Pride and Prejudice

magpie_igraine

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 08/02/2008
Last Updated: 07/04/2009
Status: completed

Sadly, in this A/U story, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are not the best of friends. But sometimes, the person you can't abide, is the person you can't resist. Last Chapter Up. H/Hr, T/Lupin, R/L

Chapters

1. Introduction

2. a balcony scene (of a different kind)

3. A Guest Arrives

4. The Christmas Ball at Pomona Lodge

5. The night concludes

6. The Morning after the Ball

7. Disappearing/Reappearing

8. Surprises

9. Letters and Letdowns

10. Godric's Hollow

11. Wedding Bells, Book, and Candle

12. Firelight

13. Interlude: Cake and Eggs

14. Operation Bridesmaid: Day One

15. Thursday

16. Friday by the Lake

17. Letters and Sweaters

18. Post-Trauma (Or Trauma Involving the Post)

19. Werewolves of London

20. Tiff for Tat

21. Resolutions (of a not-so-New-Years kind)

22. Epilogue: Say the Bells of St. Clement's

1. Introduction

Author notes: Keep in mind this story is completely A/U. I’m basing on the 1995 (Colin Firth) adaptation of Pride and Prejudice (I got it for Christmas and have been watching it nonstop). I don’t care if no one bothers to read this, it’s halfway done, a million pages long, and I’m finishing it. So there. Hmm *sticks tongue out at hypothetical reader*.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Harry Potter and never will. And with the way the series ended, I wouldn’t want to.

Intro Summary: Luna, Hermione, and Lavender are sisters, living with their Aunt Aurora Granger in Meriton, England. It’s Christmastime, in the year of our Lord 1850.

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

Hermione stood by the window of her Aunt Aurora’s large townhouse in the heart of frozen Meriton. Snow flurries dotted the sky, and the scattered bunch seemed to hang in the air before floating to the ground. Hermione touched the glass, savoring the chill. A crack in the pane offered Hermione a little relief from the stifling heat of the drawing room, which was currently filled with what appeared to be the entire town. Her aunt was hosting her annual Christmas party. Everyone in the village had attended, and they were in a mood for merrymaking. The large drawing room was decorated from floor to ceiling with reams of gold silk and gilded bells. The music from the piano was drowned out by bursts of laughter and a chorus of clinking glasses.

Hermione brushed away a few stray curls and scanned the sea of familiar faces for her sisters. She caught sight of her older sister Luna, who was smiling her dreamy smile to no one in particular.

Hermione took a moment to admire Luna’s long blonde hair, which Hermione herself had charmed into a complicated pattern of woven plaits. Luna’s violet eyes and Scandinavian fairness was heightened by the flowing light blue dress she was wearing. Although Luna’s dress was more elaborate than Hermione’s own lilac gown, Hermione’s fit exceptionally well, emphasizing her slight waist and her flawlessly fair skin.

Hermione made her way through the crowd toward Luna, giving her sister a hug to let her know she was there. Luna had been busy gazing around the room, following the golden satin streamers that Hermione had spelled to playfully dart around the beams of the vaulted ceilings.

Luna smiled fondly at Hermione. “The streamers are lovely,” Luna said softly. “I love the way the gold glitters.”

Hermione gave a knowing grin. “So does Aunt Aurora.”

Luna giggled at Hermione’s immense understatement as they both looked round the room at the preeminent amount of gold that adorned their aunt’s house. The tree was covered with champagne colored crystals that made tingling noises whenever someone passed by. Their aunt had charmed the walls and furniture a burnt honey color and had insisted that Hermione make handfuls of glittery gold sparkles pop and crackle in the giant flames of the fireplace. Aunt Aurora herself was dressed in layers of gold and canary-colored ruffles, lest anyone forget the color theme of this year’s Christmas.

Gold or no, Hermione couldn’t help but think that her aunt looked like an enormous ear of corn.

As Hermione and Luna chatted about the party, an unmistakable laugh rang out over the mass of people.

Hermione gave Luna a look that said “let’s go check on Lavender” and without a word they linked arms and stepped into the crowd. All Hermione had to do was follow the boisterous laughter to find her little sister. The youngest Granger sister was never one to disappear into a crowd, although tonight with her butterscotch colored dress and caramel wrap, she threatened to blend into the golden decor. A flash of brown ringlets and a few giggles and Hermione and Luna found Lavender standing by the Christmas tree, surrounded by half-a-dozen soldiers decked out in their finest red uniform cloaks. Lav obviously loved the male attention and had a mind to make the most of it.

“Captain Finnigan, your face is turning as red as your cloak!” She giggled and swung at him with the tassels on her wrap.

“It’s this wine Lav,” Seamus answered slyly, “Your aunt always serves the best wine in the county.”

Lav’s face fell. “The wine? Oh, it’s fine I suppose.” She sniffed. “Aunt Aurora won’t let me have more than one glass. She says it makes me too giggly.” Lav paused and pouted an irresistible pout. “Do you think I’m giggly?”

Although she’d asked the question to Seamus, she turned to the half-circle around her, hoping that the rest of them would come to her defense.

“Oh no Ma’am.”… “No mum”… “Of course not Lav”… “absolutely not”…

One by one they offered their answers.

“It’s just your good, healthy nature.” Seamus smiled and leaned closer to her. “If you’d like, I could ask your aunt to make an exception tonight. It’s a crime not to enjoy this year’s vintage.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and decided to intervene. “Thank you Captain Finnigan,” she said wryly. “But I’m sure Lavender’s capable of enjoying herself without help from this year’s vintage.” Hermione took Lavender’s arm and led her away from a grinning Seamus, who offered Luna a devilish smile before she blushed and hastily trailed after them.

When Hermione thought they were out of earshot she turned to Lav with an intimidating glare. Lavender just giggled and batted her mischievous green eyes, a gesture which only enhanced the kittenish qualities of her face. Hermione was suddenly reminded that her “little sis” was also very physically mature for her sixteen years and shouldn’t be flirting with men with reputations like Seamus Finnigan. (All told, Lav had a talent to make men forget themselves, although Hermione had long suspected that Lav herself didn’t exactly discourage them).

But Hermione was bent on protecting her little sister, no matter how much bullocks Hermione had to spin to do so.

“Gosh that was funny Hermione.” Lav laughed and twirled on her heel. “Telling Seamus that I can (Lav adopted a prim and proper Hermione voice) ‘amuse myself without his vintage.’ Do you think he’ll be jealous!?” Lav giggled again. “I hope so. He’s such a silly flirt!”

He’s the silly flirt? Hermione thought, but she bit back the comment. She’d long since stopped trying to drill sense into her younger sister’s unbelievably thick skull; however, she wasn’t about to let Lav gaily trot back into the party just yet.

Hermione smiled slightly. “Lav, try to remember that the militia is leaving for Brighton in three weeks.”

Lav’s glowing face dimmed at the thought. Her eyes fell to the ground and she sniffed at the thought of all her lovely red cloaks leaving her to be all alone and un-admired in boring old Meriton.

“And,” Hermione continued, “if you’re too nice to them, they might miss you so terribly and become so sad that they fail all their important…um…soldier exams.”

Lav looked stricken at the thought.

“Oh Hermione,” Lav cried, “I hadn’t thought of that. Of course they’ll miss me. And here I am, looking my best without thinking of how they’re going to get through the next three months without me.” Lav straightened her dress and donned a melodramatically grave expression (It was Lav’s way of behaving like a grown up). “I’ll be much more mindful of my behavior from now on,” Lav promised solemnly. “I won’t be charming in the least.”

Luna covered her mouth with her hands, concealing a laugh while Hermione entertained a faint hope that her little sister actually meant what she said.

However, all sense of propriety vanished as Lav caught sight of her friend Parvati, the wife of Colonel Denny, and raced to her, giggling the whole way.

Luna linked arms with Hermione. “Nice try,” Luna whispered, gazing after her youngest sister, “I thought it would calm her down for a little while.”

Hermione looked at her with a knowing grin. “I don’t expect anything to calm her down anymore. I’m at the point where I’m considering chloroform, a wheelbarrow, and a locked box in the wine cellar.”

Luna giggled. “I think Aunt Aurora would worry too much to let her be missed for a whole party.”

“Oh I wouldn’t keep her down there for the whole party. Just long enough to keep her from making a horse’s arse of herself.”

Luna looked at her wryly. “Soooo. The whole party then.”

The girls laughed and headed toward the foyer. Three new guests had arrived, and Luna and Hermione would be expected to greet them.

00000000000000000000000000000

Hermione and Luna walked arm in arm toward the front hallway. Their aunt Aurora was making a right fuss over the new arrivals, and Hermione noticed that the yellowy folds of her dress were fluttering uncontrollably.

Popped corn, Hermione involuntarily thought as she hid her smile.

The newcomers were a party of three: a handsome man with red hair and freckles, a lovely young witch with the same red hair and an elaborate olive green dress, and a tall man with round glasses and dark hair.

Hermione couldn’t help but admire the dark-haired man’s haunting, emerald green eyes. She stared at him for a second and quickly lowered her gaze when he noticed.

Greeting and flattering the new guests, Aunt Aurora wasn’t holding much back. She was practically foaming at the mouth with compliments.

“Mr. Weasley and Ms. Weasley,” she gushed, “I can’t tell you how much I’m delighted to have you as my guest. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you ever since we heard you’d taken The Burrow.”

Aunt Aurora went on to rave about how the neighborhood needed residents like them and how the neighbors were lucky to have such people in their midst….

Hermione and Luna were used to their aunt’s aggressive politeness, and the two redheads seemed to bear it well. Hermione noticed her aunt’s behavior annoyed only the dark- haired man, who looked at Aunt Aurora as though she’d crawled out from under a rock to curse them.

Hermione snuck another peek at his lovely eyes before stepping forward to meet Mr. Ronald Weasley and his sister and Ms. Weasley.

"I'm Ronald Weasley" he said eagerly, bowing to Hermione before turning and beaming at a shy Luna. "And this is my sister, Ginny Weasely."

The beautiful redhead stepped forward and curtsied. She gave a fake smile and nodded to Hermione. "Pleased to meet you," she said without feeling. Recognizing insincerity when she saw it, Hermione smiled politely but did little more.

The dark-haired man did not offer an introduction. Aunt Aurora grew more flustered as the seconds ticked by and he remained silent. Luckily Ron Weasley pulled his gaze away from Luna long enough to introduce his friend. "Oh...and this is Harry Potter. He's just arrived from Godric’s Hollow and is staying with us at The Burrow."

Hermione and Luna bowed while a newly excited Aunt Aurora offered an elaborate curtsy. "Mr. Potter of Godric’s Hollow!" She exclaimed shrilly. "Of course! I'd heard you were in the area....oh it is quite an honor. Quite an honor indeed!"

Hermione wasn't sure how his staying at a friend’s house constituted an honor, and apparently neither did Harry Potter. He simply grunted something about how he wasn't planning on staying long. He then stole a glance at Hermione and fell back into silence.

His eyes...they're amazing...beautiful… were Hermione’s scattered thoughts as she briefly locked eyes with him. Her fascination with his eyes was cut painfully short when she noticed the unfriendly expression on the face surrounding them.

A pity that he appears so unfriendly, she thought, slightly disappointed. She never noticed men, and the jarring effect that those emerald eyes had on her was entirely unexpected. She couldn't help but feel a poignant regret that the owner of them should appear so brooding and disagreeable.

“Well, at least his friend seems sociable,” Hermione grumbled to herself as she studied Ronald. She smiled as she overheard his conversation with Luna.

"You house is very...um...gold," Ronald offered with a self-conscious grin.

"Yes," Luna answered quietly, "Every Christmas my aunt chooses a color for the decorations. Last year it was purple.” She shook her head. “All I wanted to do was eat eggplants."

Ronald smiled. "I hate eggplants."

Luna smiled a dreamy smile back. "I do too. It made for a very confusing holiday."

He laughed at that and paused before quietly asking her for a dance. Luna accepted happily and the two made their way to the dance floor where several other couples had started forming a line.

Harry Potter offered his hand to Ginny, who gave a self-satisfied grin when she took it. Unnoticed, he snuck a final look at Hermione as they passed. “Pretty girl,” he thought as he led Ginny away.

Hermione was left with her aunt, who was still babbling about the "honor" of having such an elite group at their house party.

"I don't understand how it’s an ‘honor’ Aunt," Hermione answered grimly.

Aunt Aurora gave an exaggerated sigh. "My dear, the Potters of Godric’s Hollow are the richest family in these parts. They have over 20,000 Galleons a year." Aunt Aurora shot him a look that screamed "oh if only one of my nieces would marry him..."

And Hermione knew that's exactly where this conversation was leading (the same place nearly every conversation with Aunt Aurora led to, marriage). Before her aunt could continue, Hermione excused herself and made her way her way to the back of the party. She took a chair near one of the wide windows and watched the next few dances, enjoying the music and the sight of her sister dancing happily with Ronald Weasley. Hermione looked on for four more dances and couldn't help but notice that Ronald had asked Luna to dance a total of three times.

Before the next dance had begun, she realized she was thirsty and rose to get a drink when she caught sight of a shock of white-blond hair coming toward her.

"Tonks!" Hermione said happily as she hugged her cousin.

"Hermione!" Nymphadora Tonks grinned and batted at one of Hermione's corkscrew

curls. Tonks frowned when the curl bounced perfectly back into place. "Wish my hair did that," she pouted. "My curling charms never turn out."

Hermione studied her cousin’s new blonde color. It was pulled back into a giant bun at the back of her head and shimmered with a golden glitter charm. "Your hair looks fine Tonks. The blonde is ....different."

"Well, different is good," Tonks said proudly.

"Yes, different is good. Except now you look like Luna's twin," Hermione teased. She immediately braced herself for Tonk's wrath.

"I. Do. Not," Tonks spat. She looked around as she lowered her voice. "Not to knock old Luna, but dear goddess that girl and I have nothing in common. Not even our hair. Not even our hair color. And I know that for a fact, so even if it looks the same, its not. So. There. Hmm." Tonks stuck her tongue out.

"That makes no sense whatsoever Tonks," Hermione shook her head.

"It makes sense," Tonks assured her. "You just have to see the two of us side by side. Then you'll definitely see how our hair color isn't at all alike. Go get her, I'll show you." Tonks began to grow excited. "Then you'll get to say how utterly wrong you are and have to offer up public apologizes which I may or may not accept." Tonks seemed delighted at the prospect of proving her clever cousin wrong.

"All right. All right," Hermione laughed. "We'll compare you both as soon as she's finished dancing with Ronald Weasley."

"Who's Ronald Weasley?" Tonks was momentarily distracted from her hair-color rant.

"He's the one who's leased The Burrow," Hermione answered.

"Ohhhh." Tonks leaned toward the dance floor. "Is he cute? Which one is he?" She practically drooled at the prospect of having new handsome face to fawn over.

Hermione shook her head fondly. "He's the redhead next to Luna."

Tonks looked at the dance floor, where a smiling Luna and a blushing Ron were stepping in time with the music.

Tonk let out a satisfied mummer, "Ok. He'll do. Go introduced me."

Hermione laughed. "We have to wait for the song to finish."

Tonks stuck out her bottom lip. "I’m no good at waiting. Why don’t you just distract Luna and I'll just cut in. We're both blondes. He won't know the difference."

"And then what?" Hermione was beginning to wonder if Tonks was serious. She could never quite tell when she was joking.

"Elopement. Fornication. Babies." Tonks shrugged. "The usual."

Hermione let out a laugh and Tonks giggled too. They were too busy enjoying themselves to notice Harry studying Hermione intently from across the room.

"You're horrible Tonks."

Tonks took the comment as a compliment. "I try."

"I needed to laugh after what I've just been through," Hermione sighed.

"What happened?” Tonks looked concerned. “Did Lavender insist on singing again? Because that's flipping hilarious. She sounds like Crookshanks hacking up a dead mouse."

Hermione winced at the memory of Lavender's last recital. "No. It wasn’t as emotionally scarring as that." Hermione lowered her voice. "I've had the not-so-great pleasure of meeting Harry Potter."

Tonk's eyes widened. "Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? Wow. You met him? Where is he? Is he dancing? Can I cut in? Does he like blondes?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No he's not dancing. He hasn't danced yet. Not one time since he's been here."

Tonks, who loved all things dancing, was confused. "He hasn't danced? Then why did he come. This is a party, where people, you know, dance."

"I don't know why he came, but it's certainly not for the company. He hasn't spoken to above five people since he’s been here. He's just standing in the corner by himself." Hermione nodded toward across the room. "Even his friend, Ginny Weasley left him," Hermione huffed. "I think he's awful."

"I think he's adorable." Tonks licked her lips as she studied the dark figure and his unruly hair. "Nice hair."

"Humm? Oh, well. Yes, I suppose he is handsome. Oh…well, yes he’s very handsome. And he has lovely eyes," Hermione reluctantly added.

Tonks’ jaw dropped. "Hermione Granger!" She cried as she folded Hermione in a crushing hug.

"Owffff," Hermione grunted.

Tonks pulled back. "I'm so proud of you. Noticing a man's eyes. There's hope for you yet!"

"I didn't notice anyone's eyes,” Hermione protested. “They were in front of me, I had to notice them. I mean, I didn't notice them… I just happened to see them, because we met and I had to look somewhere."

"OOOOh. And you were trying not to look someplace else?" Tonks smiled mischievously. "Naughty girl."

"Yes...I ...I mean no...Nothing like that." Hermione stomped her foot in frustration.

Only Tonks could do this to her. Get her all riled up over nothing.

Tonks hopped up and down and giggled. "Now if you don't mind I'm going to tell simply EVERYONE you're in love with him! Then you'll be the one eloping and having babies. And that young lady will teach you to compare my hair color to Luna’s. hah aha haa ha." Tonk's laugh rang out over the crowd.

Hermione pursed her lips and fought down the urge to throttle her cousin. My dearest dearest most delightful joking cousin, Hermione repeated silently to herself.

Much to Hermione’s relief, Tonks went skipping after a floating drink tray, disappearing into the mass of partygoers, the loose tendrils of her hair trailing behind her.

The song ended and Hermione watched as Ronald led a breathless Luna off the dance floor. He handed her a glass of punch from a floating serving tray and took one for himself. The shared a laugh before they were interrupted by Ginny Weasley, who seemed intent on forming an acquaintance with her brother’s new friend.

Hermione smiled. It was clear that that Ron Weasley admired Luna. For her part, Luna appeared as calm and otherworldly as ever, but Hermione knew that she was just as smitten as he was.

Hoping to get away from the heat and the noisy throng, Hermione helped herself to a glass of punch and made her way to the back staircase. She climbed the winding stairs that led to an alcove overlooking the drawing room.

With a wave of her hand, several suspended candles along the wall lit, lighting her way through the dark stone passage. She stood on the alcove’s small balcony and from there she looked out among the crowd.

The balcony was her favorite spot. When she was younger and less comfortable in society, she’d hide up there for hours, watching the partygoers come and go, catching snippets of their conversations, and smiling at the bits of gossip that floated her way. She never understood any of the goings on, but there was a comfort in observing the actions of others, of being set apart and impartial. It was certainly safer than actually being in the midst of things.

As she leaned over the rail, she heard a familiar voice below her.

“That Luna Granger…well, she’s just beautiful. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

He has good taste. Hermione smiled with sisterly pride. The voice belonged to Ronald Weasley. Apparently Luna had made an impression on him.

Somebody scoffed. “Ron, besides your sister, she’s the only pretty girl here. And you’ve had the good luck of dancing with her all night.”

Hermione leaned farther over the railing until she saw who’d answered him. “Harry Potter,” she said, rolling her eyes. She wasn’t surprised. Only he’d make such a ridiculously snide comment at a crowded Christmas party.

Ronald protested, “Oh really Harry, there’s lots of attractive witches here. Hermione Granger is gorgeous…”

Harry didn’t let him finish. “Hermione Granger is fine. She’s…all right. But I wouldn’t call her “gorgeous” by any means. She’s nothing compared to her sister at any rate. Not even close…” Harry trailed off. Hermione had assumed that they moved from their spot below her.

Hermione took a step back, her cheeks flaming red. She absently raised her hands to them, hoping to cool them off.

“Horrible man,” she said to herself, cursing the fact that she was blushing. Though she wanted to flip her hair and straighten her dress and return to the party just to prove to herself that she wasn’t bothered, she lingered a little while in her hidden spot.

She swallowed her indignation as she cheerfully waved to Tonks (who knew about her fondness for her hidden perch). She then grimly observed Lavender flirting with a group of red cloaks and saw the large form of her aunt fretting over a few well-dressed guests. And all the while, Hermione forced herself not to think about what He had said or about how He sounded or how she would act when she met Him again.

Finishing her drink in one gulp, she felt more than up to the task of ignoring Harry Potter. She turned toward the stairs and yelped in surprise. There was a man standing at the top of the staircase staring at her.

“Hello Hermione,” he said evenly as he took a few steps toward her.

He emerged from the shadows, and as the light flickered across his face, she recognized him as none other than horrible Harry Potter himself.

2. a balcony scene (of a different kind)

Author notes: This is a mini-chapter that I should’ve posted yesterday, but I wanted some feedback and got it. Thanks guys. I’ll be updating every three days or so…

Disclaimer: I own nothing (except for Pride and Prejudice. I own that. It’s mine. But apparently I have to share it with everyone because it’s ‘public domain.’)

Summary: Harry and Hermione’s conversation begins on the balcony…

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

When the light reached his face, the first thing she noticed were his eyes and their indescribable loveliness.

So green…how do eyes get that green? she asked herself, awed by their color and intensity.

She shook off the thought, angry that she had so little control over her reaction to such an odious, horribly rude man.

Very horribly horribly rude, she repeated to herself, hoping to drive the point home.

Harry approached her wordlessly and stood next to her by the railing, apparently intent on observing the crowd with her. Still surprised by his appearance, Hermione turned and did the same. She followed his gaze around the room (all the while silently formulating a plan of escape).

“This is a nice view,” Harry offered without much expression.

Hermione didn’t want to encourage any conversation so she just shrugged.

Nope, no conversation…no eye contact…none at all…especially no eye contact, she thought. I’ll just stand here until he leaves or the balcony collapses…either one will do.

She grumbled, frustrated with her self-imposed stupidity. Fine, she told herself evenly, I won’t be rude. I’ll just treat him like any other person. And then he’ll go away and I’ll never have to speak to him again. Or look at those amazing eyes, because, really. Wow.

Aloud she replied: “I come up here sometimes. It’s nice to get away from the crowd.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “I’m not fond of parties either.”

Hermione bristled. “I didn’t say I’m not fond of parties.” She bit back her rising annoyance with him and took a breath.She adopted acalmer tone and cleared her throat: “I just like taking an occasional moment to be by myself.” She gave a tight smile for the sake of civility.

“Oh, I understand. The company is usually better,”Harry quipped, giving a self-satisfied smirk.

Urgghh. Insufferable man, Hermione thought as she rolled her eyes. It’s amazing that there’s room enough for me on this balcony, what with him and his horse-sized conceit.

“This is a nice house,” Harry said nonchalantly, jarring her out of her internal ramblings.

“Thank you,” she automatically replied, “It’s my aunt’s.”

“Do you live nearby?”

“No….um. I mean yes. I mean, I live here. We live here. My sisters and I,” Hermione stammered, knowing what the next question would be.

“What about your parents?” Harry asked.

“They died four years ago,” Hermione answered softly.

A long pause followed.

“Oh…I didn’t know,” Harry finally muttered, “M’ sorry.”

Hermione waited for the usual stream of questions and condolences, but he didn’t offer any. She waited for him to say something…anything, but he didn’t seem inclined to resume the conversation either. Instead they stood in silence for several minutes and watched the party continue down below. This afforded Hermione an opportunity to wonder why he was standing with her at all, why he’d come up to the balcony in the first place, and why, if he was so tired of the conversation, would he bother to stay. She was certain that he wouldn’t have any qualm about showing his impatience with her.

She sighed. He’d probably just come right out and say it: “Sorry Ms. Granger, but I’m quite bored now. You’re plain and quiet and nothing compared to you lovely sister. And now I’ll take my leave of you. Good luck with your dead parents and all…I’ll tell my ethereal eyes you said ‘hi.’ ”

After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione quietly excused herself. She was halfway to the staircase when she heard Harry call after her.

“Hermione…”

She turned, her eyes wide with surprise.

Harry suddenly looked uncomfortable and nervous. He shifted his feet and cleared the lump that had inexplicably risen in his throat.

“wouldyouliketodance”

Hermione shook her head. “What?”

Harry gathered his courage and stepped forward, his green eyes boring into her stunned brown ones.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked softly.

She was almost certain he’d held his hand out to her, but she couldn’t be sure because she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his.

She tried to think of an excuse. She wracked her brain for one. “I’ll tell him I don’t dance, or don’t like music, or only dance with people who aren’t him…”

They lapsed into silence again, and Harry took a moment to study her. He took in the mass of lustrous, brown corkscrew curls that cascaded down her shoulders, her perfect cheekbones, her pouty lips, and her porcelain skin. He found that he was indeed right: her large eyes were the color of rich chocolate and were just as lovely as he remembered them.

Gorgeous… Harry muttered as he admired her. It had bothered him immensely when Ron pointed out the rather obvious fact, but it didn’t take more than a few harsh words about her to make Ron realize that he was already dancing with the pick of the night. With Ron fully occupied, Harry was left to his own ends, or more specifically, to find out more about the other Granger girl (incidentally one of the few women who hadn’t acted like he was the bloody Prince of Wales as soon as she found out his surname).

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by Hermione’s stuttering answer.

“I’m sorry. No…I...um…some other time.” Hermione gave a half curtsey and walked steadily to the stairs, not bothering to look back at his stricken face.

At the bottom of the stairwell, she was swept away by Tonks, who absolutely-in-every-way had to meet the handsome blond curate in the corner. Soon, Hermione found herself much too occupied with Tonks and Luna to notice that Harry had abandoned the party well before Ron and Ginny.

When Hermione realized he’d gone, she breathed a sigh of relief and began truly enjoying the company of her friends.

3. A Guest Arrives

Author notes: For those of you who’ve read P&P, I’m envisioning Lupin as a more-charming Mr. Collins-type. Oh, and in this A/U story, Hermione doesn’t mind so much about having house-elves.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Harry Potter and never will. And with the way the series ended, I wouldn’t want to.

Chapter 3 Summary: Tonks encounters Lupin for the first time, and Hermione encounters Harry for the not-so-first time.

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

The next day, Hermione slept in well past nine o’clock and decided to have her coffee in the morning room. She dressed quickly and trotted through the chaotic mess that used to be her aunt’s lavish townhouse. But no matter how disheveled the party rooms were, Hermione knew that the morning room would be in perfect order. Hildegard, the head house-elf, was very particular about it.

Sure enough, Hermione walked through the swinging doors and smiled at the familiar scene: fresh white linens and curtains lined the room, the sun was pouring in through the bay windows, and Luna and Aunt Aurora were at the table quietly finishing up their breakfast. Hermione silently joined the two, nodding a good morning to them before pouring herself some coffee. Aunt Aurora opened a letter, Luna stirred her tea, and Hermione had just brought her coffee cup to her lips when the door slammed open and Lavender burst in with her usual energy.

“Morning everyone!” Lavender said cheerfully as she leapt into the chair beside Hermione, who was now mopping up the spilled coffee from her jostled cup.

“It was such a fun night!” Lav cried as a tray of scrambled eggs floated toward her. “I danced with every red cloak who came. I know I made poor Seamus so terribly jealous. Parv said he was grumbling about how he wished I’d paid more attention to him. Imagine!” Lav let out a high-pitch giggle and went on without waiting for anyone’s reply. “Did you like my dress? I got at least twenty compliments on it. Tonight I’m going to change its color and wear it to the Christmas Ball at Pomona Lodge. Mrs. Trelawney is selling the new dyeing spells in her shop. What color do you think I should get? Oh, I can’t wait!”

Lavender took a breath and began hungrily eyeing Hermione’s toast.

“Lav,” Hermione said as she shielded her toast from Lavender’s creeping fingers, “be careful with those spells Trelawney sells. Remember the last one you bought? The one that was supposed to tie your ribbons for you?”

Lavender laughed, delighted by the memory. “The ribbons split into a thousand pieces and began tying themselves to anything nearby ….doorknobs, bedposts, Crookshanks. It took hours to clean it all up. It was sooo so so funny.”

“Yes Lav,” Luna said in her soft but serious voice, “Hermione and I know it took hours to clean up because we had to do all the untying.”

“Well,” Lav said insistently, “I said I was sorry about all that. How was I supposed to know that the silly old spell didn’t work? Lots of the new ones do though. Like that flu-preventing potion that Hermione made.” Lavender frowned. “Hermione makes new spells and stuff all the time and nobody yells at her when she botches them up.”

“That’s because I don’t ‘botch’ spells up. And I don’t go around shoving potions at people like their pumpkin pie,” Hermione answered simply. She’d been through this a thousand times before with Lavender. For years, Hermione had had an insatiable interest in healing and spent most of her free time researching new potions and treatments. Lavender sometimes teased her for always having her nose stuck in a heavy textbook, but Hermione’s talent for medicine was something even Aunt Aurora appreciated (especially when Hermione prescribed potions to members of the upper crust who in turn invited the family for dinners and socials and such).

“Girls, girls!” Aunt Aurora cut in before Lavender could begin whining again, “We’re going to have a guest over for dinner!” Aunt Aurora handed the letter she was reading to Luna and began excitedly twittering.

Luna showed the letter to Hermione, who quickly scanned the long, elegant handwriting. Apparently, an old friend of their father’s, Remus Lupin, was coming to visit friends in the neighborhood and would like to spend a night or two with the Grangers.

Aunt Aurora beamed. “He’s arriving at six o’clock sharp. Oh, it’s such an honor. He’s head advisor to none other than Sir Sirius Black!” Aunt Aurora squealed happily.

Now Hermione understood why her Aunt was so eager for the visit. Sir Sirius Black was one of the most respected, wealthy, and well-connected men in England. The Black Trading Company was the largest importer/exporters of magical ingredients in the country and having a connection so close to such an important man was sure to send Aurora into a frenzy.

Sure enough, Aunt Aurora immediately left the room and began barking panicked orders to Hildegard.

Luna shook her head fondly at Hermione and continued stirring her tea. Unfazed but slightly confused, Lavender dug into her eggs, while Hermione resumed drinking her coffee. For a moment, the sisters were alone together, peacefully enjoying the sunny morning and relaxing in the quiet of the everyday.

But Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that all that was about to change.

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

For the rest of the day, Aunt Aurora’s large form hurried round the house, hoping to make the place as spotless as inhumanly possibly. Lavender (sensing housework) disappeared immediately after breakfast, so Luna and Hermione had to suffer their aunt’s near nervous collapse alone.

Since Hildegard and the other house-elves were busy picking up the mess left by the partygoers, Hermione and Luna volunteered to prepare one of the guest rooms for Lupin. Luna (with her usual odd insightfulness) divined that Lupin had a “green aura,” so they prepared a room to match. Hermione spelled the walls soft sage color and spent much the morning casting scrubbing charms along the dusty floors. Luna cleaned and aired the cranberry-colored curtains and bed linens and left them smelling of mint and clover. Poor Aunt Aurora spent most of her time running up and down the stairs, knocking over end tables and bothering the cooks about what she wanted served for dinner. For hours she struggled over what garnish to serve with the duck: blueberry or plum. (She finally chose plum).

“Oh the house isn’t ready. It isn’t ready at all,” Aunt Aurora cried when six o’clock drew near. “Look at these floors. I wanted them polished and stained a shade darker to match the new color on the walls. And I wanted to change the sofa’s shape, or maybe move one of the fireplaces…” Aunt Aurora tearfully ticked off the things on her to-do-but-too-late-now list.

Hermione herself had barely enough time to change into a light pink dress. She adjusted the large white bow on Luna’s own butter yellow gown as Aunt Aurora paced around the foyer, fretting over the state of the house.

“Aunt Aurora, the house looks fine,” Hermione reassured her aunt with an affectionate pat on the shoulder. Hermione nudged Luna.

“Oh, yes,” Luna agreed, following Hermione’s lead, “the house looks wonderful. You’ve done such a good job Aunt.”

Aunt Aurora took each girl’s hands and looked grateful for the compliments. “Now girls, I expect the both of you to be very welcoming to Mr. Lupin. You look so lovely tonight.” Her voice lowered. “Remember, he’s a well-connected, single man, and I’d like you both to make the best impression you can.”

Hermione and Luna knew what their aunt really meant: Behave so he’ll marry you.

Suddenly, a tangle of blue ruffles came scrambling round the corner, nearly colliding with Luna. “Am I late, is he here?” Lavender asked, flustered.

“No, he’s not here yet dearest,” Aunt Aurora cooed as Lav straightened her baby blue ribbons and flashed her best smile. “You look wonderful. Now, as I was just telling your sisters, you have to be on your best behavior tonight. No silliness.”

Lav looked sweetly at her aunt and nodded.

“I’ll send for the chloroform and wheelbarrow,” Hermione whispered to Luna, as they both shared a conspiratorial grin.

There was a knock the door and everyone turned in a stunned silence.

Aunt Aurora waved her hands as if to say "look marriageable" and waited for Hildegard to open the door. A tall, thin man entered and greeted the house-elf politely. As he set his case down and took off his hat and cloak, all four women strained to see him. He looked up, and Hermione sensed Lavender’s excitement deflate slightly.

No surprise there, Hermione thought, she’ll dismiss any man who isn’t in a regimental uniform.

Hermione saw that Remus Lupin was an older gentleman with an unusually pale complexion. He had a long nose and nondescript sandy-brown hair, but Hermione noticed he also had brown intelligent eyes and a warm smile.

He stepped forward and bowed to Aunt Aurora.

“Ms. Granger,” he greeted her politely as Aunt Aurora curtsied.

“Oh Mr. Lupin,” Aunt Aurora said brightly, “I’m so glad you’ve decided to visit us. Here come and meet my nieces.” She pointed to each eagerly. “This is Luna, the eldest, and next is Hermione, and last is our little Lavender,” she said proudly.

As Remus bowed to each, Aunt Aurora gestured wildly behind him, smile girls, smile, smile!”

Each of the girls managed a curtsy before Aunt Aurora insisted they all sit down for supper, as she was convinced that Remus must by famished from his travels.

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

Aunt Aurora jostled everyone into the richly furnished dining room. The dark oak table was long and narrow and could seat as many as twenty people. Red velvet drapes framed several large windows and shelves upon shelves of bronze platters lined the room. The dining room was Aunt Aurora’s pride and joy, and she loved entertaining in it. Tonight the table was set with the best silver and her finest white linens. The centerpiece was a large holly wreath that contained several fat red candles.

Aunt Aurora sat at the head of the table. Hermione took a seat next to Lupin, while Luna and Lavender seated themselves across from them. On Hildegard’s command, five bowls of hearty beef soup floated onto the table. The elderberry wine poured itself into glasses while the dark rye bread divided itself onto their plates. Lavender quickly tucked into her soup while Aunt Aurora attempted to make conversation.

“Mr. Lupin,” Aunt Aurora began, “we were so happy when we received your letter. You’re soooo kind to pay us a visit.”

“It’s my pleasure Ms. Granger, but please call me Remus,” he replied merrily, addressing the whole group. He studied his wine before tasting it carefully and humming his approval. “The wine’s excellent Ms. Granger.”

Aunt Aurora smiled so brightly it looked painful. Hermione spoke up to save her aunt the trouble of talking through her gleaming teeth: “Aunt Aurora always orders the best wines. She’s something of a connoisseur.”

“I notice you’re not drinking any wine Hermione,” Remus pointed out with a smile.

Hermione glanced at her wine glass, which was filled with water. “I don’t drink wine…” she started to explain, but she was cut off by a knock at the front door.

Everyone turned and listened as the heavy door opened and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Tonks’ resounded through the empty foyer.

“Tonks?” Hermione asked incredulously as a blur of silver-blonde hair skipped into the dining room and collapsed into a chair next to her.

“Hello all,” Tonks said merrily as she adjusted her spotless white gown and happily scooted up to the table (apparently prepared for a meal).

“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked, thoroughlyconfused.

“Yes, what are you doing here?” Aunt Aurora hissed.

“Dinner,” Tonks answered simply, as if the reason was perfectly obvious. She then gave Hermione a just-trust-me look and smiled obligingly at everyone. “Hermione invited me for dinner.”

Aunt Aurora remained silent (not wanting Remus to think that any of her nieces, especially Hermione, were forgetful). She forced a smile and then rose to see if they had another helping of soup for Tonks, muttering something about “of all the girls to invite to dinner” before disappearing into the kitchen. She came out a moment later with a bowl of soup floating behind her.

Still confused as to why Tonks was there, Hermione introduced Remus to her: “Remus Lupin, this is my cousin Nymphadora Tonks.”

In return for his own polite smile, Tonks gave a mischievous grin. “Oh, Mr. Lupin? Hermione's told me so much about you.”

I have? an embarrassed Hermione mouthed to Tonks.

Tonks ignored Hermione and continue, “I’m sorry I’m late. What have I missed?”

Remus kindly regarded the newcomer and took efforts to fill her in on the conversation: “I was just learning why Hermione here doesn’t drink wine.”

Tonks chuckled. “Probably because she’s too busy ruining it.”

Remus looked puzzled, and Aunt Aurora buried her head in her hands. She knew that the explanation would invariably reveal Hermione’s interest in science (a very non-marriageable quality).

“What Nymphadora [Tonks cringed at the use of her first name] is trying to say is that I don’t drink wine, but I do appreciate it for its medicinal value.” Hermione shrugged and sipped her water.

Remus was amused. “Medicinal value?”

“Oh yes. Red wine is a key ingredient in several household healing potions: Peppermint Parasolia, Snapdragon Draught, Strengthening Solution…the list is endless.” Hermione told herself to stop there, but she couldn’t quell her excitement. It wasn’t often that she could discuss her knowledge of healing with an appreciative audience. “In fact, I’ve found that the properties of the wine base, the vitis vinifera, can actually affect the strength of the potion it’s used in. I’ve yet to discover to what degree, but I’m sure that the growing conditions of the grape can noticeably alter a spell’s potency.”

Remus looked impressed, while Aunt Aurora silently signaled for Hermione to “be quiet, think marriage.”

Paying her aunt no mind, Hermione continued: “I’ve been trying to separate the vitis vinifera from the wine, just to test my theories. That’s why Nymphadora tells everyone I ruin wine. I’m afraid that after I get done with it, it’s quite unpalatable.”

Remus seemed to mull over this for a moment, allowing Luna to speak up.

“Hermione is one of the best healers in the county. She’s so clever with potions and such. Everyone owls her for advice.” Luna looked proudly at her sister. “She’s even developed a potion to keep Phylollexa away.”

“Phylollexa?” Remus repeated as Aunt Aurora groaned and rubbed her forehead.

Luna began explaining just how deadly Phylollexa creatures could be; however, she didn’t know that Hermione’s miraculous repellant was merely grape jelly and ginger ale. (Hermione often humored her sister’s fascination with fanciful creatures)

“Remus…” Aunt Aurora interrupted, desperate to change the subject of the conversation. So far, Hermione had revealed (at length) her scientific pursuits, Luna had revealed her interest in nonexistent creatures, and Lavender had done nothing but slurp her soup. In fact, the only presentable girl at the table was Tonks.

“…you mentioned in your letter that you were staying with friends?” Aunt Aurora asked with forced cheer.

“Oh yes, I’m staying at The Burrow with the Weasleys.”

”The Weasleys?” Aunt Aurora squealed excitedly. Luna blushed a bit and even Lav looked up from her soup. “But we’ve just met them yesterday. They attended our Christmas party,” she declared proudly. Aunt Aurora then went into great detail about the goings-on of the party and what an honor it was for the Weaselys to attend.

After a dessert of caramel rice pudding, everyone adjourned to the music room to listen to Luna play the harp. Coffee was served and everyone gathered round as Luna began. Hermione took a seat next to Tonks so that the two might whisper without being overheard.

“Tonks what are you doing here?” Hermione demanded in a hushed tone.

“You invited me,” Tonks replied innocently, sipping her coffee.

“I did not invite you.”

“Ha. Too late now,” Tonks said playfully. She leaned over to study the houseguest.

“You never mentioned how yummy he is,” Tonks muttered, cocking an eyebrow.

Hermione followed her headygaze to Lupin. “No Tonks,” Hermione warned, shaking her head sternly.

“Why not?” Tonks pouted. “He's tall and smart and probably well endowed...withmoney I mean.”

“You did not mean‘with money’ and you know it. Besideshe's… nice. He's polite and not at all your type.”

“Oh, and whose type is he? Yours? Oh, wait, no. He's not your type at all. Hedoesn't have green eyes and messy hair,” Tonks teased.

Hermione bristled and assumed an indignant tone, “That. Is. Not. Funny. Nymphadora."

“That. Is. Funny. Mione...Look, I can tell you're upset because you think I'm horning in on the fresh meat, but honestly, I've been hearing rumors all day, and I just came to see if they were true.”

“What kind of rumors?” Hermione asked, half-interested.

“Rumorsabout how he's looking for a suitable wife and your family gets first dibs.”

“Well there’s a surprise,” Hermione said impatiently, rolling her eyes. “Every time someone visits the neighborhood, the whole town thinks it’s because he's secretly engaged to one of the Granger girls.”

“Yeah, but, word about town is that this specific someone (she motioned to Lupin) was indebted to your father and feels the need to repay the debt.” Shepaused dramatically. “Repay the debtwith loooove...." Tonks added in a sing-song voice.

“That's ridiculous. That's the most idiotic thing I've ever heard.”

“Well wait til you hear the rumor that I'm going to start,” Tonks said confidently.

“Hmmm,” Hermione pretended to give it a great deal of thought, “Let me guess… Remus has an ardent, uncontrollable passion for none other than Nymphadora Tonks?”

“That's not a rumor Hermione, that’s the near future,” Tonks winked at her.

Hermione shook her head, laughing at her incorrigible cousin.

They were interrupted by Luna, who was done playing. She informed them that everyone was invited to play a game of cards. Arms linked, Hermione and Tonks followed Luna and joined the rest of the family in the still overwhelmingly gold drawing room.

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

The rest of Lupin’s visit was fairly uneventful. The next morning he set off for The Burrow, leaving behind a slightly disappointed Aunt Aurora, who was hoping that one of the girls would’ve tempted him to stay on.

The next few days crept by quietly. Rain replaced the snowfall and the girls kept indoors. Luna practiced her harp, Lavender played with her ribbons, and Hermione buried herself in her studies. Around them, the townsfolk were busy making merry and settling their plans for the holiday.

The only ball left before New Years was the one hosted at Pomona Lodge, and ever since the Weasleys arrived, it seemed to be causing something of a stir. As the ball neared, Lavender suddenly became frantic. She’d given up on dyeing her gown and realized that she had only had two days left to buy another one. She dragged an unenthusiastic Hermione to the downtown shops, hoping they would find a dress that would drive Seamus crazy.

“Lavender, wait a second!” Hermione cried as she trotted down West Street after her exuberant sister. Lavender was a good ten meters in front of her, ducking pass people and deftly working her way down the sidewalk. The streets were crowded with shoppers and Hermione struggled to get past them. On top of that, the early morning rain had made the cobblestones slippery, and Hermione had to be careful not to slip.

“Hurry Hermione!” Lav called out behind her. “There won’t be many dresses left if we don’t get there soon. Everyone’s buying new things for the holidays.” Lavender jogged ahead and disappeared into one of the shops.

Hermione craned her neck to see which store Lav had gone into, but couldn’t see through the noisy throng. Suddenly somebody bumped her elbow and sent her reeling to the ground.

Hermione braced herself for hitting the hard cobblestone, when she felt somebody catch her about the waist from behind, wrapping their arms around her to keep her from falling.

“Oh, thank you…” she stammered as the stranger helped her to her feet. Her hair had fallen over her eyes, so she couldn’t see who’d rescued her. The hands about her waist had her tightly secured, and she could tell she was being supported by a very strong and very masculine body. She turned to him, trying to shake the stray strands of hair from her face.

“It’s my pleasure Hermione,” Harry Potter said, softly brushing back a few curls as he held her firmly. Her cheek brushed against his chin and he noticed her perfume, a mixture of vanilla and apricots.

Hermione froze when she recognized the voice. She hadn’t expected to see him again so soon…or ever really. She brushed aside her unruly hair and found herself gazing into his luminous eyes.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, concerned etched on his features. He began looking her over for injuries, and his eyes fell on her exposed shoulder where the sleeve of her gray dress had slid down a bit. His heart quickened as he reached up to adjust it.

Hermione’s breath caught as his fingers touched her bare shoulder. Her skin tingled where his fingertips grazed her, and she couldn’t help but notice that his strong arm was still wrapped around her waist (though she wasn’t in danger of falling again). She knew she should step aside and thank him properly, but something unexplainable kept her in his encircling embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She tried to speak louder, but her voice didn’t cooperate.

Luckily Harry was close enough to hear her. Mere inches separated them.

“You’re welcome,” he replied quietly, gazing at her with his dark, unnerving stare.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her lovely, perfect mouth, which was still half open from surprise. Thoughts about kissing her flitted through his mind and, knowing the impossibility of it, he quickly shook them off… however, he still couldn’t stop himself from staring at her full, inviting lips.

“I almost fell Mr. Potter…” she began, silently groaning of the stupidity of the statement. Well done Hermione, she muttered to herself. Brilliant repartee…

“I know,” Harry replied with a half-smile. “I caught you. And please call me Harry.”

Hermione grinned back at him, surprised to find that she really really liked his smile. It was almost as beautiful as his eyes.

Hermione was about to reply when somebody suddenly bumped into Harry, knocking him forward. Before Harry or Hermione could react, the gap had closed between them, and Hermione found her lips pressed firmly against Harry’s.

For a second, neither one could move. Both of their eyes went wide as they were completely overcome with embarrassment. They both pushed each other away at the same time, looking everywhere but at each other.

“Well,” Hermione said, shaking with mortification, “I…um…thank you again.”

Harry glanced at her. “Oh…yes…goodbye.” Harry quickly bowed to her, and in a flash his green cloak and messy black hair had disappeared into the crowd.

Hermione reached up to touch her lips and felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. First Harry Potter had saved her from a nasty fall, and then...then she’d kissed him! Or did he kiss her? Was it even a kiss at all since it was an accident? How was she going to act around him now?

I’m not going to worry about how to act around him because I’ll never see him again…which is a good thing…a very very good thing, she told herself. She repeated this a few times just to convince herself.

In a daze, Hermione climbed up onto the sidewalk and absently walked into the first door she came to. She could tell it was dress shop, and it wasn’t long until she saw Lavender talking eagerly to a tall man in a regimental red cloak. Hermione didn’t pay them any mind. Her thoughts were with a flash of green cloak and messy hair that was no doubt rushing back to The Burrow. She shook herself out of her revelry when she heard her name.

“Hermione, oh there you are! I was wondering what was keeping you.” Lav hugged her sister eagerly and took her hand. “Come on, I want you to meet the most handsome wizard in the city.”

She didn’t know why, but an image of Harry came to mind.

Lav stopped in front of a tall soldier with brown hair and brown eyes. “Hermione Granger, this is Viktor Krum. He’s here on assignment from Bulgaria.” Lavender pronounced the word “Bulgaria” as if it were the most wonderful and exotic place on earth.

Viktor Krum gave a formal bow. He greeted her with a thick accent, and Hermione knew Lavender would find it adorable.

“Her-mi-o-niiny,” Viktor repeated with a grin.

Hermione cringed at the mispronunciation of her name but returned his bow with a curtsey.

“Very nice to meet you,” Hermione said absently, her thoughts still occupied with what happened with Harry.

“Und it is very nice to meet you,” he replied.

Lavender giggled and took Viktor’s arm.

“Viktor, you have to help me pick out my ribbons for the Christmas Ball at Pomona Lodge. Are you going to come? Captain Finnigan can get you an invitation if you’d like. Oh, you just have to attend. There really aren’t enough men there to dance with.” Lavender gave a bright smile. “And I do so love dancing. Oh please come, oh please.”

Hermione winced at her sister’s pleading, but knew that most men found it terribly endearing. Viktor certainly didn’t seem immune to it, as he soon gave his assurances that he would come.

Lavender suddenly turned to Hermione: “And what kept you so long? I saw three dresses I liked and now I can’t remember where they are.” Lav smiled at Viktor. “Hermione’s absolutely rubbish at shopping.”

“I bumped into someone…um…Harry Potter,” Hermione answered, not meeting either Viktor’s or Lavender’s stare.

“Harry Potter?” Viktor’s eyes narrowed.

Hermione nodded as Lavender rattled on about how Harry had attended their Christmas party last week. Hermione took the opportunity and left them.

Intent on distracting herself, she began looking around the shop, wondering if she might also get a new gown. It had been a while since she’d splurged on herself, and she had plenty of pocket money for a new dress.

Hermione was admiring a rose-colored gown when Viktor sidled up to her.

“Her-mii-o-niiny,” he said with his trademark grin. “How vell do you know Harry Potter?”

Startled, Hermione turned around and answered automatically. “I don’t know him well at all.” We just kiss in the street is all…but no, I don’t know him well… she silently added.

Viktor nodded. “Me, vell, I unfortunately know Potter a great deal too much. He does not do much with the manners.”

Hermione laughed, thinking back to her first encounter with Harry. “I guess you do know him well. No, he’s not very polite.”

“No hiz not,” Viktor leaned in. “Hermioniiny, let me warn you. He iz not one to trust.”

Hermione didn’t understand. She shook her head. “I’m sorry?”

Viktor went on: “I did grow up wiz him and his father. His father left me a great deal of money, but, vell…”

“Well what?” Hermione asked. She suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

“He would not grant hiz father’s wishes. I never saw any of ze money.” Sadness clouded Viktor’s face. “It iz why I joined the regulars.”

“Oh…” Hermione didn’t know what to say. Strangers never confided to her. It was a serious breach of propriety; however Hermione assumed that Viktor’s faux pas had something to do with his being foreign. They stood in awkward silence until Lavender came galloping up, holding a long silver gown

As Lavender began excitedly discussing her find, Hermione considered what Viktor told her: Yes, Harry Potter is a rude, insufferable man who insults me one day and rescues me in the street the next, but cheat a man out of his inheritance? Hermione had never heard anything so low.

Hermione rejoined the conversation in time to hear Lavender tell Viktor how wonderful she was going to look in her new gown. Lav then wanted to buy some shoes to go with it, but Viktor begged off.

“I am sorry, but I have the engagement to make. But perhaps you vill both save me a dance at the ball?” Both sisters nodded (Lavender’s nod was much more enthusiastic than Hermione’s). He then bowed to Lav and sent a lingering gaze to Hermione before striding out the door.

After his departure, Lavender pouted for a few minutes, obviously missing the male company; but soon enough she began looking over the reams of ribbons, finding at least three kinds of silver ones that would work.

Hermione leaned toward her sister: “Lav, have you heard anything about Viktor? About him and Harry Potter?”

Lav turned to her, surprised. “Oh, yes, Seamus told me all about it at our party. About how Harry Potter refused to give Viktor his inheritance and how Viktor had wanted to study law, but, well… it takes money, so he enlisted.” Lavender gazed after him and sighed, obviously touched by the story.

“But why would Harry Potter do such a thing?” Hermione demanded. It couldn’t be true. Yes, she thought ill of Harry, but still, he was a gentleman in good standing; she had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Lav lowered her voice. “Seamus said it was because Viktor’s a Muggle-born.”

Hermione gasped as her sister nodded. Lav shot her a meaningful look as she turned back to the silver ribbons.

Hermione had heard of the cruel discrimination practiced against Muggle-borns, but she’d never seen a case first hand.

Could it be true? she asked herself. Could Harry Potter do something so despicable to his childhood friend because he was Muggle-born?

Lavender interrupted her thoughts by suddenly grabbing Hermione’s arm and forcing her to come to the ribbon cutting counter.

Hermione ended up buying a rose colored gown and a set of ribbons to match. She then took Lavender to a tea shop where Lav ate too many pastries and went on and on about her purchases and what she thought everyone else would wear to the ball and how her dress would outdo them all. Around them, bells rang in the streets, carolers sang on the sidewalks, and hazelnuts roasted in every hearth. But for some reason, Hermione couldn’t share in the town’s good spirits.

4. The Christmas Ball at Pomona Lodge

Chapter 4: The Ball at Pomona Lodge

Author notes: Hey all, thanks for the reviews. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to update, but I keep finding the most embarrassing typos…at one point I substituted “her waste” for “her waist.” It actually made the line pretty hilarious. Anyspoo, I depart a little from P&P canon here…but darn it, it’s my fic and that means I can pretty much do what I want, when I want. Anyway, for the canon sticklers, the next two chapters are based more on the 1940 version of P&P with Greer Garson and Lawrence Olivier, which has the best ballroom costumes and dance sequences of any P&P film. Plus, in that version, Mr. Darcy is a little more demonstrative towards Lizzy. *dreamy sigh*

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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

“Lavender, come on now. Hurry up!” Luna called to her sister. Lavender had taken the entire afternoon to get ready for the ball but still managed to make them all late.

“I’m coming Luna,” Lavender called from upstairs. Hermione knew that Lavender’s “I’m coming” would mean she would be at least five more minutes. Hermione took advantage of the delay and adjusted her off-the-shoulder rose colored gown. She loved how the dress flowed loosely at her feet and had a small train dotted with rose petals tumbling behind her. The bodice took some getting used to, but she used a spell to make it as tight as possible while still allowing her to breathe comfortably. She had charmed her hair into a complicated braided twist and had fastened pink rose buds throughout her brown locks. Her sister Lavender insisted that she darken her eyelashes and put a hint of color on her cheeks. Hermione had to admit that the effect wasn’t all that displeasing.

However, Hermione knew that no matter what effort she put into her appearance, she could never hold a candle to the effulgent beauty of her older sister.

Luna was wearing a full gown of powder blue, trimmed with white ribbons and pearls. Her long blonde hair was piled on top of her head and a few loose tendrils danced around her shoulders, framing her face. Her cheeks were dusted with a shimmering powder and her violet eyes shown with barely veiled excitement as she straightened the white sash around her waist.

“Don’t be nervous,” Hermione assured her softly. She noticed her sister’s fidgeting and knew that Luna was looking forward to seeing Ronald Weasley again. “You look wonderful.” Hermione added.

Luna smiled gratefully. “Thank you. You look beautiful too. I’ve never seen you look so lovely.”

Hermione smiled gratefully and called out to Lavender, “The coach is ready, Lavender. We’re leaving. Enjoy the evening!”

Luna and Hermione giggled as Lavender suddenly appeared in a streak of silver. Her dress was certainly eye catching, which was what Lav apparently wanted. The skirt was the fullest Hermione had ever seen, and she wondered if she should chide her sister about the low cut of the bosom.

“Come on girls,” their aunt called, hurrying toward them with a bundle of cloaks for the journey. Careful not to upset her own puffy gold gown, Aunt Aurora began herding them out the door and into the waiting coach. Their aunt muttered a spell, and the carriage sped off down the lane. The sisters spent an uncomfortable ten minutes crammed against each other, their dresses billowing out over the seats and each other. The countryside raced by them, quiet and cozy under a clear night sky. Hermione gazed out the window at the illuminated cottages until the carriage turned into the wrought-iron gates of Pomona Lodge.

They were one of the last families to arrive, and the great house was already bubbling over with activity. The girls piled out of the carriage, careful not to tread on each other’s gowns as they neared the entrance. As they entered, a house-elf helped them out of their cloaks, and the three sisters took a moment to admire the grandness of the affair.

Evergreen garlands and holly berries wound round the tall columns and banisters while candles and crystals of all colors floated above the guests. Someone had cast a spell to make the ceiling transparent, and Hermione could see the light from the stars and the moon beam down on the partygoers. The house was richly furnished, and food from all over the world adorned every conceivable surface: roasted red pepper canapés, blackberry and pineapple tarts, oysters, escargots, bits of lobster wrapped in bacon, gooseberry candies, sausage pastries, roasted duck puffs, smoked salmon…

The warm glow of elegance was so overwhelming that even Lavender (for once) was speechless. Hermione herself was so impressed that she didn’t see Tonks and Lupin standing beside her.

Tonks nudged her cousin, and Hermione spun round, startled.

“Tonks!” Hermione cried cheerfully as she embraced her cousin.

“Mione!” Tonks laughed as she hugged her back. Hermione pulled away to admire Tonk’s black and white gown. Her hair was still a silver blonde, but the undersides were now streaked with black. Hermione grinned. It was the personal style that she had come to expect from Tonks.

“Hello Hermione,” Lupin shook her hand and greeted her with a smile.

“Look who I found,” Tonks proclaimed proudly, taking Lupin’s arm. “He was wandering all over the place looking for your family.”

“Well I’m glad he found us,” Hermione said sincerely.

“Would you like to dance Hermione?” Lupin asked merrily. Hermione noticed Tonks’ face fell a bit, much to her surprise.

“Of course Remus. You’ll be my first dance,” Hermione replied, all-the-while eyeing her disappointed cousin. Lupin bowed and left them, and Hermione waited until he was well out of earshot to question her cousin.

“Tonks, are you all right?”

Tonks looked sadly at Hermione. “Yeah…I just thought he’d ask me to dance first. We’ve been talking since I got here and I’ve really been trying to ….well, behave and all.” Tonks shrugged and gave a fake smile.

Hermione patted her sad cousin on the cheek. “Tonks, if Remus Lupin can’t see how beautiful and funny and wonderful you are, then he doesn’t deserve to dance with you.”

Tonks grinned. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione assured her.

“Hmm.” Tonks eyed her cousin appraisingly. “I guess Remus is right…you are the cleverest witch in England.”

Hermione tilted her head. “What?”

“Remus has been going on and on and on about how brilliant you are. He thinks your idea about ruining wine is great.” Tonks leaned in. “I think he’s in looove…with the idea, I mean.”

Hermione looked sternly at her cousin but said nothing.

Tonks just held up her hands and backed away. She recognized that look and knew when Hermione’s patience for teasing had run out. Tonks went to go mingle and, as dancing wouldn’t begin for a few minutes, Hermione decided to go to the powder room to see if her hair was mussed.

She excused herself from her sisters and waded through the crowd. As she entered the large gathering room she felt a sharp pain as someone suddenly nudged her side. Her boned bodice pinched her, and she was off-kilter for a moment until she felt a hand gripping her waist to help steady her.

She closed her eyes, recognizing the gentle caress. For a moment, she was taken back to that encounter in the street when Harry had held her for a few unsettling seconds.

She turned around slowly and stared into a familiar pair of smiling green eyes. Stop looking at him Hermione, she told herself urgently, knowing that thinking and speaking were about to become incredibly difficult.

“Hello,” Harry greeted her tenderly, his hand still at her waist

“Hello,” she replied softly. She blushed as she realized she was gripping the sleeve of his black waistcoat. They were closer now than that day in the street, and the memory of Harry’s kiss intruded on her thoughts. Her body responded strangely and a feverish rushing of blood left her feeling dizzy and faint. She put a hand to her head and tightened her grip on Harry’s arm.

Harry noticed the change in her immediately and moved to support her.

“Hermione?” he asked, alarmed.

She tore her eyes away from his. “It’s…just crowded in here,” she said in breathy whisper. She groaned, realizing that, yes, coherent speech was nearly impossible when he stared at her like he did.

He nodded as he drew her closer. With one hand at her side and the other holding her hand, he led her to a corner away from the hordes of guests and took a seat next to her. Without letting her hand go, he signaled one of the servers to bring them some punch. Hermione awkwardly removed her hand from his when she took her drink.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said shyly.

Harry smiled a very warm (for him) smile.

She laughed self-consciously. “You’ve helped me twice now.” She shook her head. “I promise I’m not really this clumsy.”

There was a long pause as Harry studied her.

“I don’t mind,” he finally replied, his voice raw for some reason.

“The house looks lovely, doesn’t it?” she asked half-heartedly as she met his gaze.

Harry’s eyes never left hers. “I didn’t notice.”

Hermione swallowed audibly and forced herself to breathe evenly. He was affecting her like no man ever had. And all he was doing was sitting next to her, sharing a drink.

Great goddess, the man barely touched me and I nearly fainted? What would happen if he kissed me again?

An image of a combusting Phoenix popped into her head, and she couldn’t help but agree.

Just the memory of the kiss made her body felt like the warm rum punch she was drinking. Images of things she’d only read about suddenly came to mind: his lovely mouth softly embracing hers, teasing and nibbling as he gripped her tightly about the waist; him pulling her flush against him, his hands working the laces of her bodice, his fingers tangling in its knots, her dress bunching around her waist as he lifted her to him…

“Hermione…?” Harry started as he touched her hand, effectively bringing her frenzied fantasy to a screeching halt. As they locked eyes, Harry saw the languid desire in her eyes and whatever was left of his own restraint quickly vanished as well.

She was completely pliant as Harry wrapped his arm around her. Harry stared at her mouth and couldn’t help but notice she was staring at his. Unable to stop himself, not wanting to stop himself, Harry leaned forward. His hand gripped her waist almost painfully, but Hermione was too far gone to notice. Her body was pulsing, and her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. Inches separated them and Harry seemed intent on bridging them.

A sudden crash shook both of them out of their daze, and they turned to see a few red cloaks laughing at a toppled drink tray. “Nice waste of rum there Seamus,” one of the red cloaks chuckled, patting the embarrassed soldier on the back.

Harry turned back to Hermione, who was now on her feet and backing away from him.

“Hermione,” Harry said, reaching for her. There was a mixture of guilt and concern in his voice.

She didn’t meet his eyes as she shook her head and turned. She gathered her dress in her hands and hurried away, hoping he wouldn’t follow. Her eyes were watery and the room became blurry as she made her way through the sea of partygoers.

What am I doing? What’s wrong with me? she tearfully moaned to herself. She’d spent her entire life trying to set an example of rationality and self-control to her sisters, and in thirty seconds Harry Potter had completely undone that.

She was so distraught that she nearly collided with her Lavender who was chatting with Ronald Weasley.

“Are you all right Hermione?” Lavender asked as Hermione wiped away a stray tear from her cheek. “You look…um…not happy.”

Hermione nodded and flashed fake smile. “It’s just so hot in here…and some of the food is rather spicy.” Her whole body felt like it was burning up, so it seemed as good an excuse as any.

Ronald nodded, biting into a bit of duck puff. “You should stay away from the roasted pepper things. They’ll set your mouth on fire.” He grinned before tearing off another huge bite of pastry and chomping on it.

Well at least I don’t need a splash of cold water anymore, Hermione grimly thought. Every ounce of arousal slowly died as she watched Ron Weasley chew.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. A slight shiver rippled through her as she thought it might be Harry. When she turned, she saw Remus holding out his hand.

“Dancing is about to start Hermione.”

Hermione gratefully took his hand and followed him to the dance floor. She stood in a line with the other ladies, and as the minuet started, she took a few steps towards Remus and spun.

Remus pleasantly surprised Hermione. He was a very accommodating partner, evenly guiding her to and from her spot as they weaved in and out of the couples. She was relieved to have a respite from all the early excitement. Dancing was simple. She didn’t have to think, which was a good thing because all she could think about at the moment was raven hair and a rough mouth.

The music was lively and all the dancing couples mirthfully giggled and clapped. Hermione did her best to appear engaged and entertained, but Remus noticed the glassy and distant look in her eyes.

When the dance finished, he offered to get punch for them both. She nodded absently and stood in the corner by a window. Its heavy purple drapes billowed onto the floor behind her, casting a silhouette in the firelight. Hermione found herself standing in its shadow as she admired the view of the courtyard.

It wasn’t long before she sensed somebody standing behind her. She felt, rather than saw, that it was Harry.

“Beautiful,” Harry muttered, ignoring the vista. He was referring to the woman with her back to him.

Hermione didn’t turn to face him; instead she kept gazing at the courtyard.

“Yes, it is,” she replied. Her voice had no emotion. She felt drained and weak and just wanted him to leave.

Harry reached up for her shoulder, intending to turn her around, but Hermione brushed his hand away.

”Don’t,” she whispered, not trusting her voice, “Don’t touch me.”

“Hermione,” Harry begged, “Just look at me.”

Hermione shook her head. She didn’t want to see him, or at least that’s what she told herself over and over again.

Harry leaned in over her shoulder, lost in the scent of her vanilla perfume and the softness of her hair. “Please turn around luv. Face me.” His voice was deeper now as he nuzzled her neck and cheek.

Hermione’s eyes closed as she reveled in his closeness. She leaned back until her shoulders were resting against his chest. Of their own volition, his arms wrapped themselves around her waist, bringing her snug against him.

“Turn around Hermione,” he said softly, his lips grazing against her ear.

She shook her head, knowing that if she faced him, she’d be as helpless as before. The room began to spin as his cheek nestled against hers, and her eyes closed as her resolve crumbled.

What’s happening to me? This is madness…were her few coherent thoughts.

“Please ….” Harry’s strained voice reverberated through her. He began to turn her, and this time, she let him.

They stood facing each other, their view of the party partially block by the massive curtains surrounding them. His arms remained fastened round her as she lifted her hands up to his chest. He closed the distance between them, and Hermione braced herself for the feel of his lips. However, Harry merely rested his forehead against hers.

Hermione closed her eyes and exhaled, grateful that he hadn’t kissed her. They held each other for a few moments, neither one wanting to let the other go.

“Hermione…” Harry began, not knowing what to say to her. He’d never felt like this; he couldn’t put it into words.

Hermione looked up, waiting for him to finish. She suddenly caught a flash of movement over his shoulder and took a step backwards, awkwardly turning to face the window again.

