is this alright?" he asked again as he sucked at her collarbone.
"Better than alright," she breathed, her hands under his sweater, tugging the hem up to his shoulders, where he took the liberty of divesting himself of the rest of it. Hermione was slightly disappointed that he wore an undershirt, all well-dressed men wear undershirts, Hermione, her mother's voice said, suddenly floating through her head. She didn't want to be thinking of her mother at a time like this, so she tugged that shirt out, too, and her fingers splayed over his stomach, fingering the thatch of hair there. Robin had taken his opportunity to unbutton the top of Hermione's scoop-necked sweater as she sucked at the base of his neck.
He stopped for a moment to look at her, her chest heaving, and she looked up at him expectantly, taking in his mussed hair, swollen lips and general admiring expression.
"What is it," she half-laughed, both pleased at his look, and impatient to continue.
"Stunning, Hermione," he rumbled, getting back to the business at-hand, which Hermione would agree was the best use of his time.
He slipped one strap down her shoulder and was kissing his way down, down… when Hermione heard a dull thud, followed by "Shite! Where'd they go?" Hermione froze. Robin froze, looking up from where he was currently situated at the front clasp of her bra, toffee eyes locking onto hers in an instant, looking, of all things, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"The Floo!" Hermione cried in a desperate whisper, and pushed Robin off of her as nicely as she could manage.
She could hear someone shuffle around and she hoped to God it wasn't her mother. She took her chance to save face. She stood with her back facing the fire and started buttoning her sweater. Robin tugged her skirt back down, bringing her presentability up dramatically. Hermione found Robin's sweater under the coffee table and handed it to him with a quick kiss on the lips. "Do I look okay?" she asked.
Robin took in her crooked skirt, rumpled shirt and mussed up hair and grinned. "You've never looked better," he said, waggling his eyebrows.
Hermione swatted his shoulder and he caught her hand, pulling her down again to steal a kiss. As she straightened up, she whispered, "Sorry." He shrugged as if to say it was okay.
"There they are! Damned glasses! `Mione, you there?"
Hermione's eyes widened in shock as she realised who it was.
"Yes, Harry, I'm here," she said, rushing to the fireplace to see if he was hurt. She got there in time to see him putting his glasses on. She suspected he was using an unfamiliar fireplace and knocked them off when he stuck his head in the flames.
"Are you alright?" she asked, noticing for the first time that he looked quite stressed.
"Yes, I'm fine, but I could use your help right quick. What do you know about bimorphs?" he asked, distracted.
"With lycanthropy?"
"I believe so, yes, but at this point, I'm stumped. I think this fellow's a werewolf, there're several, actually, but not anthropomorphic, like-" Harry sneezed, and in the green flames, Hermione could see ashes billowing.
"Bless you. Lupin. What have you tried? Are you being safe? What's the other metamorphosis?" Hermione asked hurriedly. She reached her left hand toward the bookcase on the far wall and three dusty tomes Accioed their way into her hand one by one. She opened them and spread them out upon the hearth in front of her. She reached behind her with her right hand and summoned her wand, placing her non-combustible charm on the old pages.
"Thank you, yes, like Lupin. This one's mad, Hermione. I swear he's a vampire, too, though never at the same time."
"In some cultures, it's believed that werewolves become vampires after death-but that's just folklore," she said, quickly flipping pages. She stopped what she was doing and looked up. "Tell me what's happening. No one's been bit, have they?" her heart stopped in fear.
"I'm fine, Hermione. None of the other Aurors are hurt, yet, but I have the darkest feeling we're about to get picked off like gazelles by hyenas."
"There's something you're not telling me, Harry," Hermione said, eyeing him carefully.
"Are you alone, `Mione?" Harry asked, suddenly taking in her appearance and trying to peek around her into her living room. There was a slight strain to his tone.
Hermione could feel the flush creeping up her neck. She started to respond when she heard Robin near the door. "Hold on, Harry. Don't go anywhere, or you'll regret it."
Harry nodded, heeding the glare she gave him.
Hermione almost tripped in her rush to the front door. She didn't know what to say, but stood helplessly as Robin picked up his scarf and put it around his neck. "Robin, I…"
"Don't worry about it, Hermione," Robin said as he tugged on his gloves.
"But-"
"Walk me out?" he asked hopefully.
"Yeah," she replied, distracted. "Let me get my shoes and scarf." She Accioed her shoes from the living room, pulled her scarf out of the closet, wrapped it around her neck a few times and allowed him to usher her out of her apartment and down to the street. He pulled the door shut behind him and stood with his hands in his pockets.
"Robin, I'm really sorry. That's got to be the first time that's happened to me. I-"
"Hermione, I said not to worry about it," he smiled down at her and laughed. "I'm just glad it wasn't your mum…I'd like to meet her under nicer circumstances, actually."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "As would I," she blushed. "Listen, about up there," she tried again, gesturing up the stairs.
"We'll pick up where we left off later, okay?" he said with a wicked grin. "Besides, I don't think you'd enjoy yourself as much if you had something on your mind."
Hermione smiled. "You're probably right," she said, rubbing her arms in the cold. She looked back towards her door; she hoped Harry was still waiting.
Robin noticed her glance. "I'd better go. I'll see you at work, alright?"
Hermione nodded, but her mind was upstairs in front of her hearth, already puzzling away at Harry's problem.
Robin dropped a kiss on her forehead and stepped back. "Go back upstairs; you'll freeze to death out here."
Hermione backed up to give him space to Apparate. "Good night, Robin."
"Good night, Hermione," he replied, and in a moment he was gone.
Hermione wasted no time in getting back upstairs to her apartment. Harry had better be there. She ripped off her scarf, stamped the snow off her shoes and kicked them off. She slid on the hardwood floor in her stockinged feet to her fireplace.
"Harry?"
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