Harry had caught her alarmed glance over his shoulder and turned to see who’d interrupted them.

Remus stepped forward uneasily, holding two glasses of punch.

“Harry?” Remus asked with a hint of accusation.

Harry nodded a stern greeting, which discouraged his friend from asking any further questions.

Remus, puzzled by Harry’s tone, spied Hermione’s rigid form by the window.

“Hermione, here’s your punch.” Remus handed her a glass of the pink concoction and didn’t fail to notice that her hand shook as she took it.

“Thank you Remus,” she said softly, not willing to look at either man. She took a few steps out of the shadow as she sipped her drink.

“My pleasure,” Remus said fondly. “I hope we’ll get to dance again later.”

Hermione smiled politely and nodded as she kept her eyes on her glass.

“Are you enjoying the party Harry?” asked Remus.

Harry stared at Hermione and gave a gruff “yes.”

“How do you two know each other?” Hermione asked unevenly, hoping that a conversation would distract her from Harry’s proximity.

“Oh, I’ve known Harry since he was an infant.” Remus turned toward him. “I have a few stories I could tell you…” Remus teased, but seeing that Harry didn’t look amused, Remus cleared his throat and continued on a different track. “Harry is Sir Sirius Black’s godson.”

“Really?” Aunt Aurora had failed to mention that.

Harry nodded. “Sirius Black was my father’s best friend. He raised me after my father passed away.”

“Oh…I’m sorry Harry,” Hermione said sincerely. She wanted to say more, but Harry seemed eager to change the subject. He asked Remus about some member of the House of Black in the area, and for a second, Hermione was alone with her thoughts.

She knew what it was like to lose a parent, and when she looked at Harry, she couldn’t help but think that the death of his parents may’ve had something to do with his mildly antisocial tendencies.

Antisocial but not entirely unpleasant tendencies…Hermione had to admit with a blush.

But at the mention of Harry’s father, her thoughts invariably went back to Viktor Krum’s accusation that Harry had disobeyed his father’s last wishes and had begrudged a poor Muggle-born his inheritance.

It’s as if he has two completely different sides. Hermione thought. What am I to feel about such a man? How could I possibly like him…or even love him?

…Love him?

Hermione choked on her punch and forced it down with a cough or two.

Forgetting his conversation with Remus, Harry was at her side in an instant, rubbing her back as she gave a weak cough and set her punch on the window ledge.

Remus cocked a smile at his young friend’s tender actions. “Are you all right Hermione?” Remus asked good-naturedly.

Hermione nodded, a little embarrassed.

Harry was concerned and continued to rub her back even as the coughing subsided.

“Should I get you anything?” Harry asked in a low voice.

Hermione smiled and shook her head, dispelling her previous thoughts and newly intent on ignoring Harry’s closeness. She was known for her intelligence and self-discipline, and she could certainly control herself around Harry Potter.

I just need to focus on my surroundings and pay no mind to how good his back rubbing feels....

Remus suggested that they all sit down, but Hermione insisted she was fine.

“I’m just a little…off tonight,” she admitted, refusing to look at Harry.

Meanwhile, Tonks had noticed the fuss, and came to join her cousin, practically shoving Harry aside to do so.

“Hermione, what’s wrong? Did you eat one of those roasted pepper things? Because, wow, they hurt.” Tonks was going to tell Hermione about how she had to spit one out into a potted plant, but Tonks caught Remus’s eye and quickly grew quiet.

“I’m fine Tonks…er…Nymphadora.”

Tonks shook her head. “It’s ok. Remus knows I hate that name. Right, Remus?” She grinned at Remus, who smiled back.

“I think ‘Nymphadora’ is lovely,” Remus admitted.

“Really?” Tonks asked, surprised. “Well, maybe if you’re nice to me, I’ll let you call me by my first name…” Normally Tonks would punctuate the line with a wriggling of her eyebrows or some insinuating gesture, but (since she was trying to impress Lupin) she simply smiled sweetly and patted her cousin’s shoulder.

Tonks turned to the man standing beside her. “And you must be Harry Potter.”

Harry nodded.

Tonks gave a wicked smile.

Hermione recognized that look. Please Tonks…No…gods, Hermione groaned under her breath.

“Hermione’s told me soooo much about you,” Tonks announced with an evil glee.

“She has?” Harry looked at Hermione, amused.

Tonks nodded, disregarding Hermione’s glare. “Yup. You made quite an impression on our little Mione…Ouch!” Tonks rubbed the spot where Hermione’s elbow had connected with her side.

“The music’s starting Nymphadora.” Hermione spoke through gritted teeth. “Don’t you have to go dance?” Or just go away...she silently added

Tonks sadly shook her head. “Alas, I have no dance partner.” She looked pathetically at Remus, who took the hint and asked her for a dance. He shot Harry a strange look before the two departed for the dance floor.

Hermione watched the couple and rubbed her forehead, already feeling her Tonks-headache starting. “Someday I’m going to accidentally curse that girl…oh, wait, no,” Hermione stammered, realizing Harry could hear her. “I mean, I won’t really. It’s just that she says things and …and she just drives me crazy.”

“I know what you mean,” Harry leaned in conspiratorially. “Ron’s the same way. He’s always blurting out the most embarrassing things.”

Hermione nodded. “And it’s always in public.”

“And it’s always in front of the person you least want to hear it,” Harry said in a frustrated tone.

“And then she does something silly immediately afterward which makes it impossible for you to stay mad at her.”

“Exactly!” Harry exclaimed. He was glad someone understood what it was like having Ron for a best friend.

They shared a grin and fell into an amiable silence, looking on as Remus and Tonks laughed and chatted as they danced. Tonks glanced over at Hermione and wiggled her eyebrows. Hermione cracked a smile and shook her head, hating that she always humored the antics of her cousin.

“Would you like to dance?” Harry asked suddenly, refusing to look at her.

Hermione turned to him, somewhat startled. She noticed that his hands were balled into nervous fists at his sides.

She nodded and made an affirmative noise without meeting his eyes. She excused herself, touching his sleeve as she headed toward her sister Luna. Her encouraging gesture wasn’t lost on Harry, who gazed after her until she was out of sight.

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

5. The night concludes

Chapter 5: The Night Concludes

Author’s Note: Thanks for all the reviews. Sorry it’s taken so long to update, but I’m uploading a few more chapters tomorrow to make up for it. To answer a reviewer’s question as to why characters don’t use certain spells…well, I figure that one hundred years ago, magic just wasn’t what it is today. Wands were hard to come by, spells were more unstable, basic potions were still being improved, and Apparating was just coming into common use. So, if characters aren’t using spells, it’s because they haven’t been invented yet…or because I just don’t know about them (in which case it really just works out in my favor). Hooray for my admitted ignorance! I go into this in greater detail about this later on (the spells, not my genial attitude towards ignorance).

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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

Hermione left Harry and made her way over to Luna, who looked as radiant as ever. There was a hint of pink in her cheeks and a gleam in her eye as she hugged Hermione.

“Having fun?” Hermione asked, already knowing the answer.

Luna’s eyes misted as she nodded.

“Have you danced yet?” Hermione asked.

Luna nodded again.

“With Ronald?”

Luna smiled dreamily.

Hermione again hugged her sister, who seemed to be deliriously happy.

“Hermione!” A panicked Lavender interrupted them by practically pouncing on Hermione.

“Hermione,” she wailed, “Viktor isn’t here…he isn’t coming!” she cried woefully.

Hermione found herself enmeshed in reams of silver as she tried to put an arm around her little sister: “Oh Lav, I’m sure he’s just late.”

Lav shook her head and gave a petulant pout: “I asked Seamus (which made him so jealous I can’t tell you) but Seamus said that Viktor didn’t want to be in the same room as Harry Potter. Viktor said that he was afraid that something unpleasant might happen.” Lav gave a sob. “It’s not fair. He’s so handsome and he promised me a dance. You heard him! What will I do now? I can’t possibly enjoy the party without him.”

Lav was close to tears, but Hermione couldn’t help but think there were plenty of red cloaks around to make sure Lavender enjoyed herself.

“Er…well, Seamus must be relieved that Viktor didn’t come,” Hermione smiled reassuringly.

Lav’s lip trembled. “Really? Why?”

“Because this way he’ll have more dances with you.”

Lavender beamed and stopped sniffling. “That’s true! You know, I bet Seamus is happy that Viktor hasn’t come! Oh that Seamus is awful…” Lavender smiled mischievously. “I’m going to tell him what you said…” Lavender raced off before Hermione could stop her.

“At least she’ll enjoy herself now,” Luna said, as Lavender bounced away. “Who’s this Viktor person?”

Hermione recounted how she’d met Viktor and what he had to say about Harry Potter.

Even Luna’s calm countenance was shaken. “I can’t believe Harry Potter could do that,” she insisted as she shook her head.

Hermione made a noncommittal nod. “That’s what I thought, but…”

“What is it, Hermione?” Luna could tell her sister was upset.

“It seems at least partially true. Seamus Finnigan knows about it. And Viktor Krum did stay away tonight on account of Harry. There’d be no reason to if he’d made the story up.” Hermione shook her head. “But still I can’t believe Harry could do something so malicious.”

“Just ‘Harry’ now is it?” Luna grinned.

“He told me to call him ‘Harry,’” Hermione admitted shyly.

“Well Harry is a friend of Ronald’s,” Luna assured her, “and I don’t think Ronald would want to associate with Harry if he’d done something really awful. Ronald is one of the best men I’ve ever met,” she added with a sigh.

Wait til you see him eat…Hermione shuddered at the memory.

But Hermione had to admit that Luna did have a point. Harry was so well-connected and widely known that his bad character would’ve been public knowledge by now.

Somewhat satisfied, Hermione suddenly found herself standing beside Tonks and Lupin, who’d just returned from their dance. Tonks was jittery with excitement and smiling brightly.

“You didn’t tell me that Remus is such a good dancer,” Tonks said teasingly as Lupin grinned.

“Remus is indeed a wonderful dancer,” Hermione replied. She leaned over to Tonks and whispered, “But I bet you would’ve found a way to enjoy his company even if he wasn’t.” Hermione wriggled her eyebrows, giving her cousin a taste of her own medicine.

Tonks turned beet red and crossed her arms over her chest. “S’not funny when someone else does it,” she sniffed.

“I think we have the next dance, Hermione,” Remus declared, offering his hand.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve already promised Harry the next dance,” Hermione answered with a polite amount of regret (or more regret than she felt).

Remus looked puzzled. “Er…I believe that he’s already dancing with Ginny.” Remus motioned to the dance floor, where several couples had gathered, including Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter.

“Oh.” Hermione swallowed hard and forced a bright smile, determined not to think silly thoughts (silly thoughts which invariably bombarded her two seconds later); thoughts about how Ginny Weasley looked amazing in her blue gown, about how Ginny was certainly better suited for Harry, and how she was his best friend’s sister no less.

Waving away such ideas, she took Lupin’s hand, but stood as far away from Ginny and Harry as she could when they took their places on the dance floor. The music began, and Remus and Hermione took a step toward each other. After a few turns, they began to weave in and out among the other couples.

Hermione came to a stop and found herself standing next to Harry.

“Oh, um, hello Harry,” she stammered. Say something nonchalant and witty, she told herself.

Mustering her courage, she opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Well done Hermione, she mentally hit herself upside the head.

Harry leaned toward her. “Hermione I’m sorry,” Harry started, but he couldn’t finish before they had to cross and turn. The next few notes brought them together again. “I didn’t want…”

But Hermione didn’t wait to hear what he “didn’t want.” She took a few steps behind him so he couldn’t talk to her without turning around and falling away from the group. She couldn’t understand why his dancing with Ginny should upset her so much. He hadn’t exactly asked her for the next dance. Perhaps he’d promised Ginny before they’d begun to talk.

Annoyed with her childishness, Hermione fell back in line with Harry, waiting for the next sequences of complicated turns.

“Hermione,” he began again, hoping she realized that he hadn’t intended to dance with Ginny Weasley. The redhead had practically dragged him onto the dance floor, threatening to throw a tantrum if he didn’t oblige her. He usually didn’t mind dancing with Ginny, but tonight was different. Much different.

“It’s all right Harry,” Hermione assured him. She touched his arm like she had before. “Honestly. Maybe we can have the next dance.”

Harry nodded and leaned closer to her, “Maybe we can have the next few dances,” he said softly as the line moved and Hermione found herself turning and crossing with a different group of people.

When the dance was finished, Remus took Hermione back to where Tonks and Luna were standing. Ron had joined them and he and Tonks were laughing hysterically at something.

“What did you do Tonks?” Hermione asked good-humouredly.

“Nothing Mione,” Tonks said with an innocent expression. Unable to keep a straight face, Tonks broke out into boisterous laughter, followed by Ron.

“We were just seeing how many of those pepper things we could put in our mouth,” Tonks explained.

Dear gods… “I’m afraid to ask but, who won?” Hermione winced.

“Luna!” Tonks said excitedly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Obviously Tonks and Ron were corrupting her older sister. Soon they’d be teaching her firewhiskey games and then god knows what else…

Ron nodded. “She was able to eat five. Five!” Ron looked at Luna like she was some inhuman apparition. “It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

Luna shrugged serenely. “I like peppers.”

“Let me get you some punch,” Ron said as he darted off.

Normally, Hermione would feel the need to lecture her wayward sister, but tonight, even Hermione’s behavior wasn’t stellar where men were concerned. She had a flash of herself with Harry by the window, and the blood rushed to her cheeks.

Harry chose that moment to approach her for their dance. He stood behind her until she sensed his presence and turned to face him.

“Hermione,” he greeted her with a slight bow and offered his hand.

As she looked into his eyes, she began to feel the same heady excitement she’d suffered by the window.

Honestly, I don’t think green will ever look the same for me. He’s completely spoiled it, she thought, gazing into his emerald depths.

She took his hand and followed him to the dance floor, silently falling into step beside him. She forgot to excuse herself from her friends, but they were all distracted by some new dare that Tonks had issued to Ron.

The music started and all the couples joined hands. The dance was slow and had plenty of opportunities for long lingering touches. Despite the crowd, Harry and Hermione never took their eyes off each other. They were aware of only the two of them moving gracefully around the other dancers.

Harry found himself fascinated with her every move: the shyness in her glances, the effortless charm of her warm smiles, the feel of her tiny hand in his. At one point he lifted and spun her and slowly brought her to the ground. For a moment, she was fully in his arms, her body flush against his, her hands entangled in his hair, her breasts pressing against his chest, her lips a hair’s breath away from his….

“Hermione,” he whispered, lost in a sea of sensation. The music seemed to stop as he lowered his face to hers. Their lips had nearly brushed when she pulled away (unaware of his intentions) and resumed the dance steps.

Shaken, Harry finished the dance, overwhelmingly ashamed by what he’d almost done.

Merlin what am I doing…what was I thinking? he muttered as he left the dance floor before the song even ended.

When the dancing stopped, Hermione looked around for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Alone, she went back to her giggling circle of friends, silently waiting for Harry to join them.

Harry, meanwhile, raced to the men’s gilded lavatory, nearly tripping over the house-elf attendant as he rushed to the marble sink where he threw off his glasses and splashed the coldest water possible on his face. Berating himself for what had nearly happened, he stared into the mirror trying to shake away the thoughts that were plaguing him. Thoughts about Hermione kissing him, of moaning his name while his hands snaked up the front of her dress, of Hermione lying under him as he frantically tugged at the ties of her corset…

He groaned and knocked his head against the mirror a few times.

I have to control myself damn it…I can’t act this way around her…at least not until we’re engaged and then…

Harry froze. Engaged…what?

He’d never thought of marriage before, at least not favorably. And here he was, in the men’s room, his face wet and cold and numb, planning an engagement to a girl he’d known less than a month.

“Bloody hell, this is ridiculous,” Harry laughed harshly. The frightened house-elf looked on as the crazy wizard talked to his reflection.

“This has to stop.” Harry gritted his teeth as his resolve settled. “I’ve got to get out of Meriton.”

6. The Morning after the Ball

Chapter 6: The Morning After the Ball

Author notes: Another short post. Thanks for the reviews. I read them. I cherish them. You guys blow me away with your support.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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

It was nearly midnight, and the ball was still in full swing. Champagne corks were popping and all the guests had begun singing Christmas carols.

Try as she may, Hermione couldn’t celebrate along with the rest of the partygoers. She hadn’t seen Harry since their dance and, though she’d never admit it aloud, the excitement of the night had lost much of its color. Restless and slightly hurt by Harry’s sudden departure, she managed to steal away unnoticed as Tonks flirted with Lupin and Ron spoke quietly to Luna.

Hermione was jostled about as she made her way through the rowdy crowds. She couldn’t help but laugh at her thoroughly soused neighbors who gaily cried out slurred holiday greetings as she passed. Wanting to get away from the riotous cheer of the drawing rooms, she slipped through a pair of French doors leading to the courtyard.

The courtyard was covered with a thin layer of white frost that glittered merrily in the moonlight. The surrounding trees were stripped of their leaves and their branches were black against the shimmering ice on the ground. The night air was cold and crisp as it swept over her skin. She stood next to a stone pillar, staring into the night sky, grateful to have a few moments alone to sort out her feelings about Harry.

Just the thought of him made her stomach twist into knots. She hadn’t expected…well, any of it. He’d completely undone her. She was almost glad he’d disappeared; thinking clearly was hard enough without having to stare at his knowing grin and strong hands.

“And just why am I thinking about his hands?” Hermione furiously huffed. “He may be an infuriatingly handsome wizard, but he’s an abominably rude dance partner.” Hermione repeated this several times, trying to convince herself that any relationship with Harry would be insupportable. They were far too different at heart, and besides, the man drove her crazy at every turn.

She heard the French doors open and close behind her but kept her eyes on the courtyard, lest she catch some mischievous couple sneaking out for a midnight rendezvous. She heard footsteps approach her and felt a familiar hand on her waist. Her heart leapt, and she could see her quickened breaths fog against the starry sky.

“Hermione…”

She felt Harry’s warm breath against her neck as he whispered in her ear.

Hermione refused to turn around. She made that mistake last time, and she wasn’t going to repeat it.

His lips brushed against her lobe and his hands ran along her sides.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut as his lips traveled from her ear to her throat and began gently suckling the sensitive skin there. Her back was still to him, and she could feel the hard planes of his chest and arms as he held her tightly. Hermione knew she should push him away. Or slap him. Or both simultaneously. But all thoughts of resisting him vanished as Harry gently traced her cheek with his fingertip. His lips eventually replaced the pad of his finger, and he dotted her jaw with light kisses. She melted against him as he tenderly tasted her.

“Hermione,” Harry said in a strangled voice against her cheek.

Hermione made a noise that almost sounded like “yes?”

“Tell me to stop,” Harry begged against her flushed skin. He tilted his head down over her shoulder and his lips brushed against the corner of her mouth.

Hermione tried to say “stop” and “Harry” but her willpower was dissolving right along with her vocabulary. All she had to do was turn her head slightly and their lips would meet. Images of him pressing her against the column and wildly plundering her mouth suddenly barraged her mind and she moaned aloud.

“Hermione,” Harry repeated. His voice was laced with urgency.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but just couldn’t find the words.

She closed her eyes as an overwhelming dizziness overtook her. She felt herself sway unsteadily and fall forward. She waited for Harry to catch her, but he didn’t. She just kept falling and falling into darkness and didn’t know when she would stop…

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

Hermione awoke with a start. She sat up and looked around at her blurry bedroom before groaning and collapsing back against her pillow.

“Thank goodness,” she muttered under her breath, grateful it had only been a dream. A horribly confusing, improper, out-of-character dream.

The sun was streaming through her bedroom window, but instead of rising with the new day, she drew the yellow comforter over her head and miserably muttered against her sheets. Annoyed at the noise his mistress was making, Crookshanks twitched his tail and snuggled against his own satin pillow on the floor.

Crookshanks fell asleep fast, but Hermione tossed and turned as the unwelcome memories of the ball came flooding back: After her dance with Harry, Ron received a note from his steward informing him that Harry had retired from the ball early. Ron told Lupin, who told Tonks, who told Luna, who told Hermione, and Hermione’s eyes immediately fell to the dance floor, and she wondered what she’d done to offend him.

However much disappointment she felt, Hermione hid it well. She laughed along with her friends and danced perfectly every time she had a partner, but she was more than a little relieved when her aunt announced that it was time to go.

Luna seemed especially despondent at the prospect of leaving. Ron, in turn, planted a kiss on her hand and said he would call on the Grangers very soon. Lavender of course was breathless and a little tipsy at the night’s end and very reluctant to leave as well. Only Hermione seemed happy to arrive home. Although the rest of the family stayed awake to giggle and gossip about the evening, Hermione climbed the stairs and crawled into bed without saying goodnight to anyone.

Impatient with her restless mind, she staggered across the sunny room and changed into a day dress. However long she’d slept, she still felt tired. No. She felt worse than tired. She felt numb. She felt an aching dullness in her chest and a vague disappointment she couldn’t place.

She spelled her unruly hair into a loose bun and joined her family downstairs for breakfast. She was certain they’d talk of nothing but the ball for the next few weeks, and she braced herself for the endless rehashing of the evening, although she doubted she could feel worse than she already did. But when she entered the morning room, she was greeted with a chorus of cries and moans.

“Oh what do you think?” Aunt Aurora asked shrilly as Hermione took a seat. “The Weasleys are going away!”

Hermione sat up. “What?!”

Luna spoke up, her quiet voice tranquil and even as ever. “They Owled us this morning. They have business in London that they say can’t be delayed.”

“And Remus will leave with them, I just know it.” Aunt Aurora lamented, “Oh, how could this happen? How could this happen to us? How could they do this to me?!”

Hermione ignored her aunt’s wailing. “When are they coming back?” Hermione asked Luna.

Luna shrugged but kept her eyes on the table. “They don’t expect to come back.”

Aunt Aurora gave another cry and buried her face in her hands.

In the midst of her family’s panic, Hermione refused to think about how Harry Potter factored into the Weasley’s impending departure.

Lavender piped up, “The Weasleys are going away, Remus is going away, the militia is going away. Everyone’s leaving!” Lavender moaned as tears rolled down her cheeks. Aunt Aurora joined her, letting out another shrill cry because no Weasleys or Lupins or militia meant no husbands or suitors for anyone.

Although she remained silently staring at her plate on the table, it was Luna who worried Hermione the most. Hermione wrapped an arm around her.

“Did Ron mention anything last night?” Hermione asked.

Luna turned to Hermione and shook her head. “No. He just said he’d come to call on us soon.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, he did. And you know he’ll keep his word.”

Luna smiled weakly. “Hermione, he didn’t give his word.”

Oh, Luna. I don’t have an answer for that. I don’t have an answer for any of this, Hermione miserably thought as she pulled Luna into a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione muttered. Luna wordlessly buried her head against Hermione’s shoulder.

For once, all the Granger women had something in common: broken hearts.

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

7. Disappearing/Reappearing

Chapter 6: Disappearing/Reappearing

Author notes: Sorry I haven’t posted in a while. I’ve been on spring break! Whoot whoot! Needless to say, I’ve learned a valuable lesson about editing with a hang-over (i.e. Don’t do it). Sadly, I’m still not satisfied with this chapter, but there comes a point when you just need to post the darn thing and move on.

So, Ok. Thanks for all the reviews. You guys encourage me in a million different ways. And believe me, right now a little encouragement goes a long way. Anyhow, a common complaint has been that the chapters are too short. As much as negative reviews make me cringe, I appreciate the input. It’s not like they have a manual for this stuff. So, to overcompensate, this is the longest chapter so far. Enjoy.

On another note, try to remember that the magic in the 1850s was ‘old fashioned’ and ‘different.’ Thus far, Hermione doesn’t have a wand and Harry doesn’t have a broom. That’s just how the story unfolded in my mucked-up mind. Hermione does wandless magic. Harry takes the bus. Period. End of discussion *crosses arms and refuses to budge one inch on the wand/broom issue*

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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

After the hasty departure of the Weasleys and Harry Potter, Meriton seemed as quiet and quaint as ever. The Granger household went on much the same as before. Lavender busied herself with dressmaking, Luna practiced her music while Hermione buried herself in the library. Occasionally the sisters would take a turn around the town or a walk in the woods, but with the cold and drizzly weather, they mostly kept indoors.

It came as a surprised to most, but Remus Lupin ended up staying on after the Weasleys left. Aunt Aurora was sure it was because Luna or Hermione had made some sort of conquest; however, after a few days without a word from him, Aunt Aurora gave up all hope of having him for a nephew-in-law.

“I don’t understand it,” a frustrated Aunt Aurora cried. She threw her hands up and collapsed into a dining room chair. It was the day before Christmas Eve and she knew that if Remus didn’t visit today, they might not see him again til after New Years Eve.

The girls wearily looked up from their lunch of cold duck sandwiches and braced themselves for another Lupin-rant. Lavender silently dragged her finger across her throat, a signal that Hermione understood to mean “kill me now.”

“I’ve heard it from Miss Hester, the innkeeper herself,” Aurora continued forlornly, “Remus Lupin checked into the Golden Compass a week ago and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Maybe he’s App-arating into his room,” Lavender suggested, giggling at her difficulty with the word.

Aurora shook her head. “Miss Hester won’t have any of that new-fangled magic at her inn. She’s put wards up against it.”

Hermione raised her teacup to her mouth to hide her frown. “I’m sure he’s just staying with a friend,” Hermione said, impatient with her aunt’s obsession with Lupin.

“No. He’s absolutely not,” Aunt Aurora assured her. “Miss Hester’s been checking his room everyday, and all his things are there. He’s left everything behind. Every. Last. Item. Even his wand!”

“He left his wand?” Hermione asked, so surprised she nearly jostled the cup in her hands. Wands were almost impossible to come by. Hermione had been saving up for years to buy one, and it seemed incredible that Lupin should leave his behind in a dingy hotel room.

“Perhaps he’s attending the Winter Solstice Celebration,” said Luna. The event was a good twenty miles away, but knowing the sort of debauchery that took place there, it was fairly common not hear from the participants for a good week or two afterwards.

“Remus isn’t the Winter Solstice type,” Lavender piped in eagerly. “At the ball, Seamus challenged him to a dozen firewhiskey games, but Remus said ‘no’ every time. He’s just an old-stick-in-the-mud. There’s no chance he’s there.” Lavender ignored Hermione’s stern glare and continued: “Although it’d be awfully funny if he were. I mean, imagine! Remus at the Solstice Celebration. Ha!” Lavender laughed at the thought of Lupin living it up with the fraternities of wild wizards that attended.

“You’re right my dearest. Besides, we would’ve heard something if he’d gone,” sighed Aurora.

“Do you think he’s in trouble?” Luna asked with wide eyes. “Or hurt? Maybe we should tell someone,” Luna’s voice was full of concern.

“No let’s just wait and see,” Aunt Aurora told her. “We’ll give it another few days. The poor man doesn’t need a bunch of nosy women following him about.”

The girls smiled at the irony of that statement coming from Aunt Aurora.

But Hermione thought it very curious that Lupin should disappear like he did. She mulled it over as they finished their meal in silence.

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

Later in her room, Hermione was still turning Lupin’s disappearance over in her mind. She didn’t think there was anything necessarily sinister about it. Sweet and serious Lupin didn’t have a sinister bone in his body, but his absence was certainly odd. She wondered if perhaps Tonks had heard from him and took a piece of parchment from her desk to Owl her.

Her letter-writing was quickly forgotten, however, when Lavender burst through the door and bounded into the room. She knocked Hermione’s quill away, grabbed her arm, and demanded that Hermione take her shopping. Hermione tried to shake her off, by Lavender was determined to have her way.

“Oh please,” Lavender cried, “I absolutely have to! I haven’t done my Christmas shopping yet.”

Hermione wrenched her hand free and let out an exasperated breath. The last thing she wanted to do was go into town with Lavender. On their previous little outing, she’d run into both Viktor and Harry. With the way things worked out, she didn’t feel like reliving that interesting experience.

“Lavender, I took you shopping just one week ago,” Hermione impatiently said. “And since when did your Christmas shopping become my responsibility?”

“Hermione, I never said it was your responsibility, but I can’t go into town without you or Luna and Luna’s too busy brooding and you’re always so good about picking things out and I really need to go today because tomorrow’s Christmas Eve and if we don’t go today I won’t have any presents for anyone and then maybe it will be your fault or Luna’s fault and I don’t want Luna feeling worse than she does about Ron and I can’t help it that Luna’s acting all gloomy and I don’t see why you have to be so mean about it because all I want to do is walk to town and we always have so much fun so what…”

“All right. Fine. Fine. Ok,” Hermione interrupted her. Anything, just stop talking…please…for the love of god…

Lavender squealed and jumped into her sister’s arms. She then grabbed Hermione’s hand and yanked her out into the hallway, squealing and laughing and describing the presents she was going to buy. Hermione put on a cloak and silently followed her sister out the door, hoping that their errand wouldn’t take too long.

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

Much to Lavender’s delight, the streets of Meriton were overflowing with Christmas cheer. The butchers were displaying their prize hams, the bakers were selling gingerbread cookies, and the dressmakers were unraveling spools of red and gold fabrics. But even with the festivities and merriment around her, the day seemed the greyest and drabbest of any that Hermione had seen.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Lavender asked as they neared the market.

Hermione didn’t answer. It wasn’t excitement she felt as she walked along the windswept streets. There was a joyful buzz about the town, but Hermione had trouble feeling anything except the dull numbness that had plagued her since the ball.

At least there’s no chance of running into Harry or Viktor this time, Hermione muttered. The regiment had left for Brighton and Harry had gone off to London.

Hermione grimly followed her sister into a rickety old magic supply store. The shop was packed with witches and wizards, and Hermione and Lavender had to squeeze past the shoppers just to make their way to the different counters.

Lavender “oohed” and “ahhed’ and stopped at an elaborate display that featured hundreds of floating color-changing ribbons. The ribbons fluttered and weaved amongst each other, resulting in what looked like a slithering ball of rainbow yarn. They came in every imaginable shade and even had holiday themes: greens and reds for Christmas, bright pinks and butter yellows for Easter, soft greens and light blues for the spring equinox. Lavender giggled and poked at the ribbons as they flapped by, but wasted no time in dragging Hermione to the next display which was lined with dozens of spelled Christmas ornaments: tiny bells that chimed on their own, sparkling metal stars that changed from gold to silver, porcelain angels that fluttered their wings, and an array of painted cake and cookie ornaments that smelled like they were freshly baked.

Lavender skipped from counter to counter, gleefully selecting several bright, overpriced objects and debating with Hermione as to their possible merit as Christmas presents. Eventually Hermione lagged behind, and the girls soon found themselves separated by the sea of eager children and exhausted parents.

Hermione took the opportunity to browse through a display of scented parchment rolls. There was nothing really special about them, except their manufacturers had taken a lesson from Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. The parchments came in vanilla, strawberry, peppermint, honeysuckle, sugar cookie, pine needle, bacon, rotten eggs, shrimp, vinegar, lamb, menthol, carrot salad and a dozen other odder varieties that included sulfuric acid and cattle. Hermione held up a roll, trying to figure out exactly what kind of person would want a cattle-scented parchment, when she overheard two village witches talking in nervous, rustic tones behind her.

“Yeah, well I ‘eard that it tore McDowells’ sheep to pieces,” a tall blonde girl said to her brunette friend.

“The Crumpets’ farm was attacked too. Lost three cows they did. Old Mr. Crumpet shot the thing twice and nothing happened,” the brunette replied in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Old Mr. Crumpet couldn’t hit water if he fell into a creek. Besides, you’ve got to kill ‘em werewolves with a silver bullet,” the blonde stated in an authoritative tone. “Otherwise, nothing ‘ll happen.”

“I ‘eard if it attacks you, you’ll turn into one.”

“Nah, you turn into a vampire. ”

The girls proceeded to argue the point until they were out of earshot.

Hermione shook her head, impatient with such superstitious nonsense. Everyone knew that werewolves, much like their cousin the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, simply did not exist. It seemed, however, that such things didn’t matter where village gossip was concerned.

Hermione frowned and put away the roll of parchment. Werewolves had never been part of the local lore, but apparently that was changing. But whatever the case, a mysterious ravenous creature on the loose was just one more reason not to buy cattle-scented parchment.

“Oh Hermione!” Lav jogged over to her and began shaking her shoulder and pointing out the window where a tall red cloak was standing on the sidewalk with his back to them. “Hermione! Look. It’s Viktor!”

Hermione looked, but she could only make out a red regimental uniform and a shock of brown hair. To her, all red cloaks looked alike. She never understood how Lavender could tell them apart.

“Are you sure?” she asked, squinting.

“Of course I’m sure.” Lav bounded toward the window, rapping against it until Viktor turned around.

“Viktor!” Lav called his name loud enough for the entire store to hear. “Viktor!” she waved and motioned for him to come inside.

Lavender was upon him the moment he entered the store.

“Oh Viktor, I’m so glad to see you. I missed you at the ball. I was counting on you for at least three dances.” Lavender giggled girlishly. “It was ever so dull.”

“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” Hermione replied dryly.

“Well…” Lavender thought it over, “I did have a good time, but I would’ve had a wonderful time had you been there Viktor.”

Viktor bowed and smiled, but Hermione didn’t smile back. She just hoped Lavender wouldn’t encourage him to stay too long. His staring made her uncomfortable, and as it was, he was just one more unwelcome reminder of Harry Potter.

“Viktor, you have to help me choose presents for everyone,” Lavender declared, as she latched onto his arm. Before he could respond, Lavender pulled Viktor toward a collection of floating glass bubbles and immediately began asking his opinion.

Great, Hermione mumbled. The last thing she wanted to do was watch her sister flirt and giggle all afternoon. Hermione forced a smile when Viktor excused himself from Lav and approached her with his trademark grin.

“Hermioninny. How are you?”

“I’m fine Viktor. How are you?” Hermione asked without any hint of emotion.

“I am very fine.” He looked at her earnestly. “Very good now.”

Hermione nodded turned to a nearby window, hoping he’d leave, but Viktor remained stubbornly beside her. There was an awkward silence as they watched the shoppers rush to and from the stores.

I should try to make an effort to be sociable, Hermione thought bitterly. After all, he did warn me about Harry. Viktor said he wasn’t reliable, and maybe if I had been more guarded, I wouldn’t feel the way I do now…she trailed off, unwilling to admit exactly how she was feeling or why Harry Potter was the cause of it. Over the last few days, she’d hadn’t allowed herself to think about Harry at all. About Harry or his lovely eyes or his strong hands or his lopsided grin. Nope, no thinking here… Hermione rolled her eyes.

Hermione turned to Viktor with a slight smile.

“How is it you’re still in Meriton, Viktor?” Hermione asked politely. “I thought the militia was going to Brighton.”

“Zey are. But my unit has stayed on for another few weeks.” Viktor smiled. “I do not mind zo much. It seems Harry Potter has left town.”

Hermione nodded. “I know. He’s in London with the Weasleys.”

Viktor paused, studying her face: “From ze way he left, I suspect zat Harry Potter had some kind of romantic en-tangle-ment.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked uneasily. Her face began to grow pink.

“Harry Potter, vell, he does not like to get bound to a woman. How do you say, ‘tied down.’ Harry Potter iz probably running from some girl zee seduced.” Viktor shrugged, “It iz not unusual for rich men. En fact I heard that Harry has made his friend Mr. Ronald Veasley do the same.”

“Mr. Weasley?” Hermione asked, confused.

Viktor smirked. “I heard that Harry Potter removed his friend from a girl vith bad family connection.”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat and her hands clenched into fists. “Did you hear who the girl was?” Hermione asked, dreading the answer.

Viktor shook his head. “I only hear from Burrow caretaker that Mr. Veasley is ‘safe’ in London from the girl, thanks to hiz friend Harry Potter.”

Ronald Weasley “safe” in London from Luna? Hermione thought, completely outraged. Luna’s home with a broken heart and the whole time Harry’s been the cause of it. Horrible man. Worse than horrible. I hope I never see him again, because if I do I’ll turn him into a pumpkin…a pumpkin which I’ll stomp on til it’s goo! Hermione resolved as she tried to catch her breath.

She asked Viktor if he would walk Lavender home and rushed out of the shop and onto the sidewalk before he could answer. She’d never felt so angry and hurt. The composure she’d carefully maintained since the ball quickly crumbled, and she blinked back the tears welling up in her eyes.

Hermione was so upset that she didn’t notice when she pushed past a man with messy black hair and a green cloak.

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

The crowds roughly jostled her about as she stumbled along the sidewalk.

Hot tears ran down her face faster than she could wipe them away and soon she was blindly making her way through the sea of market-goers.

How could Harry do this to us? To Luna? I thought he cared about…I thought he… A choking sob rose in her throat and Hermione couldn’t finish before her thoughts dissolved into a puddle of self-pity.

The winter wind swept her white dress and unruly hair about her and nearly froze the teardrops on her cheeks. Trying to avoid the blustery wind gusts, the villagers around her ducked behind buildings and merchant stands, but Hermione walked on, oblivious to the chill in the air and the painful shoving of the passersby.

The icy howling of the wind finally roused her, and she came to a stop next to a flower cart full of pink witch hazel. Following the breeze, some pink petals shook loose and caught in her hair. Hermione dried her eyes with the edge of her blue cape and took several deep breaths, batting at the floating pink bits of flower. The cold air stung her lungs, and Hermione coughed, feeling weak and faint and completely miserable.

Hermione leaned against a brick storefront, wiping away her tears, shaking off petals, and trying to calm her hiccupping sobs. She caught her reflection in a store window, and for a moment, she didn’t recognize herself. The tragic girl in front of her didn’t look like Hermione Granger at all. Her dress was disheveled, her face was wet with tears, and her curly hair was windswept and dotted with bits of pink flower.

She groaned and shook her head, absolutely frustrated with herself. If one insanely handsome wizard could turn her into such a melodramatic fool, then she was a disgrace to her sex. She was just as bad as Lavender and Cho and all those other witches who burst into tears whenever the object of their affection found better ways to spend their time. How on earth could she let Harry Potter reduce her to this? To some pathetic, weeping maiden wandering blindly through town square, tearing and worrying her clothes like some biblical martyr. She was Hermione Granger for goodness sake. She wasn’t one of those sad creatures who turned their souls inside out for unworthy men. She had far too much common sense and self-possession.

Steadfastly gazing at her reflection, Hermione brushed her hair back and decided to put Harry Potter out of her mind for good.

“Honestly Hermione, grow up,” she muttered as she adjusted her collar and fixed her cloak. The girl reflected back at her was already looking less pitiful.

Hermione took a calming breath, feeling thoroughly up to the task of having nothing whatsoever to do with Harry Potter ever again. For the first time since the ball at Pomona Lodge, she was truly glad that Harry was in London where he could do no harm to her or Luna. The city was where he belonged in any case. Far far away in the city. But if, by any minuscule chance, their paths ever did cross, they would meet as common and less-than-indifferent acquaintances. And if, by any even more minuscule chance, they found themselves alone together, Hermione wouldn’t hesitate to tell Harry what she thought of him.

“Hermione?”

She heard somebody behind her call her name. Embarrassed and startled, she wiped away the last of her tears and straightened her dress, lest she meet anyone she knew.

“Hermione,” the voice was closer now and seemed strangely, horribly familiar.

She froze in the middle of adjusting her cuffs. No… I’m only imagining things, she told herself. It’s not Harry. He’s in London. He just has to be in London. There isn’t a higher power cruel enough to do this to me…

Hermione felt someone gently tap her on her shoulder. She turned and caught a glimpse of a painfully familiar green cloak.

Slowly, breathlessly, she raised her eyes, only to find Harry Potter smiling back at her.

“Hello Hermione,” Harry greeted her warmly.

“Hello Harry,” Hermione replied with a shaky smile.

Standing only inches from him, Hermione was reminded of just why she considered him “insanely” handsome, as opposed to just “moderately” or “tolerably” handsome. He wasn’t simply attractive, he was absolutely gorgeous, what with his untamed hair, and his clover eyes, and chiseled features. She suddenly realized that he was the perfect height for her. All she had to do was step forward and she could rest her head against his shoulder as he folded her in his arms.

They stood staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity. People bumped into them, but neither took notice of it. Without meaning to, Hermione anxiously tucked a few wild ringlets behind her ear and nibbled on her lip. Harry uneasily cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.

Each waited for the other to speak.

Tell him he’s horrible. Do it. Glare at him. He’ll hate the glare. You’re good at it. Go ahead, an internal voice (that sounded suspiciously like Tonks) urged Hermione. But Hermione just silently chewed on her lip, somehow unable muster up her icy indignation, what with Harry looking so bashful and handsome and all.

Harry took a deep breath and finally spoke: “You know, you nearly knocked me over back there.”

“Oh?” Hermione sniffled, surprised. “I didn’t see you.”

“It’s all right,” he assured her with a smile.

Hermione nodded slightly, not knowing what else to say.

“Here,” he said awkwardly. He held out a bundle of yellow winter jasmine. She hadn’t even noticed they were in his hand.

Harry smiled nervously. “I thought you’d like them,” he motioned to the flowers.

She felt her face grow warm as she took them, but she couldn’t help her blush. It was a sweet gesture that had caught her completely off guard. No one had ever given her flowers before, and it was incredibly ironic that Harry Potter was the first man to do so. She brought them closer to her face to smell them.

“They’re lovely Harry. Thank you,” she replied sincerely, speaking against the flowers. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she added softly.

“I wanted to Hermione,” he said simply as he locked eyes with her.

She swallowed hard and stared back at him, momentarily forgetting why she was angry with him, momentarily forgetting why she would ever want to be angry at someone who looked at her like that.

Oh for Merlin’s sake, stop looking at him, she told herself. Stop it now. Right. Now. Hermione Jean Granger. If you don’t stop staring at him I’ll…I’ll…do something to make you stop.

“Looks as though you have plenty already,” Harry grinned.

“Plenty of what?” Hermione shook her head.

He reached up to pluck a pink petal from her hair. His hand brushed against her face as he did so, and Hermione could’ve sworn that her skin tingled where his fingertip lingered on her cheek.

“Oh,” Hermione said, her face still tingling as he tossed the petal away.

The petal fluttered to the ground and an uncomfortable silence settled over them.

“So…how have you been?” he asked, shuffling his feet and looking at the ground in front of him.

She shrugged noncommittally as she kept her eyes fixed on her flowers. She knew if she spoke, there’s no telling what she’d say, although “I’m going to faint” or “I like flowers” were the most likely candidates.

“You look well,” he said slowly.

When Hermione didn’t reply, he swallowed hard and tried again.

“I went to your house to see you,” Harry began. “Luna said you’d be here.”

“Luna?” Hermione managed in a strangled voice.

“Yes, Luna. Hermione are you all right?” Harry asked, now concerned. He noticed the dried tear marks on her face and took a step towards her.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly as she backed away from him. “I’m on my way home now.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Harry offered.

“No, thank you, no. No, I’m…I just have to pick something up first and then … um …leave…I mean, goodbye.” Hermione curtsied and began trotting down the sidewalk, not knowing where she was going, just wanting to get away from him.

“Hermione, wait,” he called after her. He jogged to catch up with her, but she broke into a run and ducked between the passing townsfolk. Harry could see her coffee-colored curls bobbing through the crowd, but lost sight of her farther down the block.

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

Only when Hermione turned onto a quiet residential lane did she stop long enough to look behind her. She gave a sigh of relief when she saw Harry hadn’t followed her.

Eyeing the flowers in her hand, Hermione felt the warm blush still on her cheeks and shook her head miserably.

“I just have to pick up something first and then …um…leave…?”

Well done Hermione, she thought. One bundle of flowers and he has you stammering like a school girl. Honestly. You’ve translated Bathilda Bagshot from the original German and developed six levels of Selnor spells that Principal Pomfrey still hasn’t been able to Noxum, but yet you can’t seem to string a coherent sentence together when you’re with Harry Potter. You’re completely and utterly hopeless.

She groaned and began strolling aimlessly along the quiet neighborhood, taking no notice of the soft scent of the flowers or the bustle of the carriages that passed her. The air had a crispness that came right before it snowed and her footsteps echoed on the smooth cobblestones, but she was oblivious to everything except her own sad confusion.

Why on earth did Harry Potter come back to Meriton? And why would he bother talking to me of all people? And more importantly, why is he suddenly buying me flowers?

Hermione huffed.

And just why should I care what Harry Potter does? It’s ridiculous. He’s upsetting and awful and I just need to keep away from him from now on. And I’ll go on telling myself that until I get it through my thick thick skull.

She trudged along in no particular direction until the sounds of the city faded. The flowers hung carelessly at her side and, unbeknownst to Hermione, their loose petals fluttered to the ground, leaving a trail of yellow jasmine behind her. She walked on for hours, scolding herself for letting Harry upset her so.

She forced herself to recount his past rudeness: his comments about her at the Christmas party, his disappearance from the ball, his treatment of Viktor, his role in separating Ron and Luna, his thoughtfulness in buying her flowers, his incredible eyes, his strikingly handsome features, his broad shoulders, his likeable grin…

No! Stop it. That’s not helpful at all and you know it! She berated herself.

She restarted her list of why-Harry-Potter-is-absolutely-not-good-in-any-way, only bothering to pause when she heard the crunch of twigs under her feet. Startled, she looked up and groaned. She was on a gravel wagon trail in the wintry forest outside the city. Dead trees and bushes stretched as far as she could see.

“Oh, wonderful. Well done. I’ve gone and gotten off the road,” she said aloud, impatiently looking around.

“In fact, I’ve gotten off every conceivable road in the city…”

She was well outside Meriton. From the city skyline, she could tell she was about a mile from town. She gave a long sigh and began walking home, finding it a little hard to hurry along the ill-used forest path. She took unsteady steps as she hiked over the twigs and leaves and other debris from the overhanging branches. To make matters worse, her boots stuck a bit to the ground, which was packed with mud and ice from the last frost.

Sunlight filtered through the bare branches of the trees, and she could see the sky was orange and pink with an impressive sun set.

Hermione quickened her pace, anxious to get to town before dark. She remembered the village girls’ remarks about Mr. McDowell’s sheep, and (though she’d never admit to believing in such silly folklore) her walk turned into a slow jog.

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

The sun set quickly, more quickly than she expected, and Hermione’s jog became a frantic stumble as a dark dampness shrouded the forest.

The trail was completely black against the night sky and she couldn’t see the gnarled, exposed roots that were sprouted up along the path. The full moon offered a little light, but she’d had to Lumos one of the flowers Harry gave her. The simple, wandless spell wasn’t very powerful, but the circle of light that surrounded the petals allowed her to see the ground directly in front of her.

“Finally,” she sighed as she made her way up a rocky knoll. She saw the faint light from a street lantern and knew she was only a few hundred yards from the outskirts of town.

She’d started towards the light when she heard the sharp sound of a tree branch crack and break behind her.

She froze, suddenly feeling very cold and very alone.

She turned her Lumosed flower towards the noise, but the light didn’t reach far enough to see anything. She stood perfectly still, waiting for another sound (any sound) but nothing came. The moon cast shadows over the rickety branches that shook with the wind, and she thought she caught some movement behind a thick oak tree.

“Hello?” she called.

Only an eerie silence answered her.

Wearily she began backing away and before continuing on towards town.

She heard another sharp branch crack behind her. And then another. Without thinking, she broke into a full run.

“Oh dear Merlin…oh Cerce…” she gasped as she ran as quickly as she could. Her Lumos flower slipped from her hands but she didn’t stop to pick it up. She could hear heavy, tromping footsteps gaining on her, and her breath caught in her throat as she realized she might not reach city streets in time.

She turned back for an instant, able to catch a moonlit outline of large hairy figure bounding toward her.

She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

“Oh!” she cried as she suddenly collided with someone. They both fell in a heap to the ground.

When she got to her feet, she saw the figure of a man on the ground beside her. Too scared to explain, she grabbed him by his cloak and tried to pull him towards town.

“Run,” she managed in a choking voice. The town was so close…

“Please…” she begged, but he ignored her as he leapt to his feet with his wand drawn.

“Incendio!” Harry cried, shielding his eyes. A stream of fire barreled above the creature, driving it backward. Hermione turned away from the flames, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he held her to him. She prayed he knew how to control the spell. Even the newest Incendio curses had a perilous backlash.

The flames petered and died, and darkness once again overtook them. Her arms still around him, Hermione listened closely, waiting for the creature to attack again. A minute ticked by and, excepting the sound of their own heavy breathing, neither of them heard anything.

Harry took a deep breath and turned to her. “Are you all right?” he asked. From the tremble in his voice Hermione knew he hadn’t completely recovered yet either.

She nodded against his shoulder. She wanted to tell him she was fine, but her throat was dry and thick with fear.

He lifted her chin and studied her. She could feel his hand shaking as she looked into his eyes, which were watery and lined with concern.

“Can you walk home?” he asked her gently.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, but stopped herself. If she could, did he intend to let her continue on alone? She gripped his collar and lifted herself to him.

“Harry, don’t leave me,” she said softly in his ear. “Please…Harry…”

In response, he hastily scooped her up and encouraged her to tuck an arm around his neck. “I’m not going to leave you Hermione,” he assured her quietly. Whether by accident or design, his lips brushed her forehead as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. “I’m going to Apparate you home. Have you ever done that?”

Hermione shook her head. “Is it safe?” she asked. Not that it mattered. She was so weary that any transportation that allowed her to stay in his arms was more than welcome.

Harry nodded and recited the incantation. She closed her eyes as she felt a nauseating pull and heard a strange cracking sound.

When she opened her eyes, she and Harry were in the foyer of her aunt’s townhouse. The house was silent except for the sound Hildegard’s tiny footsteps hurrying downstairs to meet them.

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

“Oh Miss! Miss, what happened?” Hildegard cried as soon as she saw what was in Harry’s arms.

Harry answered for her. “She’s had a fall. We’ll need some blankets and brandy.”

Panicked, the house-elf scampered off without another word.

Hermione guided Harry to a nearby study. Harry set her down on a large, overstuffed couch that faced a massive fireplace. Hermione looked on as he wordlessly undid her shoes and cape and wrapped a woolen throw around her shoulders. He muttered a quick spell to light the fireplace and knelt beside her.

“Is that better?” he asked softly as he rubbed her arms to warm her up.

Hermione nodded. She was still in shock, but forced a trembling smile as he stroked her cheek.

He shrugged out of his own cloak and took a seat next to her. He tucked an encouraging arm around her waist, and Hermione lowered her head back to the crook of his neck, too tired to care about any lack of propriety.

Brushing a stray curl from her face, Harry rested his chin atop her head and brought her snug against him. They both took a deep breath and finally began to relax. They sat in silence for several minutes until Hil (anxious that her Miss have everything she needed) brought in several glasses of warm brandy, tea, milk, sherry, wine and a pile of blankets.

“Thank you Hil.” Hermione’s voice cracked. “Where is everyone?”

Hil directed the floating platter of glasses onto a coffee table in front of them. “Miss, they go to Septima’s for dinner.”

Hermione nodded weakly. It wasn’t unusual for the Grangers to dine with Septima Vector. Aunt Aurora could never resist her spontaneous little soirées.

“Miss Luna think you go see Tonks,” Hil explained, wringing her apron. “Should I get Aunt?”

“No Hil,” Hermione muttered. She didn’t need anything she didn’t already have. Her glance inadvertently fell to Harry at the thought.

“Can I get Miss or Sir anything else?”

They both shook their heads and Hil left them.

Harry handed her a snifter of brandy and she carefully sipped it. The warm amber-colored liquor felt wonderful as it soothed her raw throat. The fireplace cast an orange light on them both, enveloping them in some much needed warmth. As she watched it flicker, she realized that the fire didn’t offer much comfort. It only reminded her of Harry’s Incendio curse. She stared into the flames, reliving those few frightening moments before turning to her rescuer.

Mustering up what was left of her courage, she cleared her throat and set down her glass.

“Thank you Harry,” she said gratefully as she met his gaze. She boldly raised her lips to his face and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Blushing, she shrank back as far as his encircling arm would let her.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered, surprised by the kiss.

“Did you see it?” she asked as evenly as she could.

“See what?” Harry replied carefully.

“That thing that attacked us.” Hermione shook her head. “I’m sure I’ve never seen anything like it.”

There was a long pause before Harry answered.

“I don’t know what I saw,” Harry slowly replied. “But thank God I got there in time.” Harry tightened his grip on her and shivered a bit. Hermione wondered if he’d caught a chill and shifted closer.

“How did you find me?” Hermione asked.

“I followed your trail,” he said grimly.

“My trail?” Hermione was confused. “What? Did I leave behind breadcrumbs?” she asked with a weak smile.

Harry shook his head and gestured to the bundle of flowers sticking out of the pocket of her cape. “I just followed the yellow bits of flowers into the woods.”

“I walked all over the city Harry,” Hermione said, shaking her head.

Harry looked into the fire, clearly embarrassed. “I used a spell,” he muttered.

“Why go to all that trouble?” Hermione asked softly.

“Your aunt was worried when you didn’t come home.” Harry stared at the fireplace, refusing to look at her as he spoke.

“How did you know I didn’t come home?” Her voice was faint against the crackling of the fire.

Harry turned and locked eyes with her. “Because I waited for you,” he answered hoarsely.

“But why?” her voice was barely above a whisper.

He leaned in, stopping inches from her face, staring into her upturned eyes. He was about to answer but seemed to think better of it.

Without a word, he cupped her cheek and kissed her.

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

8. Surprises

Surprises

Author notes: First, thanks for the reviews. They really keep me going. Writing seems to get harder and harder with every new chapter, so I welcome any and all critiques/advice/ compliments. Keep in mind that I’m uploading two chapters at once. Chapter 9 will be up immediately after this shorter one is. Strange? Yes. But it’s my vision and I pretty much do what I want, when I want.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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

Hermione’s eyes opened wide when she felt Harry’s mouth press against hers. She immediately pulled back with a surprised gasp.

“Harry…?” Hermione’s breathy whisper was cut off as Harry captured her mouth again. She sighed as a delicious shudder ran through her body. She couldn’t help it. The feel of his lips was incredible; supple, aching, moist, warm, perfect. His lips slowly opened against hers and the feel of him tenderly stoking her mouth sent a toe-curling trill down her spine.

She melted against him, gripping his lapel and gasping as she breathlessly returned his kisses. Her eyes closed as she lost herself to Harry’s caresses. His soft mouth gently explored hers; his strong hands tickled the back of her neck; his faint noises made her heart flutter. She knew they shouldn’t be doing this. It was unbelievably irresponsible, but she couldn’t stop to save her life. She wanted more. More touching, more tasting. Just more.

Harry’s lips continued to move against hers, and Hermione gave a needy moan that offered encouragement to him. He pulled her into his lap, pressing his mouth more firmly against hers as he cradled her.

She returned the kiss ardently, surrendering to the urgent pulse that now had her enraptured. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her hands tangled in his hair. She could feel Harry’s lips working their way down her throat and fastening onto her neck as he planted feathery kisses on every inch of exposed skin. Burying her hands in his hair, muttering his name and guiding his kisses along her collar, Hermione’s only coherent thought was that she never wanted him to stop.

“Hermione,” he said softly, brushing her cheek with his fingertips.

“Hmmm?” Hermione murmured. “What…Harry?” she asked, her breath catching in her throat. She opened her eyes and found herself looking up into his endlessly green ones.

“Marry me Hermione,” he whispered.

“What? Marry…um…” she managed to stammer. She swallowed and tried to form whole words. “You want to marry me?”

“Yes, I do,” Harry said with a gruff voice full of emotion. “Very much so.” His mouth closed over hers once again, and she was lost as his lips coaxed hers into a slow dance. Hermione fought to control herself, finding it harder and harder as he teased and nipped and ran his hands roughly along her sides.

“Harry, we…” Hermione pushed him back so she could see his face. “Are you serious? You really want to marry me?”

Harry softly touched her face. “I’m in love with you,” he replied simply. His eyes shone tenderly as he stroked her cheek.

He lowered his face to hers, intending to give her a thorough kiss, but she pulled away and sat at the other end of the couch. However much it pained her, if she was going to have a sensible conversation with him, she had to put some distance between his lips and hers. Though she tried to appear calm, her heavily flushed face and hiccupping gasps betrayed any semblance of composure.

“Were you in love with me when you went to London?” she asked unevenly, determined to understand exactly how Harry felt for her.

“Yes,” Harry admitted, “I left because of you. Because I love you.” His hand came to rest on her shoulder, “And I came back for same reason.”

Hermione uncertainly eyed his hand on her shoulder. The fact that Harry went to London because of his feelings for her somewhat substantiated Viktor’s account of it. Hermione wondered if what Viktor said about Harry’s involvement in separating Ron and Luna was also true.

Oh shut up brain, she grumbled as she studied the man sitting across from her.

Although part of her desperately wanted Harry to simply silence her suspicions with another slow, deep, wonderful kiss… another part (the more sensible-sober-frustratingly-Hermione part) needed to know the truth. She swallowed hard and set her jaw, determined to find out.

“What about Ron?” Hermione asked directly.

“No. I’m not in love with Ron, Hermione,” Harry said with a half-grin.

“But why take him with you to London?” she asked slowly. “The Weasleys left with you.”

Harry studied her but didn’t answer.

“He had nothing to do with me. So why force him to go too?” Hermione persisted.

Harry still didn’t answer.

“You wanted to separate him from Luna,” she said dejectedly, now sure of it.

Harry released her and looked at her sternly. Hermione often received that look from the schoolmaster when she was being too clever for her own good.

“Hermione, I didn’t ‘take’ Ron with me. There were no chains or lockboxes involved.”

“He only left because you convinced him that Luna’s family connections would humiliate him,” Hermione said, exasperated with the hypocrisy of it.

“I convinced him of nothing of the sort. He simply asked if I thought your sister felt favorably towards him.”

“And?” Hermione urged.

“And I said no.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Any particular reason why?” she asked through gritted teeth.

Harry shrugged. “I saw them together, and Luna always appeared disinterested and distant.”

“That’s because you don’t know her!” Hermione angrily protested as she stood up and paced around the room “Even I have difficulty understanding what she’s really feeling.” Arrogant assuming bastard, she thought. And now poor Luna’s suffering for it…“There’s not a sweeter or more selfless girl in the whole of England Harry, and now her heart’s broken.” Hermione shook her head. “Doesn’t that bother you? Doesn’t that affect you in any way?”

Harry paused to think about this, and Hermione looked around for a blunt object to throw at him.

“My opinion about their friendship had nothing to do with my feelings about Luna or about your family. It was just my honest and indifferent opinion.”

“Indifferent?” Hermione laughed harshly. “Very indifferent I’m sure. If she had a dowry and a title, perhaps you wouldn’t have felt so indifferent about it.”

“That didn’t stop me from feeling this way about you,” Harry pointed out gently. He rose from the couch and took a step towards her.

“But Harry,” she was frustrated as she took a step back, “how do you know what your feelings are towards me. You say that you love me and yet I feel like I know nothing about you.”

Harry didn’t answer. All the tenderness drained from his expression, and his new (but familiar) coldness gave Hermione cause to go on.

“Harry, it’s as though there are two sides to you, and one part is selfish and disagreeable while another part…”

“Is that what Viktor Krum’s been telling you?” Harry snapped angrily, interrupting her.

“I’m sorry?” Hermione asked, slightly insulted.

Harry narrowed his eyes and repeated his question more slowly: “Is. That. What. Krum. Told. You.” His eyes darkened as he spat out Krum’s name.

“I didn’t need Viktor Krum to tell me you’re a disagreeable prat. I found that out for myself.” Hermione’s patience waned with his accusatory tone. “And how do you even know about Viktor?”

“Oh, it’s just ‘Viktor’ now is it?” Harry’s voice was laced with derision. “I saw you and that blasted fool in town today.”

“He wasn’t the only blasted fool in town today,” Hermione replied archly.

“Well that’s fairly obvious.” Harry’s voice grew louder as he returned her angry stare.

“This has nothing to do with Viktor Krum. This is about marrying a man I know nothing about!” Hermione’s volume now matched his.

“Shall I ask Krum if you’ve made it a habit of kissing men you know nothing about,” Harry bellowed at her.

Harry felt a sudden slap and a silence descended on the room. It happened so quickly he wasn’t sure if he’d just imagined it. He looked into Hermione’s wide-watery eyes, saw her hand rise, and felt the same smart sting on his face a second time.

Harry lifted his hand to his cheek, rubbing the sharp pain there.

“Get out,” she said, not bothering to wipe the tears off her face.

Staring at her with an unreadable expression, Harry nodded. Without a word and without looking back, Harry grabbed his cloak and stormed down the hallway towards the front door.

As the door slammed shut, Hermione sank down onto the sofa. Whatever warmth she’d felt by the fireplace soon faded. She covered her face with her hands and tried to hold back the sobs that were rising in her throat. But one sob escaped. Then another. And another. In no time she was lying on the sofa, crying bitterly. She had never been so ashamed with herself, but ashamed she was. Ashamed that she had been so utterly compromised by a man and ashamed that she wanted nothing more than to crawl back into Harry’s arms and lose herself in his embrace.

9. Letters and Letdowns

Letters and Letdowns

Author Notes: In my mind, chapter 8 and 9 were separate, but in the final stages of revising, I realized that the last post was too short to be on its own. Oh well. I’ve never let “logic” or “coherence” or “common sense” stop me before. Besides, I’m not willing to compromise my vision for nuthin. So here it is, uploaded ten seconds after I posted the last one. I hope all you people who gave me “WTF it’s too short” reviews before seeing this chapter feel silly. And I hope that all you people who gave me “it’s great” reviews live long happy lives.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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

Hermione awoke to a loud banging on her bedroom door. Squinting, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. She saw that it was still dark outside. The moonlight poured in through the bay window and the dying fire in the small fireplace cast shadows to the four corners of the room. After muttering a spell, a few of the candles by her bed flickered to life. She pulled her robe around her and padded to the bedroom door.

“Hello?” she called. She waited but no one answered. She undid the latch and pulled it open.

Harry Potter was standing there. Standing there like it was the most natural thing in the world to be standing in her doorway in the early morning hours.

“Harry?” she asked as he forced his way past her. She shook her head, sure she was dreaming.

His hair was messier than usual and his clothes were disheveled. But none of that mattered because he was in her bedroom. In HER bedroom. Hermione shook her head, amazed. Why was he in her bedroom?

“Harry what are you doing here?” she demanded. It was only hours ago that they’d parted after their fight. She was sure that Harry would be in London by now.

She pulled the belt of her robe tighter her as she followed him inside. It must’ve been three in the morning. “What time is it?” she asked, rubbing her eyes again, still not sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Harry remained silent as he turned to her. In one swift motion, he had her in his arms and was lifting her to him. His arm snaked around her slight waist and his hand moved up her back. He gripped the back of her neck and she could feel his fingers tangled in her loose curls. Suddenly she couldn’t care less what time it was.

“Harry…?” she asked, breathless. Her legs were suddenly useless and she held his collar for support. He pulled her closer, until she could feel every hard plane of his body through her thin nightgown and robe. She felt a heady pulse as his eyes flicked down to her lips. “Harry…what…?”

He crushed his lips against hers before she could finish. There was no pretence of tenderness in his kiss this time. His mouth devoured hers hungrily, and Hermione moaned as he roughly tasted her. Hermione held on tightly to his collar as his mouth slowly pried hers open. Hermione felt his tongue against hers and the sensation sent her reeling. She knew she should resist him, but she was too overwhelmed with the feel of him against her to even pretend to want to stop.

Everything was as earth-shattering as she remembered. His lips, his hands, his taste. Without thinking twice, she wrapped an arm round his neck while the other snuck under his jacket and felt the hard lines of his chest against his shirt.

She hadn’t noticed they were moving until the wall was pressing against her back. Her hair bunched around her shoulders and he buried his face in her neck, his lips latching onto the soft skin of her throat.

She’d never felt like this before. Somewhere inside her, a hot aching desire was welling up and it was almost painful to hold back.

She groaned as he tightened his grip on her neck and as his lips began working their way down to her throat. Suddenly, dozens of white points of light began dancing in front of her eyes. For a second, she hazily thought it was snowing and she’d left the window open. But the pieces became larger and larger and she soon realized that the walls were caving in. Bits and pieces of their plaster were falling like confetti around them.

“We broke the house…” was her last coherent thought before everything faded to black.

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

Hermione sat up, suddenly awake. Her heart racing and a thin sheen of sweat on her brow, she put her hand on her chest as she struggled to catch her breath. Her body was still pulsing and she could feel a blush on her cheeks.

“Well, that was…interesting,” she said weakly as she swallowed hard and shook her head. Her throat was completely dry and her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Blinking at the gray daylight coming in through her bedroom window, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and noticed she still was wearing the same clothes she wore yesterday. The details of the night were fuzzy, but she remembered staggering in from the study and collapsing, fully dressed, on her bed.

She had begun unlacing her uncomfortable collar when she was startled by a loud knock at the door.

“Go away,” she choked, the words sticking in her throat.

The knocking continued, louder than ever, and Hermione hurried to her door. The dream was still fresh in her mind, and her hand shook as she opened it.

Don’t be ridiculous Hermione, she told herself. It was only a dream. Dreams don’t mean anything. Mrs. Trelawney says otherwise, so you know it’s true.

Still, she was somewhat relived when she saw Lavender’s bright “good morning” grin.

“Breakfast time!” Lavender chirped in a merry voice.

“Lav,” Hermione said with a forced smile. “I’m really tired. I think I’ll to skip breakfast today.”

Lavender shook her head. “Oh no you don’t. I’ve got the biggest scoop, and you absolutely have to come downstairs to hear it.” Lavender leaned in and lowered her voice. “And by the way, you look bad. Really bad. Don’t they have a cream for that?” Lavender pointed to the non-existent dark circles under her own eyes.

“Lav,” Hermione replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve just had the worst night of my life. The least you could do is let me sleep a little while longer.”

“Blah blah blah. Stop talking and come down to breakfast.” Lav said, flipping her hair and flashing a letter from Parv under Hermione’s nose. “I just got a letter from Parv and she’s going to tell us all the juicy news from Brighton.”

“Sounds peachy,” Hermione grumbled, closing her door and staggering back into bed. Rubbing her sore neck, trying to sort out exactly what happened the night before, she groped for the covers and pulled them up to her chin. She vaguely recalled stumbling out of the study and climbing up the back staircase when her family came home from their dinner party. She then proceeded to have the most horrible, fitful night’s sleep of her life. Hermione must have relived her encounter with Harry a dozen different times in a dozen different ways. All her dreams ended differently of course. They fought. He left. Sometimes he came back; sometimes he didn’t; sometimes Hermione started throwing things at him.

Upsetting as it was to relive their argument, the dreams had all been fairly harmless. Except for the last one. That last, rather unsettling, rather arousing one. She vowed then and there never to run out of dreamless sleeping potion again.

Whatever dreams she had, Harry hadn’t returned. He’d left without a word, and she cried herself asleep on the sofa in the study. Through her hazy, vague sadness, the scene between her and Harry played out in her mind, somehow taking on the characteristics of one of those silly stage plays that Tonks was always dragging her to.

-Downstage: Incensed, offended young man stares angrily at young woman who has just refused his offer of marriage. The candle-lit study is silent except for the sound of their heavy breathing.

-The lights go out. There’s the sound of a slap. A door slams.

-The lights come back on

-Upstage: On the sofa lies the young woman, weeping. Stage lights fade to black. Audience groans with pity.

Hermione gave a frustrated sigh and ran her hands through her hair. Since when did her life resemble a melodrama? A badly written melodrama? What made matters worse was that, even in her head, the whole thing seemed completely unbelievable. Who could she tell? Who would believe her? The weeks of secrecy and tight-lipped repression were finally starting to take their toll. What she needed was an objective, calm, completely unconfused point of view. Unfortunately, after her mother’s passing, her only options were Tonks, Luna, Lav and Aunt Aurora.

So the whole situation is completely and utterly hopeless...she murmured against her pillow.

Once upon a time she could’ve curled up against her mother and lost herself in her softly spoken, comforting phrases. Four years seemed like a long time, but she could still recall the precious details of her mother with perfect clarity. Jane Granger was a warm, wonderful woman with hazel eyes, wild brown hair, and a talent for placating her three bickering daughters. But a carriage accident had torn her parents out of her life and thrown her and her sisters into an uncertain future with a flighty aunt.

Missing her mother terribly, Hermione pulled the covers over her head, finding solace in the darkness. She tried to imagine what her mother might say to her, something logical and tender no doubt, if only to counter her own endless irrationality and impatience.

*curling up in her mother’s lap*

Oh Mother, *tragic sniffle* everything’s gone horribly wrong.

What’s gone wrong Hermione?

Harry and I had a fight.

Sweetie, all couples fight.

We’re not a couple! *sitting up and frowning* And we never will be!

Really? Is that why you’re upset?

No, of course not! I don’t think about Harry like that. *long pause* Not really. Well, maybe once. Or sometimes. But not often.

So you’re attracted to him?

Oh mother *grumbles* honestly…

Well are you?

Um…Am I what?

Are. You. Attracted. To. Him? It’s not unusual for girls your age to start noticing wizards. Your father started courting me when I was nineteen.

Oh please don’t talk about Daddy that way.

You haven’t answered my question.

Of course I’m attracted to Harry. He’s attract-tive. Any girl in her right mind would think him handsome. But that doesn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t matter at all, should it? I’m not one of those silly witches who swoon and flutter and giggle and make a complete arses out of themselves over gorgeous men.

Long pause.

What Mother? I’m not.

Another long pause.

And so…well maybe I like his hair. And his eyes. And his shoulders… especially his shoulders. Have you ever seen his shoulders? And I do…sometimes…almost…like him. But it doesn’t matter because it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Like what?

*Hermione motions around her, as though the room would offer an explanation* Like THIS. Like all that’s happened. It was supposed to be…I don’t know. Conventional and respectable. With a real courtship and…not… all this.

Hermione, *chuckle* you’re impossible. And here I thought I’d have the most trouble with Lavender over men.

That’s horrible thing to say! I am NOT like Lavender.

Yes, you’re right. Lavender doesn’t overanalyze things the way you do. If you do like Harry, you shouldn’t be ashamed of it. You can’t plan for everything you know. Just be patient. These things have a habit of working themselves out.

But I don’t want things to work themselves out. Things have been working themselves out and it’s been awful. I want things to un-work themselves out.

All right Hermione, now you sound like Tonks.

Ouch… point taken…

Hermione groaned, completely frustrated with herself. Even in her mangled, imaginary conversations with her mother, she sounded ridiculous. She was worse than Lavender. At least Lavender kept things simple: see handsome man; drag him to the altar; be happy; stay pretty forever. The end.

But as nice as that simplicity sounded, Hermione couldn’t ignore her troubling doubts about Harry, and last night hadn’t helped in the least. His contradictory character seemed just as confusing and frustrating in the morning light as it did by the flickering fireplace. She still knew almost nothing about him, except that he was impetuous, stubborn, selfish, surprisingly sweet, and in love with her. And now she had firsthand knowledge that he was both heroic and an excellent kisser.

And no, you will not take a moment to reminisce about his kissing ability Hermione…

Snuggling further down into the blankets, she spent the rest of the morning doing just that. Trying not to think about kissing Harry.

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

“Lavender, calm down…” Luna’s melodious voice was muffled by the door.

“But I can’t believe it!” a shrieking voice that sounded like Lavender’s rang out. “Can you believe it Luna? Because I can’t. It’s just too too too much! Really, did you ever think…?”

Hermione paused and put her ear up to the swinging door of the morning room. It sounded like Lav was still recounting all the gossipy news from Brighton. Hermione sighed and brushed back a loose strand of her curly hair that had escaped from her untidy braided plaits. Standing in the hallway, somewhat disheveled and half-asleep, Hermione had enough presence of mind stop herself from going on in. Although the thought of coffee sounded wonderful, Lavender’s high-pitched squealing made her already aching head hurt more.

Hermione sighed and hurried past the morning room. It was just as well. Even without Lavender’s excitement, Hermione knew she couldn’t face her family yet. She was sure Hil told them about her supposed “fall,” and Hermione didn’t feel like making up some excuse as to why Harry Potter had been the one who brought her home.

Hermione grabbed her cloak and rushed outside. A slamming door and a few steps and she was down the block, striding along the cobblestone streets for a brisk morning walk. Gone was the bitter wind from yesterday, and in its place, dark clouds hovered over the horizon. Frost covered the iron fence posts, and the streets were still and eerily quiet. Although her favorite stroll had always been a grassy path through the woods, Hermione decided to keep her distance from any and all trails leading into the forest.

I’m sure there’s a smaller chance of being eaten on West Street, Hermione thought, eyeing the dark forest on the outskirts of town.

She made her way along the sidewalk, hoping that the crisp breeze and the fresh air would clear her mind a bit. But fresh air could only do so much. Her feelings for Harry were so confused and unnerving she was afraid that all the fresh air in England couldn’t help her.

She wasn’t twenty paces from her house before she heard somebody call her name.

“Hermione…?”

Startled, she turned and saw Harry striding towards her intently.

Oh dear goodness…why…what is he…why did he…?

Completely shocked, her breath caught in her throat and all she could do was stand as though stuck to the sidewalk as he approached.

But even with her overwhelming surprise, she could tell something wasn’t right. This wasn’t the dashing Harry Potter of her dreams. This Harry looked like he hadn’t slept at all. His face was ghastly pale and he was wearing the clothes he had on last night, except now they were wrinkled and tousled. Despite the determined line of his mouth and the formidable glint in eye, he appeared exhausted and miserable. In short, Harry Potter looked the way she felt.

Hermione expected to feel a sense of vindication. She waited for some small Tonks-like voice to say, Oh. Good. He should be suffering. He hurt my feelings and now he looks slightly less attractive. Ha. Ha. I win…

But try as she may, she could only feel a heart-wrenching concern. His skin wasn’t just pale, it was colorless, which only made the dark circles under his eyes all the more noticeable. His hair was tragically messy and his green eyes were devoid of their usual sparkle. His jacket and cloak were carelessly open, and the first few buttons of his wrinkled collar were undone. Even through the disheveled mess of his shirt she could make out the hard lines of his chest flexing against the white material…

…which is completely irrelevant to his health…she murmured as she lowered her eyes to the sidewalk.

He stopped a few feet in front of her, his face devoid of expression. Too tired to be intimidated by his blank stare, she patiently waited for him to say something.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope.

“Hermione,” Harry began in a low voice. “I’d like you to read this.”

He held out the letter, his eyes fixed on hers as she slowly nodded. Her fingers brushed against his as she took it and she noticed his hand felt like ice. She wondered how long he’d been waiting outside for her.

“Harry, your hands are cold,” she muttered without thinking.

By way of response, he shoved them into his pockets and studied the ground in front of him.

“Why didn’t you come in the house?” she asked quietly.

“I didn’t know if your family knew…” Harry trailed off.

“Harry,” Hermione replied, shaking her head, “You should’ve waited inside.” Anything was better than him standing out here in the dank chill. “You could get sick,” she added softly.

Harry said something about how “it doesn’t matter.”

The fell into silence, each waiting for the other to speak.

“I’d better…” run away “I have to…” stay away from you, they both began at the same time.

Embarrassed, Harry went on. “I’d better go.”

“Me too,” Hermione replied. She forced a smile. “I hope you have a happy Christmas.”

“It is Christmas, isn’t it?” Harry said with a chuckle.

“Christmas Eve.” Hermione gently corrected.

Harry nodded. “I’d forgotten.”

Hermione smiled, sincerely this time. “I’d forgotten too. With all that happened…”

“I know,” Harry interrupted her, not wanting her to finish. He held out his hand and she took it without hesitation. “So I’ll take my leave of you,” he gently squeezed her hand. “Goodbye Hermione.”

Before she could reply, he abruptly turned and walked away. Dark clouds rumbled above her, and she felt a few drops of rain on her cheek as she took one last look after him.

I should be used to his leaving suddenly by now… she sadly thought as she opened the envelope and took out the letter.

Hermione…

You needn’t worry whether this letter contains any repetition or renewal of my feelings for you. I’m not going to repeat those sentiments that last night were so unwelcome. Instead I’m writing in regard to your friendship with Viktor Krum…

Hermione quickly shoved the letter back into its envelope. She didn’t want to read the rest; she didn’t need to read the rest. The letter’s intentions were obvious: Harry was trying to free himself from any obligation to her. If his idiotic fantasies about her and Viktor were his excuse, then so be it.

Her hands shook as she crumpled up the envelope and raced up the steps to the front door. Rushing through the foyer and up the stairs, Hermione was grateful that she didn’t pass her sisters in the hallway. She knew she looked a fright and didn’t know how she’d react to their questions.

Slamming her bedroom door behind her and nearly stepping on Crookshanks, Hermione tossed the crumbled envelope into the wastebasket and dove back under the covers. She pulled the blankets over her head, trying to hold back her tears. She couldn’t deny it. When she’d opened the letter, she expected an apology, or some sort of civil explanation as to why he’d reacted the way he did. Something polite and gentlemanly. Something that would at least offer evidence of his professed affection for her. Not some sick insinuation about Viktor Krum. Not this crude, cruel end to…whatever this thing was between them.

Hermione curled up in a fetal position under the covers. It was beginning to feel nice, this hiding-from-the-world-hiding-from-herself habit she was developing. She wondered how long she could conceivably stay in bed. Until after the New Year perhaps. She was certain she’d be almost fit for human company by then.

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

Two Weeks Later….

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

“Hermione!” You’re not listening to me!” Lavender cried, smacking the counter. “This is IMPORTANT and you’re not listening to me at all! That. Is. Just. So. Rude.”

Hermione looked up from her cutting board piled with ingredients and tiredly apologized to her sister. It was quite true that Hermione hadn’t been listening to her, but that was only because Lavender had spent the better part of an hour talking without stopping to take a breath. Both Hermione and Luna were surprised she hadn’t collapsed from lack of oxygen.

Lav was perched atop the marble kitchen countertop while Luna was sitting on a barstool beside her. Earlier, Hermione had received a potions request for some Seriousness Serum and had spent the morning in the kitchen, cutting up peppermint and soaking hibiscus petals. She wasn’t used to working with Luna and Lavender hovering over her like this, but they seemed determined to keep her company whether she liked it or not. She hadn’t acted much like herself lately, and it hadn’t escaped her sisters’ notice.

Hermione was sure her sisters meant well, but right now she wished they would just leave her alone. The potion she was working on had a lot of components and she needed to concentrate. In any case, Lavender’s entire conversation consisted of only three things: Viktor, Brighton, and red cloaks. Lav had been invited to visit Parv for a few weeks and since then she spoke of nothing else.

“Hermione!” Lav exclaimed again, kicking the cherry wood cabinets under her. “Listen. To. Me!

“Oh, Lav,” Hermione sighed, putting down her grinding mortar and turning to her sister. She knew Lavender wouldn’t be easy unless she had her undivided attention. “Okay. I’m listening. Go on.”

Lavender smiled brightly and continued: “And so Parv said that I should bring at least a dozen gowns because they have parties and socials every night! Imagine. Me and a whole camp full of soldiers.” Lav sighed dramatically and leaned back against the counters. “Can you just picture it? I’m going to be presented to all the officers. And as a friend of the Colonel’s wife no less! Oh Hermione! To think that in only four days I’ll be in Brighton! I’m fairly sure I shall die of happiness.”

Luna, who was suffering from a mild cold, sniffled and patted Lav on the shoulder, happy for her sister and relieved that her own poor health prevented her from chaperoning Lavender’s visit.

Hermione, however, was less enthused about her sister’s trip. After what Lav had put them through over one poor regiment of soldiers, Hermione shuddered to think what silliness a whole brigade would inspire. Hermione kept her doubts to herself though. Lav didn’t have many chances to travel, and she had missed Parv’s company terribly. Besides, her husband Colonel Denny was a sensible man, and Hermione was sure he would look after Lav.

Lavender continued to talk about the dresses she would buy and the bonnets she would sew, which reminded her of a fashion newspaper she wanted to show them. Lav leapt from the counter and scurried off.

Luna and Hermione shared a smile as their sister’s fluttering skirts disappeared round the corner and silence descended over the kitchen.

“So, Luna. How are you feeling?” Hermione asked quietly, enjoying the momentary peace.

Luna shrugged and smiled. She was never one to complain about her health. “I’m feeling better, thanks to you. But I’ve had enough chamomile tea to last me the whole of the new year.”

Hermione nodded but didn’t reply. She returned to chopping up the peppermint. Gathering a handful of it, she sprinkled the leaves into the boiling caldron beside her.

Luna got up from her stool and leaned over the bubbling pot. “What’s in there?”

“It’s a combination of tansy, mint, essence of opal, and hibiscus oil,” Hermione answered absently as she breathed in its sweet scent.

She went back to her table and began chopping the peppermint again, relaxing as the aroma of the tansy and the heat from the cauldron filled the cozy kitchen. Over the last few weeks, Hermione had become quite adept at mixing mood-altering solutions. She brewed endless amounts of honeysuckle and licorice tea, wit-sharpening potions, hollyhock balms, passionflower oils, and calming draughts. In fact, since her argument with Harry, she’d taken to granting every potions request she’d received, no matter how silly: when Ms. Bones wanted a potion that would make her smell like gingerbread, Hermione happily obliged; when Mr. Diggory took it into his head to brew a firewhiskey that turned red and green, Hermione made a powder and provided detailed instructions on any skin-tinting side effects; when Mr. Filch wanted a elixir to make his snowman shout profanities at his neighbors, Hermione…well… Hermione ignored that one.

Hermione knew it was just her mucked-up way of trying to turn her thoughts away from Harry, but she couldn’t help it. She hated the desperate, empty feeling that had settled in her stomach since their parting. What made matters worse was that her treacherous mind was continually returning to that awful night, and her even more treacherous body reacted in strange, uncomfortable ways. Even now, as she sifted through the extra peppermint, its fresh green color reminded her of his emerald eyes and she spent a few moments reminiscing about their glow when he’d proposed to her

“Oh, I forgot, Luna said suddenly, interrupting Hermione’s thoughts. Luna sniffled and pulled out a letter from her pocket. “Tonks Owled you this morning.”

Blushing, Hermione wiped her hands off on her apron. Muttering her thanks as she opened it, she looked over the parchment before flipping it over and furrowing her brow.

“What’s wrong?” Luna asked.

Hermione handed her the letter. On it was a pattern of thick, indecipherable squiggles.

“It looks like finger painting,” Luna said, confused.

Hermione shook her head. “Only Tonks,” she sighed. Tonks always sent her the silliest owls. Hermione rolled her eyes when she noticed that her address had been written in pink crayon.

“Why do you suppose she sent you that?” Luna asked.

Hermione shook her head. “I couldn’t say. Her Owls are never serious, even when they’re legible.”

“It’s been forever since she’s invited herself over.” Luna observed thoughtfully.

“Nearly two weeks, but I think she’s gone to London with her parents,” Hermione replied. She could tell something was on Luna’s mind. “Is something wrong?”

Luna remained silent, playing with the radish charms on her necklace.

“What is it Luna?” Hermione asked, suddenly concerned.

Luna leaned closer. “I’ve just being hearing some…rumors lately.” She uttered “rumors” as though it were a curse word.

Hermione paled and fumbled the bowl of peppermint. She remembered her conversation with Viktor regarding the Weasley’s sudden departure and dreaded the thought of Luna overhearing something so horribly insulting.

“What kind of rumors?” Hermione asked gently, setting the bowl aside.

“About Tonks…and Remus,” Luna answered breathlessly.

Hermione’s face broke into a relieved smile.

“Let me guess,” Hermione began ticking off her fingers: “Remus and Tonks are passionately in love and secretly engaged and planning an elopement?”

Luna nodded to all three.

“Don’t worry Luna.” Hermione patted her shoulder. “Tonks actually enjoys that kind of attention. She’ll probably be delighted when she hears about it. She’ll dance her little happy jig and start bragging about her sudden notoriety.”

“Happy jig?” Luna giggled.

“You know, that dance she does when she gets what she wants. The one where she jumps up and punches the air.”

“That’s a dance?” Luna asked. “I thought she was having a seizure.”

They shared a laugh and settled into a comfortable silence. Hermione could tell Luna had something more to say, but Hermione didn’t encourage her to speak. Lately, she’d taken to avoiding conversations with her unusually insightful sister.

“Do you think it’s true?” Luna asked, careful to observe her sister’s reaction.

“About Tonks and Remus? No, it’s not true Luna,” Hermione replied. “If it were true, we would know about it before the rest of the town did. Tonks would burst through the door, announce her engagement and demand wedding presents right then and there.”

Luna thought about it. “I suppose so. But if it were true, would you mind so much?”

“Mind the marriage you mean?” Hermione was confused. “Why do you ask?”

Luna swallowed hard. “Well, I did notice that you seemed to like Remus, and he made you something of a favorite.”

“Me?” Hermione was surprised.

“Oh yes. At the ball, he asked you to dance more than anyone else, and he kept telling everyone how clever you are,” Luan said earnestly.

Hermione considered Luna’s point but couldn’t really take seriously the idea of Lupin’s being in love with her.

“Luna, if he did have feelings for me, he wouldn’t have stayed away as long as he has. I’m not even sure if he’s still in Meriton. It’s been weeks since we last saw him.” Her mind momentarily drifted towards Harry’s hurried return from London.

Luna had to agree with her sister. “Then what is it?” Luna demanded softly. “Why are you acting this way? We barely see you any more, and when we do it’s only when you’ve left the library long enough to brew a potion.”

“I’m fine Luna.” Hermione said quickly, taking her sister’s hand. “I promise. I’ve just…I’ve just been thinking lately.”

“Thinking about what?”

Hermione shrugged.

“You’re not happy Hermione,” Luna replied sternly, taking her hand away. “And don’t say you are.”

“You’re not happy either,” Hermione replied with a weak smile, but Luna refused to be baited.

“I’m happy enough,” Luna assured her. “But you…you haven’t been yourself at all.”

Hermione shook her head. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Luna looked her sister sternly (as stern as Luna could be), “What do you mean by that? You’re wonderful. You’re perfect the way you are.”

Hermione paused before taking off her apron. She crossed her arms and shook her head.

“Luna, you always think the best of everyone. Even me. I don’t deserve it.”

“Hermione what are you talking about? What’s happened? Ever since that night you fell you’ve been acting so strangely, and we’re all so terribly worried about you.” Luna rested a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “If there’s something troubling you, please tell me. Maybe I can help.”

As Hermione looked into her sister’s sincere eyes, a wave of guilt washed over her. Yes, her feelings had been hurt by Harry’s letter, but she never meant to make her sister worry so. Especially since there was nothing really wrong with her, nothing that a little time couldn’t heal.

Luna thought for a moment. “Does this have anything to do with Harry Potter?”

Hermione nibbled her lip, not wanting to lie to her sister, but not quite ready to admit the entire truth.

“He’s the one who brought you home that night you fell. Did something else happen?”

Hermione nodded and swallowed hard. “We…we had a…disagreement.”

“You quarreled?” Luna asked wide-eyed.

Hermione nodded again. “I don’t know how it started, but suddenly we were shouting at each other. We said the most horrible things.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as all that,” Luna said, not really sure of it herself.

“I called him a disagreeable prat,” Hermione admitted.

“You did not!” Luna stifled a giggle. However much she disapproved of Hermione’s choice of words, Luna couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of Hermione calling proud Harry Potter a “disagreeable prat.”

“I’m sure he deserved it,” Luna assured her as recovered. “Besides, you never made it a secret that you disliked him.”

“Well, after what happened, he seems to share my sentiments,” Hermione said miserably.

“So what if he does? Why should that matter? You never once desired his good opinion, so why are you upset that you’ve lost it?”

“I don’t know!” Hermione exclaimed. “All I know is that I can’t stand the thought of Harry Potter being alive in the world and hating me. Even if he is a disagreeable prat.” Hermione threw up her hands in frustration.

“You’re so odd Hermione,” Luna replied as she folded her sister into a hug. Hermione couldn’t help but agree, even if it was coming from Luna.

For the first time, Luna and Hermione finally took a moment to share in their grief. Their hug ended only when Lavender noisily skipped back into the kitchen, carrying her fashion magazines and a dozen color-changing ribbons. All three girls spent the rest of the afternoon drinking tea and debating which ribbons looked best with Lavender’s caramel-colored hair.

Hermione had to admit, it was the best, most ordinary day she’d had since Harry left. She went to sleep easily that night, relieved that she was finally starting to put the whole ugly mess behind her.

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

The next few days went by slowly for Hermione until Tonks stopped by on a dreary morning. Hermione was reading in the study when she heard Tonks’ chipper voice resound through the hallway. The door flew open and Tonks barged in without knocking.

She was wearing a bright orange dress and sporting a new blue-black hair color. Her eyes were shining and her cheeks were rosy. She looked like she was brimming over with happiness.

“Hermione!” Tonks’ excited shout resounded through the room. She jumped onto the sofa next to her. “Hermione I’ve been wanting to see you for ages and ages. I’m so glad you’re home. So tell me what you think!”

“What I think?” Hermione asked with a chuckle. Although Tonks’ exuberance could be a little trying, Hermione was glad to see her cousin. “Well, I liked the blonde, but the black suits you better. I think you did a nice job of it.” Hermione patted Tonks’ straight locks, wondering how she got them so smooth and flat.

Tonks looked at her, confused. “Not my hair silly, about me getting married.”

Hermione studied Tonks, wondering what brought this on. “Um…Yes, I think you should get married someday. It’s been known to happen to women of a certain age, and personally I’m not against the idea…” Hermione trailed off from her sarcastic speech when she noticed Tonks was staring at her with an opened mouth.

“Didn’t you get my Owl?” Tonks asked, exasperated.

“Yes I did, thank you. Your finger painting is always appreciated. And the crayon was a nice touch. Very elegant.” Hermione laughed.

“Finger painting?” Tonks pouted. “That was my best calligraphy.”

“Calligraphy? Well that explains it. Tonks, what ever was that for?”

Tonks shrugged. “Wedding announcements are usually written in calligraphy. Far be it from me to break tradition.”

“A wedding? What!” Hermione gasped as she sat up, hoping that this was another one of Tonks’ jokes.

“To Remus! Can you imagine? We’re getting married!” Tonks gave Hermione a tight hug.

Hermione pulled away and uncertainly eyed her friend. “Tonks, you know you have to be engaged before you get married, right?”

“Ha ha,” Tonks said, rolling her eyes. “Yes, thank you Hermione. I’ll keep that in mind. And yes, I’m engaged too. So there. Hmmm.” Tonks stuck her tongue out.

“You’re engaged to Remus?” she asked doubtfully. “Does he know about this?”

“He should know, it was his idea,” Tonks said impatiently. “You really really don’t believe me do you? You think I’m making it all up or joking or something?”

Hermione uncomfortably shifted in her seat. She could tell that Tonks was (for once) being perfectly serious.

“Are you sure? I mean, is it all settled?” Hermione asked, stunned.

“Yup, we’re getting married from Godric’s Hollow and then going to Grimmauld Place for the honeymoon.” Tonks sighed. “I really can’t believe it.”

Hermione couldn’t believe it either. “Godric’s Hollow?” Hermione repeated, shaking her head. “Harry’s house? Why are you getting married at Harry’s house?”

Tonks shrugged. “Remus said Harry insisted. Besides, it’s loads closer to Meriton than Grimmauld Place.”

Getting married? To Remus? And moving to Grimmauld Place no less? Somehow it didn’t seem real. Hermione shook her head. Tonks couldn’t get married. She just couldn’t. She was Tonks. Crazy playful Tonks. And getting married to Remus of all people. They seemed so mismatched…

“You’re not congratulating me,” Tonks impatiently pointed out.

“I am… I mean, I will,” Hermione assured her. “It’s just so unexpected. I haven’t seen you or Remus for weeks and now this.”

Tonks just stared at her. “Ooooh, I see,” Tonks said, offended. “You think I’ve tricked him into this, right? That I lured him away with my feminine wiles and bagged the unsuspecting man behind your back. I’m the corrupting young temptress, and Remus is the unworldly gent I’ve seduced. Oh, right, yes, I see. It’s all so clear now.” Tonks crossed her arms and fumed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Tonks don’t be ridiculous. You’re not a temptress.”

“Well why not?” Tonks demanded. “I’m absolutely tempting. I’m thoroughly seducer-able. I’m one of those girls. You know, what do they call them? It’s a French word…” Tonks trailed off, lost in her own thoughts.

Feeling her Tonks-headache coming on, Hermione rubbed her temples. This was without a doubt the most awkward conversation she’d ever had with Tonks, and Tonks had quite a knack for starting awkward conversations.

“Tonks,” Hermione began, “you two hardly know each other. He’s, well, he’s Remus and you’re… well, you’re Tonks and…”

Hermione stopped herself. Pieces of her own, somewhat more coherent, speech to Harry came to mind and she felt a twinge of regret and resolution. If Tonks was willing to take such a chance with Remus, then Hermione resolved to support her in every way possible. Remus seemed a decent enough man, and Tonks was obviously elated about it. Besides, if anyone could take care of herself, it was Tonks. The girl was fearless, and Hermione knew marriage wouldn’t change that.

Hermione took a deep breath. “Congratulations,” she said sincerely.

Tonks squealed as Hermione hugged her. “I can’t believe you couldn’t read my Owl!” Tonks chuckled.

“I can’t believe you’re engaged,” Hermione retorted playfully.

“I know.” Tonks sighed. “It’s really odd. I feel like it’s forced me to grow up a little bit.”

Hermione nodded solemnly, but broke out into laughter when she couldn’t keep a straight face.

“It’s true!” Tonks insisted, as Hermione held her sides and wiped away a tear.

“No, no it’s not. Not really,” Hermione replied between giggles.

Tonks pouted and insisted she was grown up until Hermione’s laugher subsided.

“So,” Hermione said, trying to catch her breath, “have you set a date?”

Tonks shook her head. “We’re thinking maybe sometime next week.”

Hermione didn’t think she’d heard correctly. “Next week? Next week as in next week. This coming next week? The week after this one?”

Tonks nodded

“But why so soon?”

“Why not? Remus has to get back to Grimmauld Place, and I’m the most impatient person on the planet. It actually works out well.” Tonks grinned. “And besides, the sooner I leave, the sooner you can come and visit! I can’t wait to see Grimmauld Place. Oh, that reminds me, I made an appointment at the dressmakers. It’s for my wedding dress. I’m thinking… um…white maybe?” Tonks wriggled her eyebrows. “Or not.”

Tonks pulled her off the sofa and started shoving her down the hallway before she could say anything. “Now come on Mione. We’re late.”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” Hermione asked as Tonks pulled her along.

“‘We’ as in ‘us,’ as in plural you and me. We’re getting fitted. I’m the bride and you’re the maid of honor and today’s our first fitting. Or, actually, it was five minutes ago. So come on. And bring Luna and Lav, I need bridesmaids. And presents. Don’t forget presents. It’s going to be great.” Tonks gave an evil grin. “I hope you guys like chartreuse because that’s what you’re wearing.”

“Wait. Wait, Tonks,” Hermione shrugged out of Tonks’ grasp as they came to a stop at the front door. “I’m nowhere near ready to leave. And Luna can’t come, she’s just getting over a cold. Furthermore, Lavender’s leaving to visit some friends in Brighton so she won’t be a bridesmaid at all.”

“Oh poop,” Tonks pouted. “That’s so like them. Completely unreliable. They’ll owe me twice as many presents for being such flighty little spoilsports. Imagine. Ruining my big day with their snooty ‘plans’ and ‘diseases.’ Bah.”

Unfazed, Tonks darted out the front door shouting a “meet you at Pearl’s Boutique” behind her.

Hermione weakly waved after her and climbed the stairs to her room, trying to sort out what just happened.

Although she wanted to be happy for Tonks, she still felt doubtful about this hasty engagement. Lupin was…well Hermione didn’t know much of anything about him, and now he was whisking Tonks away to a far off estate.

Spelling her hair into a neater braid, Hermione took another deep breath and decided to simply accept the match. Everything was apparently settled between them. It was Tonks’ decision in any case, and goodness help the person who stood in the way of what Tonks wanted.

After lacing up her boots, she grabbed her cloak and ran out the door and down the street. As she hurried along the sidewalk, she couldn’t help but harbor a vague sense of dread about the upcoming week. If the ceremony was taking place at Godric’s Hollow, Hermione would certainly see Harry again. She didn’t know which was worse, an overexcited-bride-to-be Tonks or another encounter with Harry Potter. When she walked into the bridal shop and saw Tonks holding what looked like an eye patch and a fake parrot, Hermione’s vote fell to bride-to-be Tonks.

10. Godric's Hollow

Chapter 10: Godric’s Hollow

Author’s note: Okay, so I learned my lesson: no more double posts. I got a few emails with subject lines reading “wtf? Did you skip a post because THIS MAKES NO SENSE!” But, yeah…chapters 8 & 9 were uploaded at the same time because I’m an idiot.

Although nothing will ever EVER top the soul-crushing-tumble-in-the-abyss-of-writer’s-remorse that came with the last chapter, this one was also struggle because I had to take a break from all the Harry-Hermione angst and further the stupid plot along. Also, right now I’m finishing up another (non HHR) fiction and I’m already brainstorming for my next HHr story (just so you know, my brainstorming consists of eating cheetos while watching Far from Heaven for the umpteenth time). The downside is that everything’s kinda screwed up in my head regarding P&P. Dammit. This was supposed to be my HHr opus and I’m crapping it up. Darn you attention span! Darn you to hell! Anyspoo…we’re getting to the glorious reunion and the mushy stuff it entails so stay with me folks.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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

“Stop squirming Miss Granger,” Mrs. Niddlemark mumbled through the pins in her mouth. Mrs. Niddlemark was Pemberley’s foremost dressmaker and had no tolerance for fidgeting bridesmaids.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione apologized as she shifted uncomfortably in her slip, flinching as Mrs. Niddlemark pricked and prodded her. Tonks, Hermione and Mrs. Niddlemark were in one of the guestrooms at Godric’s Hollow. Hermione was being measured and fitted for the third time in six days. Her poor body was nicked and bruised beyond recognition, and Mrs. Niddlemark showed no signs of stopping.

But Mrs. Niddlemark’s relentless pricking was far from Hermione’s biggest worry: the wedding was tomorrow, and Hermione hadn’t the faintest idea of what the dresses were going to look like. Tonks had gone through an array of wedding themes over the last week: French Baroque, Renaissance, Oriental, and pirate. Every style of dress involved different fittings, so Hermione had to undergo several trips to the dressmakers, each time being measured in different embarrassing places for different embarrassing dresses. By the time Tonks finally settled on a Celtic theme, she and Hermione had to leave for Godric’s Hollow. Luckily, the house lay just outside the seaside village of Pemberley, a quaint seaside town that had an esteemed bridal boutique. Its owner, Mrs. Niddlemark, assured them that the dresses would be ready in time for the ceremony.

A few more pricks and measurements and the final fitting was done. An aching Hermione slowly dressed herself.

“You’ll look great in the fabric I picked out, Mione,” Tonks assured her as Mrs. Niddlemark left. “The color’s amazing. You’ll adore it.”

“Um … I’m sure I will,” Hermione said, not very sure at all. Knowing Tonks’ fondness for outlandish colors, Hermione couldn’t help but feel a little doubtful. “I still can’t understand why you’re so intent on having a Celtic wedding.” Hermione’s voice was muffled as she put her dress back on.

“Because it’s a beautiful part of my rich Scottish heritage,” Tonks replied, flipping through the pages of a fashion newspaper from London. “And the sleeves on the dresses are beyond fantastic.”

“But you’re not Scottish. Your father’s family is from Lyme and your mother’s Italian.”

“So?”

“So…” Hermione slowly explained, “Celtic weddings are for people of Celtic descent. That is, people who understand the rituals and traditions and who actually know what the word ‘Celtic’ means.”

“I know what ‘Celtic’ means,” Tonks replied impatiently. “It means ‘giving the bride whatever she wants on her wedding day,’ which just happens to be the task entailed on the maid of honor, which just happens to be you.”

Hermione held her hands up, admitting defeat. Once Tonks had an idea in her head, it was impossible to convince her otherwise. Besides, anything was better than a Renaissance theme, or goddess forbid, a pirate one.

Hermione decided to leave Tonks to her newspaper and have a look around the house. They’d only just arrived the day before, and Hermione hadn’t gotten a moment to herself. She’d barely had time to Owl Luna, whose cold had turned into a mild flu thus preventing her from joining them. Lavender was off visiting her friends in Brighton, so she was absent as well.

Other causalities of Tonks’ impromptu wedding were her parents, who wouldn’t be there until the day of the ceremony, having had to cut short a trip to Berlin. Sir Sirius couldn’t come at all as he was speaking at a conference in Moscow; however, he sent his congratulations along with several sparkly presents for Tonks (who was more than satisfied with his apology).

Hermione wandered down the vast hallways, taking her time to study the floral carvings on the intricate wooden molding. Godric’s Hollow itself was a large, Tudor styled mansion, with dozens of rooms covered in mahogany panels, thick red rugs, and heavy velvet curtains. It certainly seemed well-equipped for the harsh winters of the region with tidy fireplaces in every bedroom and cozy overstuffed furniture awaiting any shivering inhabitants. She thought a person could spend a very comfortable winter here and understood why Lupin wanted to use it for the ceremony. Odd-sounding name aside, it seemed the perfect place for a snowbound retreat or a cozy hideaway for a couple just starting out.

Yet, however much she liked the house, it just didn’t seem like the sort of place Harry would live. She’d expected something dark and forbidding and incredibly masculine, but with its richly upholstered floral furniture and antique colonial paintings, the place was devoid of anything resembling him. As she ambled down its hallways, she looked for some trace of him amongst its Olde World charm, but found none. It was as though he’d carefully avoided imprinting any part of his personality on his home. Hermione felt a twinge of disappointed that the man still remained such a mystery to her. She was hoping the house would reveal something of his character, or more specifically, something that would better prepare for seeing him at the ceremony.

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

After wandering a bit, Hermione settled herself on a window seat in the second floor drawing room. It offered a picturesque view of the hazy wintry seashore that glittered in the faint sunlight. Freshly fallen snow covered the rocky shores, and the crashing waves appeared white against a misty gray sky. Hermione admired the snow-covered prospect until Lupin happened upon her.

“And there’s the maid of honor,” Lupin greeted her cheerfully.

“And here’s the groom-to-be,” Hermione smiled, rising from the window seat as he shook her hand.

“How do you like the house Hermione?”

“I like it very much Remus. I can understand why you wanted to use it for the wedding. It’s very cozy.”

Lupin nodded. “I’m glad you like it.” He paused before going on. “But there is something I’ve been meaning to show you. If you have a moment that is.”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed and followed him out into the hall.

Lupin took her to one of the neglected wings of the house where giant portraits of the Potter family lined the walls. Dressed in funny, old-fashioned clothing, the figures in the magical portraits were yelling curses and screaming obscenities at each other. Lupin had to shout in order for Hermione to hear him over their bickering. He never understood how the hundred-year old portraits (some of which had been hanging on the same walls for decades) still had so much to say to each other.

“Although it hasn’t been used since Lily Potter’s passing, this is a very important part of the house Hermione!” Lupin cried over the noise and motioned to the paintings. “I wanted to give you a proper introduction to them, lest you wander through on your own and wonder what sort of insane family Tonks has aligned herself with.”

Hermione started to laugh but abruptly stopped herself.

He’s not laughing. Why isn’t he laughing? He’s joking…he must be joking…right?

Lupin led her down the hallway, oblivious to her concern.

“James Potter was a cousin of Sir Sirius Black’s,” Lupin yelled. “Together they started the Black Trading Company over twenty years ago. You’ll find several members of the Black family along these walls.” Lupin stopped in front of a large portrait featuring a young man with dark curly hair and a severe expression. He was wearing hunting clothes and was holding a large rifle. “Take this one for instance. This is Sir Regulus Black, Sirius’s brother.”

“Sir Regulus Black?” Hermione repeated loudly.

As she spoke, the other portraits immediately ended their bickering and craned their necks to see who the new visitor was. The sudden silence was ominous and slightly spooky.

Hermione cleared her throat and adopted a normal tone of voice. “I read about his death years ago in the newspaper.”

Lupin nodded. “Yes. It’s something of a mystery actually. We still don’t know how he died…”

“I’ll tell you how,” Sir Regulus interrupted him. “‘Twas those damn pixies! They come for me in my sleep I tell you. They crawl all over me and in the morning no one believes me. They say ‘Oh Regulus, your windows are barred and your doors are bolted, how could they get in?’ Oh but pixies have their ways, they do. They have their ways, you be sure of it lass…”

Sir Regulus trailed off and his rant came to an end.

Lupin shifted uncomfortably. “He was always, you know, a little odd,” he explained.

Hermione muttered an affirmative noise as he ushered her on.

“This is Belvina Black, another cousin of James’. She was known for her talent in potions-making. Somehow she ended up with one of the rarest wands ever made, the Elder wand. It has a core of Thresal tail hair and they say that whoever wields it will never lose a duel.”

Impressed, Hermione studied the tall dark-haired woman, who was indeed holding an intricately carved wand. She was painfully thin and had dark circles under her eyes. Clutching her wand tightly, Belvina looked uneasily around at the other portraits, lest they try to steal it.

“What happened to her?” Hermione asked wearily, not really sure she wanted to know.

“She…well…she exploded,” Lupin explained with a sigh. Sometimes, recounting the Black family tree was like trying to describe a potion that went disastrously wrong. “She was so worried that someone would steal her wand, she decided to…er… swallow it.”

“Of course,” Hermione said wearily, trying not to offend the woman in the portrait, who was now staring at them. “That way, absolutely no one can use it,” Hermione offered with an uneasy smile.

The woman in the portrait nodded vigorously as she possessively gripped her wand. “My precious,” she cooed as she stroked and nuzzled it. “The precious…”

Hermione and Lupin softly stole away as she continued her loving ministrations.

“Remus, who’s that?” Hermione asked, pointing to a very small picture of a sad-looking man sitting in a chair.

Lupin looked pityingly on the portrait. “That’s Andrei Krum, a very honorable man to be sure. He helped manage Godric’s Hollow until he died seven years ago.”

“Krum?” Hermione muttered to herself. Viktor’s stories about Harry suddenly came to mind, and she desperately wanted to find out more. The portrait didn’t cooperate though; Andrei Krum simply sighed and slouched further into his chair.

“Why does he look so unhappy?” Hermione carefully asked.

Lupin lowered his voice. “Well, he had a son who turned out rather badly.”

“Oh?” Hermione hoped he’d go on.

Lupin hesitated for a moment but decided to tell Hermione the whole story. He’d rather tell her straightaway than have her hear about it by way of village gossip.

“His son Viktor grew up at Godric’s Hollow,” Lupin explained. “James Potter was very fond of Viktor and sent the boy to school at Durmstang after Andrei died. James had hoped the young man would eventually work for the Black Trading Company, however, young Krum decided to practice law instead. James, fine fellow that he was, put aside some money for his education.” Lupin shifted uncomfortably.

“But Krum never attended law school. Instead, he went to Harry, as James was no longer living, and asked for the money in a lump sum. Harry agreed, but about two years ago, Krum wrote to Harry for more money. Harry refused to give him a sickle unless Viktor proved himself responsible enough to obtain a position of employment…” Lupin trailed off.

Hermione nibbled her lip, anxious to hear more.

Lupin cleared his throat and continued. “And so Krum, well, fashioned a sort of resentment for Harry. Viktor somehow managed to…er…court a young lady who worked in one of our Herbology wings at the company. Her name was Georgiana Thomas. Harry had been friendly with one of her older brothers at Hogwarts. She was passionate about Herbology and Harry persuaded Sirius to hire her on during her break from school. Viktor became friends with young Georgiana and somehow convinced her to slip a small amount of moonstone into a batch of dragon hide accelerator.”

Hermione gasped, “But that’s fatal. That could kill anyone who uses it.”

Lupin nodded an agreement “Yes, well, unfortunately the poor girl didn’t realize what she was doing. Several people were injured and a few lost their lives. Afterward…” Lupin shook his head as he trailed off.

“What Remus?” Hermione urged him to continue.

“Georgiana killed herself out of remorse. She was only fifteen years old,” Lupin’s voice caught in his throat.

“Dear God Remus…” Hermione’s hand covered her mouth. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t believe that Viktor was capable of something so hurtful, something so inherently evil, just to spite Harry.

“What about Viktor Krum?” she demanded angrily. “What happened to him?”

“Without the young lady’s testimony, there was nothing we could do. We believe he’s gone into the army, but there’s no use in pursuing the matter.”

No use pursuing the matter?! Hermione silently cried. Choking back her indignation, she calmly followed Remus down the hall, but inside she was overflowing with anger. Of course Viktor was so open about disliking Harry, slander and impropriety were the least of his crimes. How could she have been taken in by such a man?

Hermione excused herself from Lupin and ran to her bedroom. She slammed the door behind her and began pacing furiously around the room, trying to sort out what Lupin told her. If Victor was really behind the sabotage and the girl’s suicide, then he was nothing less than a murderer! How on earth could Viktor be strolling round the streets of Meriton, flirting with her sister and spreading evil rumors about Harry? It seemed inhuman. Viktor seemed inhuman. In any case, his treatment of Georgian certainly was. Hermione’s heart went out to the girl. She was so young, barely Lavender’s age, and Viktor had used her as a pawn in his sick revenge against Harry. And poor Harry. He no doubt blamed himself for her death.

“Why didn’t Harry just tell me?” she asked herself with a pitiful laugh.

She suddenly remembered the letter he gave her and groaned at her own stubborn stupidity. When Harry had written about her “friendship” with Viktor, he’d obviously intended to her warn about Viktor’s character. Assuming the worst of him, she had thrown his letter (along with his good intentions) into the wastebasket.

She now realized that Harry was just trying to help her…help her again that is. It appeared no matter what, Harry was always endeavoring to protect her. He seemed determined to spare her pain, no matter how much she resisted him.

So between discovering Viktor’s a criminal and I’ve been a complete fool, which one comes as a bigger surprise? Hermione asked herself.

Unable to decide, she (the complete fool) huffed and sank into the chair of her desk. Her mind was racing and she thought she might go mad if she didn’t do something… anything. She tore a piece of parchment out of her notebook, grabbed a quill, and began scribbling a letter to Luna.

Luna,

I’m sorry for the lack of obligatory pleasantries. Mind you, I do hope you’re feeling better, but I’ve just heard the most dreadful news. Viktor Krum’s story about Harry is completely untrue! I know you warned me against believing any of it, but I’m afraid I let my baser feelings about Harry cloud my judgment. Not only is his story utterly false, it seems that Viktor did great harm to a friend of Harry’s, simply for the sake of his sick revenge. All sense of decency seems to have drained out of me just thinking about it. If Viktor were here now, I’m afraid I’d actually Crucio him, or at the very least hit him over the head with something heavy. Perhaps a polo mallet or a Beater’s bat.

Please don’t bother responding with niceties about how I’m being harsh on myself. I should’ve seen through Viktor’s lies. I deserve none of your sympathy, and yet, I do wish you were here with me now. You are one of the few people who I really love, and one of the fewer whom I really like. It seems the more I see of the world, the smaller that circle becomes. Every day seems to confirm my belief in the inconsistency of all human character, especially my own.

Please write back as soon as you can.

Your Devoted Sister,

Hermione

She had just signed her name when she heard Tonks calling from down the hall.

“Hermione! Harry’s here. If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to spread strawberry jam all over the library shelves and say you did it!”

Oh of course he’s here. Wonderful timing as usual Harry, Hermione muttered, reaching up and feeling the flush on her cheeks. She hastily folded the letter and sealed it.

Still shaking, she stood and examined herself in the mirror. Her white gown was somehow unwrinkled despite her pacing and frantic letter writing. She patted her hair and applied a curling charm to neaten her corkscrew curls. Pleased with her outward appearance of composure, she grabbed her letter and headed in the direction of the foyer. She dropped the envelope in with the outgoing Owls as she hurried round the corner.

Tonks and Lupin were standing by the front door waiting for her. Tonks greeted her with a hug: “Harry’s here, and more importantly, he’s brought presents!”

Hermione smiled brightly, not wanting Tonks to see her agitation.

Just try not to faint until you get back to your room, she sternly told herself, trying to calm her heavy breathing. Between the shock of discovering Viktor’s crimes and the anticipation of seeing Harry again, she didn’t know how she was going to get through the evening

At the moment, all she could think to do was to act as polite and pleasing and normal as possible. She could sort out her feelings about Harry later. But “later” didn’t seem like much time at all. The wedding was tomorrow and she was leaving the day after that. There was no “sorting out later” where Harry was concerned.

Now that Hermione understood the reasons behind Harry’s angry outburst in Meriton, she felt compelled to set things right between them. Clearly she misjudged him, and Harry, in turn, had done the same with her. For her part, she’d stubbornly assumed the worst of him, and he’d acted like a hot-tempered fool about her supposed friendship with Viktor.

Recounting their idiotic behavior in Meriton, Hermione had to chuckle despite her nervousness. It suddenly seemed as if their characters weren’t as hopelessly mismatched as she thought. Perhaps there was a chance to salvage some sort of friendship out of the mess they’d made, although she hadn’t the faintest idea how.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the heavy front door swung open. Hermione gasped, surprised to see none other than a grinning Ronald Weasley walk into the foyer. But she only caught a glimpse of Lupin shaking his hand because her eyes were riveted to the other figure in the doorway. She took a deep breath and forced a smile as Harry Potter stepped forward to greet her.

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

“Hello all!” Ron cried, taking Lupin’s hand.

Hermione smiled as Ron greeted Lupin and Tonks; however, her smile (and her composure) quickly vanished. Suddenly Harry was standing in front of her and Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off him.

He was wearing his usual green cloak (which set off his unearthly eyes) and his hair was more adorably messy than usual. Although Harry hadn’t changed much in appearance, there was something different about him. Hermione couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something somehow…lighter about him, almost as if he were making an effort to curb his dark, brooding intensity.

But whatever assumptions she made in regard to his manner, his stoic disposition remained unchanged. He didn’t say a word to anyone; he just stared right back at her, and for a moment, despite the rush of greetings and servants and handshakes, the room seemed to have gone completely silent and calm.

Lupin laughed and said something to Hermione about her having the “misfortune” of already knowing the tall redhead beside him. Hermione broke away from Harry’s gaze long enough to give Ron a curtsy and utter a quick hello, but she didn’t hear Ron’s reply. By then Harry had stepped forward and Hermione was finding it difficult to form whole words.

“Hello Hermione,” Harry quietly greeted her. She couldn’t read his expression as he offered his hand, but she took it without hesitation.

“Hello Harry,” she replied softly. Her lips parted in surprise as he lifted her hand for a slow, languid kiss. She watched, fascinated, as his lips tenderly moved over her skin. For once she was glad her stubborn ringlets had fallen forward, as they hid the blush rising to her cheeks.

Harry held her hand longer than necessary before releasing it, and Hermione quickly tucked it behind her back, absently rubbing the tingly spot where his lips had been. Refusing to think about the softness of his kiss, she kept her eyes on the floor lest she stare at his mouth. His perfect, supple mouth…

Lupin said something about adjourning to the drawing room, and soon everyone was shuffling down the hallway. Hermione was the lone straggler. She was too busy berating herself to keep up with the others.

Stop it stop it stop it now, she told herself dizzily. Don’t you dare think about what just happened or about him or his lips or else I’ll turn you, I mean me, into something with no hands or lips so he won’t be able to kiss them ever again…

…she worried her bottom lip as she studied her hand… And just how does he do that? How can a simple kiss on the hand set my inside exploding. He has to practice that…plan it. Evil wizard. Worse than any dark lord…

Hermione was shaken out of her rant by Tonks, who grabbed her elbow and dragged her down a dark hallway before she could follow the others into the drawing room.

“What’s wrong with you?” Tonks demanded in a hushed tone.

“Nothing!” Hermione squeaked. “What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“You weren’t paying any attention back there. Remus was talking and all you did was nod and agree and completely ignore everything he said.”

“I didn’t ignore everything he said,” Hermione insisted. I heard something about Ron Weasley and… well that was it, but still…

Hermione sighed.

“I’m sorry Tonks,” Hermione apologized sincerely. “I’m not myself, but I’ll snap out of it. I promise.”

Tonks looked at her, surprised. “No, don’t stop it Hermione, really.”

“Don’t…what?” Hermione didn’t think she’d heard right.

“Staring and stuttering and being rude,” Tonks explained. “It makes me look so much better by comparison. I really want Remus to be proud of me, and if you’re acting like a tongue-tied arse, then he’ll definitely think the better of me for it. You know, pick of the litter and so forth. Ok?” Tonks flashed her a thumbs-up sign.

Hermione eyed her wearily. She’d long ago lost the ability to tell when Tonks was being sarcastic.

Tonks wordlessly pulled Hermione toward back toward the others, apparently eager for Hermione to make a complete idiot out of herself again. Hermione took a deep breath and let herself be dragged along, but she knew she couldn’t keep acting like this. If Tonks, the free-spirited Ariel of Meriton, thought she was being rude then something was definitely amiss.

Remember, she told herself as Tonks led her down the hallway, No staring. No stammering. Just be very calm and articulate. Especially the being articulate part. Talking: good. Staring: bad.

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

Steeling herself, Hermione followed Tonks into the drawing room and found that (in her eternal bad luck or good fortune) the only place left to sit was the one next to Harry. Hermione swallowed hard and kept her eyes on the Arabian rug as she walked towards him. She took a seat but Harry didn’t seem to notice her, his eyes were fixed on Remus who was going over tomorrow’s schedule.

Forcing herself to take long, deep calming breaths, Hermione helped herself to a cup of coffee from a floating tray.

“How are you Hermione?” Harry suddenly asked.

Hermione jostled the cup, surprised that Harry would even bother to speak to her. She quietly muttered an apology and wiped away the few drops that had spilled onto her hand.

Harry apologized as well and the two settled back into silence.

Harry cleared his throat. “So…how are you?” Harry asked again without looking at her.

“I’m fine Harry. Thank you. And yourself?” Hermione asked evenly, taking a sip from her cup, intent on showing Harry that she could speak to him and drink coffee at the same time without incident.

“I’m fine,” Harry answered without emotion. The two became quiet again, each waiting for the other to say something.

Harry spoke first: “How is your family?”

“They’re fine,” she answered too quickly. “Luna hasn’t been feeling well.”

Harry nodded and turned to her. “Ginny’s been sick too. A flu or a cold or something.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Hermione said, politely. “Tonks wanted more bridesmaids, but it seems everyone’s either ill or traveling.”

“Well, next time she gets married, she’ll have to give her friends more than a week’s notice,” Harry said with a grin. Hermione suddenly remembered how much she liked his rarely-seen smile.

“The next time Tonks gets married, we’ll all be wearing eye patches,” she said playfully. Her eyes opened wide as soon as the words had left her mouth. She hadn’t expected to take such a tone with Harry, but she just wanted to see that smile again and found she really couldn’t help herself.

Harry favored her with another lopsided grin. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what does that mean?”

“Tonks wanted a pirate wedding,” Hermione shook her head.

“Dear god…” Harry winced.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I daresay it’d be interesting to see you groomsmen in fluffy shirts.”

“I think I left my fluffy shirt at Hogwarts.”

They both laughed and settled into a comfortable silence. Hermione couldn’t believe she was sitting here, having a pleasant and perfectly natural conversation with Harry Potter. It seemed impossible. During the course of their conversation, Hermione had noticed the way his eyes lit up and how a sincere smile appeared where the grim line of his mouth once was. Although she wasn’t sure what could’ve brought about this sudden warmth, she wasn’t going to waste the new ease and friendliness between them. Hermione smiled and shifted closer to him. Harry did the same, leaning in before he spoke again:

“Since we’re not all wearing eye patches, I guess you talked Tonks out of the idea.”

Hermione shook her head. “I can’t talk her out of anything. As you can plainly see.”

“What? Do you mean the wedding?” Harry asked, surprised.

Hermione’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh no,” she hurried to explain. “I mean. I love Remus. Honestly I do, but it’s just all happening so fast. Only a week or so to prepare, I mean. I thought it a bit hasty, even, um…even for Tonks.”

Harry nodded slowly. “You don’t believe in rushing into these things.” He studied her as she answered.

“It’s not that I disapprove really,” she assured him. “I think that an engagement shouldn’t happen on a whim. It’s hardly the ideal foundation for a marriage. Not that I have much of an idea what the ideal foundation for a marriage would be. I suppose I always imagined a friendship or at least a solid acquaintance would…er…oh…”

Hermione trailed off as she realized that she wasn’t just talking about Tonks and Remus anymore. Oh now you’ve done it…Hermione’s eyes shyly lowered to her cup and she swallowed hard. …exactly how does a girl go about explaining her views on marriage to a man she’s refused to marry? They didn’t even try to teach us this in finishing school…

Shrugging sadly, she gave a resigned sigh and decided to simply keep her opinions to herself. What was the use in telling Harry about her ideas regarding matrimony? About how she intended to set an example for her sisters with her own courtship? Or the value she placed on convention and respectability? Or how determined she was to marry a man she truly loved and esteemed?

Hermione shook herself out of her thoughts “…in any case,” she went on, “Tonks doesn’t share my sentiments and just because we have different views on the subject doesn’t mean I’m not going to give her my blessing.”

Hermione nervously played with the coffee cup in her hands and held her breath as she waited for Harry to respond. He stared at her intensely and seemed to be gathering his courage to speak, however Tonks interrupted him before he could.

“What are you talking about over there? I heard my name,” Tonks demanded.

There was a brief pause before either one of them answered.

“We’re talking about pirates,” Harry answered harshly, his now-forbidding glare focused on Tonks.

Tonks squealed and began excitedly describing her original idea for the wedding, right down to the chartreuse bridesmaids’ dresses.

“I thought chartreuse was a liquor,” Ron said as he munched on a piece of fruitcake.

“It’s both,” Tonks answered brightly. “It’s a color and a liquor. So I figure, it’s twice the goodness of two good things.”

Ron nodded approvingly but still looked confused.

“It’s a hideous greenish-yellow Ron,” Hermione explained.

“Hideous!” Tonks cried. “It’s not hideous. It’s absolutely transcendent. It looks like mushed-up cats eyes.”

“Which is why I’ve forbidden all things chartreuse from the wedding.” Hermione glared at her.

“Ha!” Tonks laughed. “Like that could stop me.”

At the mention of mushed-up cats eyes, Ron set his half-eaten cake on a plate and pushed it away from him. Changing the subject, he started asking Remus about the local Quidditch team.

.

Hermione tried to focus on the conversation but couldn’t feign an interest for long. She snuck a glance at Harry and her spirits immediately fell. He was listening attentively; however, judging by his severe expression, his earlier good humor had vanished. She wondered whether she’d said something to offend him. Perhaps he was angry that she hadn’t apologized to him. Perhaps he was angry she brought up the subject of marriage…

She shook her head. At this rate, she doubted they would ever get a chance to form a friendship. And who knows when I’ll get to see him again? she thought as she anxiously raised her cup to her lips to hide her frown. Her heart sank at the thought of leaving Godric’s Hollow without at least clearing the air a little.

Hermione refused to admit just why settling things between them was so important. The reason had been creeping up on her so gradually that she hardly knew it herself. All she knew was that she could feel a strange, overwhelming Thing building whenever she looked at him, and although she hadn’t the slightest idea of what it was, it was powerful and new and scared her to death.

The dinner bell rang and everyone got up to head into the dining room. She shook herself out of her thoughts, a task which was becoming increasingly harder and harder to do where Harry was concerned.

Hermione was sure that Harry was going to offer to escort her in, but Tonks shoved him out of the way and dragged Hermione away, eager to resume their chartreuse debate. Unfortunately, Hermione didn’t have another chance to speak to Harry for the rest of the evening. Their chairs were placed on opposite ends of the dining room and they sat at different sides of the card table afterward. When Hermione finally retired to her room for the night, she hoped the next day’s ceremony would afford her at least one opportunity to speak to him alone. It would be her last chance to set things right between them.

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

11. Wedding Bells, Book, and Candle

Chapter 11: Wedding Bells

Author notes: Well this is a rushed chapter so consider yourself warned. No complaining! Or…well…okay, you can complain. But remember, bad reviews make baby Jesus cry. And by “baby Jesus,” I mean me.

So…yeah…I was going to break it up into two parts and do another double post but I tried that once and it was a complete train wreck. Like that train wreck in Greatest Show on Earth where all the acrobats are crushed in a heap of twisted metal and the clowns pillage the nearby towns. You can probably tell where the second, longer chapter was supposed to start…

…or maybe not. I don’t know. Grrrrrr. But this is an important part of the story. So enjoy.

And thanks for the reviews and/or the reassurance. All you HHr guys rock. God should totally shoot you a high-five. Boom! (and by God, of course I mean Gerard Butler).

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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

The next morning was an endless rush of wedding preparations. Tonks’ parents and family friends arrived and the drawing room had to be rearranged for the ceremony. With all the frantic sorting and greeting and running about, Hermione didn’t get a single opportunity to talk to Harry all day.

At four o’clock, Hermione and Tonks began to get dressed for the ceremony. They used Hermione’s bedroom, but since Tonks didn’t want Hermione seeing her wedding dress until she was completely ready, Hermione had to charm a sheet to hang between the two of them.

Tonks now happily concealed, Hermione gave a put-upon sigh as she carefully unwrapped the pink package from Mrs. Niddlemark’s boutique. With the Sword of Damocles hanging over her (or in this case, an unbelievably silly Celtic wedding theme and Tonks’ eclectic taste in clothing) she expected her bridesmaid’s dress to be something along the lines of an orange and chartreuse robe covered in Celtic knots. Or maybe a purple and green toga that had “Kiss Me I’m Celtic” scrawled across it.

Instead, Hermione opened the package and found an exquisite iridescent violet gown.

She gasped as she took her dress out of its box and held it up to the light.

“Tonks! I can’t believe it. Honestly. I’m speechless,” she said with a half-laugh.

Tonks poked her head out from behind the curtain. “I know, I know. I’m sorry Mione. Boring color, right? But you can’t upstage the bride now can you?” Tonks disappeared, and Hermione slipped into the delicate gown, charming the purple ties to lace up her back as she adjusted the bosom.

The dress was made from a shimmering violet material. It had an off-the-shoulder satin bodice trimmed with sky-blue stones that glistened in the firelight. The sleeves were thin wisps of sheer material that barely covered her upper arms, and the skirt was layered with a violet metallic material that had hints of iridescent pinks and greens swirling in its depths. A dozen curling tresses of lilac vines twisted their way down the skirt, and glittery hints of sapphire dotted the small train that trailed behind her.

Hermione didn’t know how “Celtic” it was, but the dress was certainly fairy-like and ethereal. In fact, the material was so thin, she felt rather scandalous in it. Every movement seemed to show the curve of her legs and the tight bodice left little to the imagination.

She crossed her arms, suddenly feeling a little too exposed. Her shoulders felt especially bare, but she had to admit, the gown did showcase them beautifully. Hermione looked around for stockings and shoes to go with it but didn’t see any. She was going to ask Tonks if she had them, but right then a couple of female house-elves popped in to help them with their hair.

As per Tonks’ instructions, the house-elf cast charms to flatten her hair a bit, so that Hermione’s usual corkscrew curls became looser as they spiraled down to her elbows. Hermione waited to see how her hair would be pinned up, but the elf seemed intent on instead coating her eyelids with some sort of violet iridescent powder. Her cheeks were dusted with a shimmering powder and her eyelashes darkened. Apparently done with her task, the house-elf disappeared behind the curtain to help Tonks with her dress, leaving Hermione alone with the problem of what to do with her hair.

“Don’t Hermione.” Tonks’ muffled voice rang out from behind the curtain.

“Don’t what?” Hermione asked, gathering up her hair.

“Don’t do what you’re doing. Leave your hair alone. We’re not putting it up.”

“Tonks, we can’t do that,” Hermione insisted. “It’s completely inappropriate.”

“No, it’s completely Celtic. And if you don’t leave your hair down, you’ll be completely failing in your duty to indulge my every whim On. My. Wedding. Day.”

Hermione rubbed the bridge of her nose, fighting off the headache that was starting. She knew she should argue the point, but it was going to be a long arduous day if she interfered with Tonks’ completely Celtic vision for her wedding.

“And stop brooding about it Mione,” Tonks called.

“I’m not brooding about it,” Hermione muttered, a bit put out that Tonks knew her so well.

“Yes you are. Hmm.”

Hermione sensed that Tonks was sticking her tongue out at her.

“Okay! Everybody quiet. I’m ready!” Tonks shouted. “Prepare to be dazzled Mione! By me. Because I’m dazzling.” Tonks made ruffling sounds as she gathered up her train.

“Oh Tonks…” Hermione trailed off with a grin as Tonks stepped out from behind the curtain.

Tonks laughed and spun around to give Hermione a better look. Tonks was wearing a full length, bright turquoise gown. She had an amber gemstone belt that fastened low on her waist and a matching amber studded headband that secured her long, now-turquoise hair. But it was her sleeves that made Hermione smile. They were tight at the top with purple bands at the elbow, but tapered down into an enormous bell shape that fell to her ankles. They looked like they could engulf half the wedding party. Hermione was surprised she didn’t trip on them.

“Well, what do you think? Pretty chic for a wedding gown, huh?” Tonks asked with another twirl.

“The dress is certainly…different.”

“Different is good,” Tonk nodded.

“Different is good,” Hermione repeated with a laugh, curiously patting Tonks’ straight turquoise locks.

“Oh this is going to be so much fun!” Tonks said, bouncing up and down.

As the dress fluttered around her feet, Hermione noticed she was barefoot.

“Tonks, where are your shoes?” Hermione asked shaking her head.

“I’m not wearing any.” Tonks held out her foot, wiggling her toes. “And neither are you.”

“What!” Hermione exclaimed, pulling up her own dress and eyeing her bare feet. “You must be joking.”

“I’m not joking. We Celtic-ians don’t joke about our footwear.”

“They’re not called ‘Celticians,’ and I’m sure they wore shoes to their weddings.”

“Not today they don’t.” Tonks twirled, flinging her billowing sleeves about her as she spun. “Let’s go!” Tonks commanded as she skipped down the hall. “Follow my sleeves. They’ll show us the way!”

Despite her endless annoyance at the eager-bride-to-be, Hermione had to smile. Somehow, the fact that Tonks was making her traipse around with bare feet and wild hair struck her as strangely funny. She could only imagine what fashion horrors Tonks had inflicted on the groomsmen. Hermione took a little comfort in the thought that she and Tonks wouldn’t be the only ones who’d stand out.

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

They hurried in the direction of the formal drawing room. It was serving as the impromptu chapel and the house-elves had spent the entire morning conjuring up the decorations. They had removed all the furniture and arranged dozens of chairs in several rows. A trail of red rose petals served as an aisle and a gardenia-covered arch marked the altar. The wall behind the altar had been spelled translucent, and the snow-covered seashore and its misty cliffs provided a wintry background to the ceremony. Small crystals and candles floated freely above the guests, casting ripples of light around the room while fragrant red rose petals materialized out of thin air and slowly cascaded to the floor.

Hermione peeked around the drawing room door and surveyed the guests. Several local acquaintances of Lupin were in attendance, as well as dozens of family friends of Mr. and Mrs. Tonks. The wizard performing the ceremony was standing behind the altar, and next to him was Lupin talking to Harry and Ron. They were all wearing simple black waistcoats and, more importantly, their shoes.

“Tonks,” Hermione hissed. “Why are the men wearing suits?”

Tonks looked at her, puzzled. “Why wouldn’t they wear suits? It’s a formal occasion Mione. They can’t wear their everyday cloaks.”

Hermione groaned. “But what happened to being ‘Celtic’ and authentic and wearing costumes and no shoes? You do realize that we’ll be the only people with bare feet, don’t you?”

Tonks rolled her eyes. “Do you want me to tell Remus to take off his shoes? Because I will. I’ll have to see him before the ceremony of course, which could doom my marriage to failure, but if it will make you happy, so be it. I’ll just go ahead and make arrangements for the annulment right now. You wouldn’t happen to be a clerk of the court would you?”

Hermione closed her eyes and rubbed her head, grumbling a few unkind things under her breath. She suddenly wished she had a bottle of Reasonable Reasoning Solution. Or maybe just the bottle. That way she could hit Tonks over the head with it.

“Hush you two,” Tonks’ father shushed them both as someone began to play a wedding march on the piano.

“Yeah Mione. Hush,” Tonks echoed, taking a bundle of red roses from a house-elf.

“I wasn’t…hey…!” Hermione exclaimed as felt someone shove bouquet of calla lilies into her hands and somebody else shoved her into the drawing room.

She stumbled a bit but quickly regained her balance, smiling nervously as she carefully began walking down the length of the aisle in time to the music. The roomful of strangers turned and looked on as she tried to walk as gracefully as she could. Hermione suddenly felt terribly self-conscious in her Celtic getup and she began wringing her bouquet until her knuckles were white. At the end of the aisle, Lupin gave her an encouraging smile, and Hermione nodded back, grateful to see a familiar face. Harry stood next to him, and her eyes inadvertently fell to him as he stood stoically against the peaceful winter landscape.

She had to admit, Harry struck an extraordinary figure in front of the snowy haze, and her breath caught in her throat as that overwhelming, unnamable Thing began building up inside her again.

Against her better judgment, she found herself admiring his incredibly handsome features: his untamable raven hair, his chiseled cheek bones, his broad shoulders, and his piercing green eyes. With all the wedding preparations, she hadn’t had much time to contemplate the mistake she’d made in regards to his character, but somehow, knowing of his decency made him seem all the more striking.

As she approached the holly covered arch, it suddenly occurred to her that this is what their own wedding would’ve been like (minus the insane ‘Celtic’ theme): Harry standing at the altar, watching her through a shower of rose petals and candlelight. A blush rose in her cheeks at the thought of being his bride, of walking down the aisle and saying “I do.” Hermione could easily picture him sweeping her up and cradling her against his chest as he kissed her senseless. She imagined how he’d grip the back of her neck and encourage her hands to rove over him as he captured her mouth for a long, slow, torturous kiss that would begin softly and quickly become too heated to continue in public…

Hermione shook herself out of her fantasy as she began to feel a familiar blush creeping upon her cheeks.

She waited for the usual stream of sputtering indignation and denial, but instead she felt a strange wave of warmth and delight wash over her. She thought she heard a balloon burst or a champagne cork popping, except that it was softer and sweeter, as though the noise was folded inside one of the calla lilies she was holding.

All she knew was that time seemed to stand still as the strange, mysterious Thing building inside her suddenly revealed itself:

She found that she didn’t want anyone else besides

Harry Potter waiting for her at the end of that aisle.

Hermione’s eyes widened and she nearly stumbled on her train. Thoroughly embarrassed, surprised, speechless and light-headed, she swallowed hard and offered a concerned-looking Harry a warm smile, or as warm a smile as she could muster. Suddenly the simple act of remaining upright became incredibly difficult as she realized that somehow, somewhere, she had fallen in love with him.

How could…? Wait…no…this can’t be…she trailed off, stealing a glance at Harry. The room began to spin and her breath came quickly as the realization hit her. And although the drawing room of Godric’s Hollow in the middle of a barefoot wedding march wasn’t the ideal place to acknowledge it, it seemed she didn’t have much choice in the matter.

He’s…well…Oh for goodness sake’s he’s Harry Potter! I hardly know him. All right, perhaps “hardly” isn’t the right word anymore. I don’t know him as well as, um… as well as I should know him. Especially not well enough to feel this way about him. All I know is that he’s wonderful and handsome and absolutely…perfect. But that doesn’t matter at all because he’s just…perfect …but still…

Oh this is ridiculous. I’m not in love with him. I’m…um…really… not in love with him. It’s just the wedding and the roses and the candlelight and his eyes and his shoulders and his smile and… his…lips…

NO! Stop it Hermione Jean Granger! You are not to think about Harry like that. He’s absolutely…completely…unacceptably…perfect.

Oh sod it Hermione. Just walk. And don’t you dare faint… she told herself sternly.

Hermione was sure that Harry had noticed the change in her; that she’d somehow given herself away with the look of panic and absolute adoration in her eyes. To her relief, Harry’s concerned expression remained unchanged as he gazed back at her. She kept a frozen smile on her face but made sure to keep her eyes fixed on her lilies as she took her place across the aisle from him.

She could feel his eyes still on her, but she refused to look at him. Being this close to him was hard enough without the added torture of reveling in his handsome features. Being this close to him was hard enough, period.

Hermione took a deep breath and urged herself to concentrate on the ceremony. It was Tonks’ wedding for goodness sake and Hermione refused to ruin it by dissolving into a pathetic puddle at Harry’s feet….

…which is easier said than done…she muttered, stealing a glance at Harry.

As the bridal song began, Hermione swallowed hard and tried to focus only on Tonks, who looked as radiant and colorful as a tropical bird. There were several “oohs” and “ahhs” as she proceeded down the aisle alongside her father. Lupin gave Tonks an approving nod and Tonks winked back as she took her place beside him. She handed Hermione her bouquet of red roses and the two girls shared a smile before Tonks slipped her hands into Lupin’s.

The wizard began the ceremony, reading aloud the ancient verses about everlasting devotion in his refined drawl. Hermione found herself wiping away a few tears as Tonks and Lupin recited their marriage vows.

“Do you, Remus John Lupin, take Nymphadora Nightingale Tonks…”

“Nightingale?” Ron blurted out with a laugh.

“Oh shut it Ron,” Tonks hissed as everyone in the audience tried to hide their smiles. Even Lupin grinned as he patted his bride on the shoulder and signaled for the wizard to start again.

The wizard cleared his throat and continued. “Do you Remus John Lupin take Nymphadora…er…Tonks to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold in from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish 'till death do you part?"

“I do.”

“And do you Nymphadora Tonks take Remus John Lupin….”

Hermione sniffled and brushed away a tear as the wizard went on. Although she was happy that Tonks had found someone she could share such a special love with, Hermione couldn’t help but think it odd that these two were vowing “to have and to hold” each other until death.

They’ve only known each other a month or so, she muttered. And their characters are so… different. How can they possibly know what the next forty years will bring?

…Of course, just because they’ve only known each other a short time doesn’t mean they can’t be happy. And perhaps their characters aren’t as different as they seem…

She frowned, realizing it wasn’t only Tonks and Lupin she was thinking about. Maybe there was something in this whole “simply trust in your heart instead of your head” idea. Hermione reflected on what had happened with Tonks, who hadn’t thought twice about accepting Lupin, who was now here, marrying her beloved, brimming over with happiness, while Hermione had to content herself with watching Harry from across the aisle.

She shook herself out of her thoughts and looked on as Lupin and Tonks exchanged rings. The next thing Hermione knew, the wizard was telling Lupin to hurry up and kiss his new wife. Tonks leapt into his arms and they shared a long kiss as everyone around them cheered.

She laughed as Lupin twirled Tonks around in his arms before setting her on the ground. Hermione hugged Tonks and handed her back the bridal bouquet. The bride and groom went arm in arm down the aisle as music played, but they didn’t get far before a dozen people came forward to congratulate them. The room was a noisy, joyous mess. The piano played a happy tune as Lupin and Tonks eventually disappeared in the group of well-wishers. The crowds filed out of the drawing room, taking their merrymaking and singing and cheering with them.

Though Hermione’s attention was still on the happy couple, she couldn’t help but notice Harry as he came to stand next to her.

He cleared his throat and Hermione turned to him with a shy smile. She was still overwhelmed by her earlier realization and didn’t trust her voice, or anything else that involved cognitive thought.

“Hello Harry,” Hermione murmured with down-cast eyes. Lovely ceremony, wasn’t it? I’m not wearing any shoes. Oh, and I’ve fallen in love with you. Now if you don’t mind, I’d really like to kiss you…and for you to kiss me back because, wow, you’re good at it…

Harry, never very adept at Legilimency, was oblivious to her struggle.

“Hello Hermione,” Harry greeted her quietly. He handed her a handkerchief and she nodded gratefully as she dabbed at her eyes.

“I don’t usually cry at weddings,” she said shyly.

“Well, you’re making up for it now,” he replied with a half-smile.

“I know,” she chuckled as she gave him back the handkerchief. “I’m an awful mess, aren’t I?”

“No,” he said softly as he gently cupped her cheek and wiped away a few stray tears with his thumb. “You look beautiful.”

Hermione shivered as his hand stroked her cheek. She suddenly craved his touch so badly it scared her. Everything about him scared her. Everything she felt scared her. The worst part was that she didn’t know what to do about it. This wasn’t a problem she could figure out by holing herself up in a library….

Lost in her thoughts, Hermione absently rubbed her cheek against his hand, which did nothing to help her appear like normal, rational, not-in-love witch. But with the ceremony, his proximity, her sudden feelings for him, it was almost too much for her to bear. She suddenly didn’t care that there were dozens of rowdy party-goers ten feet away; she didn’t care that she was violating all manner of propriety; she didn’t care that her sensibly sober side was screaming at her to stop. She wanted him to keep touching her. She wanted it in a way that challenged the limits of an English woman's restraint.

Hermione closed her eyes, enjoying the simple, uncomplicated feel of his fingertips against her cheek. As her tears fell, he wiped them away wordlessly. Neither noticed when her bouquet of lilies slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor.

A sigh rippled through her as she felt his thumb brush against her bottom lip. She gave an approving moan, and Harry’s hand froze.

“Don’t stop Harry,” she said softly. Her eyes languidly opened and met his.

Harry’s face remained expressionless as he acquiesced. His thumb ran softly over her cheek and down across her lips again. Her lashes were lowered prettily, but there was no mistaking her expression as she nuzzled his hand.

“We’d better get going,” Harry announced with a strained voice as he stepped away.

“Wh-what?” Hermione murmured, emerging from her Harry-induced haze.

“To the reception. We’d better get going,” Harry answered without looking at her. He offered his hand and quickly led her in the direction of the foyer where the rest of the congregation awaited.

Shaken, Hermione choked back her sob as she allowed Harry to pull her out into the hallway. Oh Goddess what have I done? Throwing myself at the man…what was I thinking…oh I’m so sorry Harry…

He held tightly to her hand as they worked their way through the crowded hallway where everyone had gathered around to hear Lupin’s announcement. Lupin was standing on the stairwell with his arm around Tonks, trying to organize the wedding party. Champagne bottles were popping, and dozens of glasses were being passed around.

“Oh, look, there they are,” Lupin laughed jovially and pointed at Harry and Hermione. “Best man, maid of honor, get up here. You’re not off the hook yet.”

Without looking at Harry, Hermione miserably shook off his hand and took her place next to the bride on the stairs. Tonks offered her a glass of champagne, and even though Hermione wasn’t much of a drinker, she downed it in one gulp, hoping to numb her dry ache of disappointment. The glass was charmed to magically refill itself, and Hermione drank the second one even faster.

Did I honestly think he’d forget everything that’s happened and sweep me up in his arms just because I’ve suddenly changed my mind about him?

Hermione couldn’t help but answer with a sad “yes” and punctuate it with a hiccup.

“Hold on there Mione. Pace yourself,” Tonks scolded her, taking away the champagne flute. “That’s what the reception’s for. Carousing and such. Otherwise you’re no better than Ron.” Tonks flapped her sleeves at the redhead who was downing champagne like it was in danger of disappearing.

Hermione nodded dizzily, brushing back her hair and leaning against the banister as the room began to spin. She didn’t know how she was going to get through the reception without melting into a pitiable puddle on the floor.

Oblivious to her plight, Tonks began shaking her arm and hopping in place. “I can’t wait,” Tonks said in an excited voice. “The reception’s at a banquet hall in Pemberly. Sir Sirius made all the arrangements himself. You should see the cake. It’s taller than Remus!”

Hermione offered her a shaky smile and shrugged out of her grasp. “Sounds wonderful.”

“And then I’m going to throw these flowers [Tonks held up her bouquet of roses] at some poor unsuspecting soul. Ha ha! To think I actually get to hurl this lot at someone and no one’s going to yell at me for it!” Tonks laughed maniacally. “You watch. I’m going to throw them at Ron’s head. Maybe some overeager single girls will tackle him.”

Hermione smiled. Tonks always could cheer her up. Maybe the reception wouldn’t be so bad after all….

“Or maybe I’ll just throw them to you.” Tonks grinned. “Is there anyone you have a mind to marry? Besides old green eyes over there, that is.” Tonks said teasingly, poking at her.

…Or maybe the reception will be a waking nightmare…Hermione’s smile faded as she reached for the champagne flute and down it once more. Hermione thought if she drank herself into a coma, Tonks would let her skip the horrible, sodding, useless reception….

“All right everyone,” Lupin’s voice rang out over the crowd. “Tonks and I have an announcement about the reception. We’ll be handing out the incantation spell for the carriages soon. Now just say the words and the carriages will do the work. And folks, please, no foolishness….”

He was interrupted by Hermione’s sharp hiccup.

“Sorry Remus,” Hermione said in a shy, loopy voice. She smiled at him and hiccupped again.

Lupin eyed her wearily. “Anyway…as I was saying, please no foolishness. It’s a very simple spell. If you’re having trouble with it, let somebody else do it. It’s my wedding night and I don’t feel like organizing a search party.” At the mention of their wedding night, Tonks whispered something in his ear, causing his face to flush.

The guests meanwhile shouted their assent and followed the bride and groom out the front door and onto the walkway. Tonks led the way, pulling her along until Hermione realized the ground under her feet was freezing.

“Tonks!” Hermione eeked. Her bare feet were smarting from the ice-covered ground. “Let go of me. I’m not wearing any shoes.”

Tonks grinned. “Oh yeah. I forgot. Here, watch me.” With that, Tonks jumped into Lupin’s arms and laughed as he kissed her cheek. She smiled down at Hermione from her new cozy perch and adopted a tone better suited for calling a cocker spaniel: “Ok, you’re turn. Now jump, come on girl. Jump. Up you go. You can do it. Jump!”

Hermione rolled her eyes and shifted from one foot to the other. “Thanks, but I don’t think Remus has room for me.”

Hermione felt someone tap her on the shoulder and turned.

“Hello Hermione,” a thoroughly-soused Ron grinned at her. He was swaying back and forth, trying to keep upright.

“Hello Ron,” she said, irritated. Her feet were going to turn to ice if she didn’t get inside soon.

“Would you please hold this for me?” Ron burped and handed her his half-empty glass of champagne.

“Fine but…oh!” she cried as Ron lifted her up and flung her over his shoulder.

“I’ve got you Hermione,” Ron said in a sing-song voice as he unsteadily followed Lupin to the awaiting carriage. She pushed on his shoulder, trying to get away.

“Ron, put me down,” she demanded. His wobbly jaunt was making her giddy and nauseous.

“Ok,” he said merrily, “but it’s a long way back to the house.”

“It’s a long way to the ground,” she grunted, still struggling.

He pooh-poohed her questioning of his manly mightiness and continued on.

“Honestly Ron,” she grumbled. Hermione squirmed until she was back on solid ground. She tossed his champagne flute to him over her shoulder before trotting off. Ron stumbled as he caught it, but soon enough was headed towards Lupin’s carriage, happily humming a Quidditch fight song.

“Your loss,” Ron called behind him.

Cursing the stupidity that was Ron, Hermione ran towards the house as quickly as she could. Ridiculous drunk Ron…ridiculous Celtic wedding …at least pirates wear boots. Shivering and rubbing her arms, she could see her ragged breath against the night sky, which somehow made it seem even colder.

She had to fight her way through the lingering crowd by the front door. Everyone was waiting to get the incantation from the servants, creating a bit of a jam on the walkway.

“Excuse me…. Pardon…. Pardon me… Excuse me…*hiccup*…Pardon,” Hermione bustled through the crowd.

She gave a frustrated groan. At this rate, she’d have frostbite before she even got close to the house. She felt somebody tap her on her shoulder, but this time she didn’t bother turning around.

“I don’t want you to c-c-carry me R-Ron,” she said angrily between her chattering teeth, kicking away the frost on her toe.

She heard Harry mutter something about “can’t blame you for that.”

Startled, Hermione spun on her frozen heel to face him. She then put her hand to her head, immediately regretting her sudden spinning.

They stared at each other without speaking as Hermione steadied herself. Neither paid any mind to the swarm of passing guests who jostled and bumped them.

“Are you cold?” Harry asked, finally breaking the silence.

Hermione nodded. Her teeth were chattering too hard for her to speak. He seemed concerned, although it was almost impossible to tell what the man was thinking, even when she was sober.

Harry slipped out of his waistcoat and draped it over her shoulders. He rubbed her arms to warm her up. “There now,” he smiled nervously. “Is that better?”

“No Harry. You need your coat. You’ll catch a c-c-cold,” she managed.

“Better a cold than frostbite,” he replied. “Speaking of which…” he took a step towards her, caught her under her knees and picked her up.

“Harry! Put me down!” Hermione yelped as she flailed a bit, embarrassed as the other guests began to stare at them.

Harry pretended to think about it. “Nope. Not going to do it. Now stop kicking me,” he said with a likeable grin.

“I didn’t kick you,” she grumbled, suppressing a smile of her own. She had to admit, he was fairly irresistible when he grinned at her like that. She slipped into his dress coat and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stay warm.

“Now, where shall I take you?” Harry asked gallantly.

Hermione snuggled against the hard planes of his chest and took moment to simply enjoy the delicious feel of him against her. She couldn’t suss out why he was doing this. Pity maybe. Or maybe it was just his noble nature. Whatever the reason, she found she really didn’t care as long as she got to stay in his arms.

“I’ve been trying to get back inside,” she said quietly against his shoulder. Of its own violation, her hand began to lazily trace the outline of his black vest as she settled in his arms. Despite her earlier urgency, she wasn’t in such a terrible hurry now. She knew she could happily stay like this for quite some time.

Harry nodded agreeably and carried her through the crowds. Most of the partygoers had been bundled into the enchanted carriages that were now floating towards downtown Pemberley.

“Hey you two!” Tonks called from her passing carriage.

“Hello there,” Harry called back. From his casual tone no one would ever think he was carrying a young witch in his arms. Hermione meekly waved at Tonks, who waved back as though nothing were amiss.

“Thank goodness she has a one-track mind,” Hermione mumbled, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Come on you two, get in!” Tonks yelled. “Hurry! This train’s leaving the station!”

Ron appeared in the window beside her, shaking his refilled champagne glass and making train noises. “Come guys. Whoot Whoot! Run! Whooooot!”

“Send a carriage back for us. We’ll catch up.” Harry shouted over his shoulder as he turned back to the house.

“You’re darn right you’ll catch up!” Tonks yelled. “You’re supposed to be at my beck and call. And now I’m becking and calling at the same time. So chop chop.”

Hermione sighed as Tonks and the carriage disappeared around a bend. Hermione shook her head, wondering exactly when her tenure as maid of honor would officially end. That way, she could Silencio Tonks without violating her sacred duties.

Harry proceeded into the house and closed the front door behind him with his foot. He gently lowered her to the ground and helped her out of his waistcoat.

“You know,” he said slowly as he put it back on, “the fireplace is still lit. If you’d like to warm up first, that is. Or talk.”

Hermione stole a glance at him and stifled a resigned sigh. Champagne or no, she knew that any sort of “talk” boded ill for her. She thought they should just as soon get it over with as not. At least this way, when he told her he didn’t love her anymore, she could join Ron Weasley in drinking herself into oblivion at the reception.

Hermione sadly nodded and followed him into the drawing-room-turned-chapel.

The wall was still transparent, and Hermione could see fresh snow falling on the distant cliffs. The servants had already taken down the altar and de-spelled the candles and floating crystals (lest some guest try and take a souvenir). The chairs were gone, and most of the original furniture had been moved back in. A cork popping in the kitchen told them that the house-elves were busy celebrating on their own, and a lack of rowdy celebrating assured them that the last of the guests had shuffled off for the reception.

Hermione settled herself on an overstuffed couch facing the fireplace and Harry took a seat next to her. Ignoring Harry’s closeness, Hermione made herself comfortable and hitched up her dress a bit, stretching out her toes towards the fire. Harry had already seen her bare feet (as had half the population of Pemberley) so she wasn’t as self-conscious as she should have been. The chill she felt was replaced by a new nervousness and she began playing with the material of her skirt as silence slowly descended on the room. Try as she may, she couldn’t force herself to relax, even with the warmth of the fire and the softness of the sinking cushions and the bubbly-sleepy feeling in her head.

“Still cold?” Harry suddenly whispered in her ear.

Hermione jumped. She hadn’t realized Harry was sitting so close to her. Refusing to look at him, she could feel his breath on her shoulder as she slowly shook her head. She could make out the muscles on his arm flexing against hers as she uncomfortably shifted in her seat.

Oh…um…his arm is… strong…and…goodness what was I thinking? There’s no way the reception could be any worse than this…

Hermione dizzily wondered when the carriages would return for them. She asked Harry, but he didn’t seem the least concerned. There was a long pause before answered.

“Are you really that eager to get there?” he replied quietly.

“Um…no. Not really,” Hermione said softly, turning to him, still wringing her skirt in her hands.

“Do you mean that?” Harry asked, searching her eyes.

Hermione nodded and smiled shyly. “I’m sure the reception will be wonderful, but it’s…nice here too.”

Harry seemed pleased by the compliment. “Really? You like the house.”

“Of course I like the house,” Hermione said sincerely. “I couldn’t imagine a better place for a wedding than Godric’s Hollow. It’s lovely and has a rare charm to it.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him. “But I must say it doesn’t seem like you at all.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow and smiled. “So I’m not lovely and charming?”

Hermione shook her head. “No Harry. I think you’re charming,” she blurted out. She mentally smacked herself in the forehead when he gave her an “oh really?” grin. Right there, she vowed to keep all future champagne-fueled conversations between herself and an equally inebriated Ron Weasley.

“I mean you’re charming…” she hastily explained “….sometimes…that is…”

“At state funerals and graduations and such.” Harry finished for her with a smile.

Hermione shook her head, “No…but… what I meant to say,” Hermione corrected herself, “is that I don’t see much of your personality in it. The house just doesn’t seem like the sort of place you’d live in. It’s just an impression I got is all…” she trailed off. And I’m never drinking again. So there.

Harry seemed to consider the point. “Well, I was born here, so I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you what sort of first impression it gives. I’m told my mother did a lot to it before she died. I was too young to remember what it looked like before though. But I don’t spend much time here. I’m usually in London.”

Hermione nodded and they fell back into silence. She gazed into the fireplace but Harry’s eyes stay on her. The champagne was still making her dizzy, and Harry was absolutely not helping with his stubborn nearness. He, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, his eyes drifting between her and the fireplace.

How can the man just be sitting there like…like…everything’s completely and utterly normal? Well fine. Two can play that game…Oh wait. No they can’t. Because my brain’s absolutely useless when it comes to all-things-Harry.

Hermione was growing more nervous and uncomfortable by the second. As the minutes ticked by she began curing whoever invented carriage incantations. Finding she couldn’t take the suspense any longer, she mustered up her courage and turned to Harry.

“So Harry, you wanted to…um…talk?”

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

12. Firelight

Chapter 12: Firelight

Author notes: I really don't have much to say except thanks for the reviews and keep `em coming. For the last umpteen chapters I've been itching to write from Harry's perspective. Thus far, I've been able to suppress the urge, but much like Hermione, this Thing won't be denied… I hope the alternate POVs aren't confusing.

That being said, I'll just mindlessly ramble on for a bit. Honestly, there's nothing interesting in this entry. Just skip it. Go on to the fic. Go. Do it. Now, before it's too late.... So…yeah, (as if anyone cares) I based Hermione's dress on Taylor Swift's Grammy gown (though I don't know what a “Taylor Swift” is or does). On a less relevant note, I think the moment of truth in any HHr fiction is the revelation of Harry or Hermione's more-than-platonic feelings for each other. I consider it a litmus test of good fanfiction. A lot of fics I've read just sort of gloss over it: “Oh I'm Harry and I'll just do a 180 because I saw Hermione in a bikini”… or … “Oh, I'm Hermione and I'll just entrust my virginity to Harry because he rescued me from escaped Death Eaters…” So maybe I've overcompensated. I've tried to draw the tension out for the last few chapters (or maybe from chapter one). But now I realize that Hermione's revelation came out of nowhere…sort of…I dunno…sooo …yeah. Take that. Go me. And I'll stop typing now…

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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

Hermione mustered up her courage and turned to Harry.

“So Harry, you wanted to talk?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it. No, actually, Harry didn't want to talk. Talking never led to much good where Hermione was concerned. It seemed he had a talent for saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time.

Instead, he studied her for a moment, trying not to stare at the expanse of skin that her dress afforded. He could tell she was nervous about something. She kept playing with her skirt and nibbling her bottom lip. He'd been around her long enough to know that she was uncomfortable and unhappy.

Unhappy about what, he had no idea. If anyone should be nervous and unhappy it should be him, he reasoned. After all, he was the one who spent the better part of an hour cursing himself for the way he acted after the ceremony.

Harry cringed at the memory. There she was, staring at him with those bright cinnamon eyes, nuzzling his hand, brushing her plump tantalizing lips against his thumb… so he goes and stutters an apology and drags her down the aisle into a crowd of rowdy party goers. All of fifteen seconds passed before he started berating himself for his undeniable idiocy. He just never expected… well, any of it, especially not that strange, incredibly odd, utterly astonishing moment between them. The way she looked at him and spoke to him; the way she gazed into his eyes and leaned into his hand; the way she parted her lips as he stroked her cheek and…Dear Merlin, what god in what lifetime did he please?

At first he thought he was imagining things. Everything happened so fast that he was sure his mind was just playing tricks on him. It wouldn't take much to convince him that she'd finally driven him insane with her blushing cheeks and glossy curls and pert humor and dammit … Hermione's tempting little dress wasn't helping in the least. When she walked down the aisle during the wedding march, his jaw literally dropped, and it stubbornly stayed that way until Lupin smacked him upside the head. Harry knew she'd look beautiful, Hermione always looked beautiful, but he hadn't expected her to suddenly materialize in a violet dress that showed off every inch of her flawless figure. He found he couldn't stop staring at her smooth shoulders which were covered only by the wild curls that rippled freely down her back, or the curve of her leg outlined against the thin shiny material of her skirt, or her rosy cheeks which held their usual adorable blush even though she was by far the most beautiful woman in the room.

Now, with her reclining figure just inches away from him, breathing was becoming very hard for Harry. She was without a doubt the most desirable, delectable thing he'd ever laid eyes on. Over the last few weeks, his thoughts had often drifted back to the time he was able to hold her for those few brief moments. He remembered her surprise when he clumsily kissed her, the feel of her soft lips against his, her look of enraptured surrender as she gripped his collar and fervently returned his kisses…but now, new visions were bombarding him: visions of him burying his hands in those wild curls, of tasting the velvet length of her swan-like neck, of running his hands up and down the curves of her legs.

It suddenly occurred to him that if he hadn't acted like a jealous prat about that blasted Krum, she might have accepted his proposal. He wouldn't have to content himself with gazing at her from across the room. He would've been the groom, taking her as his wife. She'd have been his to cherish and protect and tonight he could've made slow languorous love to her. Just the thought of taking her to his bed made him groan aloud….But no. Instead, I'm best man at Lupin's wedding. Harry grumbled as he watched Hermione's exquisite form basking in the firelight. Damn Lupin. Smug bastard didn't botch up his proposal. Where was he when I needed him?

“Harry,” Hermione's voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Mmmm?” Harry mumbled, turning his attention back to her.

“Talking? You? Yes?” Hermione couldn't understand why he was suddenly so distant and quiet and groaning. She hadn't said anything to offend him. Well, not recently in any case. She had said several things throughout the evening that had offended him…. Offended him? Ha. That's putting it mildly. Hermione scoffed. How about completely humiliating him? As if throwing yourself at the man wasn't bad enough. He's already told you in so many words, “Stay away from me Hermione.” He might as well scrawl it across his forehead…

But that really didn't explain why he was suddenly groaning. After all, she was the one who was suffering here, darn it, not him.

Hermione pursed her lips and studied him. His eyes looked glassy against the firelight, and his cheeks were heavily flushed. His breathing was ragged and he had a strained expression on his face. The possibility that he was sick occurred to her, and her healer instincts slowly took over (her slightly tipsy healer instincts).

“Harry, are you feeling well?” Her voice was filled with concern as she shifted closer to him and put her hand on his forehead. Her hand missed the mark and ruffled his hair. Ignoring the urge to do that again, she managed to get it right the second time.

Taken by surprise, Harry nodded, although his attention was focused the feel of her cool hand rather than his state of health.

Hermione's hand moved to his cheek. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Harry, you're absolutely burning up. I'm sure you have a temperature.”

“No, I'm fine,” Harry said in a low voice as her face hovered just under his.

She looked at him doubtfully. “Honestly Harry.” She shook her head in a way that Harry found adorable. “You must've caught a chill…” Hermione's hand came to her mouth. “Outside, when you gave your coat to me… Oh I told you not to! Now look what's happened. Harry, you shouldn't have done that!”

She was near tears as she patted his flushed cheek. Hermione couldn't help herself; she enfolded him in a bone-crushing hug, apologizing and scolding him all at once.

“No. Really, I'm fine. No. It's Ok. Don't worry.” Harry wrapped his arms around her and found himself in the strange predicament of arguing with her and comforting her at the same time. All this was made even more difficult in that Harry was growing increasingly distracted by her soft perfect body which was pressing insistently up against his.

Good God Hermione…Harry thought with a tortured expression. Didn't she realize that she'd knocked him back into the sofa and was practically on top of him?

He tried to think un-Hermione thoughts as she clung to him and whispered apologies in his ear. He tried. He really did. He thought about Qudditch and billiards and Ron's chewing and Cousin Regulus's crazy portrait, but it was all in vain because her shoulder was now mere centimeters away from his lips. The bloody thing was as soft and inviting as a ripe peach, and it was driving him barking mad, mocking him with its infuriating creaminess and vanilla perfume.

He couldn't resist pressing a quick kiss to it. A kiss that expressed only a friendly concern and well-wishing and so forth. A perfectly platonic, comforting kiss. A kiss he repeated. Several times over.

“She tastes like vanilla…how does that happen?” he muttered, fascinated, going back for more.

Meanwhile, Hermione's brow furrowed. That couldn't have been Harry's lips on her shoulder, she reasoned. But then she felt it again. And again. Her heartbeat quickened and she felt herself sobering with every kiss….Now honestly. Why would Harry want to do that? she asked herself. You're imagining things. Stupid champagne…err…lovely champagne actually…

It didn't take long for her to realize it wasn't just some figment of her imagination. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and a wave of warmth wash over her. Harry was kissing her shoulder. Harry. Was. Kissing. Her. Shoulder.

“Well that's interesting,” Hermione muttered dreamily as her eyes slowly closed. Of course she had some semblance of propriety. She was determined to get to the bottom of all this….lovely…wonderful…nibbling…

“Harry? What are you…mmmm…doing?”

He nipped at her throat by way of an answer.

“You're not well,” Hermione protested. She moaned when Harry suckled the skin at the crook of her neck.

“I feel fine,” Harry muttered, against her skin. “Absolutely perfect in fact.”

“But Harry…”

“Mmmm. What?” Harry said softly. Talking was bad. Talking was keeping him from tasting her.

“Before. I mean, after the ceremony. You didn't…oh that's lovely… you didn't seem to want… um…”

Harry paused mid-nibble and sat up. “Hermione,” he shook his head fondly, “I thought I was going crazy. I thought I was imagining that…imagining that you wanted…” he trailed off, running his hands over her arms. “I didn't think you'd ever forgive me for the way I acted that night in Meriton.”

“The way you acted?” Hermione exclaimed. “What about me? I behaved horribly. You saved my life and I thanked you by calling you dreadful names. I spent weeks thinking about what I said. I was certain you despised me.”

“Despised you…?” Harry stared at her in disbelief. “Believe me, luv, whatever you called me, I deserved it. I'm surprised you didn't hex me into some sodding barnyard animal or other. I acted like a complete idiot.”

“Well you weren't the only one,” she assured him, stroking his cheek and smiling as Harry leaned into her hand. Her fingers flirted with his collar as his hand came to rest at her waist. She noticed that his eyes flitted down to her mouth as he shifted closer, closing the distance between them.

“I was so sure that you didn't want…” she went on, “I mean, when we were alone a-a-after the wedding, you couldn't w-w-wait to get away from me…” Hermione shuddered as his hand crept up to tickle the back of her neck.

“Well, you're such a tempting little thing, I didn't want to ravish you in front of our friends now did I?” Harry murmured, leaning in to brush a kiss against her cheek.

Hermione gave a doubtful smile. “Oh, of course. It had everything to do with your good manners and nothing to do with your complete and utter cluelessness. Yes. Thank you Harry. That was very gentleman like of you not to ravish me in front of our friends.”

“Well, I hope you appreciate my self-restraint,” he whispered, lightly touching his lips to her throat.

Hermione sighed and shook her head. “Would you think me terrible if I said I didn't?” Her eyelids fluttered as his arms tightened round her waist.

“Mmmm. Absolutely not.” Harry leaned further in, kissing a sensitive spot behind her ear before planting several feathery kisses down along her jaw.

Hermione's eyes drifted shut as Harry's lips gently brushed against hers. His kisses were gentle and undemanding, merely light fluttering against her mouth. Her skirt bunched in his hands as he gathered her closer and continued his soft caresses.

He began working his way down her jaw, planting long open-mouthed kisses along the way. Her head fell back, allowing him more space to explore, and she felt his lips on her throat, her shoulders, along the top of her bodice. His lips moved deftly over every inch of exposed skin, and she hazily wondered if a person could die from such pleasure.

“Harry…” Hermione moaned with a breathy sigh. Merlin he's good at that, she thought as she arched her back and her own hands began to roam. Hermione had never felt such urgency to touch someone. Her fingernails ran desperately over his back, feeling the play of muscles hidden under his jacket. Silly, utterly useless jacket…she muttered, pulling at it. Her frustration with the jacket was forgotten, however, as Harry tightened his grip on her. She found herself making soft kittenish noises as Harry began to rake his hands over the thin layers of her dress.

Harry, in turn, had been trying to control himself, but Hermione was making it incredibly difficult. His knuckles turned white as they gripped the material of her skirt that billowed around him as he fought the urge to feel the skin underneath it. Finding he just couldn't take it anymore, his arms went round her waist and in single sweeping movement, he pulled her into his lap, cradling her against his chest. His fingers moved up to the back of her neck and tangled in her hair as he brought her lips roughly to his. He gave her jagged, breathless kisses as she held on to his lapel, parting her lips so his tongue could explore her mouth with a desperate vigor.

While Harry assaulted her lips, Hermione peeled his waistcoat and vest off over his shoulders and felt the hard planes of his back through his shirt. Her hands ran over him; his mouth moved roughly against hers, but nothing seemed to sate their appetites for each other. Except for the crackle of the fireplace, only their gasps and moans filled the room over the next heated minutes. Both felt something powerful building between them as they groped possessively at each other. It was when they began tugging on each other's clothing that Harry finally snapped out of his Hermione-induced haze.

“Good Lord Hermione…we really need to stop,” Harry pulled away suddenly, hissing through his teeth. His heart was racing and parts of his clothing were become noticeably uncomfortable.

Hermione tried to reply with a “oh, yes, I know,” but instead just nodded as she rested her flushed cheek against his shoulder, struggling to calm her hiccupping breaths.

“I'll go see if…wow…I'll go see if any of the carriages have come back,” he said in a shaky voice.

“Mmmm.” Hermione hummed absently against his collar.

Neither one got up.

Harry gathered her in his arms, fully intending to help her up, but the sight of her cradled against him with blushing lips and wild hair, made him suddenly forget why he would ever want to leave this room. Ever. Even for food.

He couldn't help himself. He caught her lips for a fervent kiss that lasted longer than it should have. His hands roved over her and his mouth explored hers until they had to breathe again.

“Why are we leaving, again?” Harry panted against her mouth.

“I don't know,” Hermione murmured.

“Well it was your bright idea, wasn't it,” he said with a grin. Hermione smiled and proceeded to punish him with a dozen kisses that left him gasping. Harry took a second to gather his strength to retaliate.

“M-M-Master Potter?”

They both craned their necks around and saw a house-elf standing wide-eyed in the doorway carrying a tray of champagne flutes and napkins.

“Dobby?” Harry squinted through his crooked glasses.

Hermione tried to stand up but ended up rolling out of Harry's lap and landing square on her bottom on the hardwood floor.

“Okay. Ouch,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her backside.

Harry hastily helped her to her feet and began muttering apologies. By the time he straightened his glasses, Dobby had disappeared, leaving behind only a bundle of dropped napkins on the floor.

Harry chuckled a bit and Hermione swatted at his arm, completely embarrassed that they'd been seen.

“How is this funny Harry?” she huffed, rubbing her sore spot and blushing like crazy.

“You're right. It's not funny at all Hermione.” He eyed her backside. “Maybe I'd better have a look at you, just to make sure nothing's broken,” he said playfully as he wriggled his eyebrows.

“Don't you dare come near me Harry Potter,” she held up an arm to keep him away.

“I just want to make sure you're ok, luv,” he said with mock sincerity as he batted aside her hand.

Hermione laughed and avoided his grasp. She raced to the other side of the sofa, squealing as he reached for her again. She tried making a break for the hallway, but his Seeker-like senses made it impossible. He beat her to the door and she turned around just in time to be swept up into his encircling arms. He lifted her so that her feet were dangling off the floor and her elbows were resting on his shoulders. She tried to squirm out of his grip, but her petite five-foot-six figure was no match for his strong six-foot frame.

“Got you,” Harry said with a victorious smile.

Hermione nodded at the understatement of the century. Caught up in the feel of him against her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him wildly.

Stumbling, Harry took a few unsteady steps forward. They both laughed as he swayed a bit, trying to stay upright. Hermione's lips found his ear and she began nipping and licking in a way that Harry found quite pleasantly distracting.

“You're not making this easy,” Harry grunted, trying to balance himself.

Smiling, she gave his lobe a sharp tug, which knocked Harry completely off-kilter. He fell forward, and suddenly Hermione found herself pinned against the back of the sofa, half-sitting, half-standing with her hands against Harry's chest and her leg hitched over his hip.

“Clumsy girl,” Harry said fondly, shaking his head.

“Me clumsy? Who fell…?!” Hermione cried as Harry captured her lips for another toe-curling kiss.

They were much too pleased with their current positions to worry about the loud slamming sounds that came from the foyer.

Suddenly they heard a panicked “Mione!” that made them both jump.

They pulled back, panting and disheveled.

Harry turned towards the hallway and Hermione lowered herself to the floor. Silence fell over the room as they waited for another sound. They both flinched as Tonks' voice echoed from down the hall again.

“Mione!?” Tonks hollered.

“Dear Goddess…” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“What now?” Harry muttered gruffly.

They reluctantly pulled apart, looking longingly at each other until Hermione turned towards the door.

“In here,” Hermione called back impatiently.

“Mione!?” They heard pattering footsteps that grew louder until Tonks burst through the door. Hermione could see blotchy champagne spills on her sleeves as Tonks motioned for them to follow her.

“Hurry up you two!” Tonks said urgently. “It's an emergency. I need you! Chop chop. Beck and call.”

Without another word, Tonks turned and ran out of the room. Hermione held fast to Harry's hand, following him through the dimly lit hallways. The frantic bride race ahead of them, waving Lupin's wand over her head as she barreled towards the foyer.

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

“Oh Ron!” Hermione cried as all three came to halt and found Ron lying semi-conscious against the front door. There were no marks on him, but his eyelids were fluttering and he was groaning.

She and Harry knelt beside Ron and began looking him over for injuries.

“Tonks what happened?” Hermione turned to find Tonks pointing the wand at Ron's head, shaking the thing as though it were broken.

“Oh nothing happened Mione,” Tonks said impatiently. “But I do need Harry's help. Show me how to Crucio him Harry. I've never used a wand before and it's really tricky.” She waved it two more times for good measure.

Hermione shot Tonks an angry look and patted Ron's face, trying to rouse him. Harry got to his feet and snatched the wand away from a protesting Tonks.

“Ron? Ron? Wake up. Tonks, what did you do to him?” Hermione demanded as she started shaking Ron's shoulders.

“I didn't do anything to him,” Tonks spat, reaching behind Harry, trying to get the wand back. “He passed out in the carriage and Remus carried him in.”

“Where is Remus?” Harry asked sternly, holding the wand out of her reach.

Tonks quickly drew back from Harry. “I…um…nothing,” Tonks stammered.

“What do you mean `nothing'?” Hermione asked, standing with her hands on her hips. “Where is he?”

Tonks hemmed and hawed, looking as innocent as possible. She had the air of a naughty child about her as she played with the strands of her turquoise hair and started rocking back and forth on her heel.

All three turned as somebody began banging hard on the front door.

Harry and Hermione dragged Ron aside and undid the latch. Lupin rushed in, followed by a mass of flapping red and black feathers. He quickly shut the door, but not before a dozen cardinals flew in behind him.

“What…are those birds?” Harry yelled over the fluttering noise. He batted a few of the red flapping things away from his face. Hermione gripped his arm tightly as they ducked to avoid the storm of swirling, darting cardinals.

At the center of the noisy red cyclone stood Tonks and Lupin, yelling and cursing at each other. Tonks was shouting something about being surrounded by idiots and then marrying the idiots and then those idiots inviting other idiots to their wedding. Lupin was yelling about how unacceptable her behavior was and how she was never to use that cardinal curse again.

Meanwhile, Harry was busy spelling the birds out the door and Hermione was kneeling next to Ron, shooing away the ones that were perched atop his head.

“Mione!” Tonks suddenly exclaimed. She stood with her back to Remus and crossed her arms over her chest. “Mione, please tell Mr. Lupin that I have nothing more to say to him, or to his stupid-arse ginger-haired git of a friend who's lying on the floor over there.”

Hermione shook a few red feathers out of her hair and gave Tonks a withering glance. “I think Remus heard you just fine.”

Tonks shook her head. “No. No he didn't. Because I'm not talking to him. He can't possibly hear me since nothing I say is directed to him.”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but thought better of it. There was no reasoning with Tonks when she was like this. There was no reasoning with her 90% of the time anyway.

Ignoring his angry wife, Lupin strode past Hermione and with a grunt pulled Ron to his feet. He gave Harry an I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it-but-help-me look as he tucked Ron's arm over his shoulder. Harry took Ron's other arm and helped Lupin as they carefully eased him up the stairs, leaving Hermione and Tonks alone in the foyer.

Sighing, Hermione opened the front door wide and with a wave of her hand, cast an Amargorio spell that shooed the rest of the cardinals outside. With the feathers and fluttering cleared, she looked on as Tonks furiously paced back and forth, punching the air as her sleeves flapping around her.

“Can you believe it?” Tonks cried. “Of all the men to marry, I had to pick him. What was I thinking? Or better yet, what were you thinking?”

“Me? What did I do?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“What did you do? What didn't you do? This is all your fault!” Tonks shouted, now near tears. “You're supposed to be the responsible one and I'm supposed to be the impossibly impulsive one. And now I'm married and you're the cause of it because you didn't tell me not to. You were all `Oh I'm Hermione and I'm just no help at all. I'll just throw flowers around while Tonks skips down the aisle to her doom like an idiot. Tra la la la fa fa.'”

Tonks took a few deep breaths. “And where were you tonight? You should've been in the carriage with us. None of this would have happened if you'd just gone to the reception like you were supposed to.”

Hermione blushed. “Oh. Um, me? I was getting…um… shoes and Harry….was helping me find them.”

“Shoes?!” Tonks threw up her hands. “I hate shoes. I absolutely hate shoes and weddings and most of all Ron!”

“Oh Tonks,” she sighed. Hermione was still completely confused and it seemed like Tonks was too. She ushered Tonks towards a nearby sitting room. Lighting a few candles, Hermione sat on a loveseat, hoping that Tonks would be a little more forthcoming without husbands and curses and passed-out Rons nearby to egg her on.

“Now tell me what happened. Did you and Remus have a fight?” Hermione spoke calmly, hoping that Tonks would do the same.

Tonks slouched in an armchair and buried her face in her hands.

“Oh Mione. It was awful. First Remus let stupid-bat-brained drunk Ron read out the directions to the reception, so of course he didn't do it right and the carriage started going crazy the minute we rounded the corner. And then we turned onto this horribly bumpy road and Ron's says he doesn't feel well and the next minute he's vomiting all out the window and spilling his champagne on my gown and using my flowers to wipe his mouth and…”

Tonks swallowed hard and shook her head “…I mean, what was Remus thinking? [She adopted a Lupin-like voice] Now no silliness all you drunk wedding guests. I don't want to form a search party on my wedding night…blah blah blah…so I'll go and ignore everything I just said and let the drunkest person here read out the spell because I'm Remus and I'm a stupid sod…blah blah blah…”

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth. It wasn't funny. It really really wasn't. It sounded awful and traumatic, but Hermione found she had to suppress her chuckle with a fake cough. Tonks' Lupin-impression was spot on.

“Are you laughing?” Tonks asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

Hermione couldn't chance talking. With her hand planted over her mouth, she shook her head vigorously.

“Because if you are, it's absolutely NOT FUNNY,” Tonks exclaimed, leaping out of her chair.

Hermione nodded, still holding back her chortled laughter.

“It's absolutely not funny at all,” Tonks pouted. “You!” she pointed at Hermione, “You're the one who should have champagne all over your dress.”

“Me?” Hermione managed.

“Yes you! You're the maid of honor. It's your duty to throw yourself in front of all spilled drinks and other drippy objects.” Tonks sniffled and slouched back in her chair. “S'not fair. My wedding gown's ruined and I didn't even get to go to my reception, and it's MY reception. I'm supposed to be recept-ted and eat cake and now I can't even do that.”

“Oh Tonks, ” Hermione sighed again, knowing the worst was over. She stood up and patted the bride on her shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, the champagne won't leave a stain. It'll come out when it dries. You won't be able to tell the difference.”

“Really?” Tonks sniffed meekly.

“Really.”

“Well, if you think I'm going anywhere with what's-his-name tomorrow, you're wrong,” Tonks said resolutely. “Honeymoon shmoney-moon. I expect so many sparkly presents for this it's not even funny.” Tonks flung her arms around a bit and the breeze from her sleeves blew a few candles out. The incensed bride mustered what was left of her indignation and stormed up the stairs, leaving Hermione in the dark room alone with her thoughts.

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

Hermione listened as Tonks' climbed the stairs and stomped down the hall. A few minutes later, muffled shouting came from the direction of Lupin's guestroom.

Staring at her darkened reflection in the mirror on the mantel, Hermione shivered and rubbed out the goosebumps on her arms. She felt as though she'd been splashed in the face with ice water. Somehow, between wrapping herself around Harry and watching Tonks curse Lupin, the evening had been injected with a dose of stone-cold reality. Whatever warmth and joy she'd experienced earlier had been replaced with a sense of sobering self-doubt. Hermione had never believed in omens or signs, but even she couldn't ignore the significance of what'd happened. One minute, she and Harry were holding each other like their lives depended on it and the next minute a young wife trapped in a hasty marriage was charming birds to attack her new husband. It was as though the universe had said, “Ha, ha, look what happens when people let temptation run away with them. Tee hee!”

It was with these thoughts that Hermione sadly climbed the stairs to her room. She could still hear angry shouts coming from Lupin's room and closed her bedroom door, hoping the walls were thick enough to drown them out. The sheet she'd charmed for Tonks was still floating in the middle of the room, but Hermione just batted it aside, her thoughts still down the hallway with the noisy newlyweds.

Of course Tonks and Remus were arguing, she reasoned. They barely knew each other, and now they were trapped in an impulsive marriage. They'd short-cutted custom and now they were paying for it…

Hermione slowly slipped out of her violet gown. She didn't want to get ready for bed yet (who knew what maelstroms could erupt from their fight). She couldn't be bothered with dressing if she needed to quickly douse an Ignitios fireworks curse or spell away a flock of angry hummingbirds. She changed into a plain gray dress, charmed her hair into a loose braid, and took a seat on her poster bed. Muttering a spell, she watched the tidy fireplace roar to life as she began going through her mental list of Tonks' favorite I-hate-you spells (and their counterspells). She'd just gotten to the “D's” when she heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she called, expecting Tonks. Her view of the door was blocked by the floating sheet, but she could tell that the heavy footsteps on the other side were definitely not Tonks'.

Harry appeared from behind the makeshift curtain. He seemed to be studying the sheet, puzzling over it. She didn't blame him. It was really a ridiculous sight, and Harry looked adorably confused.

“Luv, why do you have a sheet floating in the middle of your room?” Harry asked, giving it a tug.

Hermione had to suppress the smile that rose when he called her “luv.” She noticed he wasn't wearing his waistcoat and Hermione blushed when she remembered how she'd tossed it onto the drawing room floor earlier.

“Tonks needed some privacy. This was our dressing room,” she explained quietly, staring into the fireplace. She didn't know why she was suddenly shy with him. Minutes ago she was curled up in his lap, kissing him for all she was worth. Now Hermione couldn't even look at him. Worse yet, she didn't want to look at him. She didn't want to take comfort in his concern-filled eyes or his understanding expression. She just wanted to be left alone by the dim firelight.

Harry didn't say anything as he studied her. He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched the play of sad expressions on her face. There was a heavy silence as they both waited for the other to speak.

“Do you like your room?” Harry suddenly asked.

Hermione looked up, surprised. She nodded automatically, but in all honestly hadn't thought about her guestroom one way or another. It wasn't a large room, but it was cozy, with its massive four poster bed and heavy Germanic furniture. She hadn't considered it small (she and Tonks had both dressed for the wedding quite comfortably in there) but now, with Harry just a few feet away from her, the room seemed tighter and snugger than ever.

“Mind if I sit down?” Harry asked.

Hermione could tell there was an apprehensive edge to his tone and tried to offer him an encouraging smile as she nodded.

Harry noticed that the smile didn't quite reach her eyes as he took a seat in the desk chair across from her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He watched her nervously play with her skirt, waiting for her to say what was on her mind. It was all a mistake or I really didn't enjoy it as much as I let on…ran through his anxious thoughts.

“Harry…I…” Nibbling her lip and not really knowing what to say, Hermione trailed off. Yes, she'd been shaken by the not-so-idyllic glimpse into married life, but she didn't know how to begin talking about it, least of all with Harry. She cringed as she heard something crash and break in Lupin's room. Let's hope it's not his head, she thought with a miserable sigh.

“Hermione,” Harry said gently. He rose and took a seat next to her. Judging from her tense reactions to the noises down the hall, Harry could guess at what was bothering her. He wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Hermione,” he whispered. “I have an idea.”

“An idea?” she echoed in a hollow voice. Their noses brushed as she turned to him. She hadn't realized they were sitting so close to each other, but this time she found she absolutely didn't mind in the least.

Harry nodded. “I think that if we just kiss again, we'll both feel better about all that's happened tonight.”

“Kissing isn't going to help at all Harry,” she sighed, tempting as it sounded.

“Now that's flattering,” he replied without a smile.

“Oh, I didn't mean it to sound like that,” Hermione explained. “I just meant that a kiss doesn't really solve anything.”

“I think it will,” he said in a gently challenging tone.

Hermione thought for a moment and reluctantly agreed. Anything was better than the lost empty feeling that was suffocating her.

Harry tightened his hold on her and softly brushed his lips against hers. Finding it wasn't enough, Harry kissed her more firmly, smiling when she opened for him and let him taste her.

But of course it feels wonderful, she reasoned. This was Harry for goodness sake. The man she loved, the man who could turn her insides to pudding simply by looking at her…but it really doesn't accomplish anything, does it? It simply glosses over the real problems in relationship. Just look at Remus and Tonks…

“Hermione, stop it,” Harry said against her lips. “I can't kiss you properly with you thinking so much.”

Gladly, Hermione thought dizzily, trying to focus only on the feel of his mouth against hers. She gripped his collar and tugged him toward her, leaning back until she was lying down. Harry followed her, crawling over her body, his lips hovering over hers, teasing her with gentle, feathery brushes.

“Harry,” she moaned, arching against him while he moved his mouth across her lips and up the side of her jaw. “Kiss me again…please,” she whispered.

Harry nodded absently. His hands moved up to the back of her neck and caught in her hair as he brought her lips roughly to his for a proper kiss. His tongue dipped against hers and a plaintive sigh escaped her. She shuddered with pleasure as a now familiar tingling sensation made her feel warm and weak. Returning the kiss and clawing at his back, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck as their legs tangled. They began to move against each other, surrendering the hot urgent pulse that seemed to come so easily to them now. Whatever control she'd had, she was in danger of losing as the slow rhythmic movements of their bodies made her head spin and another groan rise from her throat.

Hermione broke away, gasping for air. “Harry,” she said breathlessly, “we're in my bedroom.”

Harry nodded. “Mmmm. I like the way you think.”

Hermione shot him a serious look. “Harry…” she said warningly, gently pushing him away.

He chuckled as he lightly kissed her forehead. He shifted onto his side next to her. “I know. I'm sorry luv.” His thumb ran over her lips and a ghost of a smile broke out over his face. “I can't seem to control myself when I'm with you.”

Hermione looked away and blushed. “I noticed.”

He tilted her chin so that his face hovered over hers. “Someday, I won't have to.”

Staring into his eyes, which now had a gleam of hunger, she groaned and bit her lip. The hot pulse rose in her again, and she shivered with want. Harry heard her moan and captured her lips. His hand found the small of her back and brought her flush against the length of his body. They kissed until it became too heated an embrace to continue. Harry tucked an arm around her shoulders and encouraged her to lie next to him. Curling up against his side, Hermione rested her cheek against the crook of his neck as his other arm wrapped possessively around her waist. They lay like that for a minute or two, until their breathing evened.

“Well that certainly didn't go as planned,” Harry muttered.

“I suppose it didn't.” Hermione turned to him with a sad smile. “And it really only proves my point.” Hermione sighed as she tucked some stray curls behind her ear. “Harry I do want this. But…it's all so…” Hermione swallowed hard. “…look at Tonks and Remus. They're probably throttling each other as we speak because they didn't know what they were getting into…They just felt an attraction and rushed into marriage without really bothering to get know each other…”

“…and whatever else happens, Tonks won't change you know,” Hermione added, her fingers playing with his shirt buttons. “She'll go on being stubborn and loud and spontaneous. And Remus will try to correct her and lecture her and it'll all be for nothing. Whatever affection they have for each other will just fall to pieces from there and soon instead of cardinals there'll be vultures because one of them will be lying unconscious in the road after getting hit over the head with a beaters bat.”

Hermione paused and took a breath. “And I know that I sound ridiculous…but …I…I can't help feeling that we're starting down the same path because we're sitting in my bedroom for goodness sake and I don't want you to stop touching me and I don't want you to control yourself…And how on earth am I supposed to…to…keep a respectable distance from you when you look at me the way you do?”

“Am I really supposed to have an answer for that?” Harry asked with a chuckle.

“No…yes…oh I'm sorry Harry. I'm not explaining this at all well, am I?” she shook her head and sighed miserably. “None of it makes sense. Honestly, I used to…make sense.”

She groaned at her own inanity. Once upon a time she was considered quite articulate and clever in certain circles. But that all changed after Harry came along with his heart-melting smiles and intense green eyes.

Unfazed, Harry hushed her and pulled her in for a quick kiss. “Luv, you're explaining it fine. You're worried that we're rushing into this. Is that it?”

Hermione nodded and sighed in relief. There, in less than ten words, he'd pretty much summed it up. Yes, she was afraid they were rushing into a relationship. A very intense, incredibly physical relationship. In the last hour they'd somehow managed to skip friendship and courtship and go right into snogging. Incredible, mind-blowing, toe-curling snogging, but snogging nonetheless.

“Believe it or not, I was thinking the same thing,” Harry went on. “Wondering if I was taking advantage of you. Wondering if I was doing the right thing.” He paused. “Well, judging from the noises you made, I know I was doing the right thing.” He grinned an insufferable grin.

Hermione's eyes brightened. “That's horrible Harry,” she cried as she shoved his arm, amazed that he could make her laugh in the middle of such a serious discussion.

“Of course, I knew it was only a matter of time before you succumbed to my wily charms,” he said playfully.

“Oh really? And what were you going to use for charm?”

“Oh that tears it,” he said. He pulled her to him and gave her a long, punishing kiss that left no doubt in her mind as to what charms he possessed.

The kiss lasted until she pushed him away, panting. Wow, he's good at that, she thought giddily as he pulled her to her feet.

Feeling a slight masculine pride at her dizzy expression, he kissed her hand and bade her good-night. She walked him to the door, her crippling self-doubt replaced with an irritatingly bouncy spring in her step.

“Should we check on Tonks and Remus?” she asked, nodding towards Lupin's room.

Harry shrugged. “If they've knocked each other unconscious, there's really nothing we can do until morning. I just hope they didn't dent my beater's bats.”

He was joking of course, but Hermione had to admit he made a good point. Either the newlyweds had settled their differences or they'd shouted each other into exhaustion. In any case, Hermione didn't think she wanted to know what was happening in Lupin's room

“Then good night Harry,” she said, offering her cheek.

“Good night Hermione,” he replied, ignoring the offered cheek. He turned her chin with his finger and gave her a spine-tingling kiss on the lips as if to say, I don't mind taking it slow, Hermione, but not that slow.

She found she couldn't agree more.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered, punctuating it with another quick peck. With a cheerful jaunt, he headed into the darkness towards his own room.

“Oh my,” was all she could manage as she closed her door. It was something of an understatement, but she was quickly getting used to sounding absurd.

“Well…that was…oh my…” she sputtered, smiling and twirling and doing all the nonsensical things that nonsensical people do when they're in love. For once in her life, she was too happy to think. She absolutely refused to deconstruct and dissect what had taken place. Instead she fell on the bed, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling with the silliest of smiles on her face.

“Oh my,” she sighed again, wondering what tomorrow would bring. She hoped she could manage a few stolen moments alone with Harry and grinned when she realized that yes, she probably could (unless Tonks planned another bird curse or figured out how to Crucio Ron).

But even with the drama of the household looming over her, she still managed to keep that silly expression on her face until she drifted off to sleep.

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

Don't cha just hate it when authors tack on their unnecessary and narcissistic notes at the end of the chappie? It's like… “Hey, I was getting into an escapist grove here and now you're flinging me back into the stinking pit of reality.” At least, that's what I say. You might say something like, “Wow, an end note! I think I'll just skip it and scroll onto the next chapter because the writer's probably just going to rant about how stupid and hard it is to update every week.”

And guess what? You'd be right.

So…yeah…not much of a cliff-hanger really. But that's only because this'll be my last post for about three weeks. Or not. I might have another one up sooner, but my accelerated summer semester started and apparently I have to read a Derrida book every week for the next month. YEAH! (which is code for “please kill me”).

Much love,

Magpie

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

-->

13. Interlude: Cake and Eggs

Interlude: Cake and Eggs

Author’s note: So…this chapter begins only a few hours after the last one ends. I think I should warn you that I consider this one more of an interlude than anything else. Nothing much happens. Tonks has a few funny lines. Ron gets ticked off…but I really don’t know why I’m posting it. Maybe it’s because it’s been months and months since my last update…and well…I dunno. I feel guilty. There. I said it. My writing is fueled by guilt. And Cheetos. And repeated viewings of Far From Heaven.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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

“Mione?” Tonks’s voice rang out from behind Hermione’s closed bedroom door.

Some urgent knocking followed, rousing Hermione from her deep sleep and interrupting her rather nice dream about Harry.

“Tonks…?” Hermione muttered as she sat up. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced at the grandfather clock and saw that it was just past three ‘o clock in the morning.

“Um…just a moment,” Hermione called hoarsely. The knocking continued as she staggered from her bed, stretching and yawning and hoping Tonks hadn’t tried another angry bird spell.

Shrugging on a robe, she opened the door and found her incensed cousin still in her wedding dress, tapping her foot impatiently on the hardwood floor, hands on her hips, looking like Principal Pomfrey ready to scold her. Hermione also noticed that there were no swooping birds or screaming husbands nearby, so it was likely that whatever Tonks wanted could’ve waited til morning.

Hermione yawned again and leaned against the door’s frame. “Tonks what is it?” she asked in a tired voice.

“I can’t sleep,” Tonks said matter-of-factly.

“You can’t…what?”

“Sleep. I’ve been trying and trying and now I think maybe the whole thing was a mistake?”

“A mistake?” Hermione yawned again. “You mean sleeping?”

“No not sleeping.” Tonks shook her head impatiently. “I was talking about the birds.”

“The birds?”

“Those damn birds!” Tonks pushed past Hermione and started pacing around the room. “First Ron, then the birds, and now I can’t sleep. I mean, how do you like that? I didn’t even get any cake!”

“Cake?”

“Or flowers. Throwing them, I mean.”

Confused, Hermione shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “Tonks, it’s three in the morning. Where’s Remus?”

“Remus. Bah!” Tonks spat. “I don’t know. Who cares? Not me. That’s for sure. He can just go off and have fun at the reception. I don’t care.”

“He went to the reception? Without you? Why would he do that?”

Tonks waved her hands dismissively. “To check on the guests or something. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I care what he does or where he does it. He can just go off and have his completely fun reception without me. I don’t care. I’m not speaking to him anyway. Especially if I see him there. Then I’m definitely not speaking to him.”

“What do you mean ‘if you see him there’? Are you going to the reception? At this hour?”

“Of course I am. It’s my cake after all. And I’ll certainly find something to throw, even if it’s not flowers. Maybe a shoe or something. Ha! That’ll be brilliant. Hey, maybe I’ll just chuck one at Remus. It’ll be by accident of course. Because I’m completely serious about ignoring him forever you see.”

Hermione nodded. “So that’s why you’re going to the reception… to show him that you don’t care that he went to the reception.”

“Exactly. Do you want to come along? It should be loads of fun.”

Hermione sighed. “Sorry Tonks, it’s much too late for that. Besides, I’m sure the reception’s been over for awhile now.”

“Nooooo.” Tonks shook her head. “My parents’ friends drink like a school of fish so I know they’ll be out there until dawn. In any case it’s my big day and I’m not going to let anyone ruin it. Least of all me. Or Ron. Or evil cardinals.”

With that, Tonks spun on her heel and strode down the hallway.

“Oh…um…goodnight,” Hermione called after her. With another great yawn, she crawled back into bed, not sure whether the whole thing was some odd unwelcomed dream.

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

The Next Morning:

It was odd waking up to a completely silent house. A cardinal was chirping outside and the winter wind occasionally whistled past the window, but instead of enjoying the peacefulness of the house, Hermione couldn’t help but notice there was no Lavender laughing down the hallway, or Luna singing in the next room, or Aunt Aurora fretting about breakfast. Only the chime of the grandfather clock accompanied her hairdressing as she sat in front of the vanity and combed through her curly locks.

Who would’ve guessed I’d actually miss the sound of Lav stomping up and down the hallway?

Smiling at the thought, she slipped into her favorite off-the-shoulder pink dress and took a long last look at herself in the mirror before padding down the hallway towards the dining room.

She’d understood that most of the wedding guests were supposed to spend the night at Godric’s Hollow after the reception, but they were nowhere to be seen. In fact, she didn’t see a single soul as she made her way down the hallway. The house was perfectly still and quiet, almost eerily so. Only the sound of her own footsteps sounded off the marble floors as she crossed the empty foyer.

The doors to the great dining hall were closed, but she could make out the sounds of movement coming from behind them. She opened the massive wooden doors, and her jaw dropped. The room was packed with a hundred red-eyed, sleepy strangers! They were standing in circles, mingling, or seated at one of the fifty-foot tables laid out especially for the event.

She stared in disbelief at the countless wedding guests who were staggering round the room like languishing zombies in the tropics (hung-over languishing zombies in the tropics). A few were eating breakfast at the long tables, but most were standing in groups, sipping on strong coffee or headache solutions. From the looks of the spent partygoers who managed to rise before noon, it seemed the reception had been a wild success--Remus and the house-elves had their work cut out for them in shuffling the conscious guests back to Godric’s Hollow and Leveiosing the less-than-conscious ones into nearby inns.

She saw a pair of familiar faces and waved to Tonks’ parents who were just leaving the dining room. They blinked at the sunlight pouring into the hallways and weakly returned her wave.

“Good Morning Uncle Ted, Aunt Andromeda,” Hermione said cheerfully.

“Not so loud Hermione,” Andromeda scolded her, rubbing her head. Hermione noticed they both looked a little green and grumpy.

“Sorry,” Hermione said softly. “Are you leaving today?”

“Of course we’re leaving today,” Andromeda said in a huffy voice. “Imagine, waking up with a head like this and not a drop of sherry in the whole house.”

“It is fairly inconvenient,” Ted agreed.

“Inconvenient!? It’s a crime against humanity! My head feels like it’s in a vice, and all they have is pansy root and emerald elixir.” Andromeda shook her head, disgusted. “I knew we were in the country but really, this is ridiculous…”

“Worrying about it will only make it worse dear,” Ted said comfortingly.

“Believe me, it can’t get much worse than it already is. My head feels like I slept with a screaming mandrake in my mouth…”

“Oh Andromeda!” Nora Lestrange came swooping down on them like a giant colorful bird of prey. She planted firm kisses on Andromeda’s cheeks and was about to do the same with Ted but he managed to hasten away and disappear into the crowd. Hermione was about to do the same when Nora grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug.

“Hermione! Darrrling,” Nora cooed as Hermione steeled herself for her aunt’s embrace.

“Darrrling, how arrrre you?” she asked in a well-bred tone. “And how is my darrrling cousin Aurora?”

“She’s fine, thank you Aunt Nora. We’re all doing wonderfully in Meriton.”

“Ohhh Meriton! I remember the town. Such a sweet little place. Charming… in a rustic sort of way. Oh I’m so glad you girls are doing better. The last time I saw you was at the funeral.” Nora shook her head. “Such a shame. So sudden. Poor darling Jane. Such a sweet girl. It was really the most ghastly tragedy.”

Hermione nodded and smiled. “Yes it was. Well, if you’ll excuse me I’m…”

“And it must be so hard to watch Nymphadora get married before you do.” Nora gave Andromeda a meaningful look. “She’s only, what, two years older than you are? And already happily settled.” Nora sniffed at the injustice. “And you’re not getting any younger you know.”

“Actually she’s five years older than I am…” Hermione corrected her through gritted teeth just as the jolly voice of her uncle rang out.

“There’s our little Herm-ione,” her old Cyprus Lestrange said jovially, materializing beside her. “Nora, look how she’s grown. Regular little woman she is.” Cyprus poked at Hermione’s shoulder as if she were some kind of thoroughbred.

“Say, Nora,” Andromeda spoke up as she put a protective arm around Hermione, “Where’s your brother Rodolphus? Is he still in Azkaban?”

Nora nodded wistfully. “The poor dear man. I’m sure it was all just some dreadful misunderstanding. Nobody in our family has ever been sent to Azkaban prison.”

Hermione muttered about how surprising that was.

“I know! I’m sure it was all just ghastly misunderstanding,” Nora huffed. “That awful Ministry and their silly new policies about testing Crucio curses on Muggles. As if our elected officials didn’t have better things to do than police what respectable wizards do in their backyards…”

“Why don’t you run along dear,” Andromeda whispered to Hermione. “This may take awhile…”

Grateful to her aunt, Hermione curtsied and hurried away. Soon she found herself completely swallowed up by the sea of wedding guests. Through the clinking of glasses and the murmur of suffering voices, she caught mingled snippets of their conversations as she shuffled through the crowd:

…How did I manage to swallow both sets of keys…?

…Where did this tattoo come from…?

…I think it was a mistake sleeping under that table. My back feels like I’ve been knocked about by a womping willow…

…I finally found my socks, and no, you don’t want to know where they were…

Not wanting to venture a guess herself, Hermione pushed her way through the weary masses. Ducking and weaving through the crowd, she caught Ron’s shock of red hair across the room and headed for it. There was an empty chair in front of him and she collapsed into the seat, glad to be out of the noisy throng.

Ron look exhausted as he stabbed at his breakfast with a fork. A more cheerful Tonks and Lupin were sitting next to him digging into own their plates of food.

Hermione twisted around in her chair and began searching for Harry amongst the crowd. Just the thought of seeing him made her stomach flip-flop, and she unconsciously straightened her dress and patted her glossy ringlets. She knew it was ridiculous, but she’d spent more time than usual charming her hair that morning. Her curls were loosely tied off from her face with a pink ribbon and cascaded artfully down her back. What she didn’t realize was that her cheeks were rosy and her eyes had an undeniable sparkle to them. Anyone who didn’t know better would’ve guessed that she was the one who’d been married the night before. However, her becoming blush lost its color when she didn’t find Harry.

With a disappointed sigh, she turned toward her friends at the table.

“Good morning Ron,” Hermione greeted him with a nod.

“Mafaaghaa” Ron nodded back with a mouthful of food. Despite his healthy appetite, Ron looked just as spent as the other guests.

She greeted Tonks and Remus and surveyed the table, which was set with silver containers full of steaming dishes. Hermione couldn’t believe the immense amount of food laid out for them: pitchers of milk and juices, steaming coffee, white pudding, whole hams, mashed potatoes, kippers and a dozen different kinds of breads and muffins. The extravagant breakfast had been prepared in honor of the newlyweds; however Tonks and Remus couldn’t have cared less. Tonks was practically sitting in Remus’s lap and whispering to him between bites of an orange and white frosted cake. They were too busy gazing into each other’s eyes and spoonfeeding each other to pay attention to the food or the people sitting beside them who were trying not to choke on their bile.

“Tonks…?” Hermione asked, staring at Tonks’ plate.

“Hmmmm?” Tonks hummed as she licked frosting off her fingers.

“Is that your wedding cake?”

Tonks nodded. “I thought I might as well eat it today, seeing as how it didn’t get finished last night.” Tonks winked at Remus, who smiled indulgently at his bride.

Looking from Remus to Tonks and back again, Hermione couldn’t help but feel relieved that the lovebirds had successfully settled their first marital spat. No one would’ve guessed that only a few hours ago Tonks was spelling cardinals to take off poor Remus’s head.

I should have known better, Hermione thought with a smile. Remus could never stay mad at her. And Tonks doesn’t have the attention span to hold a grudge…

“Hey Tonks, would you pass me the butter?” Ron asked, snatching a piece of toast from a basket.

Tonks calmly turned and looked directly at him. “No Ron. I will not pass you the butter. You don’t deserve butter.”

…Or maybe she’s very capable of holding a grudge, at least where Ron’s concerned…

Ron looked confused. “Deserve …? What are you talking about? Just give me the butter.”

“No!”

“Give me the butter!”

“No!”

“Now!”

“Never!”

“Give it to me!”

“You’ll have to pry it from my cold dead hands!”

“Tonkspassthebutter. Tonkspassthebutter. Tonkspassthebutter,” Ron began to repeat over and over again. Tonks covered her ears and began humming a tune to drown him out.

“Here Ron, I’ll get it,” Hermione said impatiently, sliding the dish around the immense silver warming dishes.

“Thanks Hermione,” Ron said triumphantly, slabbing a pile of it onto his toast.

“You’re not welcome Ron,” Tonks cut in. “Oh, and speaking of other horrible things that nobody likes, Hermione, I’ll need your help packing this morning. I made a complete mess of my things the other day. My room looks really awful, but I guess I was just saving Ron the trouble of ruining my clothes and making everything horribly stupid.”

Hermione murmured an edgy “fine” as she spooned a few kippers onto her plate. The morning was not shaping up to be a good one so far.

Honestly, Tonks and Ron are such unbelievable children. I mean, really. They can’t even manage to control themselves long enough to hold a civil conversation at the breakfast table…

“Morning Hermione,” a familiar voice said quietly.

Hermione turned around to find Harry standing behind her chair with a barely concealed grin on his face.

Surprised (and suddenly quite happy) Hermione smiled shyly and nodded a greeting. Her smile faded, however, when she realized she hadn’t really thought about what it would be like seeing him after all that had happened. Now, staring into eyes of the man she adored, Hermione wished she’d practiced some inane greeting while she was charming her hair for the better part of an hour. Something innocuous like, “Oh hello Harry…lovely weather we’re having…I hoped you slept well last night…breakfast looks wonderful…tra la la fa fa.”

But no, instead she was blushing and panting and on the verge of stammering a nonsensical reply.

Hermione cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “Good morning Harry,” she said evenly.

Harry flashed his incredible grin and took a seat next to her.

Endlessly pleased with herself, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she could handle the whole-being-coherent-even-when-Harry’s-just-two-feet-away-and-looking-positively-scrumptious situation.

“Morning Harry. Looks like you’ve got your hands full with this lot,” Ron said, motioning around the room.

Harry gave a slight chuckle and nodded. Hermione noticed that he did look fairly tired. He also smelled like clover and had the most elegant hands of any man she’d ever met…which is completely irrelevant to the conversation…Hermione grumbled.

“You look tired,” Hermione said aloud.

“Well, someone had to play host.” Harry looked squarely at Lupin, who had the good sense to look a little embarrassed.

Lupin cleared his throat. “I suppose I wasn’t much use last night. But I’m trying to make up for it now.”

Tonks whispered something sly to him that made him blush and Ron pretended to gag.

“It’s a lovely breakfast Harry,” Hermione spoke up over Ron’s retching noises.

Harry nodded and surveyed the table. “Well, as much as I’d like to take credit for it, Remus was the one who arranged for everything.”

“You’d think Remus might actually want to eat it then. Instead of pawing at Tonks,” Ron grumbled.

Remus ignored him, or maybe he didn’t understand Ron through the gobs of mushy toast in his mouth. Instead he got up to go say good morning to a few guests that had staggered in. He whispered something to Tonks, who beamed at him and blew him a kiss goodbye.

“Dear Merlin…” Ron averted his eyes from the oh-so-sweet sight. “Aren’t you two supposed to be on your honeymoon?”

“This is our honeymoon,” Tonks answered absently, her eyes following Lupin as he crossed the room.

“No, I mean, aren’t you supposed to go away on your honeymoon. Someplace that’s not here. A place far away from people who want to keep down their breakfast.”

Tonks shot him an annoyed look. “After last night Ron, I really don’t expect to you keep down anything.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think she’s still upset about the wedding,” Hermione explained, keeping her voice low.

“Last night? Why? What happened at the wedding?” Ron asked, scrunching up his face, trying to remember.

Harry chuckled and Hermione braced herself as Tonks glared angrily at Ron.

Ron still looked confused. “Come on guys. What happened?”

“Much stupid-ness,” Tonks spat, staring squaring at Ron.

“Huh?” Ron asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing Ron. You had a little too much to drink last night.” Hermione shot a “be nice” look to Tonks.

“Ha!” Tonks scoffed. “Yeah right. A ‘little’ too much to drink. Maybe ‘a lot’ too much. How about ‘the house-elves-are-still-steam-scrubbing-the-wheels-of-the-carriage’ too much.”

“Oh that’s a load of bollocks,” Ron said, incensed. “For your information, Nightingale, I hold my liquor like a lumberjack.”

“Yeah, a lumberjack spewing vomit,” Tonks snapped back, gathering up her coffee and toast. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to finish my breakfast up in my room lest Mount Idiot Boy here erupts again. Mione, if he passes out again, just feed him to the dogs. You might have to hose him off first. They won’t eat things that have puked themselves to death.”

“What do you mean ‘hose him off’?! Hey get back here!” Ron cried as a fuming Tonks strode out of the room.

Meanwhile Harry looked like he was trying not to laugh and Hermione was feeling nauseous. She looked wearily at the pile of kippers in front of her and pushed her plate away, deciding to just to keep to her coffee.

“That girl is nutters,” Ron mumbled bitterly, his mouth full of toast again. “Dogs indeed. Harry doesn’t even own any dogs.”

“I’m sure we’ll have packs of them running around here before the day’s out,” Harry muttered, remembering the cardinals from last night. Hearing someone call his name, he muttered ‘excuse me’ as he got up from his chair, but not before catching Hermione’s eye and flashing her another heart-stopping smile. She stared at him as he headed towards a group of guests. It was only when he disappeared into the crowd that she realized her mouth was hanging open.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Ron said around his bacon. “Are you headed back to Meriton?”

Hermione quickly closed her mouth and turned back to Ron. She nodded, but couldn’t hide her disappointment at the thought.

“Yes, I’m leaving,” Hermione sighed sadly.

“You don’t look too happy about it,” Ron said downing his tea.

“I don’t?” she asked with a fake smile.

“Nope.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and dug into his eggs. “You know, you could probably stay on here for a few more days. No one would care.”

Hermione shrugged. “As nice as that sounds, I’m afraid I have to get home. Tonks and Remus are going to Grimmauld Place, and I can’t possibly stay here without them.”

Hermione gave another sad sigh but tried to mask it with a smile. She felt a sad ache at the prospect of leaving Harry—there was no telling how often she’d see him when she got back to Meriton, and the thought of not being able to see him for weeks at a time made her scant appetite disappear entirely.

“Wow. You’re really upset.” Ron interrupted her thoughts. “Didn’t think you’d miss Tonks that much. Lord, I didn’t think anyone would miss Tonks that much.” He had a ‘girls are weird tone’ to his voice. “But you know, there’s a chance they won’t leave til tomorrow. The weather’s still pretty lousy. ’S not a great day for traveling.”

“Maybe,” Hermione said forlornly. She shook off her gloomy thoughts and silently scolded herself. So far, she was doing a horrible job of acting like a normal-not-in-love-witch. If Ron, a wizard with the emotional depth of a teaspoon, could sense her reluctance to leave Godric’s Hollow, then surely the rest of the houseguests were bound to notice as well. She needed to get of out there before she did something silly like burst into tears or blush like an idiot whenever Harry came round again.

“Well, have a good morning Ron,” Hermione said as she rose from the table.

“What? You’re not going to eat?”

“I’m not hungry, thanks.” Hermione eyed the grandfather clock across from her. “Besides, I’ve promised to help Tonks pack. I’d better be getting upstairs.”

“Tonks and Remus are headed off around noon, right?”

Hermione nodded.

“Thank Merlin for that. Least I’ll be able to eat lunch in peace,” Ron said, relieved. “Hey, are you going to finish those kippers?”

“Help yourself Ron,” Hermione replied as she pushed her plate towards him.

She took a last sip of her coffee and made her way through the sea of partygoers. As she closed the doors of the dining room behind her, Hermione took a calming breath before heading upstairs. It was no surprise that Tonks needed her help packing, she was rubbish at folding and shrinking spells. But what didn’t help matters was that she even worse at keeping out of the way. Trying to sort clothes in front of Tonks was like flashing a red cape at a bull--Tonks just had to fiddle with them or cast spells to make them do loop-de- loops or dance or toss themselves onto Hermione’s head. Although Hermione wanted to spend time with Tonks before she left for Grimmauld Place, helping her pack was definitely a chore Hermione wasn’t looking forward to.

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

“So we’re standing there, or actually I’m standing there and Remus is pacing around the balcony yelling about those stupid birds again…”

An hour later, Tonks was recounting her argument with Remus while Hermione was sorting through the mess she’d made of her clothes. All twelve of Tonks’ suitcases had been opened and their contents flung to the four corners of her guestroom. Why exactly Tonks had made such a mess of her things, Hermione couldn’t say. When she’d asked, Tonks had launched into a detailed account of her fight with Remus at the reception:

“…I mean, there we were on a balcony of the Waverly Hotel, the new Mr. and Mrs. Lupin. Alone. By ourselves. At our wedding reception. Was he on his knees, declaring his undying love for me? Or quoting Keats? Or undressing me with his teeth? No. He was yelling at me. He. Was. Yelling. At. Me. His bride! The light of his life. The soft glowing candle in his dark cave of bachelorhood. And he’s yelling at me. Everyone knows you don’t yell at a candle. You could accidentally blow it out and then where would you be? Lost in a dark cave. Probably until you get eaten by a bear or a pirate or whatever it is that lives in caves.”

“Uh huh,” Hermione muttered absently as she started to organize another pile of clothing. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Tonks had spent the last forty minutes folding two pairs of skirts.

“And I looked adorable,” Tonks assured her. “Really. Mrs. Neddlemark did a great job on my dress, don’t you think? What with the sleeves and the color and my hair. I was one big beautiful turquoise flower just waiting to be plucked, and the plucker was just standing there yelling at me. Some bridegroom. It’s not like I hit him with a frying pan or threw a coat rack at him. You’d think the man had never been attacked by birds before…” Tonks fell into a thoughtful pause.

“…All right, maybe that was a mistake. Cardinals are mean buggers, and not a seasonal choice for a bird at all. I’m actually a little worried about them. I mean, I don’t know how they’ll take to the climate here. Hopefully they’ll be okay. Of course, I couldn’t have been the first person to make that mistake with a bird curse…”

Hermione nodded in agreement, wondering just how Tonks managed to get her yellow sweater stuck on top of one of the posts on the canopy bed. The rest of Tonks’ clothes were floating in an orderly line, charmed to fold and neatly place themselves in the open trunks scattered about the room. However, a few choice articles were making things difficult. Articles like that yellow sweater.

Frustrated, Hermione hitched up her skirt and climbed on top of the bed. After tugging on the sweater for a minute, she realized that the stubborn garment had one of its arms wrapped around the bedpost and was holding on for dear life. Sweaters were especially bad about not wanting to be packed up. She’d never handled a really cooperative one.

She grabbed its sleeves and untwisted them from around the bedpost. “Why did you unpack this thing in the first place?” Hermione grumbled, interrupting Tonks’ story. “I mean really Tonks, why did you unpack anything at all? You were only here for two days and look at this place,” Hermione motioned around the clothes-strewn room. Tonks’ wildly colorful wardrobe was plastered over every conceivable surface. It amazed Hermione that anyone could make such a mess in such a short period of time, even Tonks.

“Oh that,” Tonks replied matter-of-factly. “I needed to find something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. And it’s not as though I packed my clothes exactly those categories. It took me a really long time find the lot of ‘em.”

Evidently, it had taken a whole lot of mess-making too. Tonks didn’t seem so concerned with straightening it up though. Instead she was finding loads of amusement in watching Hermione wrestle with her clothing.

“This isn’t funny Tonks,” Hermione muttered as she tried to push the stubborn yellow sweater into a carrying case. What made matters worse was also having to grapple with the escaping folds of fabric that were trying to crawl out of the suitcase at the same time.

“I think it is,” Tonks giggled as she watched Hermione fight with the garment. The sleeves were gripping either side of the suitcase, refusing to budge no matter how hard Hermione shoved it.

“Oh, that reminds me Mione, if you ever get married to Harry, don’t get mad at him and send evil birds to attack him. It only makes whatever you’re fighting about worse. Trust me on this.”

“What… what do you mean?” Hermione stammered, losing her grip in the sweater long enough to let it crawl under the bed.

“I mean evil birds don’t solve anything. You were there. You saw how Remus reacted. Believe me, if you want to have a half-way decent wedding night, avoid conjuring up birds or bats or other wingy flying things.”

“What makes you think I’m going…going to marry Harry,” Hermione tried to sound as indifferent as possible to the idea.

“Oh, fine. Ron then. If you marry Ron, make sure you don’t conjure up birds to attack him.” Tonks lowered her voice. “But if you do get married to Ron, please please please bring something for me to throw up in during the ceremony. Because, really. Ron? Husband?” Tonks shivered. “Icky.”

Secretly relieved, Hermione sighed and turned her attention back to the sweater, which, of course, had gone under the bed.

“…Anyway, back to me,” Tonks continued her story. “So when stupid Remus does stop yelling at me, I open my mouth to apologize, and guess what happens? I start shouting. And I don’t mean speaking loudly or arguing passionately. I mean shouting. I don’t even know what I’m saying. So I tell myself to stop it. ‘Stop shouting,’ I tell myself, but do I listen? No. That’s just like me. A big beautiful flower who never listens.”

“Right. Listening is good,” Hermione echoed wearily, looking under the bed for the runaway garment.

Tonks nodded earnestly. “I know! Listening is good! Gods Hermione, you sure are smart. Because that’s exactly what I needed to do. Listen. But do I listen? No. It’s like the one thing I should’ve done, I didn’t. It’s like that Muggle story about Cinderella. If she’d just gone home by midnight, she wouldn’t have lost her shoe. But did she listen? No! And so she lost perfectly good slipper. All because she didn’t listen.”

“Uh huh.”

“So I’m screaming at Lupin and he’s yelling at me and…just you know what happened next?”

“Oh I don’t know…more birds maybe?”

Tonks shook her head triumphantly. “Nope. I just jumped into his arms and kissed him.”

Hermione looked up and laughed. “What? Just like that?”

“Yup, just like that, and you know what else? It took him a second, but then he kissed me back! I think it was the dress after all. You know, what with me looking adorable in it and everything.”

“It’s very possible,” Hermione smiled.

“Very possible? Absolutely possible. Remus is a red-blooded man after all. Show a little skin, a little bosom, and they all turn to putty.” Tonks grinned. “Well, not putty. Quite the opposite in fact.”

“Tonks!” Hermione cried.

“What? I’m married Mione. I have to tell you about these things. After all, it’s my duty and so forth. It’s very important that I pass on my marital knowledge to you poor innocent single girls.”

“Not at the moment it isn’t. Are you going to help me sort through any of this?”

“Oh Mione,” Tonks sighed. “Poor, sweet, single Mione. Someday, when you’re grown up, you’ll realize that marriage is much more important than packing and cleaning and so forth.”

“I’ll take that to mean you won’t help.” Hermione huffed. With a flick of her wrist, she Accioed the sweater, which came flying out from under the bed into her waiting hands.

“Poor girl,” Tonks said pityingly, watching her cousin wrestle with the still-struggling sweater. “You’re so good with sweaters but so bad with men. How does that happen?”

“What do you mean I’m ‘bad’ with men?!” Hermione snapped, quickly tossing the sweater into the case and latching it shut.

Tonks tisked-tisked. “You know the saying, ‘always the bridesmaid never the bride.’ Well…that bridesmaid is you.”

“Now look here Tonks, I’ve only been a bridesmaid once and it’s a good thing I was or else Remus would’ve had his eyes pecked out.”

Tonks waved off her point. “That’s just the unmarried resentment talking. Wait til I get you a husband. All that old-maid bitterness will just flow out of you like warm honey.”

“Old maid!” Hermione cried. “Tonks, I have no interest in hearing your views about marriage, especially not after the way you acted last night. And now you expect me to just stand here and listen to you as you go on and on about goodness knows what and all the while you…”

Poor little sad Mione, Tonks thought, studying her cousin and ignoring her stern speech about all her unwelcomed marriage advice. If only she’d get married. Then she’d stop acting all bitter and silly and so forth. Of course there’s no one she’s really serious about at the moment. Marriage-wise that is…” Tonks smiled as an idea came to her. “Of course, there’s always Harry. Hmmmm. Harry. Now there’s a thought. He does have wonderful hair, and it’d be awfully merry if he got engaged to Mione. Remus and I could spend summers here at Godric’s Hollow, and they could spend their winters at Grimmauld Place. It’s really an ideal sort of match. They would make a smart couple at that…” Tonks paused to shoo away a floating dress that was passing over her.

“…Now is that settled?” Hermione asked, hoping that Tonks would take her warning about unsolicited advice to heart.

“Absolutely settled Mione,” Tonks said firmly, again batting at the dress that was hovering over her.

Hermione sighed. “Tonks, leave that dress alone.”

“Hey! It started it! I was just sitting here, minding my own business when the skirts all fluttered in my face.”

Offended by the accusation, the incensed dress descended onto the bed and sat stubbornly on the edge, crossing its sleeves over its chest, refusing to budge.

“Great,” Hermione groaned, rubbing her head. Grappling with laundry was certainly not how she wanted to spend her last few hours at Godric’s Hollow. She kicked a shoe out of her way as she approached the gown. “Come on, up you go,” she said as she took the dress by the elbow and let it to an open suitcase. “In with your friends. Come on. In you go.” She helped the gown crawl into the suitcase, relieved when it didn’t put up a fight.

“Honestly Tonks,” Hermione said as she wiped her brow.

“Honestly nothing,” Tonks said dismissively. “You have to get married.”

Hermione started. “Married? What…did you not hear a single word I just said?”

“In all honestly Mione, no. I mean, I heard you, but I was much too busy thinking about marriage and love and all the things you’ve missed out on in life. It’s so sad really. Here in a house with the man you’re supposed to marry and all you can think about is luggage. It’s just so… tragic.”

“The man I’m supposed to marry? Tonks what are you talking about…?” Hermione trailed off. The whole of the morning had been one long confusing mess. Tired, aching, and just plain fed up with Tonks and all her insensible conversation, Hermione had finally had enough.

“You know what Tonks? You’re right.”

“I am?” Tonks sounded pleased.

“Yes. You are absolutely right. It is tragic to be helping you with the mess you’ve made when it’s so obvious I should be out getting married. You’re right. Thank you. Your powers of logic astound me. I’ll just join you for tea later. By then I’m sure to have bagged a husband.”

“Well you don’t have to be rude about it.”

“Me rude?” Hermione said, incensed. “You have been impossible all morning.”

“But only because you won’t listen to reason…”

“Reason? Tonks, the day you start spewing reason is the day I eat that hat.”

“What? This hat?” Tonks asked calmly as she picked up a green bonnet at her feet and threw it squarely at Hermione. It hit her in the shoulder and unceremoniously bounced off her and hit the floor.

“Oh!” Hermione cried as she countered with a silk puce wrap. Before they knew it, they were throwing piles of clothes at each other.

“Hey that’s my…” Tonks started, before a violet beret landed square in her face, “…favorite beret.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that you leave it lying around…along with every other piece of clothing you own.”

Tonks countered by throwing a slip at her. It landed on Hemione’s head, covering her face and getting its ribbons got caught on the buttons on her dress.

“You look good like that Mione.”

Hermione shouted a muffled curse.

“You sound good too. I think you should wear all your slips like that.”

“Oh you!” Hermione cried, trying to untangle herself from the garment. “…I swear …someday I’m going to turn you into a farm animal!”

“You’ll have to catch me first. Ha ha!” Tonks laughed gleefully as she danced around the room and shouted about being a “moving target.”

Hermione managed to free herself just in time to see a concerned Remus rush in.

“What’s all the noise? What are you two doing?” he asked, amazed by the mess that surrounded him.

“Packing,” Tonks said innocently.

“Really?” He kicked a dress out of his way. “Because it looks like you’re doing the exact opposite.”

“Well, Mione here’s no help.”

Hermione threw the slip on the floor and bit back an unpleasant comment about her dear cousin…my dear, sweet, joking, incorrigible, funny cousin, Hermione muttered over and over again, trying to convince herself of the fact as she stormed out of the room.

Lupin watched Hermione rush down the hallway until she disappeared round the corner.

“What on earth have you done to Hermione?” Lupin asked sternly.

“It’s not me,” Tonks insisted. “It’s love that’s done it. Hermione’s getting married.”

“Married!? To whom?”

“I haven’t worked that part out yet,” Tonks said thoughtfully. “But I’ll need more than a handful of hours to figure it out. If there’s even that. Knowing Mione, she’ll probably hole herself up in the library until we leave. Do you think Harry would mind if we stayed on a few more days?”

“I have no idea. After your behavior last night, I was surprised he didn’t make us sleep in the yard.”

“Great! It’s settled then. Now I just have to make sure Mione doesn’t muck it up.”

“Muck what up? Tonks, what are you talking about?”

Tonks shushed him. “Leave everything to me. I’ve got a plan. And it doesn’t involve bridesmaids.”

“Bridesmaids?”

“You know. Being one. Forever.”

Tonks blew him a kiss as she headed out the door, intent on finding Harry. Left alone, Remus looked around the messy room, wondering just what the force of nature he’d married was up to.

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

Determined to get as faraway from Tonks as she could, Hermione hurried into the foyer, and found herself in the middle of a chaotic, rowdy mass of partygoers. She slowly worked her way through the crowd, getting jostled and pushed herself in the process. A shove here, a jogged elbow there--the hallway was so packed with people loading up their carriages that Hermione wondered if she’d ever find her way back to her room. It seemed every single guest had one thing on their minds: getting away from Godric’s Hollow as quickly as possible.

Hermione couldn’t understand why everyone was in such a rush to leave. The Quidditch Regionals weren’t for another few days, nor was there a sign of an impending blizzard or a freak monsoon. Short of that, Hermione would’ve wagered that the guests would’ve wanted to stay for what promised to be an excellent lunch.

She pressed past people who were shouting about their luggage or complaining about the crowds or arguing about whether it would rain later. Hermione wondered if she’d get to see her Aunt Andromeda and Uncle Ted off, but beyond that, she wouldn’t mind if the whole noisy lot of them suddenly vanished into thin air. The entire morning had been one unholy mess, and she thought it best just to shut herself up in her room before she summoned a flock of angry birds.

Hermione was halfway through the horde when she suddenly felt a strong hand grip her waist. She turned her head and caught a glimpse of messy black hair out of the corner of her eye.

“Harry?” she asked, startled. By way of an answer, his hand lowered to the small of her back.

“Hello luv,” he whispered over her shoulder.

“Oh…um…hello.”

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. Even from across the room, he could see she looked pale and miserable.

“It’s nothing. Nothing really,” Hermione replied with a tense smile. “But Tonks is just…well…she’s just Tonks.”

“So…you’re not staying then?”

“Staying? No, of course I can’t…you know I can’t....”

He grimaced but didn’t say anything as he gently guided her to another the hallway. She let herself be led into a room that looked to be a private study. The walls were lined with books and a pair of overstuffed sofas were sitting in front of a cozy fireplace. There was a writing desk with several opened letters on it, but it was too dark to write since the curtains were drawn and the only light in the room was coming from a few candles on the mantel and the crackling fireplace.

“But why not?” he asked suddenly after closing the door. “Tonks said you were.”

“Were what?”

“Staying.”

Hermione shook her head. “I can’t. It’s out of the question.”

Harry stepped forward and cupped her cheek. “But… Did I do something?”

“No! No, of course not Harry,” Hermione assured him as she gently moved his hand away. “But you know I can’t stay here without Tonks and Remus.”

“Tonks and Remus? But they’re not leaving.”

“What!?”

Harry grinned. “Tonks came charging up to me and said that they were staying on for another few days. She also said something about bridesmaids and sweaters, but I didn’t quite follow that part of it.”

“Oh, well…you’ll get used to that. About Tonks I mean,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “But do you think it’s true? Are they really staying? Tonks was so excited to see Grimmauld Place… I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t want to leave today.”

“Does it matter?” Harry asked, raising her chin to meet his gaze.

“What…what do you mean?”

“You’re here. That’s all that matters to me.” Harry cupped her cheek and lowered his lips to hers.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, pushing him away and eyeing the door.

“What?” he asked softly, tightening his grip on her.

Her breath caught in her throat as he ran his fingertips over her shoulders. “Someone could …oh…um…someone could come in at any second.”

“I’ve locked the doors,” Harry muttered as his lips found her neck.

“Oh…well…that was…um…clever of you…” she trailed off as one of his strong arms snuck round her shoulder.

Before she could finish, he pressed his lips to hers. Her desire rose rapidly and she shuddered as a heady pulse overtook her. Her mind was racing, and only sensations registered: his warm breath against her ear, his lips on her throat, his hands gripping the small of her back, his hips nestled against hers, his hands catching in her hair. There was an intensity growing building between them as their caresses became rougher and more desperate. Her body felt like it was on fire. Even after he pulled away, she found she had to hold onto his collar because her knees were buckling.

“You can’t leave me. Not yet,” he whispered in her ear.

“No?” she asked absently as he kissed her temple. “Oh…um…well… then I’ll have to send for my things…I… I only brought enough clothes for two days…”

“I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe if I have to,” Harry planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

“That’s not likely to attract attention is it?”

“I don’t care about attention. I care about keeping you here for as long as I can.”

“Is that so?” she asked with a smile.

“Yes it is,” he replied with a grin. “Now you make yourself comfortable here and I’ll clear out the rest of the guests. It shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve locked up the liquor and they’re bailing like rats from a ship.”

“So that explains it.” Hermione shook her head. “You know you almost caused a stampede.”

He grinned. “It did work, didn’t it? Now the house will be empty by noon and I’ll have a chance to show you the village.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“An hour then?”

“An hour,” she agreed.

He gave her hand a quick kiss before heading into the hallway. After shutting the door behind him, she took a seat on the sofa. Her head was spinning and her lips were tingling and she couldn’t believe she had a whole week with Harry ahead of her and, even more incredibly, that Tonks was the one to thank for it.

Although she felt overjoyed at the prospect of staying, she was still curious as to why Tonks suddenly changed her mind.

I wonder what she’s up to, Hermione murmured. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough…I only hope whatever it is, I can find a counterspell for it…

14. Operation Bridesmaid: Day One

Day One of Operation Bridesmaid

Author’s Note: This chapter starts up right after the last one. It’s basically just fluffy fun on the first day of Hermione’s week with Harry: Tonks hatches an ultra-evil plan to make sure Hermione doesn’t die an old maid, Ron avoids Tonks at all costs, and Harry and Hermione try to steal a few moments alone together. I don’t know why, but my last few chapters have been really dialogue-driven. I don’t know if that makes the story better/worse (not that it could get much worse) but…I don’t know…it’s just something I noticed….And I hate hate hate web layouts. On Word, my story has nice little paragraphs and a lovely text layout…and then I put it in web-view and it’s just ….ugly.

Important things to know: “Ghosts” in my little story are more traditional than JK’s awkward agents of comic relief. Ghosts are scary things that no rational witch or wizard believes in (like Werewolves or Crumple-Horned Snorkacks).

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

000000000000000000000

“Operation Bridesmaid.” That’s what I’ll call it! It’s brilliant…And not too military-like… I don’t want it to sound like I’m invading Malta or something…Funny how anything with ‘bridesmaid’ in it makes it all fluffy and friendly. Like a “bridesmaid’s machete” or “a makeshift bridesmaid’s killing machine.”

…Well, actually that last one is pretty scary…

Tonks paced around the foyer waiting for the last carriage for the last of the wedding guests. She knew that for her plan to work, she had to put it into effect immediately—that meant, as soon as they saw off the last guest, she had to launch Phase One of the newly titled “Operation Bridesmaid.”

The problem was, she didn’t know exactly what Phase One entailed. Getting Harry to notice poor little Hermione wasn’t going to be easy. There was always the old standby “lock them in a broom closet until they come out engaged” trick. And then there was the “put one of them in life-threatening situation and let the other one rescue them” prank. But both were fairly crude and obvious….

“And, let’s be honest,” she muttered, “if I got Harry eaten by a tiger or something, Remus would never forgive me…Besides, I know I can do better than a boring-old tiger. Maybe a swarm of scarab beetles or something….”

She opted to save the beetles as a last resort. What she was needed was a more subtle approach. She needed to get Harry and Hermione alone together—nothing so extreme as pushing them into closets—but just alone. Together. Walking maybe. Walking happily arm-in-arm down sweet little street in a snow-covered seaside village…

Tonks grinned as the idea came to her. It was so simple really. All she had to do was arrange for Harry and Hermione to come for a walk with her and then “accidentally” wander off. Harry and Hermione would have to find their own way back. Chatting and laughing all the way of course, which would lead to engagements and marriages and cake and babies. It was brilliant. She was brilliant. She would’ve laughed maniacally if she weren’t saying goodbye to her parents.

“Now you behave dear,” her father warned in a stern voice. He recognized the mischievous I-just-had-an-idea-and-my-parents-will-rue-the-day-they-let-me-live-past-my-first-birthday glint in her eye.

“I will Daddy,” Tonks smiled sweetly.

“And don’ t let Remus run underfoot,” Andromeda said, winking at her.

“I won’t Mommy.”

Andromeda patted her on the head. “That’s a good girl. And remember to keep an eye on Hermione. She’s not used to being away from home. You’re the married one now, and you’ve got to look after her.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got everything worked out.”

“That doesn’t sound promising,” her father muttered.

“No, it doesn’t,” Lupin agreed.

Andromeda waved away their concerns. “I don’t know what you two are talking about. It sounds as though Nymphadora had a nice little holiday planned for all of you.” She gave Tonks a quick kiss on the cheek. Ted did the same and the two climbed into the awaiting carriage.

“Goodbye darling,” Andromeda sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Good luck Remus,” Ted shook his head pityingly.

“Goodbye Mommy and Daddy!” Tonks waved to them as the carriage came to life and floated down the lane.

As soon as the carriage disappeared round the corner Tonks squealed and jumped into Remus’s arms.

“That’s the last of them!” Tonks hugged Remus. “Did you know that? That’s the last of the guests!” She gave him a long kiss and laughed as he twirled her in his arms. Tonks went on excitedly as he set her down: “Poor Mommy wanted to leave right away, but Daddy wanted to have a word with you in the study. What did he say? You two were in there forever.”

Remus smiled. “He was just telling me about the finer points of your personality.”

“I’ll bet he did. Was he apologizing for them or just giving you fair warning?”

“A little of both.”

Tonks giggled. “Well then you’ll be amply prepared for my bad behavior in the future.”

Lupin made a noncommittal sound as Tonks started ticking off on her fingers exactly what this “bad behavior” constituted:

“You know, tantrums, throwing plates, forgetting to water the plants, small-ish house fires, instigating a land war in Asia…Hallo Harry!”

Harry quietly walked up to them and greeted them both. She noticed Harry’s bright smile and decided she’d best start her plans while he was in a good mood.

“You look cheerful.”

Harry shrugged, but his grin told her that he most certainly was.

“Everyone’s gone, aren’t they?” she asked innocently. “And it’s only half past eleven.”

Harry nodded, his smile growing wider.

“The house is awfully quiet, isn’t it? What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“Oh, I was thinking of going into town,” Harry said vaguely.

“Why, that’s wonderful,” she said excitedly. “Remus and I were going to do that too!”

“We were?” Lupin looked at her oddly

Tonks nodded. “Why don’t you come with us Harry?”

“Well…I….maybe some other time.”

“Some other time…what other time…?” she started to protest. Harry however said a hasty goodbye to them both and walked away.

“Well, that was…horrible.” Tonks said, looking sadly after Harry.

“What was horrible?”

“Harry. I mean, he just ruined everything. Absolutely everything. He’s almost as bad as Ron. He didn’t even think twice about it. And I had everything all worked out so well…”

“You had ‘what’ worked out so well?”

“The Operation,” she blurted out before she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Er…I mean…[gulp]…nothing.”

“An operation?” Remus groaned. “Tonks you’re not going to cut anyone open are you?”

“No…well, I hadn’t thought of that, but I can’t see any reason to. Not yet any way…of course, there’s always Ron…”

Remus rubbed his head. The week had only just begun and Tonks was already talking about killing Ron and doing goodness knows what with knives…

“What am I going to do with you?” he muttered, taking a calming breath.

“I don’t know.” Tonks pat him on the shoulder pityingly. “Daddy used to ask that question a lot.”

“I’ll bet he did.”

“Poor darling. But I’m really not as bad as all that. I’m quite good at keeping out of the way when I have to, and I don’t usually break the very valuable dishware. Unless it’s an emergency or something and there’s nothing left to throw.”

“That’s…just…wonderful to know.”

“I’m only kidding!” she laughed, pulling him into a hug. She was too busy comforting Remus to notice the three cloaked figures who were making their way down the lane into town.

000000000000000000000000000000

“Harry, stop pulling me!” Hermione said, shrugging off his hold on her arm. Moments ago, he’d charged into the study with her cloak and rushed her into the hallway.

Harry didn’t answer her, but he did loosen his grip. Carefully crossing the hallway, they ducked into a study and abruptly came to a stop at a door leading out into the garden.

He was just as rough with her when he ‘helped’ her into her cloak.

“Ow! Be careful Harry.”

“Sorry luv,” he muttered, watching her untangle her hair from the mess he made of her hood. Harry knew he didn’t sound sorry at all. He sounded like he was in a hurry—which he was. Apparently Tonks expected…what? To come with them? He explained as much to Hermione, who had finally managed to fasten the now-neat ties of her cloak.

“So Tonks wants to come with us?”

Harry nodded.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” he said carefully. “I just thought we should go alone. It’s a nice walk down to the village…and it might be nice for us to…you know, for just the two of us to…well…spend some time…there won’t be much of a chance…” he trailed off. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Tonks…not than anyone thinks that…except Ron maybe…but he’s not coming with us either…so it doesn’t matter what he thinks…” Embarrassed, he rubbed the back of his neck. Was she really so surprised that he wanted to spend time with her. Just her? He was having trouble explaining as much without insulting Tonks or sounding like an idiot.

“Oh Harry,” she laughed, sensing his distress. “Of course it would be nice. The two of us going into town, I mean.”

“Yeah?” He asked with a grin. He tucked her chin with his finger. “Good.”

She gave him a smile at that. He was still getting used to her smiles, but he knew this one well enough—her head tilted slightly to the right with an amused quirk on her lips. He’d seen it his first night in Meriton at that Christmas Party. Aurora Granger was introducing Ron to Luna, and all the while this lovely young girl with hazel-colored curls was looking at him with this amused, interested stare. A look that vanished as soon as Ron said his name. Apparently “Harry Potter” didn’t hold as much interest to her as the simple man standing in the doorway of her house—he’d seen that look a dozen nights as he lay in bed thinking about that moment, an irresistible look that had caught him completely off guard…

The corner of his mouth twitched at the memory and he took her hand and pulled her to him. His fingertips touched her hair, then stroked down the side of her face, slipped round her neck, and pulled her in for a long, tender kiss. He touched her face again, wonderingly, moving his fingers along her lips, which were now curved upwards into a bright smile.

“Let’s get going,” Harry said, taking her hand.

“Go where?” Ron asked as he came ambling in, chewing on an apple.

Neither Harry nor Hermione seemed to have an answer for that as they took a step away from each other. Hermione shyly looked at the floor and Harry tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Sowhareyougoing,” Ron repeated around his mouthful. It wasn’t so much a question as a statement. He could see that they were wearing their cloaks…Harry’s hand was on the door handle...Hermione had her gloves in her pocket… They were going somewhere, he deduced. Harry said as much, after all. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. The hard part was talking without spitting apple everywhere.

“We’re going on a walk into town,” Harry said without enthusiasm.

“Great! I’ll get my coat.” Ron tossed the apple core into a wastebasket.

“Oh…um…fine.”

“Yeah. It’ll be fun. Cold, but fun. Hold on, I won’t be a minute,” Ron said over his shoulder.

“Hmm. Yes. Fine. Thanks Ron,” Harry said flatly to the spot where Ron used to be.

The disappointment was palpable as Hermione took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Come on Harry,” Hermione smiled encouragingly. “It will be fun.”

Harry made an affirmative noise. “Right” he muttered. “Cold but fun.”

Hermione chuckled. “At least this way we won’t have to worry about Tonks throwing Ron off a bridge while we’re gone.”

“Now there’s an idea…” Harry said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully just before Hermione playfully shoved him out the door.

00000000000000000000000000000

An hour later, Ron was considering throwing himself off a bridge.

‘Cold but fun’ …more like freezing-your-arse-off-but-fun.

Ron wrapped his cloak tightly around himself and rubbed his hands together. It was a bitterly cold day and only getting colder by the minute. The sky was a gray haze and the ground was blanketed in sheets of white frost. The only hint of color came from the sunlight reflecting off the icicles on the overgrown beech trees.

Ron grimaced at the road ahead of them. The quiet lane from Godric’s Hollow to Pemberley was usually a pleasant enough walk, but today it was more like a trek through an icy wasteland. The only reason he’d come along was because (one) he was starving and (two) he was afraid to be alone in the house with Tonks.

“Come on you two keep up,” Ron called to Harry and Hermione. He was getting fed up with the whole “let’s walk into town because we’re too balmy to use a carriage” idea. They’d be there by now if Harry and Hermione didn’t keep falling behind. They would’ve been their an hour ago if they’d just Apparated like he wanted to.

He stole a glance over his shoulder at the couple. Cold or no, they seemed comfortable enough. Hermione happily had her arm linked with Harry’s and was laughing at something he whispered in her ear. Her cheeks were pink, but Ron couldn’t decide whether it was from what Harry was saying or from the nipping wind.

Ron shook his head, confused. He just didn’t understand those two. Yesterday they were barely speaking and today they were…well…they were acting as though this was a stroll through some bloody winter wonderland or something. Ron couldn’t understand it. They didn’t even like each other. At least, that’s what he thought…

Ron grimaced when he heard Hermione giggle and say something along the lines of “oh Harry stop it…”

“Come on now,” Ron called harshly over his shoulder. “They’re going to close soon.”

“What’s going to close?” Hermione asked. She and Harry quickened their pace to catch up.

“Vesta’s.”

“What’s that?”

Ron stopped short. “You’ve never heard of Vesta’s?! It’s only the best bakery in the civilized world. And they close at two on Saturdays so come on.” Ron motioned for her to hurry up.

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t ask Tonks and Remus along,” she said, trotting to catch up with him.

Ron shook his head. “Because Tonks scares me.”

“She’s only angry because you almost ruined her wedding.”

“Yeah well… Tonks ruined the wedding by showing up.”

“That’s funny coming from you,” Hermione replied archly. “You don’t remember anything about last night. You could’ve fallen asleep on the cake and you wouldn’t know it.”

“I didn’t fall asleep on the cake. Tonks was eating it this morning. I doubt she’d eat it if I’d been rolling around in it.” He paused. “Come to think of it, maybe she would. That girl is…”

“Nutters,” Harry finished for him. “I have to say, Hermione’s right. You didn’t exactly do justice to the Weasley clan last night. If it’d be me, I would’ve left you by the roadside to fend for yourself.”

“Hey, now, that’s harsh.”

“Well so is watching your best friend get sick on your wife.”

“Ugh. Let’s not get started on that,” Hermione grimaced. “Look, we’re almost there.” She pointed to the dainty yellow and white sign that read “Pemberley.”

Ron had a look of absolute elation on his face as they approached the town square. He started bragging about how Vesta’s had the best cinnamon rolls in the country and how Hermione was in for a treat.

000000000000000000000000000000000000

Pemberley was largely a Wizard-populated town. The roads along the cliffs were too rough and confusing for most Muggles; however, it distinguished itself from other Wizard seaside resorts in that it kept up an appearance of non-magic normalcy. The main boulevard boasted several white-stone storefronts and there wasn’t an airborne broom or floating carriage in sight. This actually increased its popularity as a destination for vacationing wizards who wanted to experience a Muggle-like seaside village with actually having to deal with Muggles themselves.

But the season had ended months ago, and most of the shops were boarded up in anticipation of a rough winter. The cobblestone streets were empty except for a few couples prominating along the sidewalk looking through shop windows.

From a distance, Vesta’s looked no different from the other quaint cafes that lined Pemberley’s main street. Like most of the storefronts, Vesta’s boasted a large window display—slices of pumpkin bread, steaming cinnamon rolls, cream cheese danishes, colorful fruitcake, and blueberry muffins were artfully arranged on glistening glass platters and elaborately decorated with pink and yellow ribbons.

Twinkling bells sounded as the trio stepped through the shop door. There was a bakery in the back and several tables and chairs towards the front. It was a large room painted in a cozy pumpkin color with wood-paneled cathedral ceiling. Shelves lined the walls stocked with countless magical baking goods: self-stirring spoons, floating dishware, singing candlesticks, fluttering napkins, and other magic trinkets. The shop was alight with floating candles, and large decorative glass orbs floated above them like giant bubbles sending ripples of light to every corner of the room.

Ron leaned over to Hermione: “Smell that? Must be what heaven smells like.” He made the sign of the cross and then darted over to drool over the large display cases containing colorfully frosted pastries, chocolate pies and scones, giant éclairs, and soufflés. Even Hermione felt a few sharp hunger pangs as she caught the scent of a dozen baked treats. Eyeing a two-tier coffeecake, she suddenly realized how hungry she was.

“It smells wonderful,” she whispered to Harry. “I didn’t eat anything at all earlier.”

“Was something wrong with your breakfast?”

Hermione looked longingly at the coffeecake. “I just didn’t have much of an appetite.”

“Well then, let’s get you fed.” Harry patted her on the shoulder and went over to where Ron was placing an order.

Hermione stood staring at that stupid coffeecake. She didn’t even like coffeecake. Aunt Aurora made it every Christmas, and every Christmas she and her sisters had to find new ways of hiding the rock-hard slices under the table.

But this coffeecake looked fairly scrumptious. And there she stood, separated from it by a cruel and unnecessary plate of glass. The damn thing was mocking her with its moist deliciousness and all she could do was drool over it and with her hand pawing at the glass like some stray dog at a butcher’s backdoor…

…And now I’m declaring mental war on a cake. Hermione shook her head. Honestly, I’m as bad as Tonks…

“Blueberry Miss?”

Startled, Hermione looked up.

An older woman with sandy brown hair and round cheeks was holding out a basket of blueberries over the counter. “Go on dearie, take one. I know the look o’ you well enough—half starved you are.”

Grateful, Hermione popped a few in her mouth and sighed appreciatively. The woman introduced herself as Mrs. Vesta Hay, the owner of the shop.

“They’re hard to come by this time of year,” Mrs. Hay sighed sadly.

Hermione nodded, still chewing.

“You ‘ere for Mr. Lupin’s wedding?”

Hermione said she was and Mrs. Hay leaned in confidentially:

“That was a bit of a party last night, weren’t it? Could hear that lot clear across town.”

Hermione laughed. “That’s what I understood. But I’m afraid didn’t quite make it to the reception.”

“I expect you know Mr. Lupin’s wife then.”

Hermione told her that the new Mrs. Lupin was in fact her cousin.

“Oh that’s nice…that’s very nice...You know I didn’t ever catch ‘er name.”

“Nymphadora Tonks. Well, Nymphadora Lupin now of course.”

“Huh,” Mrs. Hay muttered, unimpressed. “Nymphadora Tonks, eh? Sounds Greek.”

Hermione said she supposed that it did.

“You know, I remember Mr. Lupin chasing after Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley when they were only knee-high. They used to come tearing round here on their broomsticks, racing around, making noise…” she sighed. “Was a long time ago that. Of course, some things never really change…”

The both looked over to where Ron and Harry were still arguing about what to order.

“Oh, but it’s not the same is it?” Mrs. Hay muttered (more to herself than to Hermione). “Not since Lily Potter passed, I can tell you.”

“You knew Lily Potter?”

“Oh yeah. There wasn’t a person in town worth knowing who didn’t. She was a dear girl. All bright-eyed and smart as a whip. Town owes a lot to ‘er. The place has changed since ‘er death, and not for the better.”

Hermione shook her head. “What do you mean, the town owes her? Owes her what?”

“A debt of thanks for one. Mrs. Potter had a lot to do with those restorations they did to ‘em old buildings. Everything had gone to pot when she first came ‘ere. She got to work right away—giving money for the repairs, throwing parties for them donations—like that the medieval Muggle church on the east side. Been falling apart forever. Mrs. Potter took it upon ‘erself to see to the repairs. She got workers right on it. And the town hall too. And that old ramshackle inn, “The Grinning Spoon.” Made the place right nice for visitors. Brought back the old summer crowds.”

Mrs. Hay sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Ah well. Young Mr. Harry is a nice young gentleman. He’ll make his mum proud, you’ll see.”

“I’m sure he will,” Hermione said with a smile. She turned to see Harry coming over to them.

“Hello Mrs. Hay,” he said cheerfully.

“Oy Mr. Potter! It’s been months and months since you’ve been in town. How’ve you been?”

“Very well thank you Mrs. Hay. I see you’ve met Hermione.”

“Oh, is that the young lady’s name? ‘Hermione’?”

Hermione curtsied: “Hermione Granger. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Hay.”

“Hermione Granger,” Mrs. Hay repeated with a nod. “Proper English name that.”

“Oh, thank you,” Hermione said with a small smile.

Mrs. Hay said she had to get back to work and for the “young-ins to get on with your eatin.”

Harry offered his arm. Hermione took it and followed him to a table.

Like the rest of the village, the shop wasn’t crowded, and Harry and Hermione quickly found a place to sit. Harry placed an order for some coffee and a few minutes later Ron came round with a box full of treats. All three dug in hastily.

Hermione sighed contently as she bit into a fluffy cinnamon roll.

“Good?” Ron asked, munching on an éclair.

Hermione nodded, savoring the taste. The rich vanilla frosting melted in her mouth and she washed down the sticky sweetness with hot coffee. “Tonks would love this. We’ll have to bring her along next time.”

“The next time?” Ron asked, his mouth full of pastry. “I thought they were leaving today.”

Harry explained that they were staying on another week.

“What! But… why?!” Ron cried. He had a what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this tone.

A few shop employees turned around at the noise.

“Keep your voice down Ron,” Hermione hissed.

“But why? Just…why!?”

“Tonks wants to see some of the town before they go to Grimmauld Place.” Harry shrugged.

“But…but it’s the winter,” Ron pointed out.

“So?”

“So who wants to see the ocean when it’s freezing out?”

“Tonks apparently,” Harry replied.

“Bah. Figures. Tonks would look at the snow and say, ‘hey gang, let’s go to the beach, that way I can stab Ron with a piece of ice I scraped off the boardwalk.’”

“We’ll be sure to avoid the boardwalk then,” Harry winked at Hermione.

Ron huffed.“’S not fair.”

Harry hummed sympathetically.

“It’s really not fair.” Ron unhappily shoved another roll in his mouth. “For me I mean. You don’t care because Tonks isn’t trying to kill you. And Hermione doesn’t care because it means she can stay. Least someone is happy about this,” he grumbled.

Harry turned to her with a barely-concealed smile. “Yeah. How about that.”

Ron nodded. “Guess you didn’t know that Hermione here was all sad about having to go.”

“Really?” Harry asked with fake surprise.

Hermione stared out the window, refusing to dignify his question with an answer. Harry knew perfectly well that she didn’t want to leave and why.

“I still can’t believe Tonks is staying.” Ron groaned. “I’ll never hear the end of this wedding business, will I?”

“Nope,” Harry grinned. “She’ll probably get a Pensieve for it and mail it to your mother.”

“Oh Merlin.” Ron buried his head in his hands. “Fred and George will have a field day with this one. I can hear it now...ickle Ronnikins can’t hold his ickle-drinkies.”

“Ronnikins?” Hermione burst out laughing.

Ron waved it away, embarrassed. “S’ nothing…just a nickname.”

Hermione kept laughing, “I’m sorry Ron,” she managed. “But…Ronnikins? Really?”

“Hey, you try growing up with five brothers and see what kind of nickname you come out with.”

“Can’t be any worse than Ronnikins.”

“Yeah…well… Your best friend’s named Nymphadora Nightingale. So there.”

“Good point,” Hermione replied, now looking at their plate. She could’ve sworn they’d started with at least a dozen different cakes and breads and now they were down to just four.

She mentioned as much and Ron reached over and grabbed one of the last cinnamon rolls.

“You’d better hurry up Hermione. Harry and I are going to finish this lot before you’ve had your one.” Ron quickly finished it and reached for another.

Hermione snatched the roll away from Ron’s greedy hands.

“Hey!”

“What? There’s two left.”

“But I wanted that one,” Ron pouted, stuffing another one in his mouth.

The three quickly finished off their food and gave a simultaneous sigh of contentment.

“I’m completely stuffed,” Hermione sighed.

“What? On two little rolls?” Ron rolled his eyes. “If I ate as much as you did I’d start chewing on gravel I’d be so hungry.

“Ron, if I ate as much as you did, you’d have to carry me back to Godric’s Hollow.”

“Say now…I do remember that,” Ron muttered absently.

“Remember what?”

“Carrying you. All romantic-like. After the wedding.”

“Romantic? You call that romantic? It was horrible! You slung me over your shoulder and almost dropped me on my head!”

“I did not!”

“You most certainly did! I had to run barefoot in the snow to get away from you.”

“Oh come off it. You’re just saying that because I was so dashing and so forth. You were probably running away because you were afraid I’d accidentally seduce you or something.”

“Seduce me?!” Hermione’s mouth fell open. She tried sputtering an answer as Harry shooed them outside.

“What do you mean ‘seduce me’? Ron, if that’s your idea of seduction, you’d be better off using a net and a polo mallet.”

“What’s a polo mallet?”

With a frustrated sigh, Hermione started explaining the Muggle sport when Ron shouted and pointed at an old tumbling building down the street.

“Hey Harry!” Ron suddenly cried. “Isn’t that The Hollow?”

Harry nodded. “I was wondering if you’d recognize it.”

“Gone to shambles hasn’t it?”

“It’s not as bad as all that.”

“What’s The Hollow?” Hermione asked, still slightly annoyed with Ron.

Harry took her hand and eagerly started towards it. “The Hollow Tree actually. It’s an old building my father bought about fifteen years ago. My mother wanted to turn it into a library, if I remember correctly, but she never got the chance. Now it’s just…sitting there.”

“A library!?” Hermione asked excitedly.

“A library?” Ron groaned.

Harry nodded. “It has a lot of potential…”

“Potential?” Ron laughed. “Yeah, potential for just sitting there all useless like. Unless you enjoy having the living piss scared out of you.”

“Ron!” Hermione cried.

“What? It’s haunted,” Ron insisted.

“It’s not haunted.” Harry said impatiently.

“Yes it is. None of the townsfolk will go near it.”

“Ron, you’re going near it.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but I’m not going inside it.”

They came to a stop at the foot of the door. Ron leaned over to Hermione and lowered his voice to an ominous whisper: “The neighbors hear unholy noises coming from the cellar. Howling and banging around and such.”

“Really?” Hermione said skeptically. The windows on the upper stories were boarded up and the door had a large, unwelcoming padlock on it. But other than that, it looked like most of the other businesses lining the street. It measured about five stories high, had white brickwork and long narrow windows with diamond shaped panels. With its clean white bricks and view of the seaside, it certainly wasn’t her idea of a haunted house.

Ron nodded towards it. “Spoooooky, huh.”

Hermione shook her head. “Not really. It looks like every other building on the street.”

“Only on the outside…” Ron made a ghostly sound and Hermione playfully shoved him.

“We should come back and look around inside. Remus keeps a key for it somewhere,” Harry thoughtfully muttered, studying it.

“Could we really?” Hermione asked eagerly.

Ron grumbled: “Yeah, well, count me out. I’d like to keep my eternal soul right where it is…” he patted his stomach.

All three suddenly jumped as thunder clapped overheard. They nervously laughed as raindrops began hitting the cobblestone streets as it started to rain.

“Just as well. That place gives me the creeps…” Ron reached into his cloak and pulled out his wand. “I’m heading back,” Ron announced. “You two coming?”

“Oh…um…You can go ahead. I thought Hermione might want to walk a bit.” Harry said slowly, catching Hermione’s eye.

Ron scoffed. “What? In the rain? In the freezing rain that’s going to start pouring in ten seconds? Yeah, I’m sure Hermione would love that. Huh, Hermione?”

Hermione looked at Ron and then back to Harry. “Well…I suppose we should start back if it’s going to rain.”

“I’ll say,” Ron said looking at the sky. “And if you think I’m going to walk there, you’re as crazy as Tonks. I’ll see you two at the house.” With a flick of his wrist, he disappeared with a loud cracking sound.

Not quite ready to return to Godric’s Hollow, they started walking back, fooling themselves into thinking that the rain would hold off for a while yet. The weather however, had other plans. They’d just reached the outskirts of the village when the few freezing drops became a light sprinkle.

Hermione took Harry hand and he brought her in close. “I don’t suppose we’ll walk back either,” she said, disappointed as he led her under an evergreen tree. The overhanging branches offered them a little shelter from the rain shower.

“Doesn’t seem we have much of a choice,” Harry replied taking out his wand.

She pulled her fur-lined hood over her hair and felt Harry’s arm go round her waist. The rain was beating down in sheets now, freezing fast as it hit the ground.

She closed her eyes and waited for the familiar crack! but nothing happened.

Confused, she looked up. “Harry, what is it?”

Harry captured her mouth, effectively answering her question.

He lifted her head back and covered her mouth with his. They kissed until they couldn't breathe; pulling away momentarily, they took a few gasping breaths. Hermione rested her forehead on Harry's shoulder, curling her arms around his neck, savoring the feel of him against her…

“Cold luv?”

“Not at all,” she muttered. She huddled against him as a few freezing drops tapped her shoulder. She knew it wouldn’t last. The rain was coming down in sheets now. They couldn’t stay there much longer, even the tree wasn’t offering much shelter anymore as the rain came down through the branches.

“We should get back.” He planted a kiss to her temple.

“Mmmm. Not yet.”

“You’re shivering.”

“Your hands are cold.”

“You smell like cinnamon.”

“You taste like rainwater.”

“You’re adorable.”

“You’re…” Harry cut her off with another kiss. She quickly forgot what she was going to say as he lifted her to him and ran his fingers through her wet hair. She quickly forgot many things…like how they were supposed to be taking things slowly or how Ron was waiting for them back at the house or how the cold rain was now pouring down on them or how quickly the afternoon was slipping away.

0000000000000000000000000

“They’re back” “Where?” “Over here” “Over where?” “Over here you Nit!”

--Tonks and Ron came charging in to the foyer of Godric’s Hollow where Harry and Hermione had just Apparated--

Ron shook his head: “There you two are…Merlin you’re wet! Look at you!”

“Gods you’re soaked Mione!”

Hermione nodded, the movement of her hair sent a sprinkle of cold water to the floor.

“What the hell were you two doing?” Ron demanded.

“And they’re freezing.”

“What took you so long?”

“What were you two thinking?”

“I told you it was going to start pouring.”

“I don’t blame you for not listening to Ron, but really, what on earth made you run around in the freezing rain? Even I know better than that.”

Lupin had also followed the noise to the foot of the stairs, but remained silent as he took in the youngsters’ appearance—soaking wet cloaks, mussed hair, tousled clothes, bruised lips—it didn’t take much guesswork to figure out what had kept them. The fact that those two were constantly wandering off hadn’t escaped his notice. He’d always suspected a strong attraction on Harry’s part (he’d guessed as much at the Pomona Ball) but until recently, he didn’t think Hermione shared his feelings.

This could be a problem…Lupin thought, shaking his head. He’d come to realize that at 25, Harry was too old to need of a guardian, but he still felt a strong sense of responsibility for him. And Hermione, who was now his in-law and the daughter of a close friend, surely he had to act in her best interest as well. What would John Granger think of all this? Or James Potter for that matter?

“Come on Harry,” Lupin said gravely. Harry recognized a certain tone of disapproval and followed Lupin into the hallway. Lupin gravely told him they had a few letters to answer and that he should dry himself off and head to the study. He had an “I’ll deal with you later” edge to his voice that Harry didn’t fail to notice.

“Really Mione,” Tonk hissed as they walked away. “Don’t you realize that if Harry dies of pneumonia, Remus will ship you back to Meriton in a box.” She turned to Ron, “You however, are free to die whenever you see fit. Come on Mione.”

She pulled Hermione along the corridor, explaining how she’d get her poor cousin all dried off and then they could get busy sorting through the chaos that was her wardrobe.

“Really Mione, I tried to get the house-elves to help, but they kept running away screaming…”

“You should be used to that by now!” Ron shouted after them. From the top of the stairs, Tonks stuck her tongue out at him.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Ron stood in the empty foyer, thinking. Without all the noise (and the perpetual annoyance that was Tonks), the realization slowly dawned on him that something was definitely off. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. First Harry and Hermione were acting all cuddly during the walk into town and now they were staying out in the rain together… as if…as if…

As if they wanted to be alone together…

Ron mulled the possibility over for a minute.

Nah…Ron muttered. I’m just imagining things. Tonks probably put something in the drinking water. I’d better stick to Scotch until Remus sorts it out…

00000000000000000000000000000

Ron, however, didn’t get a chance to talk to Lupin. Remus kept Harry sequestered in his study as they dealt with the estate business. Tonks spent the rest of the afternoon with Hermione, finishing the hefty task of packing away her clothes. They didn’t stop until just before dinner when Ron came in and offered to make them some cocktails.

Everyone except Harry was gathered in the drawing room where a fire was blazing in the massive fireplace. Tonks was trying out a Muggle card trick on Lupin and Ron but was failing miserably.

“You are holding … the queen of hearts!” Tonks said triumphantly to Ron.

“Nope,” Ron grinned and turned his card around. It was the ace of spades. “Wrong again.”

“What! That’s impossible! You’re cheating!”

“What’s the point of cheating at a card trick?”

“I don’t know Ron. Why don’t you tell me since you’re the one who’s doing it.”

“I am not! It’s not my fault that you botched it.”

“It is too your fault because you’re cheating!”

“Darling, why don’t you try it again.” Lupin stepped in smoothly and handed Tonks back the deck.

As Tonks dealt out the cards, Hermione strolled over to the window. Dark clouds had settled over the horizon and the snow was beginning to pile up outside the window. Even from this far away, she could just make out the rough-looking white caps lapping at the misty gray and orange sunset. Hermione smiled as she watched the light played off the choppy waves. With the warm fire crackling behind her and the wind whistling outside, Hermione felt a deep sense of contentment. Whatever she expected from her stay at Godric’s Hollow, it wasn’t this sudden, easy coziness, this sense of instant belonging. It was nice, very very nice to be here in his home, she thought. Harry’s home, that is.

“It is wonderful,” she murmured.

“What’s wonderful, lovely?” Harry said over her shoulder.

Hermione quickly turned around and smiled. “You keep sneaking up on me.”

“I keep trying. So what’s wonderful?”

Hermione shyly looked down at her hands. “Oh…I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Yeah Mione…what were you thinking about?” Tonks called from the table. She’d turned around in her chair and was staring at them with a sweet, knowing smile on her face.

“Oh…nothing,” Hermione stammered. “Just…the view. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Hermione motioned at the window.

“I like the view too. The beach and everything,” Tonks agreed loudly. “I’ll bet it’s even better in the summertime. Of course, I wouldn’t know anything about that….” She trailed off with a sad sigh.

“…If only…well…if only… Say Harry, do you think we could visit in the summer too? It’d be awfully jolly. Imagine what a merry party we’d make.” Tonks batted her big pleading eyes at him.

“Oh…um…of course. I mean, you and Remus are always welcome…”

“Hermione too?” Tonks asked innocently.

“Hermione too,” Harry grinned as Hermione blushed and looked away.

Endlessly pleased with herself, Tonks gave Harry her best smile. “Well done Harry. You’re an excellent host. So generous and everything. Hermione here was just saying so. Weren’t you Mione?”

“Well no, I wasn’t. But…um… yes, you are Harry.”

“Hear that Harry? Hermione thinks you’re an excellent host.” Tonks flashed one last smile before turning around and shuffling her deck of cards.

“I’m an excellent host, am I?” Harry whispered

Hermione gave a so-so gesture. “You’re passable.”

“Passable enough to spend your summer here?”

Hermione turned to face the window, hiding her smile: “I have to ask Aunt Aurora of course.”

“Of course.”

Tonks could hear them whispering behind her and smiled. Everything was going brilliantly on the Harry and Hermione front. It was simple--she was a genius. She felt like rubbing her hands together and laughing like some Frankenstein mad scientist.

Ha ha! This is sooo easy! She laughed to herself. Those two won’t know what hit them. Remus and I will be announcing the engagement faster than you can say, “Mrs. Niddlemark, Hermione wants a pirate theme for her wedding…”

Tonks kept on smiling even as they all went into dinner. It didn’t escape her notice that Harry and Hermione sat next to each other, carrying on their own quiet conversation apart from the group, a conversation that Tonks was certain had nothing to do with the Quidditch Regionals.

Harry was, in fact, recounting how quickly the wedding guests left that day.

“A few of them even left bags behind.” Harry shook his head. “I hope they don’t come back to get them.”

“You could always spell up some angry birds to chase them away.”

Harry thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Hmmm. That is a thought…”

They both laughed, remembering the chaos of the night before.

Harry chuckled and shifted closer to her. “You know, there’s not cardinal in sight –You can’t be worried about Tonks and Remus now, can you?”

“I’m always worried about Tonks.”

“I’m serious.”

“I am too. Yes, she’s happy now because…well…she’s up to something. The only time she’s really happy is when she’s planning some prank or other. You’ll see. It’ll be horrible.” Hermione paused. “No, ‘horrible’ is too nice a word for it. “Apocalyptic” maybe…Honestly, I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“Horrible for who? Ron? Believe me luv, Ron’s gone up against worse than Tonks. Have you met his brothers Fred and George?” Harry shivered. “Trust me, when it comes to pranks they’ve tried them all. Mostly on Ron.”

“I don’t know what to think.” Hermione glanced at Tonks. “For the first time in ages I really don’t know what she’s up to. I’d forgotten how scary that is.”

Harry reached under the table and discreetly placed his hand over hers.

“Don’t worry sweet. If she does play some joke on you, I’ll be right there with you.”

“To witness my humiliation? That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

“All right then,” Harry leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. “Then I promise I won’t laugh.”

She squeezed his hand under the table. “I’ll hold you to that.”

They all finished their excellent dinner of duck and their dessert of caramel custard. Afterward Ron suggested a card game, but Hermione begged off.

“Goodnight Tonks,” Hermione said, hugging her cousin.

“What? You’re not playing?”

“I don’t think so. I’m awfully tired.”

“Awwh. Poor Mione. Say Harry, why don’t you walk Hermione back to her room? You wouldn’t mind, would you? The hallways are dark you know. She could get hurt, what with all the staircases and sharp corners and end tables and so forth.”

Hermione was surprised by Tonks’ sudden concern for her, but she went with Harry without protest.

Ron left to find the cards, and when the room was empty, Remus turned to his wife. “Tonks, darling, I wish you wouldn’t encourage them.”

“Encourage who?”

“Harry and Hermione. Remember, we’re supposed to be chaperoning here.”

“I am chaperoning. That’s all I do all day long. Chaperon. Chaperon. Chaperon. I hardly get to eat I’m so busy chaperoning…”

“Darling,” Lupin asked evenly. “Do you know what ‘chaperoning’ means?”

“Is that where you nap between meals?”

“No dear, it means looking after the guests.”

“Ohhhh. Right. Well, I do that too. Like just now. I asked Harry to make sure Hermione gets to her room safely. Isn’t that chaperoning?”

“Not exactly…”

“I mean, what happens if Hermione falls down the stairs and breaks her legs or something? Or what if she wanders outside? She could tumble off a cliff or fall down a well or get her foot trapped in one of those railroad ties. All I can say is thank heavens for Harry being there because he’ll rush in and unjam her foot before the train flattens her like a pancake.”

Remus opened his mouth to answer but thought better of it. He didn’t have an answer for that. He doubted anyone had an answer for that. He just kissed her hand and excused himself to check on Harry and Hermione.

Ahead of him, Harry and Hermione had made it all the way to her guestroom door before venturing even a casual touch

“Goodnight luv,” he said politely, giving her a chaste peck on the hand.

“Goodnight Harry,” she replied.

A silence settled between them as his lips lingered over her hand, the same hand that suddenly found its way to his collar and pulled him to her. At once his arms were wrapped around her waist, her leg was hitched over his hip, and their mouths were fused as they desperately tasted each other. She felt the door against her back as he lifted her and pressed himself against her.

“I had a lovely day,” she muttered as he tickled her throat with his lips.

“Me too,” he said in a rough whisper.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“…”

“Footsteps.”

“Mmmm.”

“No Harry, footsteps. I hear footsteps!”

They pulled away from each other just in time to see Remus turn the corner into the hallway. Hermione quickly gave her hand back to Harry and politely curtsied.

“Goodnight Harry,” she said sweetly, trying to calm her gasps.

“Goodnight Hermione,” he said, breathing quickly.

She waved to Lupin and darted into her room, giving a sigh of relief as she latched the door behind her.

Harry quickly walked past Lupin, who wasn’t half as fooled as he let on. Even in the faint candlelight, he hadn’t failed to notice Hermione’s flushed cheeks or Harry’s dazed expression.

He grimaced as he followed Harry towards the drawing room, muttering and worrying all the while. There was definitely something going on between the two youngsters. The trouble was, he had no idea what to do about it. After his own two-week engagement, it wasn’t as though he could lecture Harry on the liability of a hasty courtship...

A Muggle portrait of a young James Potter was hanging on the wall by the staircase. Lupin paused to look at it.

You know James, this could turn into a problem if we’re not careful…

Stoic and very expensive-looking, the portrait wasn’t much help, but Lupin knew James would agree with him. He knew he had to something. And soon.

15. Thursday

Title: Thursday

Author notes: This chapter begins on Thursday (five days after the last one and three days before Hermione has to go back to Meriton). Sorry for the long-in-coming posts. I’m writing my thesis and doing a lousy job of managing my time.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

0000000000000000000000000

Hermione heard a log crumble in the fire and looked up from her book. The crackling fire danced merrily in front of her, sending sparks and smoke up the chimney. She and Harry were spending a quiet evening together in his father’s old study: Harry was looking over some documents and Hermione was curled up on the overstuffed sofa reading Monkshood: A Practical Application by Damocles Belby. The evening was a peaceful domestic scene that was typical of the wintery countryside—reading by the fire, watching a distant storm roll in from the east, listening to the drip-drop of melting icicles on the windowpane.

Hermione’s entire week had been like that: days and nights filled with quiet contentment. Reading, walks around the grounds, rare trips into Pemberley…The mornings were spent mostly by herself, usually in the enormous Potter library, but her afternoons were more varied: Tonks and Hermione would wander around the dozens of rooms in the house or Ron would rope her into a game of Wizard’s chess or they’d all head into Pemberley if the weather permitted. But no matter how she spent her days, she always looked forward to these quiet evenings with Harry. He’d invite her to sit with him while he looked over legal docs and correspondence and she’d sit quietly by the fire. Over the last week it had become something of a habit—she’d read while he finished his work, and after he was done, they’d chat by the fire until Remus came in to usher them into the drawing room for a card game or coffee.

Five days ago, the old study was unknown to her, but now she considered it one of the most inviting rooms she’d ever been in. The fireplace had floor-to-ceiling gray stonework, and its mantel held dozens of odd green-glass ornaments that belonged to Harry’s mother. The hearth was alive with a comforting fire that sent a warm glow to the four corners of the room. Sitting in front of the fireplace was a large dark brown sofa flanked by two matching club chairs and a green oriental rug.

Hermione looked around the comfortable room and smiled. Not at the scenery, or the fire, or the coziness of the room. She was smiling because she was blissfully, suddenly, inexplicably happy. It was just one of the many spontaneous, completely-and-utterly causeless smiles she’d had over the last five days. Lately, for no discernable reason, she would look around and become giddy with happiness—there was no Tonks making her laugh or Ron playfully bantering with her—she would be alone, usually reading or writing, and a bright smile would suddenly appear on her face. She was glad no one else could see it because she couldn’t explain it if she tried. It was happening more and more with each hour spent at Godric’s Hollow.

Smiling, she snuggled down into the sofa, letting the warmth of the fire surround her and listening to the scribbled sound of Harry writing. Comfortable, content, warm, cozy, peaceful…utterly utterly happy…it was wonderful… perfect even. “Perfect” seemed an appropriate word for it. Aside from the customary outbursts that erupted between Ron and Tonks, her time at Godric’s Hollow had been nothing short of perfect. So perfect that Hermione looked up the word in the dictionary:

Perfect: wonderful, ideal, faultless, absolute, whole, complete, grand, just right…

But words like that, of course, only offended her sense of logic. Nothing was perfect. There was no utter completion. No flawless ideal. There were only self-deceptions that were doomed to disappointment. So instead of enjoying this time of ignorant bliss, she had begun to fall into fits of uncertainty. She kept telling herself that this stage in their relationship would not last forever—This was just the idyllic haze of a first love. They would face obstacles, have rows, and struggle to maintain their relationship, as all couples do. Harry still occasionally acted without consideration for others (although now she just chalked up the instances to his ‘decisive nature’) and she still fell into fits of pessimism.

Nothing in their personalities had really changed, and she found herself using these quiet evenings to obsess over how she would handle the shattered ideal of their now “perfect” relationship. Would they fall back into their old hateful habits? Would those feelings of bitterness and dislike ever reemerge? Their relationship had begun on a mutual dislike and quickly devolved into open resentment and frustration. Could they ever really overcome their acrimonious past?

Sometimes, she hated being Hermione Granger.

She always assumed the worst of everything…and everyone. Luna was quite the opposite, somehow believing in the best of people. Hermione had never heard her say an unkind word about anyone. Lavender, on the other hand, didn’t seem to think much about anything besides red cloaks. But Hermione had somehow inherited her father’s pessimism. Now she found herself waiting for all the lovely happiness she felt at Godric’s to come to a screeching halt.

You know it won’t last, an unhelpful voice whispered (as if on cue). Harry will do something rash and selfish and you’ll assume the worst and the whole thing will come crashing down around you.

Oh shut up brain…Hermione muttered. She rolled her eyes and closed her book. Shaking herself out of her gloomy thoughts, she realized that something had changed in the room. The fire was still crackling, the wind was still howling…but something was…off. It took her a few seconds to realize that the sound of Harry’s scribbled writing had stopped.

She turned around and smiled when she realized why: Harry had fallen asleep at his desk. His chin was resting on his elbow and his quill was hovering over the parchment mid-sentence.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione muttered fondly, setting her book aside.

She quietly knelt down beside him and put his quill away so he wouldn’t blot the paper. Letting her eyes roam over him, she found it was something of a struggle to keep her hand from touching his cheek, playing with his hair, or doing anything at all to wake him up.

She studied his face for the thousandth time, admiring the handsome features she’d come to know so well. Hermione took a chance that Harry was sound asleep and gently ran her fingers through his hair. She loved the feel of it, the wildness of it. It was always a little tousled no matter what he did to it.

Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away and kissed Harry on the cheek. When she took a step back, she noticed that his eyes were open.

“You didn’t have to stop,” he muttered as he stirred.

She looked away shyly. “I didn’t want to wake you,”

He pulled her onto his lap and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. “I think that’s the best way to wake up.”

He grinned as she snuggled closer and nodded against his shoulder. Now free to run her hand through his hair without fear of disturbing him, she ruffled his hair and slipped an arm around his neck.

“How long have I been asleep?” he yawned.

“Only a few minutes.”

“I can’t believe I did that,” Harry rubbed his neck. “Remus is trying to kill me, I’m sure of it.”

“Poor Harry,” Hermione said with mock-pity, patting his cheek.

“I mean it.” He motioned to the pile of papers in front of him. “I don’t know what I did, but this is some kind of punishment.”

“Why would you think that?”

Harry shrugged. “Remus has always handled the estate business himself. And now every time I turn around I have a new stack of bank statements to go through or mortgages to approve or land deals to review. I don’t know why he suddenly needs my advice on every sodding thing Sirius sends him.”

“Harry!” Hermione laughed, “Has it occurred to you that he’s trusting you with more responsibility? It’s a compliment that he wants you to be more involved with your family’s finances. He obviously thinks you’re ready for it.”

“Yeah well…I don’t see why he had to pick this week to suddenly trust me,” Harry grumbled, tracing Hermione’s cheek with his finger.

“Well he is on his honeymoon. He’s probably trying to be more efficient with his time…”

“…So he’s shucking his work at me.” Harry nodded approvingly. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Hermione giggled as he dipped his head down and nuzzled her neck, making her laugh and squirm as always.

She pulled away as she caught the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. She checked the clock: nine o’clock on the dot. Remus was coming to shoo them into one of the drawing rooms. It was like clockwork every evening.

She was safely back on the sofa when Remus did stride into the room. Looking from Harry to Hermione and back again, Remus greeted them both. He asked Harry how things were going and got a mumbled “fine” from Harry in return.

“Tonks is asking for you, Hermione. Something to do with…well…I didn’t really catch the why, but she is asking for you.”

Hermione said that “why” wasn’t really a question one could ask Tonks. She bade goodbye to them both and left the two men alone.

000000000000000000000000

Leisurely pacing around the room (trying to appear as completely casual as possible) Remus was actually glad to have the chance to talk to Harry…well…just man to man. Remus had been putting off this talk for some time now, but he’d been called away for a few days and didn’t like the idea of leaving without at least telling Harry how he felt about the whole… Hermione situation.

“Say Harry,” Remus said as casually as he could. “Do you mind if…er… if I had a word with you?”

“Of course Remus,” Harry answered as he shuffled the papers on his desk.

Remus took out a glass and offered Harry a drink. Harry refused, but he looked on curiously as Remus’s hand shook as he poured the Scotch.

“Your father used this room a lot,” Remus said nervously as he added a few ice cubes to his glass.

Harry nodded, still watching Lupin intently.

“He and Lily you know. They used to read in here. Talk too. Just the two of them.”

“Dad mentioned it,” Harry replied carefully.

“There hasn’t been… I mean, there wasn’t much call for it after she died…the room, I mean.”

“Well…it’s a very comfortable room. I’ve always thought so.”

“It is,” Remus said slowly. “A very nice room for your parents….your parents who were married. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“Not really,” Harry replied, narrowing his eyes.

Remus took a seat in the armchair across from Harry.

“When your parents were alone in here, no one thought anything of it. Because they were married, you see. If they weren’t married…well… people would have other things to say about it.” Remus paused. “Do you understand?”

Harry gave a cautious nod. He now regretted not taking that drink.

Remus set his glass down and began pacing around the room. “You see Harry, Hermione is…well…attractive. Very attractive, and I know you’ve always been partial to her company and …that … that seems to present a problem for us here.”

“A problem?” Harry repeated slowly.

“A sizable problem.”

Harry studied him a moment. “A problem for who exactly?”

“It’s not really what I’d call a problem…yet,” Remus admitted apologetically. “Just…it’s a situation that might present a question of…propriety.”

Harry shook his head and looked directly at Remus. He opened his mouth to reply with something along the lines of “I don’t see what business it is of yours …” and shoot Remus the famous Potter Glare (a frozen, inscrutable look that his father used to make). Harry had been on the receiving end on his father’s look only once: he was eleven years old and he’d accidentally flown his broomstick through a stained glass window of the old Muggle Church. Harry had seen his father’s famous glare only a few times before that, but it was an entirely different experience to be faced with it himself: sitting in his father’s study, his father pacing around the room, muttering about how his mother had specially ordered that window and how much trouble she’d gone to fix up that ruined old chapel…but the way his father’s eyes flashed angrily against the firelight was more eloquent than any speech could be.

Afterward, Harry was determined to imitate his father’s dark piercing eyes, his locked jaw, his look of barely contained rage (which also had hints of boredom, disappointment, and aloofness). It took several years, but Harry finally managed to master the art of intimidation. It had served him well at Hogwarts (particularly on the Quidditch field). But now, standing in his father’s study with Remus, Harry couldn’t seem to muster the indignation such an accusation would usually bring.

So instead of glaring at Remus and storming out of the room, Harry calmly stood up, poured himself a drink, and miserably slouched down into an armchair.

As offended as he was, Harry knew Remus was right. He must’ve been mad to think no one would’ve notice his sneaking off with Hermione. It was his fault entirely—he was the one pulling her into dark corners and insisting on going off alone…Numerous times during the day he had caught himself staring off into space for minutes at a time, thinking about Hermione, a large smile plastered on his face…He was sure he looked like an idiot, but he didn’t care. He was in love. And amazingly, Hermione loved him back.

Admittedly, he hadn’t thought much beyond that. Now Lupin was forcing him to and he was just so infuriating…ly…not wrong.

“See here Remus,” Harry said at last, “Hermione and I… are…”

We’re what? Harry asked himself. Not engaged. Not yet. And he couldn’t just come out and say “Remus, the whole reason I hosted that pain-in-the-arse wedding was to see her, and now I can’t seem to stop. In fact, I’m going to marry her.”

Of course that’s what Harry wanted to say. He’d even had his mother’s ring sent down from London for the occasion. He was going to propose her tomorrow by the lake. That was where his father had proposed to his mother…and…well…maybe it was a little rushed; however, he wanted it to be perfect, so it had to be by the lake…that was the only fitting place for it, and who knew when Hermione would be able to come back again?

But Harry didn’t want to just come out and announce his plans to Remus. Remus was probably regretting his own hurried marriage to Tonks, and Harry didn’t want to give Remus the chance to discourage him.

Harry realized that Remus was growing increasingly uncomfortable by the minute so he began again: “You see Remus…um… Hermione and I…are…er…”

Remus shifted uncomfortably as Harry gave a frustrated sigh and took a sip from his drink.

It was Remus who finally broke the silence: “Harry, I have no interest as to what you and Hermione are. I just feel obliged to warn you about what you do.”

Harry gave a slight nod.

“So…just…er…just…keep that in mind while I’m gone.” Remus nervously smiled and patted Harry on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in two days.”

“You’re leaving?” Harry asked, alarmed. “When?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight! But why?”

“You know why Harry.”

“But…but…what about Tonks? You’re leaving her here? Alone? With us?” Harry was suddenly in mortal fear for Ron’s safety. “You can’t just…how are we…? She’s Tonks for God’s sake! She’ll never understand why you’re leaving! She’ll get upset and burn the house down or turn us all into gophers or dung beetles …”

“I can handle Tonks,” Remus said firmly as he finished his drink in a single swig and headed into the hallway.

“Right. Just keep telling yourself that,” Harry muttered, hoping that Tonks didn’t decide to break the very expensive vases on Remus’s head. He put his letters away and hurried through the connecting door to the library. Tonks wouldn’t get to far on her rampage if Hermione managed to catch her in time…

00000000000000000000000

Tonks hopped in place, completely excited. She’d seen Remus go into Harry’s study to have “a word” with him. That could only mean one thing! Tonks could barely contain her excitement as she paced around the hallway. She noticed that Remus didn’t look in a celebratory mood when he emerged from the study, but Tonks bounded up to him, nevertheless convinced that Operation Bridesmaid had worked.

“Did he ask you?” Tonks hopped in place, waiting for an answer.

“Ask me what? Remus said, startled. He’d been so deep in thought he hadn’t seen her.

“Did Harry ask permission to marry Mione? Can you imagine! Another wedding! We could even give them some of our cake…we only ate half of it.”

“How did you know…?” Remus shook his head and trailed off.

“About Mione and Harry?” Tonks gave a self-satisfied grin. “Oh…just call it a lucky guess. So are they engaged?”

“No…no I don’t think it’s quite that serious between them yet.”

“What do you mean?” Tonks asked in a deflated voice.

“They’re just…well…young. We’ll just need to watch them more carefully.”

“Ewwww. I don’t want to watch them.”

“Well darling, we can’t let them keep running off together. People will start to think…things.”

Tonks shook her head, “But…but…what do you mean? That’s the whole point! For people (especially Harry and Hermione) to start thinking things. Mostly about each other. And pirates. Wedding pirates I mean.”

Remus shook his head. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

“I’m not sure I follow you! Here I am, working my arse off to make sure everything goes according to plan and all you’re trying to do is …what? Make sure it doesn’t happen? That makes no sense!”

“What…what are you talking about?”

Tonks poked him in the chest. “You know very well what I’m talking about! I’m talking about parties and cakes and pirates and all the wonderful things that we’re going to miss out on because you’re on some mission to sabotage me.”

“Tonks…”

“Don’t Tonks me! I’ve spent my sodding honeymoon in this rickety old mansion with RON of all people and it’s all been for nothing! Nothing! No pirates. And no sweaters…or rather…lots of sweaters…all neatly folded and placed perfectly in a truck by Hermione, who’s going to have nothing left in her life except wrestling with clothing. Hey! Where are you going?!” Tonks stomped her foot as Remus strode away.

Usually Remus found Tonks’s odd rants adorable. But not today. He’d just had one of the most awkward, embarrassing talks of his life and now his wife was going on about…pirates. It just struck the wrong chord, and he left in a huff and headed up the stairs to his room. Taking his suitcase from his closet, he began neatly arranging his clothes for his trip. He’d only be gone a day or two…he didn’t mind so much leaving Harry and Hermione alone now…Harry seemed to take his words to heart, and Hermione was a sensible enough young woman…

“You know, just because you walk away doesn’t mean the argument’s over,” Tonks called from the doorway. She took a step towards him and froze. “Remus, what…?” she trailed off, staring at the suitcase with an open mouth.

Remus looked up: “Oh…sorry darling. You see, I’ve had a letter from Sirius and have to go to London for a few days. I’ll be back before Hermione leaves and then we can…”

That was as far as he got before a swarm of cardinals suddenly materialized from the ceiling and dove at his head.

00000000000000000000000000

“Evil …horrible husbands…every last one of them. I can see why Hermione wants to die

an old maid. Marriage is just a lot of fuss and bother…fuss and bother that somehow just isn’t as much fun as it should be!”

Tonks was sitting on the bed punching one of her oversized fluffy white pillows. She tried to picture Remus’s face on it while she pummeled it, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Hitting Remus would be like kicking a naughty puppy: it wasn’t the puppy’s fault. Not really. He wasn’t evil puppy…he just wasn’t trained yet. So instead of fetching slippers and chasing away buglers, he was chewing on socks and pissing on the potted plants (except in this case the potted plants happened to be her honeymoon).

That was how Hermione found her: Punching pillows and strangling her bedsheets. Cardinals were fluttering in circles around the room. Tonks was cursing and kicking everything in sight. Hermione batted a few of the birds away as they fluttered past her head.

Tonks heard her come in and paused mid-punch. “Hello Mione.”

Hermione nodded a greeting and the punching resumed.

“Remus is gone,” Tonks said angrily, strangling a harmless-looking accent pillow.

Hermione crossed her arms and glared at Tonks: “Well it’s no wonder with all these birds around.”

“No, I mean he’s really gone. Really and truly gone. It had nothing to do with the birds because he was leaving anyway.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked surprised.

“I found him in here packing.” Tonks snapped.

“Oh.”

“He said it was business. A silly old business trip! He decided to take a business trip during his own bloody honeymoon! Can you believe that? Ugh!” Tonks punched the bedpost and then gingerly rubbed her bruised knuckle.

“Oh,” Hermione said with realization. Tonks was upset that Remus was leaving during their honeymoon. Furious actually. The cardinal kind of furious.

“Can you imagine the nerve of that man? We’re supposed to be newlyweds for goodness sake! Who takes a ‘business trip’ when he’s on his honeymoon?”

“Tonks,” Hermione said indulgently. “He’s probably doing important work for Sir Sirius.”

“Sirius-shmirius.” Tonks pouted, kicking her bed frame. “If he loves Sirius so much, why doesn’t he just go ahead and marry him?”

“So I gather you had a fight…”

“Of course we had a fight! Remus knew we’d have a fight and that’s why he waited until the last possible minute to tell me! Stupid…awful…Ugh!” Tonks jumped off the bed and started strangling the expensive-looking curtains.

Hermione pulled her away and calmly led her to a chair. “Tonks it’s only a business trip.”

“Only a business trip!”

“I don’t see why you always have to blow these things out of proportion.”

“Me! He started it! He started it by deciding to leave. Really…He’s such an immature arse.”

“Oh, so, he’s the one who used the cardinal curse this time?”

Tonks sniffed. “No, that was me again. But he was just being such an idiot and…I don’t know…I lost my temper…”

Hermione sat down and put a reassuring arm around her. “You know he’ll only be gone for a day or two.”

Tonks shook her head pityingly.

“He probably feels guilty enough as it is.”

Tonks sniffed.

“He might even come home early.”

Tonks sniffed again. “Really?”

Hermione nodded. “The man’s absolutely crazy about you.”

Tonks gave a rueful grin: “He is, isn’t he? And I’m absolutely terrible to him, aren’t I?”

“Most likely.”

“Maybe he’ll come home with flowers!” Tonks said with an excited grin.

“Maybe.”

Tonks wiped her eyes and laughed: “I’m not setting a good example for you, am I? Marriage-wise, that is. I don’t want you spelling up cardinals when your husband acts like an insensitive git.”

“Oh…I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Remember: evil cardinals solve nothing.”

“I’ll try.”

“And besides there’s two days still. Plenty of time for…um…lots of things…that don’t involve…you…or Harry…”

“Uh huh,” Hermione said suspiciously.

Tonks smiled sweetly, but Hermione could tell something was brewing in that odd mind of hers. Hermione didn’t venture a guess, though. She’d just have to wait and see what Tonks was up to.

16. Friday by the Lake

New Chapter: Friday

Author’s note: I know no one cares because this is a behind-the-scenes detail, but I broke my junk drive with all my rough drafts/outlines on it, so basically I had to start writing the last third of this story from scratch. Sucks? Yes. Will that stop me from finishing this thing? No. Even though this story has more problems than a Terry Gilliam movie, I will find a way.

So…this chapter picks up just before breakfast the next day. Remember, there are two days left in Hermione’s visit. Lupin’s still gone and…um…things happen. The plot thickens. And develops. Sort of. Now that I’ve actually got an idea where this story is going, I don’t mind telling you that the last two/three chapters since the wedding have been filler. Stupid, zany, utterly utterly unimportant filler. I’m starting to think my muse is actually a glue-sniffing fairy in disguise…

Oh, and on a completely different note, I’m getting sick of Tonks. She’s taken on this weird, manic personality that’s bothering the shite out of me. This will be one of the last chapters where she plays any kind of part. Maybe. Probably not. Oh…I don’t know. But if any of you faithful readers want me to kill her off JK style, just say the word. (Kd…but she is annoying).

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

000000000000000000000000

The Next Morning:

Dearest and most looniest of Lunas,

Hellos from Tonks, your favorite cousin. I’m still here at Godric’s Hollow and, I’ll be frank, everything’s gone to pot. I have to “watch” Hermione and Harry (which is weird), Ron is still alive (which is just annoying), and I’m fairly certain I’m the worst wife in the history of wifery because I’ve run Remus off (again) and I have no idea when he’ll be back…

Tonks paused and put her quill down. She considered just stopping there. There was no way that Luna would ever come to Godric’s Hollow if she thought things were as bad as all that.

Tonks shook her head. “This is what I’m reduced to: begging Luna for a visit. It’s pitiful, that’s what it is: just pitiful. I’m a disgrace to the Tonksian name. And it’s already a lousy name: Nymphadora Tonks…It sounds like a sneeze.”

She glanced at the clock: 8 a.m. They’d be serving breakfast soon and she was still in her nightgown. Sighing, she picked up the quill and started again.

See Luna, I had this plan. This rather brilliant plan (a plan that was really going well until Remus stuck his stupid nose into it.) It involved a spinster cousin of mine…not you of course…but…

Tonks paused again. Nothing was coming out right.

You see, all week I’ve been trying to get Harry and Hermione to spend more time together. You know, so they could get to know each other (notice here that “get to know” is code for “get engaged to”).

They’re so hopelessly cute. They both wouldn’t know love if it chewed off their noses, so I took it upon myself to help things along. And you know what, it completely worked! Because I could tell they were so smitten with each other—or just at the beginnings of it anyway. Hermione has looked so happy all week. Really happy. Something happened, you know. I just assumed Harry had done something suitably heroic like saving her from an avalanche or fighting off rabid dogs or something. Hermione was smiling and glowing and Harry kept giving her all these “I’m so fond of you I could explode” looks, and then everything that could possibly go wrong went wrong because now Remus is gone, Ron is still here, Harry and Hermione aren’t engaged and there’s nothing I can do about it because every time I threaten to kill someone Hermione just ignores me or says “oh Tonks”…

It’s really aggravating.

But other than that we’re having a lovely time.

So… how about a visit? You could keep Ron company until stupid Hermione and stupid Harry stop being so stupidly stupid. There’s still two days left for my plan to work and…um…the end.

Much love,

Tonks

Skimming over the letter, Tonks gave a frustrated groan and ripped it in half. She buried her head in her hands, resigning herself to Operation Bridesmaid’s inevitable failure. Hermione was leaving in two days, and there wasn’t an engagement ring in sight.

Tossing the letter in the wastebasket, Tonks began to get dressed, cursing herself over the universal letdown that had been the last week. Not only had she botched Hermione’s would-be marriage, she’d seriously jeopardized her own.

Or rather. Cardinals had. But, admittedly, she had played a small part in that.

0000000000000000000000000

Across the hall, Hermione was just waking up. The grandfather clock in her room chimed insistently, but even with the sunlight pouring through the window, she felt no need to leave her warm bed. She’d had a very interesting and unusual dream involving Harry. She couldn’t remember the particulars, but her cheeks were now rosy and her eyes were bright. Settling back against her pillow, she grinned, strangely relaxed and satisfied all at once.

She glanced out of the window at the sunny winter scene. Up until this morning, rain hadn’t stopped for several days and a bitterly cold wind had constantly raged over the jutted cliffs on the outskirts of the town. Most everyone stayed indoors, except Ron, who insisted on taking off on his broomstick whenever the rain stopped for more than five minutes. Between the relentless rain and constant bickering between Ron and Tonks, anyone would think it hadn’t been much of a holiday. Even now she could hear Lav’s unimpressed reaction to her rainy week in Pemeberley: Really Hermione? No shopping? No dances? And not a red cloak for miles? Huh. Sounds really borrrrring …[yawn]…[sympathetic pat on the back]…[ensuing description of all the handsome officers Lav met in Brighton].

But now, the sun was shining so brightly that the icicles were melting off the windowsill and it looked to be an absolutely beautiful day. As light streamed through the curtains, Hermione snuggled down into her covers, smiling secretly when a particularly pleasing memory of Harry drifted through her drowsy thoughts.

“Harry…what are you …? No!” Hermione cried, pushing him away.

“No?” Harry echoed, a hurt expression on his face as he took a step back.

They were standing at the foot of the stairs in the foyer. No one was around so he hadn’t thought twice about slipping an arm around her and planting light, feathery kisses along her cheek.

Hermione grabbed his hand and led him in the direction of the door closest to them. “I meant ‘no,’ as in ‘no not in the hallway,’” she hissed as she pushed him into the darkened room.

She followed him inside the pitch-blackness and slammed the door shut behind her. She turned, only to find herself pinned against the closed door by Harry’s body.

“Harry!” She squeaked, taken by surprise.

“Sorry luv,” Harry said (not sounding very sorry at all). “There’s not much by way of room here.”

Hermione stretched her right hand and felt the hard surface of a wall. She stretched the other hand out and found the same.

“Oh no,” she groaned, completely ashamed with herself.

“Oh yes,” Harry quipped. From the sound of his voice, she could tell he was terribly amused by the whole thing.

This was it. After days of fleeting touches and stolen kisses, this is what she’d finally been reduced to: she’d pushed Harry Potter into a broom closet for a snog.

“How utterly cliché,” she thought with a self-depreciating smile. It was the lowest common denominator of adolescent-witch fantasies, along with riding off into the sunset with handsome Quidditch Seekers or being rescued from rampaging ogres.

“I feel like the headmistress is going to throw open the door and deduct house points,” she groaned.

“Mmmm,” Harry hummed. “There is something awfully fifth-year about it.” His hand found her waist as he began running his hands along her sides. “But I must say like this side of you. All adventurous and such.”

“You do?” she asked absently as his fingers traced her shoulder. He stepped closer to her and she suddenly felt the hard planes of Harry’s chest against her curves. The sensation made her lightheaded.

“I really didn’t know it was a broom closet,” she softly insisted.

“Sure you didn’t,” Harry teased, lowering his lips to her exposed shoulder. “Have I told you that I love your hair like this?” She felt his hand run through her hair, tangling in her loose curls. His arm slowly wrapped around her as he lifted her to him.

“You do?” Hermione asked dreamily. She leaned her head back to allow him more room to explore.

“Love your shoulders.”

“Oh really?” She sighed as he planted light kisses along her throat. She marveled at the stirring inside her that this simple touch caused.

“Love you.”

Hermione pulled away, startled. It was the first time he’d said it since the night he saved her in Meriton.

“I love you too,” she replied shyly. It was surprising how easily the words came to her. She realized it was the first time she had said it to any man.

Harry responded by pulling her to him and urgently fusing his mouth with hers.

She could feel her own body tense with surprise. It only took her a second to recover before she kissed him back just as ardently. She heard something clatter behind them and assumed it was the dusty collection of broomsticks. She couldn’t have cared less. It was exciting kissing him in the dark like this. Here there was only the feel of his hands on her waist, his lips on hers, his breath on her skin…This man was driving her absolutely crazy.

Something exploded inside her, and she urgently tugged on his jacket, wanting him impossibly closer. Before she even realized what she was doing, she’d hitched a leg around his hip, and a jolt of pleasure exploded inside her as he pressed against her. The sharp pang of pleasure made Hermione throw her head back and bite her lip to keep from crying his name. Harry roughly kissed her, running his hand through her tangled locks. The closet was stiflingly hot, but Hermione couldn’t care less. All she could think about was the feeling of him pressed against her and the strange sensations running through her that left her giddy and weak…

An indeterminate amount of time later, Hermione was resting against his chest, gasping, flushed, and feeling as if she didn’t have any bones at all.

“Harry…” she whispered against his mouth. Harry pressed his lips to hers and she gave a plaintive sigh. After a long caress that went from soft and sweet to verging on heated, Hermione pulled away.

“Harry…” Hermione was finding it difficult to string a coherent sentence together. “We have to get back…The others will start to wonder where we are.”

Harry groaned. But this time, it wasn’t because of Hemrione’s lips.

She buried her head against his shoulder and felt his arms go round her. “I’m not very romantic, am I? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shushed her and gently kissed her forehead. They were silent for a few minutes as they tried to catch their breath. “So how has it been so far?” Harry asked softly, his lips brushing against her temple. “Staying at the house.”

“Wonderful,” she said, tightening her hold on him. “It’s been perfectly marvelous. I almost hate to leave.”

“Well that’s easy enough to fix. Don’t go.”

She laughed. “I have to.”

“No,” Harry said simply. “ We’ll just dress up Ron in women’s clothes and send him back as you.”

“That’s either the most horribly mean thing anyone’s ever said to me, or the sweetest.”

“It’s whichever will get you to shove me into more broom closets.”

Giggling girlishly into her pillow, Hermione leapt out of bed and hopped over to her vanity. After splashing water on her face, she patted her face dry and stared at the mirror. Her reflection grinned back at her. Her glowing smile was positively conspicuous and it only became brighter as Hermione tried to scowl.

“Stop that,” she told the girl in the mirror.

The mirror-girl ignored her.

“If you keep smiling like that, everyone will guess why.”

Her reflection just grinned as if to say I don’t care… la la fa fa…

Hermione stuck her tongue out and the reflection did the same. They called it a draw.

After slipping into a yellow dress, Hermione spent another ten minutes making sure her stubborn curls were in place before going down for breakfast.

Ron and Harry were already downstairs eating. It was only the two of them at the table (Remus was due to return the day after tomorrow and Tonks usually slept later than everyone else).

Ron didn’t notice her at first, he was too busy cursing at some newspaper report about the Quidditch Regionals. Harry was also reading a newspaper but looked up as she came in. As usual, she felt a fluttering in her stomach as their eyes met.

Smiling, she said a cheerful ‘good morning’ to them both. She took a seat across from Harry and her usual toast and coffee were brought in to her. Tonks’s copy of The Quibbler lay untouched on the table. Chuckling to herself, Hermione remembered how it was also Luna’s favorite. She skimmed its ludicrous front-page headlines: “Secrets Of Ancient Ruins Revealed!” “I Married a Crumple-Horned Snorkack!” and “Authorities Investigate Southland Werewolf Sightings.”

Werewolf sightings… Hermione muttered under her breath. Half-smiling, she flipped through the pages. The “report” proved to be nothing more than the usual sensational, second-hand accounts and gossipy prose she’d come to expect from The Quibbler. The entire article reminded her of the two farmgirls she’d overheard in Meriton and probably just as accurate—still, as much as she laughed at the idea of it, the story was unsettling, and the lurid way it was written made her skin crawl:

Three train charmers are quite certain that they saw a large beast resembling a giant wolf lurking around the railway station at Winterwood last night. Although authorities are reluctant to officially comment, this reporter believes that these attacks are another in a long line of incidents involving a very real and very dangerous werewolf that is roaming the countryside. One brave crewman gave the following description, leaving little doubt as to what sort of monster has been wreaking havoc along the Southland railway lines:

“The thing stood on two legs, but as it approached us, it fell to all fours. It had yellow eyes, rather slanted in a way. Cat-like really. Just two yellow glints against the black of the forest. It had a long snout like a dog, but it was wider, like a horse’s. The head reminded me of a canine shape, a kind of triangle-looking head. If it was a dog, it certainly wasn’t like any dog I’d ever seen. Whatever the thing was, it was looking straight on at us, growling and panting and such…”

Other accounts followed, some from train passengers who saw the thing running along the track and some from farmers who claimed the werewolf attacked their lifestock. Hermione was so engrossed in the story she didn’t notice that Ron was talking to her:

“…Don’t you think so, Hermione?” Ron asked.

“The thing came out of the darkness, its fangs dripping blood…entrails dangling from its giant jaws…”

“Hermione?” Ron asked again.

“Made off with three o’ me sheep.”

“Hermione?”

“It came at me…moved like a wolf… bounding out of the woods, snarling and snapping…”

“Hermione!” Ron said loudly.

Hermione jumped; she hadn’t realized he was talking to her.

Ron looked at her with laughing eyes. Harry noticed her surprise and put down his own paper.

She smiled apologetically. “Oh, I’m sorry Ron,” she said evenly as she casually tossed the paper on the table. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying that you should try and get outside today. It’s too nice to stay in the library. Believe me, this good weather won’t last.”

Hermione nodded. “I was just thinking that. I may go for a walk after breakfast. There’s miles of the grounds I haven’t seen.”

“Have you been through the woods yet?” Harry asked, already knowing the answer. His eyes never left his newspaper. He didn’t want Ron to think he was too interested in how she was going to spend her day (and if he suggested going for a walk, he had a feeling Ron would take it as an invitation that included him as well). But this was one outing Ron could definitely not come along on.

“No, I haven’t.” Hermione gave a fake smile; however she wasn’t half as eager as she sounded. After her last little stroll through the woods outside of Meriton, she wasn’t looking forward to it.

Ron chuckled. “There’s that trail that leads all the way to the lake. You know the one Harry. With those odd Elf trees. S’ actually pretty interesting. People come from miles around to see it.”

Hermione smiled. “I know. I have no excuse really …” she trailed off.

“Say Harry, why don’t you take Mione?” Tonks’s voice rang out as she came skipping into the room. She collapsed into a chair beside Remus and began pouring herself some tea. “You’re the best person for it. It’s your lake and your Elf tree thingies.”

“Oh, that’s all right…” Hermione began.

“No, it’s not all right, is it Harry? Poor Mione. You’ve been trapped inside for five whole days. It really hasn’t been much of a holiday has it?”

“No, it’s fine…” Hermione began to insist.

“No, it’s not fine. Here you are, a million miles from Meriton, and you’re stuck doing the same boring things you always do. Potting around the house all day, reading books and being bored bored bored.”

Hermione forced a smile. “How can I be bored with you around Tonks?”

“Bored?” Ron cut in. “Yeah right. ‘Driven round the bend’ is more like it. Speaking of which, Tonks, pour me some coffee.”

“Pour it yourself Ron.” Tonks stuck her nose in the air.

“But you’re sitting right next to it…oh never mind. Move over.”

“Don’t shove me!”

“I didn’t shove you!”

“Yes you did!”

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did!”

While Tonks and Ron went back and forth, Hemione stared out the window at the forest. Just the thought of taking a walk through the woods made her shudder. The last time, well… the last time ended badly to say the least, and that newspaper story hadn’t helped. Not that she believed in werewolves. The idea was laughable, but the story was uncanny…was it really a wolf that attacked her? She could remember it as though it was only yesterday… the freezing air stinging her lungs…the branches hitting her face…the scream that caught in her throat when the thing dove at her…

Hermione took a shaky sip of her coffee, trying to hide her frown, but the way her cup shook as she brought it to her lips didn’t escape Harry’s notice. She caught Harry’s eye and could tell he was mulling something over. She winced at the thought that perhaps he’d also been reminded him their encounter in the woods. Even worse was the thought that he was also reminded of what happened afterward. With echoes of their namecalling and door slamming ringing in her ear, she hurried through her breakfast and excused herself.

Harry did the same and rushed after her.

Harry’s hasty departure put a triumphant smile on Tonks’ face. She was convinced that her last-ditch effort at matchmaking would work out brilliantly.

Tonks crossed her fingers and knocked on the table (the wooden table). What’s that fishing metaphor? she asked herself. Bait and tackle or something like that? Of course, there’ll be a different sort of tackle all together.

Tonks smiled and took a sip of her tea. They might even name one of their children after her (which would be sadistically cruel).

That poor kid…Tonks sighed, imagining the pain of having to go through life as Nymphadora Nightingale Potter. She was too busy feeling sorry for Harry and Hermione’s future firstborne to notice that Ron was talking to her:

“Tonks…?”

Poor little Nymphadora Nightingale Potter. Tonks muttered absently. She’ll probably get a nickname like “Nymph-Pot.”

“Hey Tonks.”

Or just “Nympher.”

“Hello? Tonks?”

Goodness…they might even scrap “Nymphadora” and just call her Nightingale Potter…

“Tonks?”

Night-Pot.

“Tonks!”

“What!?” She turned to him, startled.

“Pass the marmalade.”

“Pass it yourself?” Tonks said snidely and went back to ignoring him.

“Pass it…? Dammit Tonks! You really are the most annoying female on the planet!”

“Don’t sell yourself short Ron.”

0000000000000000000000000

Hermione had to admit, Ron was right: it was much too nice a day to spend inside. The grounds were still covered in a thin sheet of frost, but the sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud for miles and miles.

She could see her breath against the blue sky and smiled. They really did have the strangest weather in Pemberley. For the last five days, there had been nothing but rain and black skies and now there was fluffy clouds and soft sunshine as far as the eye could see.

Harry had followed her outside. He quickly fell into step beside her and she hooked her arm with his. He said he wanted to walk into town and Hermione cheerfully agreed.

They strolled along the southern part of the house. The crackle of gravel mingled with the muffled sounds of their footsteps, the only sounds breaking the noticeable silence between them. She glanced at Harry who was kept shooting her sideways glances.

“Beautiful day,” he observed casually.

She gave him a small smile and looked up at the clear sky.

“Hermione,” Harry said slowly, “you haven’t seen the lake yet have you? Remus said something about it at breakfast.”

Hermione shook her head and forced a smile. “No I haven’t. Not yet.” Hermione replied nervously. It hadn’t escaped her notice that they were headed towards a trail into the woods.

Don’t ask me Harry…don’t ask me…please don’t ask me…

Harry nervously rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that Hermione always found adorable: “Well, there’s a short-cut that way, and seeing as how you haven’t been through the woods yet, maybe you’d like to come with me…To see it. The woods I mean. Not the short cut…” Harry trailed off with a tense smile.

Hermione looked apologetically at him. “Thank you Harry, but I just don’t really feel like walking too far today…” Hermione smiled stiffly, knowing Harry saw through the lie. She sighed, resigned to tell the truth. “And honestly, you remember what happened the last time I went into the woods… I nearly got us both killed...and…and…”

“…And it’s too nice a day to get eaten?” Harry finished for her.

“Ha. Ha,” she said flatly, unhooking her arm from his.

Harry turned and studied her for a moment. “It’s perfectly safe. I promise. Griffindor’s honor.”

Hermione nodded vigorously. “I know. I know, really. But still…just the idea…” She shivered as she took a long look at the woods. The trees seemed to go on for miles and miles with no end in sight.

Harry stepped towards her. “And I do have my wand. So if anything bothers us, we can just set it on fire. Unless it’s Ron of course. In that case we have to exercise some restraint.”

Hermione smiled weakly. She still didn’t feel quite right about it. “Harry, I don’t think…” she trailed off. A dozen excuses came to mind, but she knew Harry would see through all of them.

He held out his hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he repeated firmly.

Hermione paused before taking it. “All right,” she said with a shaky sigh as she took his arm. “But if I get swallowed or even slightly singed during our escape, I’m blaming you.”

“All right,” Harry consented with a lopsided grin. “As long as you promise not to fall on me again.”

Hermione mouth fell open. “That’s not funny Harry!”

“No, it’s not,” Harry said, rubbing his back in mock pain.

Hermione’s indignation quickly gave way to laughter as they headed up the trail.

The bare tree branches above them canopied the trail, covering them in shade. Sensing her nervousness, Harry squeezed her hand. “It gets brighter up a-ways,” Harry said reassuringly.

Hermione nodded and tried to put on a brave front. He was right though. When they started up the hill, the sunlight pored through the bare brances lighting their way.

“Oh Harry…” she gasped as they reached the hilltop that overlooked the frozen lake. Below them, hundreds of trees shimmered in the scant sunlight. At first Hermione thought it was just an odd effect of the light on the frozen lake. But the shimmer from the trees wasn’t ice, it was glass. Thousands of trees were made of glass! Except for being streaked with odd diamond-shaped patterns of frost, their trunks were completely transparent and their crystal branches twisted up to the sky.

Harry took her hand and led her towards the lake. Crystal branches dangled overhead, light glinted from each one and danced over and around them. She was speechless. She’d never seen anything like this. Hermione didn’t know which way to look, everything was so beautiful.

She pulled away from Harry to look more closely at a large tree beside them. It was almost completely transparent, flawless glass, streaked with traces of ice. She slid a glove off her hand and touched the trunk, amazed.

“Harry, I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s like something out of a fairytale.”

“It’s old Elf magic,” Harry explained, taking her hand and leading her down the trail. “It’s been like this for the last six hundred years. Or at least that’s what my father told me.” Harry shrugged. “Of course, he could’ve just been ashamed to admit that he made himself a glass forest.”

“I don’t see why anyone would be ashamed of this,” Hermione motioned at the view in front of her. She stopped to take a closer look at another twisting tree with outstretched glass branches.

With a pleased expression, Harry watched her admire the forest. He didn’t want to stare at her, but he couldn’t help admire her, or smile a goofy, pathetic smile whenever he was with her like this. He leaned against a nearby tree trunk. The branches shook with his weight and a large clump of snow fell on Hermione’s shoulder.

“Harry!” she exclaimed.

“Sorry my lovely,” Harry said with a smile, not looking sorry at all.

Hermione brushed the snow off her shoulder and laughed. “Not yet you’re not.

Come here Harry,” she said, crooking her finger at him with an inviting smile.

Harry eagerly trotted over to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in for a kiss, when she suddenly slopped a handful of runny snow on his head.

“Not funny,” he muttered, shaking the snow out of his hair.

“I thought it was,” she said in a musical tone.

She squealed when he reached for her. Ducking behind a tree, she laughed: “Harry this is horrible! There’s nothing to hide behind!”

00000000000000000000000

An uncertain amount of time later, they were sitting side-by-side on a bench farther up the path next to the frozen lake. They hadn’t quite made it to town. It had been too long since they had a chance to be alone like this, and neither seemed willing to end their time alone together. Some might have imagined it as a typical scene of young lovers: two cloaked figures sitting beside each other, white winter scenery in the background, their cheeks turned apple red by the nipping wind, their arms around each other (but not for the sake of warmth).

However picturesque and ordinary, it was still a strange and thrilling experience for Hermione. Suitably swept off her feet by the enchanted forest, she tried to lengthen the kisses, pressing her lips against his as he grazed her mouth, however, for some reason Harry resisted, pulling back each time.

“Harry…” Hermione said his name with a breathy sigh. She snuggled closer, searching for more contact, trying to get closer. He took her in his lap, and with her body flush against his, she could feel the hard lines of his chest against her soft curves

Harry rested his chin on her shoulder, his eyes drifted shut as their bodies pressed against each other. He was desperately trying to control himself, but Hermione was making it incredibly difficult. His knuckles were white as his hands raked over her dress. Hermione’s lips found his throat, and began long, languid trail of kisses up along his jaw. Hermione began nibbling his ear and making kittenish sighs as she squirmed against him.

“Harry, kiss me…please Harry…” she whispered against his mouth. He tasted like the winter air, crisp and clean. She lowered her head and started softly kissing his neck. Harry’s head fell to the side, his eyes closed and he groaned. His breath caught in his throat as she slowly moved her kisses up his neck and nibbled on his earlobe.

He suddenly pulled away. He cupped her cheek and looked directly into her eyes.

“Hermione?” Harry whispered reverently.

“Hmmm?” she hummed. His hand began to caress her back, and she again felt a thrill of desire radiate through her body. His hands traveled to her sides and slowly up her arms, until…

…Oh wait…he was saying something…Hermione shook herself out of her Harry-induced haze and waited for him to speak.

Hermione opened her eyes and found him staring at her. “Harry, what is it?”

Harry smiled ruefully and shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Er….It’s not important.”

Hermione looked at him skeptically.

Harry swallowed hard. “Um…Did you know this was where my father proposed to his wife…er…my mother…um…they’re the same person of course…” Harry trailed off, embarrassed.

“No I didn’t,” Hermione answered, honestly surprised. She looked around at the pristine beauty of the countryside. “It seems a perfect place for it though.”

Harry nodded. “I always thought so.” He blanched, suddenly nervous. He could feel his hands shaking, so he tucked them into his pockets.

She looked at him, concerned. “Harry, are you all right?”

“Er…well…I was thinking about our plan to send Ron back instead of you.”

Hermione chuckled. “Harry, I was just joking about that.”

“Well…of course we were joking…but I’ve been thinking that…”

Harry paused and shifted uncomfortably on the bench. Hermione watched him intently, waiting for him to go on.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry cleared his throat: “…I was thinking that there’s really no reason for you to leave.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked uncertainly, thinking that was the last thing she expected him to say.

“I mean…you could always…just…marry me.”

“Oh,” Hermione muttered again. Okay, I was wrong. That was the last thing I expected him to say. She wasn’t sure whether Harry was serious. It was only when he took a luminous emerald ring from his pocket did she realize that he was, in fact, deathly serious.

She nearly fainted as he gently took her left hand and removed her glove. Whether it was her hand that was shaking or his, she couldn’t tell. She felt the chilly air against her fingertips, the cold metal of the ring against her skin, and the next thing she knew, the large emerald square was glittering on her finger.

“It’s perfect,” she said vaguely, still shocked.

“It’s perfect on you,” Harry said, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

Hermione leaned in his caress but couldn’t take her eyes off the ring. Flashes of elusive blue swirled in its depths as she held out her hand to admire it. She found herself unable to look away from its swimming glints of deep green. For some reason, it took her back to the first time she ever saw Harry’s eyes: he was standing in the shadows of the front door of her Aunt’s townhouse refusing to be introduced. He’d taken her breath away, that much she remembered. Throughout her Aunt’s exhausting hospitality, she kept wondering how a person’s eyes could get so green. They seemed unnaturally, eerily beautiful at the time. Those same eyes had haunted her every night since. Even when she couldn’t stand the sight of him, she couldn’t escape her fascination with his eyes.

…And it’s the same shade of green, she muttered, staring at the ring.

Aloud, she tried to formulate a coherent reply: “Oh Harry…I don’t think…”

Harry pulled away. “Shhh. Let’s not overanalyze this just yet,” he whispered softly. Holding her gaze, he gently kissed her lips. “Okay?”

Staring back at him, she trailed her finger down his jaw and cradled his chin in her hand. She pulled him forward until their lips almost touched and whispered, “Okay.”

He nodded and lightly kissed her on the mouth, on her chin, slowly moving along her jaw until he moved on to the sensitive area of her neck. She heard Harry’s breathing deepen and felt him once again draw her closer.She sighed at the sensations he was creating, and her eyes slowly closed, lulled into hazy, languorous desire. Hermione gazed at him through heavily-lidded eyes.

“Harry, we shouldn’t…I can’t…”

He hushed her, gently running his hand through her hair.

“My family…” Hermione insisted absently.

Harry didn’t answer as he leaned over, gently nuzzling his cheek against hers.

Hermione’s eyes drifted shut as his lips grazed her ear. Her hands found his collar and began absently playing with the buttons. This was the man she would marry. There was no doubt about that. The vision she had during the wedding was still as vivid in her mind’s eye as ever—her walking down the aisle, staring into Harry’s eyes, momentarily forgetting about the ridiculousness of Tonks’ infernal Celtic costumes—that a moment that made her catch her breath and nearly drop her flowers.

She didn’t want anyone else. There was no question about that. But like this? An elopement? They were supposed to be moving slowly, after all. They had their families to consider, Harry’s and her own. No one would understand a sudden elopement. It just wasn’t respectable…expected…proper…decent…correct…

…All the words Hermione preferred over perfect.

“Harry…” Hermione whispered against his cheek, “We can’t…”

“Yes we can,” he said softly, capturing her mouth and coaxing her into a slow kiss.

Harry cupped her cheek as their lips moved against each other. Her soft sigh merged with his throaty moan. Harry pressed his mouth more firmly against hers, and Hermione quickly forgot herself as she lost herself in the kiss. A groan emanated low in his throat as he slid his other arm around her waist, holding her tightly while he pried her lips open with his tongue and plunged. Hermione gasped at the sudden contact, but melted against him, squirming in his lap as light tingles raced up and down her spine.

Her mind was racing, only sensations registered: his warm breath against her lips, his hand on her waist, her hands scraping his back, his tongue dancing with hers. He explored her mouth greedily as her desire overtook her rapidly. He broke away and began whispering about Scotland, about an elopement, that they could take a carriage and leave tonight, that they could be married by tomorrow afternoon…

Hermione nodded absently as he kissed a feathery trail along her jaw. It was true. They could leave for Scotland today, there was nothing stopping them. They wouldn’t have to be satisfied with fleeting touches and stolen kisses. They wouldn’t have to leave each other gasping, frustrated, flushed, and unsatisified. She imagined Harry carrying her to a dark secluded hotel room and finally taking her to his bed—just the thought of their wedding night made her shudder with a heady pulse. It would be everything she wanted. It would be passionate… wonderful… perfect…

Perfect.

Hermione suddenly broke away from him. “No… Harry…I can’t…” Hermione resisted when he tried to pull her back. “I can’t marry you…not like this…”

“Like what?” Harry asked, concern etched on his features as he cupped her face.

Hermione just shook her head and looked away.

“Like what?” Harry pressed her.

“Like…this. Eloping…running off without our family’s consent… It just isn’t done….”

“You know that doesn’t matter to me.”

“But it matters to me,” she said sadly.

“More than I do?” He asked softly.

Hermione lowered her voice: “Of course not.”

“Then I don’t see…”

Hermione pulled away and stood up. “No, you don’t see. Because you don’t have two sisters to raise. I have to set an example for them.” She gave a frustrated sigh. “And you know that Harry. We’ve talked about all this before.”

Harry rose from the bench and stood next to her: “Luna and Lavender aren’t children.”

“Lavender is. And Luna’s…just Luna. They wouldn’t understand. I can’t simply disappear with a man I hardly know!”

“Oh so we’re back to that.” Harry impatiently threw up his hands.

“Of course we’re back to that! I’ve only been here a week Harry. Did you really expect me to suddenly forget that I’ve only known you a month or two? Or that I have a family to consider? It’s selfish to think that they don’t have a say in this.”

“I have a family too Hermione.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean Sirius and Remus wouldn’t be happy about this either, but I’m willing to risk that for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione shook her head sadly. “I just… I can’t marry you like this.”

They stared at each other for a full minute. Except for the twinkling of the glass branches overhead, the forest was silent. The tense silence was finally broken by the sound of Harry’s footsteps striding back towards the house.

0000000000000000000000000

They walked back to Godric’s Hollow in silence. The glass trees around them glittered eerily in the fading daylight. Their branches shook in the breeze, sending flecks of refracted light onto the frozen earth below. The crackle of the damp foliage mingled with the muffled sounds of their footsteps, which were the only sounds breaking the noticeable silence between them. She fell behind as Harry quickened his pace. Even at a distance she could see that his shoulders were tense and he was angrily muttering to himself.

Hermione nibbled an already tender lip. Well you handled that well, she muttered sarcastically. Harry proposes to you, gives you his mother’s ring and…what? You say, ‘No thank you Harry. You’re being selfish.’…just brilliant…

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

Well done Potter…Harry berated himself. Lose your temper. Act like a complete ass. She’s right you know. Selfish, that’s what you are. Of course she’d say ‘no’ after that, and you only have yourself to blame you stupid prat…

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

And just why should I feel so guilty? Hermione huffed. Harry’s the one being absolutely rash and impossible. I have an example to set for my sisters after all. How would it look if Luna followed suit and suddenly eloped with a strange man was staying with? Or Lavender for that matter? I would never forgive myself…Harry’s different of course…but still…there would be a scandal, that much is certain…no matter how much we both want this, we can’t pretend that a hurried marriage wouldn’t affect our families…

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

Harry kicked at the frozen ground. Good God Potter, haven’t you learned anything from the last time you were in Meriton? Not exactly your finest hour. The girl gets attacked in the woods and you go and propose ten minutes later. Excellent idea that… [Harry assumed a mocking tone of his voice] um, say Hermione, darling, I know you’re traumatized and all, but seeing as how I’m hopelessly in love with you, how bout we get married? You could do worse you know. I’m sure there’s someone somewhere who makes you more miserable than I do. Think about it, won’t you? I’ll just act like a jealous idiot and make you cry. That’ll seal the deal… show you what’s in store, eh?

Harry growled in frustration. And now this. Shoving the ring on her finger, as if she doesn’t have any say in the matter… Least she didn’t slap me this time. Probably should have though…

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

Of course, Harry’s not exactly a stranger to our family…there wouldn’t necessarily be a scandal…

Why do I have to assume the worst of everything?

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

What did she call me last time? An inconsiderate idiot?

Well said.

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

Aunt Aurora wouldn’t mind at all. She’d be thrilled to have The Harry Potter as a nephew-in-law…

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

She gives you a second chance and you pull a stunt like this…

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

And Luna already knows about how I feel. When she sent my clothes she even pinned a note to the suitcase:“I hope Harry likes these.” I was furious at the time of course (it’s not like Luna to tease), but deep down I knew she was just giving her consent…

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

There had to be a better way of going about this…

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

Ugh! The man drives me absolutely crazy. How could I be expected to think straight when he’s sitting centimeters away, looking all handsome and so forth?

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

I should’ve talked to Remus. He managed to propose to Tonks, which means he’s either a master communicator or the bravest man alive.

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

What does Harry have to be so unreasonable about this?

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

She hasn’t taken off the ring…she can’t be that angry.

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

He still looks so angry…

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

What’s a more dignified word for “begging”?

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

He’s so stubborn…so utterly stubborn. And now he’s just stubborn and furious at the same time. I honestly don’t understand the man…And why doesn’t he turn around? We need to talk about this, talk without screaming this time. He needs to apologize…or maybe I do? I did refuse to marry him…but then he’s so stubborn…ugh. What a mess…

Hermione could see the lights of Godric’s Hollow in the distance and she suddenly realized that the ring was still on her finger. She stared at it miserably. A sob caught in her throat, but she quickly shook off her sadness.

Selfish, perhaps that’s what she would’ve called him at once, but as she threw a retrospective glance over the whole of their relationship, so full of contradictions, she sighed at her paradoxical feelings.

She was still too shocked to be angry about it; and she was too confused to cry. It all happened so fast. One minute she was in his arms, the next they were silently storming back to the house. She hadn’t dared to talk to him during their trudging walk. The entire way back, she could feel the anger radiating off him. Or perhaps it was hurt pride. Or maybe just disappointment. Whatever Harry was feeling, she had no more idea of his frame of mind than her own. She didn’t know what to feel herself. Resentment, frustration, sadness…it was all a muddled mess, ebbing and flowing like the glints of blue in that emerald ring.

Perfect, she muttered again, watching the ring shimmer a deep purple in the orange light of the setting sun. She now understood why “perfect” had two meanings. The first meant an ideal; a flawless completion; an utterly absolute wholeness. She gave a rueful smile when she realized that “to perfect” meant quite the opposite. It meant to improve, to refine, to finish, to build up… it implied a constant incompletion. Suddenly, the latter meaning seemed a more fitting way to describe her relationship with Harry.

0000000000000000000000000000

Trying to avoid Harry, Hermione had an early dinner sent to her room and afterward curled up with a book on her bed. Making herself quite comfortable by the fire, she spent a quiet hour pouring over a book about medicinal Muggle uses for Chinese herbal teas. It was a very helpful book. An informative and utterly interesting book. A must-read in every way… at least that’s what she kept telling herself. She hadn’t read a single line of the text all night. Instead she’d only stared at the pages, replaying her argument with Harry over and over in her head.

It didn’t help matters that the engagement ring was burning a hole in her pocket. She could feel it every time she shifted in her pillow. Harry would ask for it back eventually, and she wouldn’t hesitate in returning it. It was his ring after all, she had refused it; she had refused him…again. And yet she still itched to try it on, to wear it, to watch it shimmer against the firelight. She didn’t chance it in case Tonks decided to pay a visit (which would invariably involve her barging in and launching into an “I don’t miss Remus” speech).

If anyone did have half a mind to come charging into her room, she was hoping it was Harry, who would crawl to her on his knees, begging for her forgiveness. Or perhaps she would fall into his arms, pleading and apologizing herself. She couldn’t make up her mind which scenario was more likely.

It was funny, she thought: here she was, confused whether he should come begging for forgiveness because he stormed away after proposing (again) or whether she should throw herself at his feet because she’d refused him (again). Of course it wasn’t really “funny,” not in the pleasant, smiling, ha-ha sense of the word… but more in the universe-hates-Hermione kind of funny. After all their arguments and discussions and worst-laid plans, it was ironic, odd, and incredibly heartbreakingly tragic that she was confused as to who should apologize to whom.

But whichever the case, the night wore on and no one came. After anxiously staring at page 1 of her book for what seemed like hours, she became painfully aware of the ticking clock. The seconds fell like the freezing drops of rain against the window …at 10:00 she tossed aside the book, 10:30 she began pacing around the room, at 11:05 she went back to her book (but didn’t read a single word of it), at 11:45 she sat perched on the edge of her bed, at 12:05 she began pacing around the room again, and at 12:30, miserable, drained, and heartbroken, she lost all hope.

He’s not coming, she said in a hollow voice as the clock sounded the half-hour.

An unhelpful internal voice spoke up: “You did wonder when all this loveliness would come crashing down around you…happy now?”

“Far from it actually…” Hermione muttered. It was true. She was far from happy. She was humbled, she was grieved, she repented, although she hardly knew of what. She wanted to him to turn around and talk to her…. they couldn’t simply leave things like this … she was leaving soon…they couldn’t let things end like this…. There had to be some explanation why he didn’t come, some explanation that didn’t involve him not hating her…

Maybe he’s trapped under an attic beam or fell into a closet full of broomsticks…yes that’s it…well done Hermione… she congratulated herself sarcastically. Maybe Tonks turned him into a bullfrog thinking he was Ron…

She knew she wouldn’t sleep at all that night. Taking a candle from her bedside, she decided to take a walk through the house. The bedroom door gave a soft thud as it closed losing behind before she stepped into the dark hallway. She padded through the silent corridor, focusing determinedly on the feel of the hardwood floors under her shoes. The clip-clop noise calmed her uneasy internal rhythm, giving her mind something else to do besides think and worry and wonder.

Worrying had always best been done inside a neat calm head because that same head would need to come up with objective solutions. But whenever Harry was involved, her mind became muddled with all sorts of odd, unfamiliar thoughts: desire, passion, longing, love, hope…and after this disappointment she felt as though she’d given way, she’d become a confused jumbled, gray mess, wilting and withering and falling into a dark pit of despair… That’s what she felt, utter despair, a black aching feeling that was eating away at her, a cold shadowy ache that made her insides freeze…

And after only six hours…she rolled her eyes. Honestly Hermione. Why don’t you climb out of your freezing pit long enough to actually talk to Harry? Then you can hurl yourself into your vortex of despair…

Eventually she found herself on one of the floors in the east wing, which was lined with dozens of suits of armor and tapestries and shields. Even though she’d only been there a week, she was already familiar with the Potter’s collection of medieval armaments; it seemed whenever she and Tonks explored the house, she always had to keep Tonks from playing with all the swords and shields.

(“But they’re so shiny,” Tonks would whine, before grudgingly putting them back).

As she turned the corner, she noticed a light was coming from one of the rooms down the hallway. Remembering that it was a oft-used sitting room, she headed towards it, not really sure why. It was more out of a vague curiosity about who might still be up at this time of night rather than a desire to talk to anyone.

The room was aglow with a roaring fire, and she gasped as she recognized Harry sitting on one of the dark sofas flanking it. He was staring into the flames, a brandy snifter in his hand and a tussled overcoat around his shoulders. She watched him for a minute as he thoughtfully swirled the amber-colored liquid in the glass. Moonlight poured through the ice-covered window frames behind him, reminding her of the glass branches by the lake...

Finding she had to turn away, she chewed on her already tender lip, trying to keep her despair in check. Looking down, she found herself gripping the material on her dress so tightly that her hands were white. Her legs were shaky and her breathing came in raspy breaths and she found herself wanting to sink down against the doorframe until she was safely on the ground.

But instead of fainting or falling, she summoned up her courage and cleared her throat, hoping to get his attention. He didn’t seem to hear her. He kept staring into the fire, watching it with a hardened expression.

“Harry?” she asked softly, knocking on the open door.

He didn’t answer her.

“Harry?”

He turned to her with expressionless eyes.

Hermione nibbled her lip and shifted uncomfortably in the doorway.

“Hello,” she said weakly.

Harry just nodded and turned back to the fire.

She watched him for a few silent minutes and soon felt a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t seen Harry like this since the early days of their acquaintance— dark and brooding, his beautiful eyes tinged with icy indifference—it reminded her of the Christmas party at her Aunt’s townhouse and the ball at Pomona Lodge when he was a forbidding, fearful thing to behold.

But she wouldn’t be intimated. Or at least she wouldn’t act intimidated. We need to talk…we can’t leave things like this…we need to talk…Hermione told herself over and over again. She wouldn’t assume the worst of him, she wouldn’t overanalyze his manner. Instead she would talk to Harry like a rational, reasonable human being and then she would fling herself onto her bed and cry herself to sleep like any other heartbroken witch.

She gathered her courage and quietly walked over to him. Kneeling at his side, she placed her hand over his.

“Harry? Is everything all right?” she asked softly.

Harry didn’t turn to face her.

“Harry?”

“Yes. M’ Fine,” he said in a low voice.

“Are you really?”

Harry made an affirmative noise and continued to stare at the fire.

“Oh,” she said simply, removing her hand as if it’d been slapped.

Well…so much for talking, she thought sadly. But as much as she wanted to, she didn’t leap to her feet and run down the hallway in a teary mess. Instead she stayed stubbornly beside him. She wanted to him to turn around and talk to her. They simply couldn’t leave things like this. She was returning home soon, and they couldn’t let things end like this…. A sob caught in her throat at the thought, but she quickly checked herself.

“Harry I’m sorry” she suddenly said.

“What?” Harry turned around, startled, as if seeing her for the first time.

“Harry I’m sorry,” she repeated miserably.

“Sorry? What for?” Harry shook his head as a familiar concern melted his icy manner.

“For what happened earlier.” She tried (and failed) to keep the utter despair out of her voice.

“What do you mean?” Harry took her proffered hand. Hermione felt relieved when he folded her hand in his and brought her closer.

“Our argument. You asked me to…I wouldn’t…you were so angry and I…I’m sorry…”

Harry didn’t let her finish. He put his glass down and gently pulled her into his lap.

“Oh no…no it’s not that luv,” Harry quickly assured her. “Never that. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I…didn’t think…” Hermione wiped away a tear. “You look so strange just now…I thought…” she hung her head and trailed off.

He shook his head and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve just heard some bad news is all. You haven’t having done anything wrong.”

“I was sure you hated me, ” she said, resting her head against his shoulder.

He hushed her.

“And I do…I do want to go with you…I’m so sorry… I’m sorry…” she held onto him tightly.

“No luv,” he kissed her forehead. “You were right about the elopement. It was a crazy thing to do. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Harry pulled her closer, kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her lips, hushing her and trying to calm her down. “It’s all right lovely,” he said over and over again as tears began to fall from her eyes. Harry kissed them away as he held her to him. “It’s all right, I’m sorry my lovely. Don’t cry…”

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” she repeated against his shoulder.

“Shhhh… I’m sorry too,” he kissed her forehead.

Hermione shook her head, running her hands through Harry’s hair. “I do want to…I do want to go with you…I do…honestly…I’m just…afraid... ”

Harry whispered some soothing phrases and she slowly quieted.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured absently, leaning into his hand. He pulled her slowly forward until their lips touched. He kissed her softly, tenderly, telling her without words that she could trust him, that he understood and that he felt the same way. As this realization hit her, she melted into a puddle at his feet. He could have asked her to do anything and she would have complied without reservation.

He lifted her head back up and covered her mouth with his, his tongue sliding in to meet his. They explored each other's mouths until she felt dizzy. She curled her arms around his neck. His lips were so sweet and soft and she just wanted to hold onto him tightly, never let go.

Harry kissed a trailed along her jaw and whispered sweet things into her ear. A feeling of relief washed over her as she curled herself against him. “Oh Harry” she said against his collar. She said it again, and again as tears rolled down her face. All the while, Harry held her tightly, kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her lips, hushing her and trying to calm her down. “It’s all right lovely,” he said over and over again as tears began to fall from her eyes. Harry kissed them away as he held her to him. “It’s all right, I’m sorry my lovely. Don’t cry…I can’t let my lovely cry now can I?”

Harry whispered some soothing phrases and she slowly quieted. He lifted her head back up and covered her mouth with his. They explored each other's mouths until she felt a now-familiar tingling pulse that made her feel warm and weak as he whispered sweet things into her ear. She hummed approvingly as he gently nuzzled his cheek against hers. Hermione’s eyes drifted shut as his lips grazed her ear and her hands began absently playing with his collar.

“Harry?” Hermione asked in a hazy voice, “What happened?”

Harry paused and pulled away. “What do you mean?”

“You said you had some bad news. Has something happened?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably and looked at the floor.

“Harry, can’t you tell me?” She hated to press him. He looked haggard and worn, but she wanted to know what had shaken him so badly.

He didn’t answer her right away, and when he did it was with grim expression.

“Not now luv.” He kissed her again. “I will tell you…but…I can’t. Not yet. You see I’ve…there’s… something unfortunate happened… and…well, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow. But why?”

“I need to see somebody about…something.”

“Is it for Sir Sirius?”

“No…not for Sirius. But I won’t be gone long. It’s only for a day or two. I’ll be back before Sunday and I’ll tell you then.”

“But I’m leaving Sunday,” Hermione gently reminded him.

“I know,” he kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back long before you go.”

Hermione shook her head, running her hands through Harry’s hair. “Promise?”

“I promise. I can’t let my lovely leave without saying goodbye now can I?” he cupped her cheek.

“No,” she murmured absently, leaning into his hand. He pulled her slowly forward until their lips touched. He kissed her softly, tenderly, telling her everything would be all right, that they would have a wonderful life together no matter what. And in that moment, even though she was ever a reluctant optimist, she believed him.

0000000000000000000000000000

17. Letters and Sweaters

New chapter: Letters and Sweaters

The plot moves forward. Finally! Lots of stuff happens here. And none of it involves Tonks (thank God). Although she does make an appearance or two...

To summarize: Harry and Hermione are at an odd place in their relationship. Hermione is still a little thrown by their fight, but she’s putting up a brave front. Tonks is still insane and Ron is still under-developed character-wise. Oh, and now Harry and Lupin are gone.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

00000000000000000000000

The next morning, Harry was gone before daybreak just as he said he would be. Their late-night talk made Hermione feel a little better, but she still found herself unable to face Tonks and Ron at the breakfast table. Instead she had coffee sent to her room and afterwards shut herself up in the library. Tomorrow was to be her last day at Godric’s Hollow and she hoped against hope that Harry would be back to see her off. Her concerns preyed on her all morning, so much so that her time was spent worrying about her upcoming departure rather than reading her book. During the course of the afternoon she managed to finish only one chapter. She wanted to try for another but that was cut short when a now-blonde Tonks came flying into the room:

“Ohhh!” Tonks cried, punching a curtain. Finding it a fairly fruitless fight, she started tying the thick curtain cords into a tight noose. Securing the noose around her neck , she waved to Hermione. “Goodbye Mione. Tell Remus there’s nothing anyone could’ve done to prevent it.”

Hermione looked up from her book. “Don’t play with the curtains Tonks.”

“I’m not playing with them, I’m using them to commit suicide.”

“Oh.” Hermione nodded vaguely, still lost in her thoughts.

“And where were you at lunch?” Tonks huffed. “Harry’s gone too, so I had to sit for a whole hour alone with Ron! I never knew the simple act of eating could be so disgusting. The man chews on everything like it’s shoe leather. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. Plus he had to be a pain in the arse about every bleeding thing possible: he horded the sauce for the fish and used up all the bloody sugar for the coffee and stuck his elbow in the butter dish... And where were you for all this? Here. All shut up in this stinky old library. If you’d been there it wouldn’t have been so terribly terribly awful.” Tonks shook her head. “You have no idea how horrible it was. Chew, chew, chew… I could feel my soul being sucked from my body. You know, Ron would make a good Dementor. No one would stand a chance against his chewing.”

“Uh huh,” Hermione said absently.

“And I don’t miss Remus either, so stop thinking that.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“And don’t take that of-course-you-don’t tone with me! I can hear you now: ‘Oh poor silly Tonks, she’s all lonely since Remus left and that’s why she’s shouting at everyone. I’m Hermione and I know everything blah blah blah…’” Tonks sniffled and kicked at the curtains. “Well, stop thinking that because you don’t!”

“Uh huh.”

“And…well…maybe I do feel a little guilty about the cardinals. But he’s the one who ran off during our honeymoon. What was I supposed to do? Say, ‘Oh, fine darling, just go off and have a fun adventure without me. I’ll just stay here and watch Ron gnaw through the silverware.’”

“Hmmm.”

“Oh, who am I kidding, it’s all my fault.” Tonks sighed, sadly tugging her noose tighter. “If only I hadn’t been quite so brilliant about Operation…um…I mean…you know…stuff, then Remus wouldn’t have left and everything would be back to normal. Well…not normal. But honeymoon normal.” Tonks sniffed. “I am sorry, you know.”

“Oh Tonks.” Hermione set her book aside and gave Tonks her full attention. “Remus will be back any day now and everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

“Really?”

Hermione picked up her book “Really. But until then, be nice to Ron.”

Tonks threw up her hands: “Oh that’s impossible and you know it.”

“I assure you it’s perfectly possible.”

“But he’s sooooo annoying. I think the gods are punishing me by keeping him here. He’s like a plague. A biblical plague. The one with the grasshoppers and flying monkeys.”

“Uh huh.” Hermione muttered absently, not looking up from her book.

“I mean it! He has the worst table manners of anyone I’ve met!”

“Well…just don’t spell up any more cardinals.”

Tonks huffed and untangled herself from the curtain cords. Flinging them aside, she threw herself on the sofa next to Hermione.

“No,” Tonks shook her head sadly, “Next time, it’ll probably be worse than cardinals. Something like man-eating bats or grizzly bears or something.” Tonks paused and suddenly looked nervous: “Or what if I summon both bats and bears at the same time? I can see it all now: We’ll all be running for our lives down the hallways and everyone will be saying, ‘Oh why couldn’t Tonks have summoned cardinals like a civilized person. Now we’re all going to die because Remus left and Ron shoved a whole sandwich in his mouth.’”

Tonks waited for Hermione to say something, anything. But Hermione seemed much too interested in her book to be concerned about getting eaten by bats or bothered by the fact that Ron was chewing with impunity. Tonks huffed. “Well maybe you can sit around and wait to get eaten by bats and twenty-foot bears, but not me!” With that, Tonks jumped off the sofa and ran out the door. “And don’t miss dinner!” She called over her shoulder.

“Dinner…what?”

“You heard me!” Tonks shouted from down the hallway.

“Bats? Dinner? What is that girl thinking?” Hermione shook her head, muttering annoyances about her melodramatic cousin.

Her confused frown turned into a pitying smile when she saw Dobby standing wide-eyed in the doorway. He was peering around the doorframe, carefully looking around the room. Judging from his nervous expression, he’d been waiting for Tonks to leave. That didn’t surprise Hermione. Most of the house-elves were terrified of Tonks (she had a habit of stepping on things that weren’t directly in her eye line, i.e. Crookshank’s tail, mud puddles, and house-elves).

“Hello Dobby. Did you want something?” Hermione called him forward.

“Um… Yes Miss.” Dobby nodded. He was shaking and nervous, but Hermione had often seen him like that. He looked at his feet and shifted uncomfortably.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione laughed. “Tonks is long gone now.”

“Not Tonks Miss,” Dobby sniffled.

“Dobby what is it? Is something wrong…?”

“Oh Dobby make mistake!” Dobby cried as he threw himself at her feet. “Dobby made horrible horrible mistake.”

“Dobby!” She exclaimed as he pulled at the hem of her skirt. “What mistake?”

“Dobby bad elf!”

“Dobby! Goodness what happened!”

“Letter mistake Miss.”

“A letter? What…? Did you lose a letter?”

Dobby nodded and wiped away a tear. He then began banging his head against the hardwood floor and calling himself a “stupid silly elf. No help to anyone.”

“Dobby stop that!”

He ignored her: “Dobby a stupid stupid elf!” He shouted over and over again. This went on for quite some time, with Hermione trying to get Dobby to stop and Dobby apparently bent on giving himself a concussion.

“Dobby! Dobby stop it…Do you remember whose letter it was?”

The elf paused mid-head thump. “Letter for you Miss. Letter from Luna Granger. Letter went into pile with Master’s things and Dobby never see letter again.”

“So it was mixed in with Harry’s letters?” Hermione sighed. “Dobby, that’s not such a crisis, is it? Where did Harry put them?”

“Master puts them on desk in Old Master’s study to read.”

Hermione assumed he meant James Potter’s study. “Well it should still be there, shouldn’t it?”

He nodded excitedly. “But Dobby not go there. Dobby not like to there without permission from Old Master. And now Old Master gone and Master gone too and Miss never see letter again.”

“Oh Dobby, I’ll go get it. Honestly, it’s no bother.”

“Really Miss?” Dobby asked hopefully, rubbing his head.

“It’s no trouble at all,” she assured him.

After a few bows and words of praise (apparently she was the kindest, most generous Miss that Dobby had ever met), Hermione put her book away and hurried towards the study. She’d been eager to hear from Luna all week. Except for the smart-arse note attached to her luggage, she hadn’t heard from her sister since she’d sent Luna that letter about Viktor.

Even with the faint sunlight outside, Hermione found the study to be very dark. The sun was setting and the heavy curtains let in almost no light. Muttering an incantation, she lit the fireplace and hurried over to Harry’s desk. At first, Hermione didn’t see Luna’s letter amongst the untidy piles of papers. She carefully leafed through a stack of legal documents, not liking the idea of rifling Harry’s papers, but too anxious to hear from her sister to let that worry her. She caught sight of Luna’s blue parchment and unearthed the letter from a heap of real estate contracts and mortgage docs.

Hermione turned the letter over in her hand, surprised to find that the blue envelope’s seal neatly cut and the flap hanging open. Probably just an accident, Hermione told herself with a shrug. Harry might have missed her name on the address and opened it…

But that wouldn’t explain why Harry hadn’t mentioned it to her.

When did Dobby say the letter arrived? Sometime yesterday morning? Hermione shook her head. It must’ve been an accident. Harry wouldn’t hide a letter from me…why on earth would he?

Unfolding the parchment, Hermione’s eyes trailed down the page. At first she only caught snippets here and there; Luna’s elegant writing made her dizzy with its sloping L’s and impossibly scrawled H’s and tangled E’s. Apparently Luna wrote this in a hurry. Her handwriting was almost illegible. Plodding slowly line-by-line, Hermione was able to understand the few crucial parts:

Dear Hermione… start at the beginning…Lavender…Viktor Krum…an elopement…

Shaking her head in disbelief, Hermione re-read the letter, trying to make sense of Luna’s indecipherable prose. Luna had enclosed a portkey—a small galleon wrapped in a piece of muslin. It was huddled in the corner of the envelope, barely visible within the tuffs of white material surrounding it. Hermione eyed it wearily, not daring to touch it just yet. She couldn’t believe it was true. Any of it.

Dear Hermione,

Oh, I’m so sorry to write you like this. I know you’re coming home soon but something terrible has happened and everything’s so up in the air. How I wish you were home right now. You would’ve handled everything much better than I have. It’s just too dreadful. And Aunt Aurora’s just locked herself in her room and won’t come out, except to see Septima, who’s come round at least three times now.

Oh dear, I’m not making any sense, am I? It’ s just that I don’t know exactly what to say about poor Lavender because she’s never been in this sort of trouble before. I know you never trusted her around so many red cloaks. If only I had listened to you. I should’ve gone with her. I should’ve never let her go off by herself.

No, I’m sorry again. Let me start at the beginning. Last night we received an express Owl from Denny and Parv who wrote to say that Lavender had disappeared. They said she’d gone off around lunchtime. At first they thought she went shopping, but when she didn’t come back for dinner they searched her room and found a note.

Hermione, she’s eloped! With that Viktor Krum person you told me about. Colonel Denny’s traced them to Kingsford but no one’s seen them since. She hasn’t written to me or Parv and no one’s heard anything from Viktor Krum. Oh Hermione, I know they’re going to be married. I just know they are, but I have this terrible feeling that something awful has happened.

Mr. Kettleburn, Aunt’s solicitor, has been kind enough to go to Kingsford on our behalf. He’s hired a detective of some sort and they’re combing the city looking for them. Please please please come home as soon as you can. I know I’ve made such a mess of everything and Aunt Aurora’s been asking for you since the Owl arrived.

Luna

P.S. I’ve enclosed a porkey with the letter. Again, please come home as soon as you can.

Staring at the pages, Hermione felt an icy chill slowly making its way up her spine. She couldn’t possibly read the letter again because her hands were shaking too much…

How could Viktor do this?” she asked herself in a daze. “And Harry had it hidden away in his desk? How could Harry hide this from me!? How could he? How could Harry…? How could Viktor…? What was Harry thinking? And Viktor? Why on earth did Lavender agree to run off with him? She hardly knows the man. There must be some mistake. It can’t be true. He would never…Harry would never…Viktor couldn’t possibly…

Her anger swung violently from Harry to Viktor and back again. Soon the two men were completely bound up in one livid, muddled thought racing through her head. She silently counted the number of painful, boil-causing spells she could lob at Harry’s head. Or Viktor’s head. Or whoever’s head came into view first.

How long has he had the letter? What did Dobby say? That it arrived yesterday? Or the day before? When was he going to tell me? How could he do this? And poor Luna….left to face all this alone… Did Harry really read the letter? What was he thinking?

She couldn’t believe Harry would keep something like this from her. She didn’t want to believe it. But it was the only explanation for his odd, distant behavior last night, his sudden disappearance today—it all suddenly made sense. She paced around the room, muttering curses as red flames danced in front of her eyes.

So this is what despair is really like, Hermione thought during one of her less-coherent moments. She had always thought despair was a black, cold thing. A loss of passion, of hope, a deep hole that one could throw oneself into. But she was wrong. Despair was like a fire burning in a hearth. It was red, flaming, angry, violent thing. She wondered why she always attributed despair to the color black. Perhaps it was because she was used to working with the color black in her potion making. Black brought a sense of calm, of distance—raven’s feathers, onyx, fur, oils and lace—they were all objects she could manipulate and control. But red belonged to order of peppers and cayenne, things that made her fingers burn and her eyes water. Just as they were now…

And who cares about colors for goodness sake, she muttered as she hurried back to her room. As she climbed the grand staircase, a shaking sense of dread overtook her. She understood that her life had changed forever, but she didn’t have the faintest idea about what to do about it.

0000000000000000000000

Twenty minutes later…

0000000000000000000000

Tonks stormed into the foyer where Ron was greeting a just-arrived Harry.

Ron said hello with a nod and Harry smiled a greeting as he hung up his green cloak. Ignoring them both, Tonks shoved past Ron, took Harry by the ear and twisted his arm around his back.

“What did you do to Hermione you stupid git?” Tonks shouted as she squeezed Harry’s ear lobe.

“Owwww,” Harry cried. He tried to shove her away, but he’d never had to contend with an angry Tonks before. “Oww. Ron get her off!”

Ron carefully stepped forward. “Um…Say Tonks…I’m over here. That’s Harry you’ve got there.”

Tonks shot Ron a murderous look. “I know Ron. Now shut up and go stand in the corner!”

Ron gave Harry a “Hey, I tried mate” look.

Tonks squeezed Harry’s ear: “She wants to leave. She wants to leave! After everything I’ve done, you’ve gone and mucked it up! I give her to you on a silver platter and this is what happens! Don’t think that I haven’t seen the two of you running off and sneaking nauseating lovey-dovey looks at each other. And now she wants to leave. I don’t know what you’ve done to her, but you’re going to un-do it or else you and the ginger-haired glutton are going to be sorry. You hear me?” Tonks shook his ear for good measure before Harry pushed her off.

Harry stumbled away from her and rubbed his injured ear. He looked at Tonks murderously. “I haven’t done anything to Hermione,” he growled.

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Tonks replied sarcastically. “That just great. She’s just sobbing and shaking and all because you did nothing. Yes. Of course. It all makes sense now. Because that’s what poor single girls do all day. Cry about nothing. Right.” Tonks looked at Harry with a deadly glint before stomping out the door. “You’d better go apologize or else I’m coming back with scissors,” she called over her shoulder.

“I told you mate. Plain nutters,” Ron said, watching Tonks leave. Harry nodded in agreement before he rushed toward the stairs. “But she has a point,” Ron called after him good-humoredly. “There have been lovely-dovey type looks. And they were nauseating…”

0000000000000000000000000

Hermione paced around her room. Most of her clothes were still carelessly strewn around her open suitcase. Her heart was pounding and her head was spinning and she still couldn’t believe any of it was really happening. She took a moment to catch her breath and caught her reflection in the mirror. For a moment, she didn’t recognize herself. This wasn’t her. Her dress was disheveled, her eyes were red and her skin was deathly pale. It didn’t look like her at all. She was staring at a stranger. A frantic, panicked stranger.

Calm down Hermione, she told herself sternly. She knew that somewhere, somehow, there was a stubborn, rationalizing part of her that had to know what to do next. She looked down at the letter…then down to her shoes... Yes, her shoes were on…

That’s something at least, she muttered. Although she didn’t know why having shoes on was so important. She supposed it meant she could run. Run home, run anywhere. So running wasn’t a problem. Wonderful. Then why was she still standing in the middle of her room?

She looked at the letter again, which by now was just a crumpled piece of parchment in her hands. She felt the tears on her cheeks. She felt the paper in the hands. She felt the shoes on her feet…

Stop it Hermione. Right now you need to pack. Then you can take your bag and your shoes and go home. What you don’t need to do is sit here with your clothes tossed around you in a Tonks-like way.

Hermione started folding her clothes and quickly tossed them into her suitcase. She hadn’t bothered to use a Reanimater charm for them. The last thing she needed was floating sweaters and dresses trying to crawl under the bed and out the window. Besides, it didn’t matter if they were wrinkled beyond belief, she just needed to get home.

A flash of green glint caught her eye, and she noticed Lily Potter’s ring on her nightstand. Picking it up, she watched the glints of green, blue, and orange swirling in its depths as it merrily reflected the firelight. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the footsteps coming down the hallway.

“Hermione?”

Startled, she shoved the ring in her pocket and looked up to find Harry standing in the open doorway with a nervous expression. He didn’t say anything as their eyes met, but something in his stare made her uneasy. The usual feeling of fluttering that Harry normally caused were replaced with an aching sense of dread. There was no warmth in his expression, just an unfamiliar emptiness and defeat.

Guilty. He feels guilty… she muttered. Her heart sank as the realization dawned on her. He knew about the letter. He knew about the letter and he’d kept it from her. He’d hidden it, knowing full well that Luna was frantic and Lavender was in danger.

A wave of revulsion washed over her. Finding she had to turn away, she wondered if she shouldn’t have just left at once after she found the letter. She almost laughed aloud at the thought. For the whole of the last week, she’d been desperate to have just a few more precious seconds alone with Harry, but here she was, so anxious to get away from him she couldn’t stand still.

Furiously folding a sweater in her hand, Hermione shoved it into the suitcase and slammed the lid shut. Looking down, she found herself gripping the latch on the suitcase so tightly that her hands were turning white. She chewed on her already tender lip, trying to keep her anger in check.

“Hermione…” Harry started again, his voice lacking any recognizable emotion.

Hermione started when he put a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t realized he was standing right next to her. She didn’t say anything as she brushed his hand away. As much as she wanted to scream and curse at him, there were much more pressing matters at hand.

“You’re leaving?” He asked carefully.

“Of course I’m leaving,” she acidly replied.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “You’re angry.”

She looked at him a moment before nodding.

“Because of the letter? I can explain that…”

He wiped a tear from her cheek, but she batted his hand away and did it herself. She hadn’t even realized she was crying. “Well I’m anxious to hear it,” she said in a hollow voice.

“I was going to tell you…”

“Were you?”

“Yes… I was actually. That’s why I came back today…”

She didn’t let him finish. “Harry, when did it arrive?”

Harry looked gravely at the floor, refusing to meet her gaze. “Yesterday morning. But I didn’t open it until last night.”

“Why would you open it at all?”

“I didn’t know it was addressed to you. Then when I opened it and saw Viktor’s name…I read what happened and…I just…I wanted to…”

“You wanted to keep it from me.”

“Just until I found out more,” he corrected her.

“Oh well in that case, thank you ever so much,” she replied bitterly.

“I didn’t think…”

“No you didn’t think. You didn’t think at all did you? Oh, Harry. How could you do such a thing?” She pushed him away and wiped off another tear.

Harry took a step towards her. “Now before you get mad, just listen. I wanted to find out more. I wanted to see who this Mr. Kettleburn was. I’d never heard of him. I needed…I wanted…”

“Oh yes,” Hermione snapped angrily. Her haze of heartbreak had given way to outright anger. “You needed…you wanted…Oh I understand Harry. You needed to feel better about this. You needed to be sure of the situation. You couldn’t let Viktor get away with something like this again. But what about me? What about Luna? She’s all alone in this. And you kept me here. I should be home now, helping her …”

“I know...”

“You don’t know! Because you don’t know Luna. She doesn’t understand any of this. Luna actually thinks they’re going to be married. Can you believe that? She actually thinks Viktor Krum would marry a penniless sixteen-year-old with no connections and no dowry. Of all the ridiculous…irresponsible…ugh!”

Hermione began to stalk back and forth across the room. Anger at Harry, at Lavender, at Viktor, as well as at herself, seeped through every pore of her skin. She reeled on him, suddenly furious: “Did it even occur to you that you should have told me? That you should have given me the letter as soon as you read it?”

Harry didn’t say anything. He just studied her with empty eyes. His silent stare answered her question and fanned the flames of her anger.

“Don’t just stand there! Answer me!”

Harry’s eyes flashed. “No, I didn’t.”

“Arrrrgh!” Hermione growled, and began pacing back and forth again. “How dare you! How could you do that?”

“Hermione, I’m sorry…” Harry grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her, trying to stop her frenzied pacing. “I thought if I could find out more. I might even find Lavender on my own and…and I know that I was wrong… I know made a mistake, I know that. I came back today to tell you.”

“Well thank you for that,” Hermione said sarcastically, struggling to get away.

“I was just trying to protect you.”

“I DON’T NEED YOUR PROTECTION!” Hermione shouted.

“If you’d just let me explain…”

She jerked away from him before he could finish. “You’ve already explained enough,” she said breathlessly.

Unbelievable as it was, in that moment she felt nothing for the man. Every ounce of tender concern she felt was for her poor sisters. In her mind, Harry didn’t deserve sympathy. Hiding the letter from her was a hateful thing to do. The more she thought about it, the more furious she became. Just looking at Harry made the bile rise in her throat. What was it she called him once? An inconsiderate prat? A selfish idiot? Well, she was right on that score. She recalled their argument clearly that fateful night in Meriton and took a moment to remember the particulars, all the while trying to keep her unbridled anger in check.

Hermione spoke in a low voice without looking at him. “This is just what happened with Luna and Ron. Do you remember? You thought you knew best for everyone involved and broke Luna’s heart. I always knew you were impetuous and headstrong but I never thought…I never thought you could hurt me like this…” she shook her head sadly.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you…”

She didn’t let him finish. “It doesn’t matter Harry. ” Hermione took a deep breath and steeled herself.

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked expressionlessly. All color seemed drained from his face.

“I’m going home and then I’m going straight to Kingsford.”

“What? Alone?”

“Yes.”

“But why!?”

“I’m going to find Lavender.” Hermione calmly adjusted the ties of her cloak. “And then I’m going to drag her home by her hair.”

“That’s absurd.”

“What’s absurd? Finding my sister?” Hermione snapped.

“No I mean, your going to Kingsford. They could be miles away by now.”

Hermione started to protest but Harry silenced her: “No, listen to me… I talked to Mr. Kettleburn this morning and he’s checked all the hotels and boarding houses. They’ve already left, assuming they were there in the first place.”

She shook her head sadly. “I don’t know Harry…but I have to try… Lavender’s just a child. She has no idea what she’s doing. And you know what Viktor’s capable of. What he did to Georgiana…what she did to herself afterward…” Hermione’s voice gave out as she contemplated what could be in store for her younger sister.

Harry didn’t answer. He scarcely seemed to hear her.

Wiping away the last of her tears, Hermione set her bag on the floor. “I have to get going...”

“Right now?”

Hermione glared at him. “Well, I should’ve been home yesterday morning. So yes, now seems an opportune time.”

“Oh…then …goodbye,” Harry started. He leaned towards her. She felt his breath on her lips and for a moment Hermione thought he might kiss her. And for a split second Hermione almost wished he would. She always managed to lose herself in his kisses. They were soft, firm, and sweet. The world invariably melted away whenever he took her in his arms, but this time she turned away at the last second. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want him. Anger had soured whatever tender feelings she once had for him. All she wanted was to go home, that was where she was needed.

Harry hesitated for a moment but then gently kissed her cheek. He whispered “everything will be fine” in her ear.

She pulled away and shook her head. “I don’t think I can believe that.”

“I’ll do what I can from here…” Harry trailed off.

Hermione set her jaw and picked up her bag. “There’s nothing you can do. Lavender is gone, and my family is disgraced. There’s nothing that can be done now.”

She then looked into Harry’s eyes for what she believed to be the last time. They were still the same lovely green color she loved, but now she wasn’t moved by them. She didn’t feel anything for him.

“I don’t want to leave things like this,” he said in a low voice as he stepped towards her.

Never taking her eyes off him, she unwrapped the portkey Luna sent. “Not everything is about what you want Harry.”

She couldn’t hear what he said next. She thought he reached for her, but she probably imagined it. It was only a split-second later that she felt the familiar pull and found herself standing in her Aunt’s foyer.

00000000000000000000000

And just like that…it was over. Hermione was home, and Godric’s Hollow and its master were hundreds of miles away.

She looked around at the dark house and shook her head. Grief for Lavender and concern for her family had been swallowed up by a gapping hole in her chest. Dazed, tired, and drained, she stumbled towards the staircase. Leaning against the banister, she felt like she was losing air, losing life. Faced with losing Harry once and for all …it seemed a horrible way for their relationship to end. He had hurt her. Yes, that much was certain…just as Viktor was sure to hurt Lavender. Lavender had thrown herself into the power of the most amoral, untrustworthy man possible and Hermione had let it happen. She knew what Viktor was capable of, and yet she did nothing. She didn’t even warn her little sister who was visiting his encampment…Harry tried to tell her about Viktor once, but she had stupidly thrown away his letter and now Lavender was paying the price for her own stubbornness. Harry had tried to help…Harry had, in his own way, tried to help…

“Oh Harry,” she muttered sadly to an empty hallway. Her voice echoed down the dark corridor and only a gaping silence answered her. It was too abrupt, too sudden. A seeping sadness flowed through her and she felt an odd ache, a self-collapsing sensation, as though she were bleeding inwardly. It happened so quickly, being suddenly, violently torn away from Harry like that. The anger she felt for Harry suddenly subsided into a painful pang of remorse. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she replayed their argument in her head…

No! Not now…There’s too much to do…There’s too much at stake. She wiped away her tears, furious for lapsing into self-pity. Someone had to be steadfast and clear-minded for Lavender’s sake. Her family needed her now.

A door opened on the upstairs landing and Hermione decided then and there that she couldn’t let her private concerns with Harry affect her. Straightening her dress and pinching some color into her cheeks, she resolved not to think of him.

However, that steeled resolve was soon shattered when she realized she still had Lily Potter’s ring in her pocket. Hermione felt its heavy weight hidden in her pocket, like a blind little burrowing creature searching for warmth. She knew that as long as she had it, Harry wouldn’t be far from her thoughts.

She didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved by it.

000000000000000000000000

“Luna?” Hermione called. Her voice echoed down the empty hallway. She heard a distant clip-clop of footsteps as she set her bags down on the foyer floor. She saw a shimmer of pale moonlight against Luna’s loose blonde hair as she came hurrying down the staircase to greet her.

“Hermione!” Luna cried as she enfolded her sister in a tight hug. Even in the dimly-lit corridor, Luna looked haggard. Her eyes were red from crying, and her clothes were tussled and unkempt.

“I’m so glad to see you.”

“Oh Luna,” Hermione squeezed her tightly. “What you must have gone through…are you all right? Are you feeling well?”

“I’m much better now but poor Lavender…”

“I know,” Hermione sighed. “Have you heard anything at all?”

Luna shook her head. “Nothing. Not one word, and she’s been gone for three days. I can’t understand it…there must be something wrong. She’d never leave like this and not write…”

Hermione hushed her. “Where’s Aunt Aurora?”

“Upstairs in bed. She hasn’t left her room since we received the news and she’s only eating soups and always complaining about her head and I don’t know what on earth to do. Hil’s been wonderful but…oh, I’m so glad you’re home!” Luna gave Hermione another hug.

Shedding her cloak, Hermione told Luna that she’d see Aurora at once. Luna followed her upstairs.

The door to Aurora’s bedroom was slightly open, and Hermione peered inside. Aunt Aurora was sitting up in her enormous antique bed whose mahogany headboard stretch up to the ceiling. Covered in pink chintz and lace curtains, the room had an old fashioned luxury that Hermione always found a little oppressive. Smelling salts covered the nightstand, along with empty teacups and a half-eaten muffin.

Aurora was in her dressing gown and her frilly nightcap. She was pressing a cold compress to her head and groaning when Hermione and Luna came in.

“Oh Hermione!” Aurora tossed the compress away as Hermione hugged her. “Where have you been? Oh, it doesn’t matter. My poor Lavender. Have you heard? My poor darling girl!”

“Yes, I heard. Luna wrote to me…”

“Of all the silly things for her to do, running off with a nobody like Viktor Krum! What was she thinking? He’s not even a colonel!”

Hermione glanced at Luna, who was just stared out the window, nibbling her lip.

“And going to Kingsford of all places. Who gets married from Kingsford? Have you seen it? It’s a grubby little farm village in the middle of a cow pasture. Imagine, my little Lavender getting married in a cow pasture!”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “That’s only where they were traced Aunt… we don’t know if they’re still there. They could be halfway to Scotland by now…”

“Well that’s no better is it? Who gets married in Scotland? Besides convicts that is. My poor sweet little girl. We didn’t even give her a trousseau."

Hermione shook her head. “Aunt Aurora….”

Aurora waved her hand dismissively. “And all this during your week at Godric’s Hollow…Oh Hermione, I do hope you sent my congratulations to Remus. Did you meet Sir Sirius?”

“Oh…well…no…”

“No?” Aurora looked disappointed. “Well it doesn’t matter. You’re bound to eventually. And when you do, send him my regards. And try to be as obliging as possible. Don’t bore him with all that talk of your potions. Remember, he’s a very influential, unmarried man, and he doesn’t have time for your silly hobbies.” Aunt Aurora paused. “And tell him he’s more than welcome to pay us a call if he’s in the area. I’ll save my best vintage for him…but remember to ask him what sort of wine he prefers. And ask about his favorite dish. The particulars I mean. I’m sure its something very exotic but I’m certain we could manage it if we had the recipe.”

Hermione hid her impatience with masterly self-control. Aunt Aurora seemed less concerned with Lavender’s safety than Sir Sirius’s favorite wine.

Luna spoke up for the first time. “Mr. Kettleburn has gone to Kingsford for us.”

“Such a nice man.” Aurora nodded. “He’ll find them and if they aren’t married, he’ll make them marry. Lavender will have to marry him now I suppose. Even though Viktor is some nobody that nobody heard of. If you’re parents were alive I know they’d be very disappointed in her choice of husband.”

“I’m sure Viktor’s social standing would be the least of their concerns,” Hermione said shortly, quickly losing her last shreds of patience. Sensing her sister’s anger, Luna spoke up, asking her aunt about some household matters.

Hermione took her leave and hurried along the corridor to her bedroom. Anger at her aunt quickly turned inward at herself. After seeing Aurora, it was obvious that going to Kingsford was out of the question. Aurora had a history of working herself into states of nervous agiation, and Luna couldn’t be left alone with her. Hermione had to resign herself to stay in Meriton and let Mr. Kettleburn track Lav and Viktor alone.

Crookshanks looked up and gave a curt “meow” when Hermione closed the door behind her.

“Hello Crook,” Hermione greeted him tiredly.

He twitched his tail dismissively and settled further down into his pillow. She supposed he was angry about her staying away so long, but that couldn’t be helped. She’d make it up to him later.

Collapsing into the seat of her vanity, Hermione lit a candle and sighed sadly. She sat in the dark for some time staring at a miniature Muggle portrait of her mother. The pale blue moonlight made her mother’s features all the more luminous and haunting, and Hermione was suddenly overwhelmed with a guilt she couldn’t rid herself of.

“It’s not Aurora’s fault, Mother.” Hermione spoke up suddenly, not really understanding why. “She’s not a fit parent for Lav. She never was. …and Luna doesn’t have a stern bone in her body. It fell to me to raise Lav…it’s my doing entirely. I didn’t listen to Harry’s warnings about Viktor. I never bothered to tell Lavender what kind of man he is. Idiotic, I know. I’ve been such a fool, and now poor Lavender’s suffering for it.”

Hermione paused to take a breath. “In any case, Lavender never should have gone to Brighton alone. I know that now. Lav needs only the slightest encouragement to attach herself to anyone. Sometimes one officer, sometimes another... Compliments and attention are how she measured the merit of men. And Viktor has charms enough for anyone. Lav needed only the slightest encouragement to believe herself to be in love.”

Staring at her mother, Hermione realized the mistake she’d made in neglecting and indulging her little sister. Until now, Hermione had never understood how gravely she’d erred in bringing her up. Aunt Aurora was indulgent by nature, never disciplinary. And Luna could never be strict with anyone. It had fallen to Hermione to look after her, and Hermione had undoubtedly failed. She had allowed Lav to spend her time in the most idle and frivolous ways. Her mother and father would never have given Lavender so much freedom…

Hermione cringed, thinking how ashamed they’d be with her, their “always responsible” daughter who prided herself on her cleverness and respectability.

“I’m so sorry Mother.” The apology escaped from Hermione’s lips in a raspy whisper.

The picture didn’t provide much comfort though. Even with all her imaginary conversations with her mother, Hermione couldn’t imagine what Jane Granger would say to all this.

Hermione heard Luna’s soft step at her door, which was followed by a gentle tapping sound.

“Hermione?”

“Come in Luna,” Hermione called, taking one last look at her mother’s picture before setting it on the vanity.

Luna quietly floated into the room and took a seat on the bed. Her blond hair flowed loosely down her shoulders. Her stooping shoulders made her head bow slightly, as if reciting a sad prayer. Hermione hated to see her sister looking so helpless and lost, but she couldn’t think of anything encouraging to say. Instead, she took a seat on the bed and asked Luna about the day Lavender disappeared.

“Luna, tell me everything. Is there anything else I should know?”

Luna sighed. “On the day Lavender left, Colonel Denny and Parv found a note,” Luna took a letter from her pocket. “It was on Lavender’s pillow.”

Hermione unfolded the parchment and read aloud:

Dear Parv,

I can scarcely write for laughing at the thought at how surprised you’ll be at finding this. By now you’ve surely missed me, and I don’t mind telling you how proud I am that my plan worked. Because I did not go shopping as I told you. As a matter of fact, I’ve left Brighton all together. Right now I’m on my to Kingsford to be married! And if you cannot guess with whom, I shall think you very slow indeed. Don’t bother writing to tell Aunt about what I’ve done. It’s awfully naughty, I know. I’ll write them myself, and sign my name Lavender Krum. What a good joke that will be, don’t you think? I’ll send for my clothes when I get back to Meriton. Could you please tell Mary to mend the slit in my muslin gown before it’s packed. Goodbye. Give my regards to Denny.

Much love,

Lav

Hermione threw the note aside angrily. “Impossible little…ugh! How could she write such a letter at a time like that?”

Luna picked up the note and neatly folded it. “She didn’t mean any harm by it.”

“Harm? No. I don’t think she meant anything by it. I don’t believe there was a thought in her head, apart from the ones about officers and red cloaks and Viktor Krum. I have half a mind to…erh…ugh!” Hermione made a strangling motion with her hands.

“Hermione calm down.”

“Calm down?!”

“Why are you shouting?”

“I’m shouting because I want to strangle her!”

“I thought this letter would make you feel better.”

“How on earth is a letter like that supposed to make me feel better?”

“At least we know she went with him assuming they’d be married. The whole situation isn’t completely without hope.”

Hermione grumbled and stopped choking the air. “At least there’s that,” she grudgingly admitted. But it was a small comfort to her that Lav had left with the intention of marriage. She doubted that neither Lav’s virtue nor her savvy would prevent her from falling victim to Krum as easy prey.

Luna shook her head. “I can’t help but feel that this is all my fault. I should’ve been with her.”

“How on earth is this your fault?” Hermione snapped. “You were ill, you couldn’t go to Brighton. Denny and Parv are responsible, respectable people. How were you to know this would happen?”

Luna wiped away a tear and sniffled. “I didn’t even know Lavender and Viktor were friends really. She never once brought him here.”

“I knew they were friends,” Hermione admitted bitterly.

“But after all, they could be married.” Luna’s voice was hopeful. “Viktor may be sorry for what he did to Harry. Perhaps he’s changed for the better. Remember, he did enlist in the Regulars. That must mean he has some sense of duty. And Lavender …well…she obviously intended to marry him and…and perhaps it’s all been a mistake. They could be married right now and all this fuss could be for nothing.”

Hermione took her sister’s hand. “Oh Luna… I hope you’re right,” she replied sadly. Luna obviously needed to believe everything would work out for the best, and Hermione couldn’t bring herself to argue with her. It was only natural that Luna would come to Viktor’s defense, Luna could never think ill of anyone. But this was one time that Hermione didn’t envy her optimism. The cold, hard fact of the matter was that Viktor Krum wasn’t the sort of man who’d think about the consequences of his actions, or what they might mean for Lavender’s future. In her heart of hearts, Hermione knew that Viktor may not be capable of risking his own interest, but he was capable of risking everything else.

00000000000000000000000

18. Post-Trauma (Or Trauma Involving the Post)

Post-Trauma (Or Trauma Involving the Post)

Author’s Note: This chapter picks up after Hermione’s return to Meriton. Of course everyone in Meriton knows the Grangers’ troubles and the gossipy townsfolk rush to their rescue the only way they know how. Not much Harmony in this chappie. Consider yourself warned.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

0000000000000000000000000000

Over the next few weeks Mr. Kettleburn sent several Owls to Hermione. In his brisk, business-like prose he reported that Lavender and Viktor were not to be found in Kingsford, Bexhill, Ainsley, Stratford, Castleton, or any other out-of-the-way townships. His detective Mr. Filch had since moved on to London, the only place where two people could remain so well concealed.

As much as Lavender and Viktor occupied the Grangers’ thoughts, some well-timed distractions kept them from dwelling on their troubles, troubles which had become something akin to community property. A steady stream of well-wishers took to marching in and out of their house at all hours of the day. Each one invariably brought desserts or hot dishes or flowers (Hermione thought it more fitting for a wake than a domestic scandal, but she didn’t say so aloud). Her neighbors had been kindness itself. Or perhaps “kindness” was too generous a word…They’d been “charitable.” No one had snubbed them, but then again, the Grangers certainly hadn’t ventured outside their doors the way they used to.

What didn’t help matters was that several of these so-called well-wishers felt it their duty to describe (in detail) Viktor’s abominable character. With each new day Hermione was treated to fresh instances of his extravagance or overall capacity for evil-doing. If the townsfolk were to be believed, Viktor Krum was more dangerous than any genocidal Dark Lord and twice as sinister-looking (suddenly he had an evil glint in his eye and a furtive way of walking). All Meriton seemed to be trying to blacken the man, who had once been considered the most charming, the most handsome, and the most eligible of all the Regulars. Hermione heard that he was indebted to every tradesman in the city, and his intrigues, all honored with the title of “seduction,” became fodder for the gossip mill. Everyone declared him the wickedest young man in the world, and everybody sagely insisted that they had distrusted his charming countenance from the start:

“He’s a wrong’um, I knew it from the start. But don’cha worry Miss. They’ll find that blackguard. And when they do, they’ll teach him to make off with our young ladies,” Rubeus Hagrid announced proudly as he handed Hermione a basket of his wife’s special pumpkin bread.

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

“I’ve heard that there’s hardly a tradesman’s daughter who hasn’t been mettled with,” Septima Vector told her pointedly over tea. “I’ve heard tales of debauches, intrigues and seductions…oh Hermione…whatever was Lavender thinking? Taking up with such a man. Anyone could tell he was a villain just by looking at him. Such a furtive way of walking. I noticed that right away…”

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

“He owes a fortune to every reputable tradesman in the city,” “Apollyon Pringle confidentially whispered to Hermione. “And though I’m not one for gossip, Mrs. Merrythought told me that he was involved in a drunken brawl somewhere near Devenham. One in which tables and chairs weren’t the only things broken...” Mrs. Pringle trailed off ominously. Hermione made a non-committal reply as she offered her more coffee.

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

Bathsheba Babbling leaned in as she helped herself to another cookie from the tea tray. “You know Hermione, I always distrusted his appearance of goodness. But would anyone listen to me? No! Just because I invited him to tea once or twice doesn’t mean he had my heartfelt approval…I was simply trying to get a better look at the man. He had such a sinister air about him. Everyone in town was in love with him. But I wasn’t taken in. Not by half.”

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

“I’ve heard he’s up to his ears in gambling debts,” Mrs. Merrythought said in a low voice to Hermione as they stood in line at the bakery. “No one would’ve thought it by looking at him, but he’s been in the company of some of the lowest criminal elements imaginable. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was some kind of political radical. Next thing you know, he’ll be lighting powder kegs under city hall.”

Hermione quickly thanked her before paying for her basket of bread and hurrying out of the shop. She didn’t believe half of what the townsfolk said, but she didn’t doubt that Viktor had left debts and broken hearts in his wake. It seemed a fitting end for his career as an officer, as it was a very similar end to his career as a lawyer.

000000000000000000000000

Even with all the unwelcome advice and I-told-you-so well-wishing, the most anxious part of each day was right before the post came. The arrival of letters was the first grand object of the morning, and Luna and Hermione often waited by the window in the early morning, tensing whenever an owl appeared over the horizon. However they were almost always disappointed, and both ate breakfast afterward in silence, painfully aware of Lavender’s empty chair and place setting.

When an Owl did arrive from Mr. Filch, it became an all-day event. Somehow Luna always found it first (much to Hermione’s annoyance). Hil would fetch Hermione and then Hermione would run through the morning room, the study, the kitchen, and finally into the drawing room where Luna excitedly greeted her and waved the letter under her nose.

“We’ve had a letter from Mr. Filch.” Luna would say breathlessly. “They’re married! I just know it!”

“Let’s open the letter first Luna,” Hermione answered with a sigh.

They would then tear open the parchment and take turns making complaining about Mr. Filch’s scrawled, illiterate handwriting. The news was always the same: “They are not in (random city name here). I’ve been to every boarding house and inn in the area. I’m moving on if I don’t hear from you.”

Luna and Hermione then debated for an hour on how to answer him. Luna always insisted that he should not give up hope in finding them in (random city name). Hermione would always express doubt that they were ever (random city name) in the first place and declared that Filch should move on. They didn’t dare show the letter to their Aunt because she would just attach more extravagant instructions about the wedding arrangements and Lavender’s bridal trousseau.

As much as the daily routine was a comfort, as much as Luna kept spouting vague platitudes about how “everything would be fine,” as much as Aurora announced that Mr. Filch would find them and make them marry… Hermione couldn’t escape the feeling that the entire situation was utterly hopeless. Potion-making couldn’t solve this, and no amount of cleverness would bring Lavender back. Neither would respectability, or politeness or conventionality or propriety or all those other vague concepts she’d put on a pedestal years ago.

To make matters worse, she hadn’t heard a word from Harry. Not one word. Not one Owl. Not even a howler. He hadn’t even asked for his mother’s ring back, which had been stealthily removed from her pocket the night she returned and carefully hidden in her bedside table. Occasionally Hermione gave into temptation and opened the nightstand drawer. Looking down at the green stone through the tuffs tissue paper, she’d carefully unwrap the ring and gently hold it as if it was in danger of shattering into pieces in her hand. Admiring it while indulging in a bit of self-pity, Hermione momentarily allowed herself to think about Harry and about what she’d left behind. Today was no different. Sitting at her vanity with her door safely locked, she took out the ring and held it up to the light.

“Perfect,” she muttered, watching it shimmer against the butter-colored streaks of sunlight. She didn’t dare try it on. Instead she showed it to the Muggle portrait of her mother on her vanity.

“Lovely, isn’t it Mother?” Hermione asked with a small grin. Apparently Harry’s silence hadn’t affected her opinion of the ring. In her mind, her mother smiled indulgently and nodded (even though Jane Granger wasn’t particularly fond of emeralds).

“It really is,” Hermione replied, her eyes still fixed on the glittering green stone. But that was the trouble with it, wasn’t it? It was too perfect. It was all too perfect. Her time with Harry, the ring, the life they were supposed to have together…As she threw a retrospective glance over the whole of their relationship, so full of contradictions, she sighed at her conflicted feelings. Once, she would have labeled him selfish; however, now she just felt sorry for him. And for herself.

“Perhaps Harry hadn’t meant any harm by hiding the letter,” she muttered thoughtfully for the thousandth time. He said he only wanted to help her, to save her… Their relationship had been founded on Harry coming to her rescue in some way or another. Whether it from an uncomfortable shove on the street or fending off a wild animal in the woods, Harry had a knack for charging to the rescue and sweeping her off her feet.

“Not that I needed him to…to rescue me, I mean,” she assured the portrait. “It’s not as though I’m some damsel in inexplicably-constant distress. He just happened to always…well, catch me when I fell.” She paused. “Literally in some cases.”

Nibbling on her lip, she set the ring down and shook her head. “I really rather ruined things haven’t I? Clever girl indeed. For all my imagined intelligence I managed to stumble at every turn…I wish you could tell me what to do…”

“…I only wish…”

“…I only wish you could’ve met him,” she whispered as she returned the picture back to its spot on her vanity. The ring (along with her problems with Harry) were then tucked back in her nightstand for the time being. She had other things to worry about. Her family needed her now.

00000000000000000000000000

A Series of Letters:

00000000000000000000000000

J.M Kettleburn, Solicitor

London

March 2, 1851

Miss Hermione Granger,

I hope this letter finds you well. Although our progress has been slow these last six weeks, I am pleased to say I have good news for you this time. We’ve managed to locate your sister, which, I hope will give you satisfaction. Soon after I wrote to you on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out their location in London. The particulars, of it, I need not bother you with. It is enough to know they are discovered, and I have seen them both.

They are not married, nor can I find there was any intention of being so. But if you are willing to perform the engagements which I have ventured to make on your behalf, I hope it will not be long before they are. Enclosed is a list of creditors that must satisfied in Meriton, and I have herewith included Viktor’s repayment in this letter. You will find his situation not as hopeless as previously thought. I have come to understand that he has recently inherited a fortune from a great uncle and this should be sufficient to purchase a new commission.

So far I have acted on your aunt’s behalf to make the enclosed marital arrangements. However I will need her formal authorization and written consent to proceed.

Yours Truly,

J.M Kettleburn

Hermione Granger

Meriton

March 5, 1851

Mr. Kettleburn,

Words cannot express how very relieved my family was to receive your letter. Here are the receipts for the settled accounts and the authorization for you to make all the arrangements for the marriage. I hope upon receiving this, that matters will be settled in a fairly rapid manner. I believe you will find everything in order.

Please feel to contact me should you have any other requests. I myself was hoping to learn Lavender’s address so I may write to her.

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger

Mrs. Tonks Lupin

Grimmauld Place

March 8, 1851

Hello Mione,

I can’t believe old Kettleburn finally found the little nitwit. How Lav managed to wriggle out of this fine mess is beyond me. Here I was, expecting her to turn up on your doorstep one snowy winter’s night with a bundle of baby-Viktor in her arms. Ha! I obviously underestimated her. She’s not quite as dumb as she looks, is she? Married now, or soon will be? Your letter was pretty vague. Vague and sad.

I’m not really one for depression or moodiness. I like to think of myself as a golden ray of sunshine that brings a lovely light of happiness to all who know me. But I am sorry that you’re so depressed. Is it because Lavender married a moron? You’ll have to remember that it has nothing to do with you. Women marry idiots every day. At least Viktor’s…tall. And they may be happy yet. One never knows these things until twenty years later, and you can’t go on being sad for twenty years, can you?

Oh, and Luna mentioned that Viktor “unexpectedly” came into some money from a rich uncle. Ha. Rich uncle my foot. It’s probably gambling winnings or blackmail money. In any case, it means Viktor can pay back all the tradesmen he swindled in Meriton. Which is a good thing, right?

It’s also grand for Lav. Now she can have all the lovely sparkly things she wants. And she can pay back the fifteen galleons she owes me. Mention that to her when she visits. If she visits, that is. Luna said she was moving up north somewhere and wouldn’t be home until next Christmas. But maybe that’s a good thing. You’ll need a little time to get your spirits up.

Much love,

Tonks

Aurora Lestrange Granger

Meriton

March 9, 1851

Dearest Dearest Lavender,

Oh my dear dear Lavender, my dear clever girl! I shan’t get a wink of sleep all week, I’m certain of it. I was so delighted to hear the good news. You will be married! And at sixteen! I always knew it would be so. I knew you could not be so beautiful for nothing. I hope Mr. Kettleburn’s been kind to you. He’s a fine solicitor, but a bit of an old fusspot.

How I long to see you, and Viktor too! I don’t believe I had the pleasure of meeting him here in Meriton (and from the way you describe him, I certainly would’ve remembered him if I had). I have no doubt that he is the grandest and handsomest of men as you say.

But the clothes, your traveling clothes! What will you wear on your honeymoon? I’m despairing of it, you see. Hermione wrote to Mr. Kettleburn about the expenses and he told her it was all taken care of. He said that you and Viktor were not in want of money, nor would you be for quite some time. Is that true my darling? Are you quite rich? Hermione mentioned an inheritance, but she said it in such a grave, doubtful way that I couldn’t tell if she was certain of it at all. Can it be? A fortune of ten thousand galleons? My sweetest Lavender, think how rich and grand you will be! What carriages you will have! A house in town and everything that is charming! Oh what will become of me? I shall go distracted!

And what’s all this talk about you leaving for a northern regiment? I simply won’t have it you know. You must come for a visit you naughty girl. I must meet my new nephew-in-law!

With all my love,

Aurora

Mrs. Lavender Krum

White Horse Mansions, London

March 14, 1851

Dearest Luna,

I’ve just finished reading your letter. I’m so glad you’re not mad at me like a certain other older sister who shall remain nameless. But I’m determined not to let silly Hermione ruin my fun. It’s so grand here! You’ll simply have to come to London for a visit. I’ve asked Hermione to come, but she wrote back saying that she certainly would not. “What did I do?” I asked her. And she wrote something along the lines of “oh you’ve disgraced yourself and your family and I want you on the next train home do you hear me blah blah blah.” And then she says I scared everyone half to death but I don’t understand that at all because, after all, I left a note. Hermione always told me to leave a note if I went out and that’s exactly what I did. It’s just so typical. I leave a note and act all responsible-like, and I still get in trouble.

I suppose it was naughty not to write to you for so long but I’ve been so very busy here. London is sooooo amazing. It’s unbelievably diverting. There are hundreds of theaters, restaurants, and boutiques. I can’t count them all, and believe me I’ve tried! At first Viktor and I didn’t go out much. Viktor was so busy with correspondence and such. But then one day he bought me the most beautiful ring I’d ever seen and simply swept me into a church. He said his great uncle died (and that was a surprise because he always said he didn’t have any family). But I suppose that’s the best kind of family, isn’t it? The kind that leaves you all their lovely money. If only I had inherited a fortune, then all the officers would’ve been madly in love with me. I would have made Viktor so jealous, I just know it!

I can’t wait for you to see my ring! The jeweler said there wasn’t another like it in all of England. Its a big white pearl surrounded by tiny diamonds that shine beautifully when I hold it up to the light. It’s just what I always wanted, that’s what I told Viktor. He has such lovely taste in everything. I can’t wait to show it to Aunt Aurora and even Hermione, who couldn’t care less about jewelry.

And the wedding! It was in the most beautiful old church with gray bricks and stained glass windows. How I wish Denny and Parv could’ve come, and it would’ve been a dream to have an honor guard with their sabers drawn. But the officers could not be spared from their duty and Denny and Parv were simply too busy to attend.

Oh, but that’s why I’m writing. Even though Hermione keeps telling me to come home (no doubt because she wants to lecture me and ruin all my fun), I’m afraid I won’t be coming back to Meriton for quite some time. Viktor’s far too busy and important now. He’s just purchased a commission in the north and we’re leaving in just two days. He told me where, but I’ve forgotten it again. It’s such a silly Scottish name. Trune or something.

I’ve got to go now, but send Aunt Aurora my love. I’ll write to her as soon as I can, but we married women are kept so busy, I know I won’t have a moment to spare.

Love,

Lavender Krum

Luna Granger

Meriton

March 16, 1851

Dear Tonks,

Thank you for trying to cheer up Hermione. Your letters always make me laugh, so I know she’ll be smiling again soon. I hope you’re enjoying your new home in Grimmauld Place. I’ve heard so much about it. I simply can’t imagine what castle-life is like.

As for Viktor, I won’t repeat the language you used in your letter here (I’m blushing just thinking about it). In any case, whatever mistakes Viktor made in the past, he seems to be rectifying them now. He and Lavender were married one week ago at St. Lucius in London. The entire thing happened so quickly, we couldn’t attend the wedding, and I know poor Lavender was disappointed not to have any bridesmaids.

Although Hermione is still upset over Lavender’s little indiscretion, I for one am relieved that it’s come to this happy conclusion. Lavender’s reputation will not suffer much. To anyone outside the family, it appears that she went to London to get married and took a long honeymoon. The hasty marriage is nothing more than a momentary folly that her friends will hush up and I think she’ll come away from this completely unscathed.

It’s odd now, but with Lavender safely marriage, it’s Hermione who has me worried. She’s become so pale and grim. I was sure that it was because of her concern for Lavender, but now the arrangements have been made and Lavender is safe and Hermione hasn’t changed at all. She floats around the house like a ghost, so silent and pale and grave. She sleeps at odd hours and she hasn’t even bothered to keep up with her potion making. All of her things are gathering dust in the kitchen and she just stares at books all day without turning the pages. Did something happen at Godric’s Hollow? She hasn’t breathed a word of it to me.

Yours truly,

Luna

Mrs. Tonks Lupin

Grimmauld Place

March 20, 1851

Hello Lav,

Congratulations on your marriage! Sorry I couldn’t make it to the ceremony, but maybe that’s Because I Wasn’t Invited! I can’t believe I missed out on all the lovely cake and presents all because you and Viktor decided to be so stupidly stupid about this whole thing. You’re worse at planning weddings than I am! At least I gave my friends a whole week’s notice. You (in your endless stupidity) only sent me a letter after the fact.

Oh, and on top of that, I’m still angry at you for missing my wedding. It was so much fun. Hermione complained over and over again about her Celtic costume (as if she’d never been barefoot before), but I think the whole thing was a smashing success. Ron tried to ruin the whole thing like the ginger-haired idiot he is, but Harry actually behaved quite well. And Remus looked so handsome, and I of course was simply gorgeous. It’s a shame that you didn’t get married in Meriton. I could’ve taken you to Pemberley for your wedding clothes and you could’ve had Hermione and Luna as pirate bridesmaids!

In any case, as your older and wiser married cousin, I feel that I have to warn you that married life may not be what you expect. Marriage is like an onion. You peel it back layer by layer and it gets smaller and smaller and smellier and smellier. Soon, all you’re left with is a white little bit of stinky onion that even a dog wouldn’t eat, but it goes marvelously well with soups and some Italian breads.

Do you see what I’m getting at? Men change after marriage. They become secretive and strange…I don’t mind telling you that Remus has been acting awfully funny lately. We’d only been settled in a week or two at Grimmauld Place and things just…changed. It’s hard to explain. But no matter what happens, no matter how angry you get, just don’t resort to bird curses when you’re arguing. I know, it’s tempting, but it only makes things worse. A lot worse. Trust me on this.

There’s more advice to come later. And if you ever get married again you’d better give me at least three-day’s notice.

Sincerely,

Tonks

Mrs. Tonks Lupin

Grimmauld Place

March 28, 1851

Dear Mione,

I haven’t heard from you in ages and ages. Is your wrist broken? If so, send me an envelope with a blank sheet of parchment inside. If not, fill the parchment with words describing how you are (it’s what we civilized people call “a letter”).

Love,

Tonks

Telegram from Aurora Lestrange Granger

Received by Lavender Krum

Trune Settlement, Scotland

April 2, 1851

Dearest Lavender [stop] I’ll be arriving tomorrow at Trune around five [stop] Don’t be naughty and forget to meet me at the station [stop] I’ll be bringing armfuls of wedding presents with me and I’ll need a hand with them [stop] Yours fondly, Aurora [stop]

00000000000000000000000000000

Standing outside their front walkway, Hermione helped her aunt into the carriage headed for the train station at Bexhill. Aurora opened the window and waved goodbye with her handkerchief. It blew wildly in the chilly wind until Aurora tucked it back in her handbag. Wrapped in their cloaks, Hermione and Luna smiled back and waved goodbye.

“Goodbye, Luna…. Goodbye Hermione,” Aurora said, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Goodbye Aunt,” Hermione said as Aunt Aurora kissed her cheek.

“Oh Luna, you look after your sister now.” Aurora patted Luna on the head. “And Hermione, do cheer up. I know it’s hard to see your little sister so very happily married. I can’t imagine what you’re going through…but there’s no need for it. You’ll have a husband of your own soon enough.”

Hermione forced a smile as Aurora pinched her cheek and sighed: “Oh if only Lavender had a bigger house, then you both could’ve come along with me. Trune is such a large settlement. I know Lavender and I could find husbands for the both of you in no time.”

“Thank you for my part but I don’t particularly like Lavender’s way of getting husbands,” Hermione replied sweetly.

Luna shot her a “be nice” look and thanked their aunt politely.

Unfazed, Aurora just fluttered her handkerchief under Hermione’s nose and smiled indulgently. “Now behave you two. I’ll be back in a few weeks. And remember, I’ll expect both of you to attend Septima’s dinner party on the 25th. Don’t be naughty and forget. Septima made me promise that you both would come. She was very particular about it. She thinks the whole affair will be quite dull without any of you youngsters running about.”

They promised their aunt that they wouldn’t forget. Aurora blew them both another kiss, wiped away a tear, and closed the window. Hermione watched as the carriage leapt to life and flew down along the storefronts. In minutes the carriage was well outside the city gates and soon it was only a small dot slowly climbing a distant hillside.

Luna waved to it once more before turning to Hermione. “I do hope Lavender remembers to meet her at the station.”

“I hope Lavender remembers she’s coming to visit at all.” Hermione replied with a frown as she followed Luna inside. “You could’ve gone with her, you know.”

“I know.” Luna smiled. “But I thought I’d better stay here with you.”

“Why? Are you worried that I’m going follow in Lavender’s footsteps and disappear with a worthless Regimental?”

“No. I’m worried because you’ve been acting so…unlike yourself.”

“Me! Our sister lived with a strange man for two months and I’m the one you’re worried about?”

“Yes,” Luna said simply, closing the front door behind them.

Hermione shook off the morning chill and hung her cloak in the hall closet. “Well you needn’t be worried about me. I’m just disappointed with our so-called sister. Imagine, after two months without a word she suddenly sends a letter saying ‘Hello, I’m married. How are you?’”

Luna shrugged. “You know how Lavender is.”

“Yes. Completely thoughtless and irresponsible.”

“I don’t see why you’re still so angry about everything. It ended in the best way possible… there’s nothing more we could’ve done. Everything’s worked out for the best, just as I told you it would.”

Hermione huffed at her sister’s irritating rationality. “They didn’t even bother to visit…I never had a chance to speak to Viktor.”

“You didn’t want to speak to Viktor. You wanted to turn him into something slimy.”

“As if anyone would’ve noticed the difference.”

“Now now Hermione, don’t be unkind. Lavender may have a very happy life with Viktor yet. Who’s to say what the chances are for happiness in any marriage?”

Hermione scoffed. “I know exactly what the chances for happiness are in this marriage. If they’re as happy in five years as they are now, I’ll eat a Horned Snorkack.”

Luna studied at her a moment before speaking. “Harry hasn’t written to you yet, has he?”

Hermione didn’t bother answering as she slammed the study door shut. Judging from her sister’s infuriatingly sympathetic tone, Luna already knew the answer.

0000000000000000000000000

It was less than a week later that the mysterious flowers started arriving. Like clockwork, bouquets of white winter jasmine were left on the doorstep. In a matter of days the star-shaped flowers had filled up the house, overflowing in every container Hermione could find and a few more that she transfigured from dusty odds and ends.

It happened so suddenly and without warning that no one in town knew what to make of it. The first flowers arrived while Hermione was at the library downtown. She came home to find Luna cheerfully arranging dozens of lacy white flowers in a vase. Hermione hid her surprise well, asking who they were from, when did they arrive, who on earth could’ve sent them, etc. There was no card attached and the delivery boy had no idea who sent them. Luna assumed they from one of Lavender’s less-than-pleased admirers (they struck her as such odd little melancholy flowers, much better suited to mourning than congratulations). Luna just shrugged it off and began decoratively placing them around the house.

But that was only in the beginning. Over the next few days, delivery after delivery came, and soon the viney white flowers adorned every surface of the house, filling vases and artistically spiraling down the legs of the tables and desks. After twenty bouquets arrived, Luna began to laugh about it. She thought some poor florist had made a shipping mistake. Just the thought of “Aurora Granger’s House of Jasmine” made her giggle. It sounded like a cheap Chinese bathhouse. But after thirty and then forty bouquets arrived, Luna stopped laughing and began to worry about where to put them all.

“Who do you think keeps sending them?” Luna asked with every new delivery.

Hermoine just shrugged and remained silent. Although she acted just as puzzled as Luna, Hermione had her suspicions. There was only one person who knew what they meant to her: white winter jasmine were the flowers Harry bought her when he first returned to Meriton. Bouts of self-delusion aside, she could safely assume the flowers had been sent by him.

00000000000000000000000000

“Another one’s arrived Hermione,” Luna called from the doorway. She had just greeted a shivering delivery boy who tipped his hat and handed her a large bouquet. Luna unwrapped the flowers from their crinkly brown paper and brought them into the kitchen. Hermione was at the table arranging the ones that arrived only a half-hour before.

“How many bouquets does this one make?” Luna asked.

Hermione looked up and sighed. “I don’t know. I lost count after fifty.”

“Goodness, and in only four days! I’ve never heard of anyone getting so many flowers. Do you have a secret admirer?” Luna teased her sister for the twentieth time.

Hermione didn’t answer as she began searching for a vase for the newest arrivals.

Luna set the flowers down and perched herself on a kitchen chair across from Hermione. The kitchen table had been consistently covered with a blanket of loose white petals, green stems, brown string, and wrinkled wrapping paper. Luna played with a fragrant petal between her fingertips as she mused over their odd situation.

“Such an strange choice for a flower. To send as a gift I mean.”

“Is it?” Hermione shrugged indifferently, still searching the cabinets.

“Well it’s not at all like sending someone roses or lilies or even tulips. Those are far more conventional, aren’t they? I’ve never even heard of winter jasmine.”

“It’s a hothouse shrub. Mrs. Sprout grows them in her greenhouse.”

“But she didn’t grow these. Nobody in town has any idea who’s sent them.”

“Mmmmm.”

Luna accidentally tore the petal she was playing with and thoughtfully picked up another one. “But what does it all mean?”

“What does all what mean?” Hermione asked tiredly as she transfigured a vase out of a dusty jam jar.

“Jasmine. You know, white roses mean purity, red roses mean love, lilacs are a sign of spring…”

“So?”

“Well, what does white jasmine mean? Is our suitor trying tell us something?”

“I doubt it.”

“But I’m curious.”

“White jasmine means graceful humility,” Hermione answered, rubbing the bridge of her nose as her head began to ache.

Luna glanced at her, surprised. “How did you know that?”

“Mrs. Sprout mentioned it.”

“Oh,” Luna frowned, disappointed. “That’s not terribly romantic is it?”

“I suppose not.”

“I was hoping it meant something a little more poetic. Something like undying affection or eternal love or unending adoration.”

“Those all mean the same thing.”

“Oh…I suppose they do.” Luna tossed away the petal in her hand with a sigh. “But it doesn’t make any sense does it? Sending armfuls of flowers doesn’t exactly shout ‘humility.’ It’s a rather showy gesture if you ask me.”

Hermione wearily began arranging the latest bouquet. “Luna, the type of flower doesn’t make a difference. Someone’s just playing a joke on us.”

“You mean like Tonks? It’s not a very funny joke is it?”

“Not a joke really. Just…I’m sure the whole thing’s a mistake, so we might as well treat it as a joke because it doesn’t amount to anything.”

“How can you say that?” Luna shook her head. “We’re drowning in jasmine, the whole village is talking, and you stand there saying it doesn’t amount to anything.”

“The village is always talking about something. They’ll find something else to occupy their time soon enough. Besides it’s nobody’s business but our own.”

“Our own? But I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Well neither do I.”

“Liar. You do know something.”

“Luna,” Hermione said warningly.

“I’ll bet you know who’s sending them.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Who is it? Is it Harry?”

“Luna…”

“It is Harry, isn’t it!? I take back what I said. It is romantic!”

“Luna!” Hermione snapped, slamming the vase on the table. Embarrassed, she gave a weak smile and patted her sister apologetically on the arm. “I don’t…I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Luna studied her a moment and gave her a poor-pitiful-Hermione look. “Well, you’ll have to talk about it when we’re both buried in jasmine.” Luna gracefully rose from her chair and glided out of the kitchen.

“We’re already buried in jasmine,” Hermione sighed to herself as she swept the loose petals into the wastebasket and headed upstairs to what was quickly become her flower-free sanctuary. Her bedroom was the only room in the house that didn’t have ten vases full of jasmine in it. Every time Luna tried to put some on her nightstand, Hermione discreetly moved them to Lavender’s old sewing room. She didn’t want them in her bedroom for a very very good reason: she had spent the last two months carefully avoiding anything that reminded her of Harry, and the last thing she needed was a dozen petally reminders of him staring smugly at her from her vanity.

But even her room wasn’t much of a sanctuary any more. She’d begun to hate the prospect of walling herself up, trying to convince herself that she didn’t know the meaning behind all these ridiculous flowers. Only the picture of her mother offered any comfort—of course it was a Muggle portrait, so she could only imagine what Jane Granger would say about everything that had happened—so there Hermione sat with her cheek resting in her hand, musing about what her mother might say about all this. At this moment, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in her mother’s lap, have her hair brushed and listen to her mother’s humming while the birds sang outside and the smell of jasmine floated through the air…

What is it Hermione? You’re never this quiet. Jane Granger would ask, stroking Hermione’s head. You seem upset.

“I’m fine. Really I am.” It was odd how impatient Hermione sounded, even in her imagined conversations with her mother. Jane Granger didn’t seem to mind though. She just went on running her fingers through Hermione’s curls, indulging her poor, utterly hapless daughter who was in every way pathetic and pitiable.

I was wondering how you’d take it.

“Take what?”

The flowers.

Hermione laughed harshly. “Well now you know. Ignoring them, hiding them in Lavender’s room, lying to Luna… Solves so many problems, don’t you think?”

Avoidance is usually the path of least resistance.

“I don’t know why I’m so worried about it. It may not be Harry who’s sending them after all.”

Really?

“It could be dozens of people.”

“Of course.”

“Besides, I doubt very much I’ll ever see him again.”

Harry or one of the dozens of people?

“Harry of course.”

Oh.

“You know…I really don’t want to talk about this.”

Fine.

“Not that there’s much to talk about.”

All right.

“And even if I did want to talk about Harry, it doesn’t matter… I haven’t heard from him and it’s been nearly two months. What’s the point of talking?”

A whole two months?

“But now all…these…all these flowers. I don’t understand…It’s as though he was waiting until the scandal blew over before even bothering to think of me. And now everything’s resolved and he starts sending me dozens of flowers a day… Where was he when I needed him? Not one word. Not one letter, and when Lavender is finally found and everything is settled, we’re bombarded with jasmine.”

It does seem odd timing.

“He hasn’t even asked for his ring back,” Hermione paused. “Have I showed it to you yet? The ring I mean?”

About twenty times.

“Well…it’s pretty, don’t you think?”

Pretty? I believe the word you used was“ perfect.”

Hermione looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t know why I said that. I hate that word.” Hermione stirred and nibbled her lip. “You know, I haven’t cried about it. Not one single time. What do you think that means?”

Her mother gave a half-hearted shrug. Maybe you never loved him in the first place.

“No! That’s not true…that can’t be true…” Hermione said as a fat tear rolled down her cheek. “I did love him …I do love him….” She wiped her face as several more tears followed. “I don’t know… There’s just a breaking point in every relationship…Harry has to know that…” Her breath hitched as she took a few minutes to calm her hiccupping sobs.

“…There are just some things you can’t change…we can’t go back...it’s too impossible…we’re much too different…he has to realize that…”

Hermione dear…don’t cry…. You don’t know what Harry’s feeling right now.

“Yes I do!” Hermione said stubbornly, wiping the last tears from her face. “He’s feeling guilty and now that we’ve avoided a scandal, he thinks he can simply waltz back into my life as though nothing had happened.”

And you know this because…well… how exactly?

Hermione ignored her. “Well if Harry thinks some flowers are going to make me forget about what he did, he’s grossly mistaken.”

I thought you were going to stop assuming the worst of people.

Hermione shook her head and sniffled. “I’m not thinking the worst of him. It’s the only logical explanation.”

Funny the way logic works sometimes.

“I wouldn’t call this funny.”

Oh Hermione…my poor darling… Everything will be all right. You’ll see. These things have a habit of working themselves out in the end.

“You sound like Luna,” Hermione said with a sigh. Although she often ridiculed her sister’s blind optimism; although she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of things “working themselves out in the end”; although she knew her mother was dead and she was essentially talking to herself... Hermione never wanted to believe something as unlikely as “everything will be fine” more than she did now.

00000000000000000000000000

Next Chapter: Werewolves of London…

19. Werewolves of London

0000000000000000000000000

Werewolves of London

Author notes: This chapter takes place a week or so after the last chapter. It’s a long chapter. Full of…stuff. Some things happen. And then more things happen. And then even more things happen.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

0000000000000000000000000

“Tonks!” Hermione cried excitedly. She’d opened the front door to find a blonde Tonks standing in the foyer, bundled up in an expensive orange cloak with luggage in hand. Hermione gave her a long hug before taking her bag and ushering her inside.

“Hello Mione,” Tonks said tiredly.

Helping Tonks out of her cloak, Hermione noticed that her normally cheerful expression (which could be brighter than any outrageous color she wore) was more somber than usual. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Oh you know…just happened to be in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by…Hello Luna.”

“Tonks!” Luna hurried over and hugged her. “I thought you were at Grimmauld Place!”

“I was, but I thought I’d drop by. Wanted see how things were in dear old Meriton.”

“I’m so glad you did,” Luna said happily. “Have you seen your parents?”

“No, they’re in Paris. Spring in Paris, winter in Greece. It’s all very cosmopolitan and silly.”

Hermione led her down the hallway. “Here Tonks, we were just about to have some tea. Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh yes, we have so much to talk about,” Luna said happily, taking Tonks’s arm.

Tonks smiled weakly and followed them into the morning room. Luna arranged a place for her at the table and Tonks unceremoniously collapsed into her seat. She held her hand up to the fire, rubbing her palm which was red from carrying her suitcase.

“Pretty flowers.” Tonks tiredly motioned to the vases full of tangled white jasmine around the room.

Luna nodded. “They are, aren’t they? We’ve had quite a few of them delivered over the last few days. So many, in fact, that we’ve run out of places to put them all.”

“Huh. That’s odd, isn’t it? Who’ s sending them?”

“How about some tea then? You must be thirsty.” Hermione cut in before Luna could answer her.

“Oh yes,” Luna said excitedly. “Lavender keeps sending us these strange teas from Scotland. They drink the oddest blends there. We’re trying some black Assam tea today.”

“Sounds great,” Tonks sighed indifferently.

Hermione poured her a cup. “Well, what are you doing back in Meriton?”

“Oh, it’s a long story.” Tonks shrugged. “A very long story. So long in fact, it might take, you know, a long time to tell it. Would you two mind if I stayed here? That way I won’t have to…er…rush through it. I don’t want to leave out the …um…pertinent footnotes.”

Hermione smiled. “You want to stay here tonight? Of course you can. You know you’re always welcomed to…”

“No,” Tonks interrupted her. “I was thinking more like a week. Or a month. Or forever maybe.”

Hermione and Luna looked at her, shocked.

Luna’s eyes widened in surprise. “What do you mean ‘forever’?”

“What about Remus!” Hermione exclaimed. “You mean you’ve left him?”

“Did you have an argument?” Luna asked breathlessly.

Tonks shook her head. Her eyes were brimming with tears as she sniffled.

“Tonks, what happened?” Luna handed her a handkerchief.

Tonks dabbed at her eyes. “Oh…you know…just the usual marital…stuff…”

The three girls sat in silence as Tonks began to silently weep. It started with a few fat tears trickling down her cheeks and turned into noisy sobs by the time the tea things were brought in. Luna and Hermione knelt on either side of her, holding her hands, patting her back, trying to comfort her. After a few tearful minutes, Tonks managed to calm down enough to take a few quick sips of her tea. Hermione and Luna waited until Tonks had collected herself before pressing her to talk.

Tonks wiped her face and promised to tell them everything.

“I don’t know where to begin really. It’s all just one big muddled mess…Mione, do you remember when Remus went to London? That night with the cardinals and the fighting…Well, after I heard about Lav, I sent an Owl to his club. But a clerk wrote back and said Remus wasn’t staying there.”

“Maybe you made a mistake,” Luna suggested gently.

“That’s what I thought. You know me…I don’t listen to half what people tell me. But then the next month it happened again. He said he was going to London for a few days on business. Same club, same address, but when I wrote to him…nothing. The clerk said the same thing—that Remus wasn’t staying there and he hadn’t been there in years.”

“Oh Tonks,” Hermione sighed. “So you think…”

“Well naturally.” Tonks shrugged with a tone of defeat. “What else could it be? He left for London again yesterday and…I just…I just couldn’t stay there anymore.”

What’s happened? Luna mouthed to Hermione.

He has a mistress, Hermione whispered back.

“Oh dear,” Luna sighed, shaking her head.

“Poor Tonks,” Hermione said sympathetically.

“Maybe there’s been a mistake,” Luna offered.

Tonks shook her head and sniffled. “There’s no mistake…The only mistake was marrying the man in the first place.”

Luna patted her hand. “Maybe it’s just a phase…a passing folly...”

“I’ve read all about these things,” Tonks interrupted her angrily. “It’s not a phase. It’ll just keep happening forever and ever. There’s no cure for it really. Except for divorce that is.”

“I can’t believe it,” Luna said sadly.

“Me neither,” Tonks sighed.

Hermione crossed her arms. “He had the appearance of such a decent man.”

“I know.” Tonks took a long sip of her tea. “I mean, who would’ve though Remus was a werewolf?”

“Yes, well it goes to show that rushing into marriage is never…wait…wait… what?” Hermione sputtered.

“A werewolf,” Tonks said mournfully. “Remus is a werewolf. Can you imagine what my parents are going to say? I’ve done some stupid things in my life, but it’ll be hard to top this. Marrying a werewolf. What was I thinking?”

Hermione glanced at Luna, who looked just as confused as she did.

“Um…Tonks…what are you talking about?” Hermione asked uncertainly.

“I’m talking about Remus being a werewolf. That’s why he goes away every month. That’s why he lies about staying in London. He’s not in London because he’s too busy ravaging the countryside.”

“Really? A werewolf?” Luna asked, intrigued.

Tonks nodded sadly.

Luna turned to Hermione, “I thought you said he had a mistress.”

“A mistress!” Tonks exclaimed. “What made you think that?”

Hermione was still confused. “Well…naturally…his trips into the city…his nights away…oh I don’t know…”

Tonks shook her head. “How could he possibly have a mistress? His busy werewolfing schedule barely has enough time for me!”

“Tonks for goodness sake, Remus is not a werewolf!” Hermione exclaimed.

Tonks looked incensed. “He most certainly is.”

“Really?” Luna asked curiously.

“No, not really!” Hermione said incredulously. “There’s no such thing as werewolves. So it follows that Remus can’t possibly be one!”

“He is so,” Tonks argued.

“He is not!”

“He is so!”

Hermione bit back another he is not and took a deep calming breath. “Tonks, what makes you think he’s a werewolf?”

Tonks nibbled on a chocolate scone and excitedly explained. “See…at first I didn’t know what to think. It was…just all these odd clues and things…just all these little hints piling up. It really took some clever detective work to put the pieces together.”

“Good God.” Hermione rubbed her head as she began pacing around the room.

Tonks ignored her. “Well…it all started when we first got to Grimmauld Place and Remus began showing me around. It’s a huge castle. Completely and utterly enormous. There are hundreds of rooms and hallways and floors…and well…somehow we ended up in this dusty old wing where no one lived and that’s when we saw it: A boggart.”

“A boggart!” Luna echoed excited.

Tonks nodded: “We were going through some old rooms and…well…it was just there. And guess what it turned into.”

“A flock of cardinals?” Hermione said harshly.

“Nope. A shiny orb-looking thing.”

“So?” Hermione asked impatiently.

“It was a full moon!”

“And?”

Tonks shushed her. “Well that got me to thinking. I mean, I know the full moon is supposed to make people all loony-like, but I’ve never thought anyone would actually be afraid of it. Boggarts are supposed to show the scariest thing you can imagine, and Remus goes and thinks of the moon. A moon? A big beautiful moon that’s just floating there, shining all happy-like? Explain to me how that’s scarier than…I don’t know… bears. Or drowning. Or Lavender singing.”

Luna shook her head. “Maybe Remus is afraid of the dark. You know…um… nighttime maybe?”

“But why would he think of a big bright moon if he’s afraid of the dark? So I started wondering what kind of person is afraid of a full moon?” Tonks paused dramatically. “The kind of person that turns into a wolf every time one comes around!”

“That does makes sense,” Luna replied thoughtfully.

Tonks nodded. “And all those trips he took into the city. They were all during a full moon! Can you believe it? I’ve been reading all about those werewolf sightings in The Quibbler and guess what? Every single one of them happened when Remus was away.”

Hermione almost laughed aloud. “Tonks this is completely ridiculous.”

Tonks shook her head. “No, ridiculous is more fun. This is just plain awful.”

“Don’t worry,” Luna comforted Tonks, “He’s only a werewolf a few days a month. You’ll have a normal husband most of the time.”

“I guess that’s true.” Tonks sighed sadly. “I always knew I married an odd man. I just underestimated his overall odd-ness.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Remus is dependable, polite, and intelligent. He’s only odd in the fact that he married you.”

“Well, that just proves my point, doesn’t it? He’s a very peculiar man.”

Hermione huffed. “Then you’re well suited for each other.”

“Tonks, what happened when he Riddikulused it?” Luna asked curiously. “The boggart that is.”

“Oh…” Tonks laughed. “He turned the moon into a big wheel of cheese.”

Luna smiled. “At least we know he’s a werewolf with a sense of humor.”

Hermione eyed Tonks uncertainly. “Tonks, you didn’t actually tell Remus…um…the reason you left, did you?”

Tonks looked scandalized. “Of course not. I only left a note saying I was going to visit some friends…”

Hermione was relieved. That’s something at least, she muttered.

“…after all, I don’t want to get eaten, do I?”

Luna’s mouth fell open: “You really think he’s going to eat you?”

“I certainly hope not.”

“Maybe Hermione could make some werewolf repellant.” Luna turned to her sister.

“Is there such a thing as werewolf repellant?”

“Say now, there’s an idea. How about it Mione? Can you mix us up a batch?”

Hermione looked at both of them as though they were crazy. “No,” she finally said. “I mean I’m hardly an authority on magis creatura, but I do know that an animal has to actually exist before you can repel it.”

Luna nodded. “Like Phylollexa.”

Hermione gave an uncertain nod. “Um…right. However, it doesn’t apply to werewolves because, again, they don’t exist.”

“Bah!” Tonks cried. “That’s nonsense. Of course they exist. They exist because Remus is one of them.”

“Remus is not a werewolf,” Hermione said sternly.

“He is too! I just know he is. A wife knows these things.”

“Not if she’s insane,” Hermione muttered.

Luna stared dreamily out the window. “I wonder if I should Owl Ron. After all, he needs to know things like this...”

Tonks grinned. “Yeah. Go ahead and tell Ron. That way he’ll confront Remus and Remus will rip him to shreds and maybe some good will come of this after all.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Every girl in her family was going crazy. Lavender had run off with Viktor, Luna was still as day-dreamy as ever over Ron, and now Tonks was convinced she’d married a werewolf. And all in the course of two months. It was almost too much for Hermione to bear…

Hermione looked sternly at Tonks: “Tonks, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, but I don’t want to hear anymore talk about werewolves.”

“Awww. Why not?”

“Because…” Hermione said slowly, trying to think of a reason that would make sense to Tonks. “…we’ve had enough excitement since Lavender left.”

Luna nodded in agreement. “Our family has become quite notorious since the elopement.”

Tonks sighed. “Right. Don’t feed the rumor mill. Got it.”

Hermione turned to Luna. “And that’s goes for the both of you. I don’t want you talking about this nonsense to anyone. Not even Ron.”

Luna looked crestfallen but agreed not to say anything.

Tonks cleared her throat. “Er…what should I say to Remus? I’ve got to write to him sometime...I don’t want to incur the wrath of the wolfman after all…”

Hermione thought for a moment. “Just tell him that we need you here and you’re just staying on until Aunt Aurora comes home.”

“Right. But…um…what if…you know, he wants to visit.”

“Oh, do let him!” Luna cried. “I’ve never seen a werewolf before.”

Tonks rolled her eyes. “Luna, you’ve seen Remus lots of times.”

“Yes but I didn’t know he was a werewolf then.”

“If he wants to visit, let him. ” Hermione said resolutely. “But don’t say a word of this to him or anyone else.” There might be a chance to save this infernal marriage yet, she silently added.

As Luna and Tonks began excitedly discussing the recent Quibbler articles on the wolf sightings, Hermione excused herself and went to the study. It was fairly obvious that Tonks was only imagining this insane werewolf nonsense in order to take a much needed break from married life. There was no real harm in it, Hermione reasoned. Tonks was fairly fanciful; she and Luna treated the insipid articles in The Quibbler as though they were hard truth. It was no wonder that Tonks had all these silly ideas, what with all those sensational headlines screaming about werewolves and Snorkacks and goodness knows what else. Hermione decided that the best thing to do was to keep her here, talk some sense into her, and send her back to Remus a happy, well-adjusted and not-at-all delusional wife.

But with Tonks, that was easier said than done.

0000000000000000000000

A Dinner Party

0000000000000000000000

Hermione slipped her new white gown over her head and adjusted the wispy off-the-shoulder sleeves. The full skirt swirled around her feet and the bodice tightly hugged her waist. It was made from a delicate cream-colored muslin trimmed with tiny crystal beads that caught the firelight and twinkled with warm colors. Quite pleased with the way she looked, Hermione smiled as she caught her reflection in her mirror. She couldn’t have asked for a better fit.

As she fiddled with the clasp of her glass-bead bracelet, she heard Tonks skipping up and down the hallways, excited about going to Septima’s party with them. Hermione would never admit it aloud, but she actually enjoyed having Tonks in the house. Noisy and silly as she was, Tonks brought a new liveliness to the place, a liveliness that had left with Lavender and Aunt Aurora.

Glancing at the clock, Hermione took one last look at herself before hurrying down the hallway. At lunch Luna offered to do her hair and Hermione made her way to her sister’s room. Luna was already dressed in a soft sea foam green gown that made her violet eyes seem all the more luminous and dreamlike. Her blonde hair was done in a simple set of braids that wrapped, crown-like, around her head. She excitedly ushered Hermione into the chair at her vanity and began spelling her curls into a complicated, full bun. Luna then placed some loose jasmine flowers throughout the brown locks and arranged a few tendrils that fell artfully around her neck and shoulders.

All the while Luna happily chatted about who would be attending Septima’s party and what music would be played and what food would be served… It had been months since they’d accepted any invitations, and Luna’s excitement was contagious. Hermione actually found herself looking forward to it.

Playing with a white feather, Hermione was debating whether to let Luna tuck a few in her hair when Tonks came storming in. Dressed in a peacock-colored gown and sporting a mess of new blue-black curls, Tonks looked like a lovely exotic bird. An angry exotic bird.

Tonks threw up her hands and paced around the room: “I can’t help it. I told him about everything being so grand here and how much fun I’ve been having and now he wants me to come home. Can you believe the nerve of that man!”

Luna looked up from placing another flower in Hermione’s hair. “Do you mean Remus?”

”No, I’m talking about Mayor Dippet. Of course I mean Remus!”

Luna sighed. “Well, it’s only natural that he wants you to come home. You’ve been here nearly a month now.”

“But …but… there’s lots of things keeping me here in Meriton…um…things that are too many to mention…” Tonks threw up her hands in frustration. “Well I’m not going back and he can’t make me! So there!”

“Sounds reasonable,” Hermione said flatly.

Tonks huffed and peered into the mirror behind Hermione. She straightened her elaborate ruffled collar and tucked a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. “The nerve of him. Why should Remus care how long I stay on? I’m family after all. I have a right to visit Meriton whenever I want.”

Luna shrugged. “He probably misses you. He is your husband, remember.”

“Miss me!? How could he find time to miss me? He’s too busy running around the countryside disemboweling sheep.”

Hermione patted her hair and sighed: “Tonks, for the last time he’s not a…”

“A werewolf, I know.” Tonks finished for her as she paced around the room. “That’s all you ever say to me anymore. Really Hermione…would it kill you to be a little more supportive? Did you ever think of that? I mean, if you married a werewolf, I’d be there with garlic and wooden stakes and I wouldn’t leave your side for an instant.”

“That’s for vampires,” Luna pointed out.

Tonks turned to her. “Really?”

Luna nodded.

“Dammit.” Tonks kicked the bedpost. “That was my plan for keeping him away from the house. Now I’m really going to get eaten.”

“No one’s going to get eaten,” Hermione assured her.

“Easy for you to say! Look at you. What self-respecting werewolf would want to eat you? You’ve got no meat on you. Just skin and bones.”

“Tonks…” Hermione rolled her eyes. Why am I bothering to answer that? “…When will he be here?”

Tonks crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know. And I don’t care.”

“Tonks,” Hermione said warningly.

“He said maybe next week or so,”

“Then we’ll gladly receive him next week.”

Tonks slouched miserably on the sofa. “Great. So now I have a week to live. Hooray for me.”

“You’re not going to get eaten!” Hermione snapped.

“I am too. And so will you. And that young lady will teach you to doubt me!”

“I really can’t see Remus as the kind of person who’d eat his in-laws,” Luna said thoughtfully.

“That’s because you haven’t seen him all werewolfy. If you did, you’d realize that we’re dealing with a very dangerous man. A very dark and disturbed man…who’s not handsome or mysterious or animalistic or anything like that. I mean, he’s just…not…attractive or arousing at all.”

“Good gracious Tonks,” Hermione sighed, feeling her Tonks-headache coming on. They were now entering a very strange territory of Tonks’ love life and she quickly wanted to change the subject. She assured Tonks that when Remus did visit, she and Luna would be there and that they wouldn’t leave her side for an instant.

“But I don’t want you saying anything about this silly werewolf business,” Hermione added sternly. “He’ll think he’s married a madwoman, if he doesn’t already.”

“Oh right. Like the werewolf has any right to judge me. I’m not the one pillaging the countryside in my off-hours.”

“You would if you could,” Hermione muttered, tossing the feathers away. If Tonks kept this up, Hermione knew she’d be pulling out her own hair by the end of the evening. She didn’t want to be molting as well.

000000000000000000000000

Standing outside Septima Vector’s townhouse, Hermione felt a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t explain it. There was nothing unusual about the scene from the street: lights burned in every window and the merry partygoers cast shadows against the cream-colored curtains of the house. Inside, someone was playing a waltz and the smell of spices and wine was in the air…

But as the three girls made their way up the front steps, the odd feeling only became worse. Hermione’s mouth went dry and her head began to ache. She swallowed hard and pressed her hand to her forehead, hoping the queasiness would pass, but the frantic look on their hostess’s face only made Hermione all the more nervous.

“What is it Septima?” Hermione asked tensely, slipping out of her cloak. Septima was trembling and shaking in her an elaborate green and gray gown that made her look as long and lean as a willow tree. The great room was decorated with ornate garlands of white roses. Candles and crystals floated above them as white rose petals as fell from the ceiling like fat snowflakes and the musky scent of rose oil was overwhelming.

Septima leaned in and lowered her voice: “Oh, Hermione you won’t believe who’s here! I can hardly believe it myself. It’s such an honor. Do tell your aunt all about it, although I know she won’t believe you.”

“Why? Who’s here?” Hermione looked around wearily. The usual wizarding officials and their wives had attended, all honorable men and women to be sure, but nothing that would surprise Aurora.

Septima smiled proudly and motioned to a tall dark man in the corner. He was standing in the shadows next to the fireplace. The orange light added an unnatural warmth to his pale skin as he turned towards them.

“Harry?” Hermione breathed as she recognized him.

“Harry Potter,” Septima nodded reverently. Septima began describing just what an important personage Harry was and what an honor it was that he attend one of her little soiree, but Hermione didn’t hear a word of it. She was too busy congratulating herself on not fainting straightaway when she saw him.

Harry approached them. Even with the candlelight casting shadows over his face, Hermione could tell that he looked surprised to see her.

Why is he surprised? Hermione thought, annoyance rising through her panic. Septima is my aunt’s best friend…why would Harry come here if he didn’t expect to see me?

Septima flashed an ingratiating smile and excitedly greeted him.

“Mr. Potter,” Septima sighed happily. “We were just talking about you.”

“I heard,” Harry replied grimly.

Septima gave a twittering laugh: “Oh let me introduce you…this is Hermione Granger. She’s the niece of a dear friend of mine.”

Hermione watched as Harry gently took her hand. She turned a bright pink as Harry softly kissed it and looked at her gravely.

“We’ve met,” he muttered.

“Oh?” Septima asked, surprised. She then giggled and blushed. “Oh of course you have! How silly of me…little Nymphadora was married from Godric’s Hollow wasn’t she?” Septima laughed at her mistake. “Oh it’s not like me to forget something like that. Dear Mr. Lupin and little Nymphadora. I’m sure the wedding was lovely, but everyone was given such short notice. That seems to be the case for all you Granger girls. You all seem to be in such a hurry to get married.”

“Not all of them,” Harry muttered, not letting go of her hand.

Septima gave a high-pitched laugh (although Hermione couldn’t say why) and began twittering on about the party.

Hermione didn’t hear a word of it. Her heart was beating too loudly to hear much of anything. She felt Harry’s fingers lightly trace the skin of her palm and for a moment she was sure she was going to faint. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it… Harry was here…Harry was standing in front of her...she wasn’t imagining it…he was here…after their months apart he wasn’t more than three feet away from her…he’d kissed her hand…she remembered how soft his lips were, how she could lose herself to them, it must’ve been thousands of hours since she’d felt them, an unbearably long time…

Oh dear goddess…Hermione sighed as the back of his hand grazed hers as he came to stand beside her.

Septima merrily told her how Harry had been staying in London and what an honor it was for him to leave all those theaters and galleries and restaurants just to attend her little party.

“Of course I can’t blame him for wanting to get away from London this time of year. The city is quite unbearable in the spring. So many tourists.”

“Oh…um…yes…” Hermione muttered absently, still not listening to a word Septima was saying. The heat of the room had become absolutely stifling. To make matters worse, she sensed his eyes on her, watching her while Septima happily chatted away. Hermione’s breath came in quick gasps and her cheeks turned flaming red. She told herself to look up and face Harry but she couldn’t do it.

Septima asked her something about the weather but Hermione didn’t hear her. She closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath, trying not to show any sort of emotion. The room began to spin. she rested her hand against her head as she steadied herself.

Breathe…breathe…don’t faint…just breathe…there’s no chance of fainting if you keep breathing…

There…that’s better…See, you’re perfectly fine…you’ve gotten past the worst of it…Seeing him was bound to be a shock…you’ll open your eyes and everything will be fine…everything will be fine…you’re fine…everything is fine…

She took a few gasping breaths and opened her eyes…only to find Harry standing in front of her, staring at her. Septima was gone, hurrying towards Mayor Dippet and Hermione suddenly realized she was about to speak to Harry for the first time in months.

“Hello,” he said simply.

“Hello,” she echoed (not so simply).

Hermione watched as Harry gently took her hand again. She stared at him as he raised it to his mouth and gasped as his lips brushed against her hand for a second time.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked.

“Oh… yes….um…thank you” Hermione said in daze, her eyes never leaving Harry’s.

The same lovely green eyes, she thought, suddenly lost to the world. He was wearing one of his green waistcoats which made his eyes flash a haunting emerald color. His hair was as wild as ever, and her fingers itched to touch it as the firelight reflected off the onyx glints.

“Oh dear goddess,” Hermione sighed as her heart began to race. She was alone with Harry… Well, not alone with him really, but the other guests had long since faded into the background. It seemed like it was just the two of them, facing each other, like there was no else in the room.

Nervous, confused, and lightheaded, she felt an overwhelming urge to run away. Run home. Run anywhere. But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tear herself away from him. She stole a glance at him, and for the first time noticed how pale he was. Was he nervous? Surprised? Angry? Whatever he felt, she hated that her first impulse was to throw herself in his arms and kiss away his concerns.

But of course that only made her angry. Angry with herself, and still more angry with Harry. Miserable appearance aside, he was still the same man who lied to her and forgotten about her all these months. While she was being wracked with guilt and worry and tending to Aurora and Luna, he’d been in London, apparently enjoying himself. How could she think of kissing him?

“You look beautiful,” Harry breathed, kissing her hand a third time.

Well that answers that question, she thought, miserably taking her hand back. “Thank you,” Hermione replied aloud. The heat of the room was unbearable. “Um…how long have you been here?”

“Only an hour or so.”

“Oh no… in town I mean…not at the…um…party.”

“I just arrived today.”

“Is Ron with you?”

“No, he’s visiting his brother in Romania.”

“Oh.” She forced a smile. “Septima said you were in London.”

Harry nodded. “I was.”

“Well…that’s…nice…” she trailed off. It wasn’t nice at all actually. It was horrible. She couldn’t string a simple sentence together. Stop it Hermione, she told herself. Calm down…calm down…

Taking a deep breath, she started again: “Septima said you’ve been in London.”

“You already said that.”

“Oh…yes…I’m sorry,” Hermione muttered, struggling to think of something else to say. Unfortunately, nothing came to her. Luckily there was an outburst across the room. They both turned to see Tonks, Susan Bones, and Terry Boot laughing loudly about goodness-knows-what. Hermione craned her neck to see what all the fuss was about, when she suddenly felt Harry’s hand on her arm.

“Would you like to dance?” Harry asked quietly, taking his hand away.

Hermione turned around, startled. “What?”

“Would you like to dance?”

“No…no thank you.”

“Why not?” He sounded hurt, but she couldn’t tell because her eyes were fixed to the floor.

“Because I…I just don’t feel like dancing.”

“Dancing with me you mean.”

“I don’t…I don’t want to dance with anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Harry I…I don’t know…I don’t…” Her voice lowered, and she suddenly remembered that there were dozens of people around them. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to turn herself into a small burrowing creature that could tunnel its way home.

A stammering whisper escaped her lips. “I don’t…I don’t want to do this. Not here.”

“Do what?”

“Harry…” she said sadly. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“I didn’t think we were arguing.”

Hermione just shook her head and continued staring at the floor.

She heard Harry sigh. Whatever she expected him to do next, it didn’t involving him leaning closer and whispering in her ear. His cheek brushed against hers and his breath warmed the blushing skin of her throat.

“I didn’t come here to argue with you,” he said quietly. “I just want to talk to you. Just for a minute. Alone,” he added appealingly. “Please.”

“Talk?” Well that might be a problem since I’m about to faint. Hermione sighed. She needed to calm down…she needed more time…she needed to stay at least three feet away from him…But instead she nodded and let him lead her away from the crowd. His hand rested on the small of her back and she felt his shoulder brush against hers as they make their way through the sea of partygoers.

She kept her eyes on the floor until the noises of the party faded away. The click-clack of their footsteps resounded off the hallway walls, alternating between being rhythmically in step and out of sync and then back again. Hermione focused on keeping her footsteps in time with Harry’s, which gave her mind something to do besides panic.

Through the echoing reverberations of their footsteps, Hermione heard the soft thud of a door closing behind them and then felt the chill of the night air against her skin.

Harry had brought her onto a spansive balcony that overlooked the sleeping town. Cottage lights twinkled in the distance and the smell of burning firewood floated through the air. The wind whistled past them and she rubbed her shoulders to keep warm.

“Hermione?”

She turned, startled to find how close Harry was to her.

Offering him a weak smile, Hermione took a few steps back and slowly made her way to the wrought iron railing. Pretending to admire the view, she forced a smile and asked a completely banal question: “So Harry…How have you been?”

Harry came to stand next to her, his eyes fixed on her. He didn’t seem the least interested in the twinkling vista. “I’m fine. And yourself?”

“Fine.” Hermione nibbled her lip nervously. She crossed her arms and looked away. She was determined not to show any sort of nervousness. As silence fell over them, she could feel the tension between them grow until and it became hard to breathe.

“So…how is Remus? It seems so long since I last saw him,” she said in a strangled voice. Her throat was too tight to speak. She looked up and found him studying her carefully.

“Did you get the flowers?”

“Um…what?”

Harry repeated the question.

“Oh, flowers. No… I mean, yes,” she stammered. “Yes…some flowers were sent to the house. Were they yours? There wasn’t a card…”

“You know I sent them.”

Hermione sighed, feeling defeated. “Yes…I thought you might have. Thank you for that. It was a nice gesture...” she trailed off helplessly.

He took a step towards her, his face hard and stoic. “I know I didn’t write to you.”

“Oh.” Hermione replied simply as she looked away.

“I just didn’t…I just didn’t know what to say.”

“Oh.”

“I meant to…but I…I just didn’t know what to say,” he repeated. He looked at her, obviously expecting some kind of response.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. He’d said it with an air of finality, as if that was in any way an adequate explanation. Was that really all he had to say?

She sighed. “So that’s it then? I haven’t heard from you in months and that’s all you have to say? Should I take it as an apology too, or would that be too presumptuous?”

“No…I…”

“Harry, I haven’t heard from you in ages and now you suddenly appear without a word of warning and expect me to…I don’t know. What are you doing here?”

“I only came here because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Harry…”

“I needed to see you.”

“Stop it!”

“You’re all I thought about.”

“Arrrrgh!” Hermione growled as she reeled on him. “How dare you! How can you say that? It’s been months Harry. I haven’t heard a word from you in months. I can’t believe you would do this…” She took a deep breath, trying to keep her anger in check. It was too much…much too much…his being here, saying things like that, looking at her like he did before… like nothing had changed…

“I didn’t know what to say Hermione. I kept trying to write to you…I’d have the parchment in front of me and a quill in my hand…” Harry trailed off. “But every time I just gave up. There was nothing I could say.”

“Nothing? Well then that’s just what you did say. Nothing. Thank you for that.” Hermione turned to leave but Harry grabbed her arm and stood in front of her, blocking her way.

Suddenly she was inches from him, his face hovering over hers. They both froze.

Hermione felt her heart beating and a familiar dizziness overtake her. His arms were still holding her fast and she looked down to find him gripping the material on her dress so tightly that his hands were turning as white as the muslin. Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, lowering his face to hers.

“Hermione…” Harry began in a tender tone.

“What Harry?” Hermione replied wearily. She tried to pull away but he held her fast.

“I…just wanted…” he gazed at her, unable to finish.

“You wanted what?” Hermione sighed impatiently as she struggled to get away. She squirmed but his arms only tightened around her. “You wanted to what? Why did you come back? Why couldn’t you just stay away?”

His eyes narrowed. “I came back to see you.”

She shot him an angry look and wrenched herself out of his grasp. “You didn’t seem very eager to see me over the last few months.”

“I’ve been in London,” Harry said darkly as he took a step towards her.

“So I heard. Septima mentioned it.”

“She doesn’t know anything about it.”

“She knows more than I do. And whatever it was, it must have been extremely important to keep you occupied all these months.”

“It was,” Harry’s grimly replied.

“Well fine,” she spat.

He didn’t say anything as their eyes met, but something in his stare only made her angrier. Why was she even bothering to talk to him? He was unreasonable, impetuous, selfish…how could she have ever loved such a man?

Hermione took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “Harry,” I think you’re absolutely cruel to come here like this. Did you really think that suddenly showing up unannounced and cornering me on a balcony would make everything all right?”

“No… I don’t…I don’t know what I thought.”

“That’s fairly obvious.”

“Well what was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know…and I don’t care. All I know is how incredibly selfish you are and that I don’t want to see you again.”

She cringed as soon as she said it. Angry as she was, surprised, embarrassed, upset as she felt, is that what she really wanted? To never see him again?

“You don’t mean that,” Harry said quietly.

She nodded weakly, even though she wasn’t sure of the answer herself. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore…

Hermione stared wide-eyed at Harry, her breath hitching in her chest. His expression was as intense as ever, but had a soft tenderness to it now. She found she was unable to move as he held her fast. She was well aware that his eyes were flitting down to her mouth.

Harry suddenly pulled her to him. His arms went round her waist, cradling her tightly against his chest.

“No you don’t,” Harry muttered.

“Yes I do,” she choked out.

“No you don’t.”

“Harry…I…”

Before she could finish, he crushed his lips to hers in a violent kiss. Gone were the soft kisses she’d remembered. His embrace was demanding, and his kisses equally so. Hermione could feel Harry’s hands running over the thin material of her dress. She marveled at the stirrings that these simple touches caused. It only took a few heartbeats for Hermione to wrap her arms around his neck and return his kisses just as urgently. It had been too long… she’d been without him for too long…

He explored her mouth greedily until her knees buckled and she suddenly felt the wall against her back. It was fiery, passionate… but none of the words she’d read in those silly romantic novels could come close to describing how she felt. Her body was ablaze, there was fire coursing through her veins. Though her eyes were closed, brightly colored flashes of light were dancing behind her eyelids, blinding in their brilliance. Sensations she had heard about, but never felt to this degree, were coursing through her body.

He covered her mouth with his, his tongue dancing with hers. A groan emanated low in his throat as he slid his other arm around her waist. She melted against him as tingles ran up and down her spine, shuddering as a heady excitement overtook her. Her mind was racing, only sensations registered: his warm breath her lips, her hands scraping his back, her hips nestled against his, his fingers raking over her. There was an intensity building between them as their caresses became rougher and more desperate. His lips were so sweet yet so demanding, tearing desperately at her mouth as she clutched at him.

She was lost to the world, safe in his arms again. It was rough, passionate, desperate…just as it was before…but it wasn’t, not really…they couldn’t take back what happened, and deep down, Hermione knew it would happen again. Harry would hurt her again, he would lie to her, he would forget about her for months. After all, people don’t change, not really…

“No…Harry…” she pushed him away. “I can’t…not again…please…”

“Don’t go,” Harry pulled her back.

“No.”

“Stay with me…”

She shook her head and tried to free herself.

“I love you.”

“Stop it! Stop saying that! Just let me go…”

Mustering as much strength as she could, she pushed him away and ran out the door. Her mind was reeling and her body pulsing as she blindly racing down the hallways. She didn’t know where she was going. The only thing Hermione felt were the tears falling down her cheeks… She needed to stay far away from Harry. As far away from him as she possible could…

Pushing her way through the great room, she collided with several guests as she made her way through the sea of people. She didn’t bother saying goodbye to Luna or Tonks as she hurried towards the front door. Grabbing her cloak, she took to the streets and flew down the empty lanes. The brisk night air was a comfort to her (of course anything that was far away from Harry was a comfort to her). She just needed to stay far away from Harry. She needed to think…and thinking around Harry just wasn’t possible…

Climbing the steps to her house, she slammed the door behind her and muttered a locking spell. Her legs were shaky and her breaths came in raspy gasps. Leaning against the closed door, she sank down until she was kneeling on the hard wood floor. The room was dark, but moonlight poured through the windows, allowing her to see the shadows cast by the vases full of jasmine and the sharp edges of the jutting furniture.

She blew a strand of hair away from her face and sighed mournfully. Her head was screaming at her for letting Harry get so close again, while her heart was screaming because she let him get away…

She didn’t know which one to trust anymore.

000000000000000000000000

In her haste to get away from Harry, Hermione hadn’t noticed that the whole party had seen her rush out. The fact that Harry emerged from the hallway moments later only roused more suspicion

The room began buzzing with excitement. The murmur of voices merged and necks craned as they stared and each person ticked off the number of friends that would want to know about Harry Potter’s odd behavior and Hermione’s hurried exit.

Rolanda Hooch turned to Miss Pince

“Did you see that?”

“Of course I saw it. Hard to miss, wasn’t she?”

“Poor girl, I wonder what happened?”

“There’s Harry Potter coming out right behind her…”

“Odd, very odd…”

Miss Pince shook her head disapprovingly at the display. “Uncouth youngsters,” she muttered. “Running around with no regard for others.”

Rolanda just shrugged and smiled, wondering what Mrs. Everand thought of it.

Across the room, Mrs. Everard nodded knowingly at Mayor Dippet.

“I’ve just heard he’s engaged to one of the Granger girls!” she whispered confidentially.

“Really? Which one?”

“Hermione of course.”

“Really? Who told you that?”

“Terry Boot told Susan Bones who told Mrs. Sprout who told Mrs. Figg who told me.”

“It’s not such a surprise is it? She’s a pretty girl all right…I wonder how Terry Boot found out? He’s a bit of a bounder himself…”

Terry Boot leaned closer to a giggling Susan Bones:

“She just spent a whole week alone at his house in Pemberley.”

“Oh right. I forgot about that.” Susan batted her eyes and smiled invitingly. “Deliciously scandalous isn’t it?

“And Aurora Granger’s just left town too, hasn’t she? Has she gone to London or Scotland?”

“Probably London.

“Why London?”

”Well, she probably has to see about Hermione’s wedding arrangements.”

“Ah…of course…” Terry then whispered something else to her that had nothing to do with Hermione Granger or Harry Potter or the rumors that were promising to quickly spread around town.

“Hermione usually wanders off at parties, but I really didn’t expect this,” Luna whispered to Tonks as they watched Harry from across the room.

“I know what you mean.” Tonks replied, obviously impressed. “Dragging Harry into back rooms. I never thought Hermione had it in her.”

“Tonks…” Luna shook her head. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly innocent explanation for all of it.”

“I’m not.”

“Really?”

Tonks nodded and took a dainty sip of her punch. “It’s my fault actually. I single-handedly turned a mutual dislike into true love. It’s a blessing and a curse to be so very clever about these things.”

Luna shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. You just weren’t meant for all this love nonsense. Matchmaking is all scheming and plotting and everything that’s evil and fun. It’s a dangerous business really. It’s like being a surgeon. Playing with people’s destinies and so forth.”

Luna nodded solemnly. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Of course you haven’t. Sheltered. That’s what you are.”

“Do you think they’ll get engaged now?”

“No, not now. At least not until Harry makes some silly dramatic gesture.”

Luna leaned in excitedly. “Like what?

Tonks shrugged. “Like rescuing her from rabid dogs or man-eating rabbits or something like that. Or maybe he’ll get sick and she can nurse him back to health. See how pale he looks? It’s definitely a classic case of…um…some kind of…um…disease.”

“It could just be the candlelight.”

“Candlelight? Bah.” Tonks waved away the suggestion. “He’s wasting away because his heart’s been broken. And there’s only one cure.”

“Marriage?”

“Er…right. Marriage…and some other things that sheltered single girls need know nothing about.”

Confused, Luna sighed and turned back to Harry, who had given up his search for Hermione and was wearily putting on his cloak.

Luna shook her head. “Poor man. Shouldn’t we say something to him?”

“Just leave him be. Whoever’s being stubborn will come to their senses.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself but it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Just give it time. If I can get used to having a werewolf for a husband, Harry and Hermione can certainly work through their own pile of problems.”

Luna nodded. Tonks had an odd way of putting things in perspective… but still, Harry looked so miserable, a simple “hello” couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Good evening Harry,” Luna said softly as Harry passed them.

He turned to her, obviously miserable, but trying to look friendly enough.

“Hello Luna,” he nodded as he shook her hand.

“Hi Harry,” Tonks regarded him suspiciously.

“Hello Tonks.”

Tonks didn’t bother shaking his outstretched hand and instead took another sip of her punch. “So what brings you to our humble little part of the world?”

“I came to see Hermione.”

Luna’s eyes widened and Tonks nearly dropped her drink. Both were surprised at how casually Harry announced it. Like he was commenting on the weather or complaining about the umpires at the Quidditch Regionals.

Tonks shifted uncomfortably and shot Luna a sideways glance. “Oh….well…I’m glad that’s all cleared up. You’re here for Hermione and Remus is off somewhere eating sheep. It’s all so nice and domestic, don’t you think?”

“Hmmm,” Harry muttered distractedly. Saying a quick good-bye, he looked around the room one last time before heading towards the front door.

“You weren’t very nice to him,” Luna shook her head.

“So? He wasn’t very nice to me! He hardly said anything at all. And he didn’t even laugh when I made that joke about Remus eating sheep. That was funny!”

“Maybe he didn’t hear you.”

“Or maybe he’s a werewolf too.”

Luna stared thoughtfully into space. “You know…I never thought of that…”

“Of course you didn’t. You wouldn’t know a werewolf if you were sitting on one. Just look at Harry’s hair. It’s all black and spiky and deliciously werewolf-like.”

“But Harry didn’t disappear during the full moon, did he?”

“Maybe he’s half-werewolf.”

“Maybe he just needs a new comb.”

“That too.”

20. Tiff for Tat

000000000000000000000000000

New Chapter: Tiff for Tat

Author Notes: Well, things have gone from bad to worse…or have they?

Disclaimer: I own nothing

000000000000000000000000000

Hermione sat on her bed, absorbed in an ancient textbook. As she turned the page, her unruly curls fell over her eyes. Instead of pulling them back wrestling them into a bun, she let them curtain either side of her face. Although it was the sort of thing that used to drive her crazy, she didn’t mind so much now. It didn’t seem to matter...nothing seemed to matter since that horrible scene with Harry at Septima's Party. She was in mourning, although she hardly knew for what. For days now, an acute feeling of loss had been eating away at her and she often found herself dwelling on it like some injured cat licking its wounds.

Deep down she knew that this sorrow had limits, that she’d move on, flourish even, a stronger person, a better person for having loved and lost. She hated those women in literature who suffered and moaned and mourned their love until they were sick shells of their former selves. All of her favorite heroines in literature had suffered so. Jane Eyre, Elinor Dashwood, or Anne Elliot... They’d all overcome their sorrow and found a life without love, beyond love, or a better love than before. This sorrow of hers had limits just like there was a limit to how messy she’ll let her curls get or how much dust she’d allow to pile upon her potion-making things.

But she had to admit that forgetting about Harry would’ve been much easier with a family crisis staring her in the face. In the early days of their separation, her concern for Lavender managed to monopolize every second of her attention. Now with her sister happily settled, Harry was never far from her thoughts, and all she could do was stare at the stark black and white pages of her books until she was in danger of becoming cross-eyed.

Little did she know there was a thoroughly distracting family crisis unfolding that very instant downstairs in one of the drawing rooms…

0000000000000000000

Not fifteen minutes later, her not-thinking-about-Harry efforts were interrupted by the sounds of shouting. Tossing her book aside, she hurried downstairs towards the noise.

“Remus!” Hermione exclaimed as she nearly collided with the tall quivering man at the foot of the stairs. Her smile faded however when she saw how pale and unhappy Remus looked. “I didn’t know you were here,” she added.

Tonks suddenly appeared beside him. “That’s because I didn’t want you to get eaten.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. “Tonks!”

“I’d…I’d better be going,” Remus stammered, backing towards the front door.

Hermione tried to stop him from leaving. “No…no Remus, Tonks is just…it’s all so silly. You know how imaginative she is.”

“That’s right, I am imaginative!” Tonks exclaimed. “And very clever, and very very bright! So why on earth did you think you could hide something like this from me?”

“I didn’t think…I haven’t…” Remus trailed off, his voice full of despair.

Tonks seethed, jabbing Remus in the shoulder with an accusing finger. “Or is that the reason you married me in the first place? Because if I ever found out, people would just say, “Oh, silly Tonks, whatever is she thinking? Calling her husband a werewolf? Tut tut tut.’ ”

“Darling I really don’t….”

“You don’t what? You don’t want Hermione to know about this? Well too late. I’ve told her everything, so if you think you can convince her to convince me about convincing things like how werewolves don’t exist, you’re sadly mistaken.”

He looked helplessly at Hermione. “I…I didn’t think that…”

Hermione stepped in, anxious to keep Tonks from destroying what was left of her marriage. “Remus, I think Tonks isn’t quite ready to go back to Grimmauld Place with you...”

“Ha. No kidding!” Tonks laughed harshly.

“…Perhaps she could stay here for a few more weeks,” Hermione suggested through gritted teeth.

Tonks glared at Remus. “Or perhaps a certain resident werewolf could stop lying to me for a change.”

“Tonks stop it!” Hermione cried.

“Stop what? I’ll call a spade a spade and a werewolf a werewolf and Remus is definitely a werewolf. Just look at him. Standing there all tall and wolf-like.”

“Remus…” Hermione turned to him, but he’d already grabbed his cloak and was hurrying out the front door. “Remus!” Hermione called after him as he quickly took to the steps outside and raced down the sidewalk. He disappeared around the corner and Hermione reeled on Tonks, her eyes blazing.

“What in God’s name happened!? I leave you alone for half an hour and you’ve managed to ruin your marriage!”

“I didn’t ruin anything!”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Hemrione muttered, rubbing her head. “Tonks… you’re … you’re absolutely insane.”

“Me? He’s the one running around disemboweling peasants!”

“You’re crazy! Look what you’ve done to the poor man!”

“Look what he’s done to a million poor defenseless sheep!”

“For the last time He Is Not A Werewolf!”

“He is so! He didn’t even deny it.”

“Why would he deny it? The idea is deranged.”

Tonks stomped her foot. “You’re the one who’s deranged!”

“Ugh!” Hermione threw up her hands. Whatever her problems with Harry, at least she never accused him of being a werewolf or a Crumple Horned Snorkack or whatever other beasties were a regular fixture in The Quibbler.

“Tonks,” she said, forcing a few calming breaths. “Has it ever occurred to you that what you’re feeling right now has nothing to do with Remus?”

“What!?”

Hermione nodded sternly. “You rushed into marriage with a man you hardly knew, and now that you’re sick of the idea you’ve invented this crazy werewolf theory just so you can abandon him without feeling guilty.”

“Now that’s ridiculous.”

“No it isn’t. What’s ridiculous is your hiding in Meriton, thinking that avoiding Remus will help solve the problems in your marriage.”

“Ha!”

“Ha?”

“That’s right: Ha! Why don’t you take your own advice and apply it to Harry.”

“What!” Hermione’s mouth fell open. She sputtered a bit before she could muster a coherent answer. “First of all, that is none of your business. And secondly, I’m not pretending that Harry is a werewolf!”

“You might as well.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Tonks looked at her spitefully. “It means that suddenly Harry’s this horrible monster that you’re running away from. I saw you at Septima’s party, sprinting out the door like you’d accidentally set the house on fire. The man might as well be a three-headed dog or an ogre from the way you treat him. So before you lecture me about hiding from Remus, you’d better take a good long look at yourself first. You think running away won’t solve anything? Well that’s exactly what you’re doing. Only you,” she jabbed Hermione in the shoulder, “don’t know the first thing about love.”

“Me! What about you? Look what you’ve done to Remus!”

Tonks made a waving gesture with her hand. “Oh he’ll get over that. I was angry and told him exactly what I thought of him and what he needs to do to make things right, which is more than I can say for you. You’ve turned Harry into this horrible kind of monster. Harry only hid that stupid letter because he wanted to protect you and take care of you, although I can’t imagine why. Ungrateful little thing you are.”

Hermione’s eyes widened with surprise. “How…how did you know about the letter?”

“Harry told Remus and Remus told…well…he didn’t tell me. I was eavesdropping on them when I heard it.”

“I can’t believe you did that!”

“How I heard about it isn’t the point! The point is how utterly utterly wrong you are and how stupidly stubborn you’re being. And now you have the nerve to stand there all righteous-like and tell me how ridiculous and deranged I am about love. Ha! I’m not the one fighting myself every step of the way. I haven’t declared war on my messy emotions. I followed my heart and married the man I love. And yes, I still think things will work out between us, werewolf or not, because I believe that he’s special and our marriage is special and maybe I’m still working through the finer points of that, but I believe everything will be all right. You’ve just given up…which makes you the one who’s deranged and ridiculous, not me.”

Hermione scowled at her cousin as silence fell over the room. The two girls stared at each other until Tonks turned on her heel and raced upstairs. Cursing Tonks under her breath, Hermione hurried into the study and slammed the door shut behind her. Pacing around the room, she told herself over and and over how utterly crazy her cousin was.

“Unbelievable…Tonks is just…ugh!”

Hermione kicked at a chair leg. “And I haven’t turned Harry into a monster…that’s silly…ridiculous …why would I do that? Why would anyone do that? Anyone besides Tonks that is? She’s the only one in this family who could imagine she’s married to a creature out of The Quibbler.”

Luna’s knitting things were on the armchair by the window and Hermione angrily tossed them aside and fell into the seat in a huff.

“After all, I didn’t make Harry hide the letter from me. I didn’t turn him into a monster… it was his own doing…

…And just because I don’t throw myself in his arms doesn’t mean I overanalyze everything and think the worst of people and push people away. Harry pushed me away! He’s the one who lied to me and hid things from me and went to London and forgot about me for months and months…”

The room was silent except for her heavy breathing. Only the rustle of the curtains answered her. They didn’t sound very sympathetic.

000000000000000000000000

A few afternoons later, Luna found herself sitting alone in the study after a lonely lunch. The skies were dark and gray and the wind had carried a dreary chill down from the north. It wasn’t a very nice day outside, but come to think on it, it wasn’t a very nice day inside either. Humming a sad song, she took out her knitting and carefully threaded the needles. Although she usually found knitting relaxing, the tap-tap sounds of her needles only reminded her how silent and somber the house had become—Tonks and Hermione hadn’t spoken to each other for days now, and to make matters worse, Luna found herself caught in the middle of it. Literally in the middle of it. At meals they would sit on either side of her, making sure Luna was very much aware their ignoring each other…

“Luna, please ask whats-her-name there to pass the butter” (Tonks stiffly motioned to Hermione).

Shaking her head, Luna asked Hermione for the butter.

Her nose buried in a book, Hermione acknowledged neither of them as she wordlessly slid the dish down the table.

“And if you have any inclination to talk to Miss Bookworm down there, tell her I’m not planning on giving it back anytime soon,” Tonks added, smearing the yellowy butter over her bread.

Luna sighed and repeated what Tonks said.

Hermione made a ladylike snort and turned the page of her book.

Luna didn’t bother repeating Hermione’s snort. She couldn’t anyway. Luna didn’t know how a “lady-like snort” was even possible…

Try as she may, no amount of humming or knitting could help her mood. Neither could sunshine or birds chirping or children laughing…not that there was much of that anyway today.

And since Luna’s thoughts were already drifting, they drifted to the window and beyond, to the unhappy-looking gray skies and then to the cheerful patches of pink wildflowers on the hillsides and to the cocoa-colored cobblestones on the streets and then to the black carriage with drawn curtains waiting outside their front stoop. It was dark and forbidding and fairly ominous-looking. It was obviously waiting for something…or someone. It was just sitting there…waiting…but waiting for what?

“It has to be a sign,” Luna muttered thoughtfully. The carriage itself didn’t mean much. It was just an ordinary black chaise, but the family crest on the side, now that had to be important. A bright red shield with three ravens on it. She’d learned all about that sort of thing in school. Divination had been her best subject. According to volume three of The World According to Augur, ravens were a sign of knowledge, and the number three was a sign of change—So if Luna had to guess, she’d say whoever was in the carriage was bringing knowledge that would change something or someone…or a three someones…as in herself, Hermione and Tonks.

Luna was puzzling over just what that change might be when Hermione came through the study door holding a heavy textbook. Lost in her thoughts, Luna looked up from her knitting and smiled faintly.

“What’s is it Luna?” Hermione asked as she put her book away.

“Oh nothing…I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About a lot of things,” Luna said dreamily. “Like how quiet the house has been lately. And why you and Tonks aren’t talking to each other. And why there’s a mysterious carriage waiting outside our front door.”

“Yes… I was wondering that too.” Hermione looked outside, ignoring Luna’s first two points. Neither the carriage nor the livery of the servant who preceded it were familiar. But the family crest on the door was famous enough: a red shield with three ravens perched under a drawn sword. It was unmistakably the seal of the House of Black.

Hermione said as much to Luna, who just smiled and said something about how nice it was for Sir Sirius to send Tonks some of her things. Hermione agreed, but couldn’t help think how odd it was that the carriage was just sitting there, its curtains drawn and no luggage anywhere on it.

Gathering her knitting things, Luna said she’d tell Tonks about it. Just as she was hurrying up the stairs, a cloaked figure emerged from the carriage. His face was concealed by a black hat with a wide brim and his lean frame was cloaked with an expensive-looking black cape. He studied the house for a moment before taking a few long determined strides towards the front steps.

Turning away from the window, Hermione stood in uneasy silence until she heard the front door open and the visitor enter. She heard Hil direct him to the study and the sound of heavy footsteps soon followed. Only after the study door was violently thrown open was Hermione able to see him for the first time. He was a tall thin man with raven hair and coal-black eyes. He had a strong jaw, long aristocratic cheekbones, and a commanding, arrogant air about him. Startled as she was, it only took her a moment to recognize him from his family portrait…she was standing in front of Sir Sirius Black himself.

If Sir Sirius has intended for his visit to take her completely by surprise, he’d succeeded. He was the last man she ever thought would turn up on her doorstep. But even with the added drama of a billowing cape and his piercing stare, Hermione still had enough presence of mind to greet him politely and offer him a seat.

Other than a slight inclination of his head, he made no attempt to acknowledge Hermione’s greeting. Shedding his cloak and hat, he sat down without saying a word. After sitting for a moment in silence, he said very stiffly to Hermione:

“You are Hermione Granger I suppose.”

Hermione said she was.

“And that girl at the window, I gather, was one of your sisters?”

Hermione nodded and forced a friendly smile, but Sir Sirius didn’t seem the least interested in returning it. Nervously wringing her hands, she waited for him to ask to see Tonks—or at the very least produce a letter from Remus—it was the only possible reason for his being there. But he said nothing. Instead he silently studied the room with a grim expression, leaving her completely puzzled.

Hermione cleared her throat. “I suppose you’ll want to speak to Tonks. I can go fetch her…”

“You don’t need to fetch Tonks,” Sir Sirius answered in a brisk, business-like manner. “You don’t need to fetch anyone. I came here to speak to you.”

“Me?” Hermione asked, astonished. “Um…very well. Shall I ring for some tea?”

“No. I don’t want to waste your time, and I certainly don’t want you to waste mine.”

“Oh … that’s…just fine,” Hermione muttered, not really know how to politely reply to that.

“You seem to be at a loss as to the reason for my coming here.”

Hermione nodded and said she was.

“You’re expecting my blessing no doubt.”

“Blessing?”

“For your engagement of course.”

“My engagement!?” Now she really was confused.

“Oh yes,” Sir Sirius sneered, unamused by the banter. “I’ve heard several rumors that you and my godson will very soon be married.”

“Harry? But I…I have no idea what you’re talking about…”

“And I know Harry has given you his mother’s ring. There’s no use denying it. I’ve heard so from Harry himself.”

“Well yes…he did…he did give it to me about four months ago. But we haven’t…”

Sirius didn’t let her finish. “And you still have it?”

Hermione didn’t answer him. Sirius waited a few moments, but it was clear his patience was running out. “I know you still have the ring. Harry told me as much. But are you engaged?”

“Um…no…but I…”

“And yet you kept the ring.”

“He…he hasn’t asked for it back.”

“Well that’s why I’m here.”

“So Harry sent you?” Hermione asked quietly.

Sir Sirius studied her a moment before answering in his slow, refined drawl. “No…as a matter of fact he hasn’t.”

“Then I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

“Because I know the value of that ring. Oh I don’t mean simply its material worth, but its sentimental value. That ring is to be kept in the Potter family, and I mean to ask for it back.”

“But I still don’t understand. Why hasn’t Harry come here himself?”

Sirius laughed harshly. “Because you’ve made him forget himself…in fact, you’ve caused trouble for nearly every man you’ve met.”

“I’m sorry?” She seethed. You must have me mistaken with Tonks, she thought. But judging from the way Sir Sirius was looking at her, he certainly did not mean Tonks. She tried to muster her most indignant, icy stare, but Sirius wasn’t the least impressed as he ticked off his prepared list of the many men she’d ruined:

“Remus is miserable because his wife is holed up in your house; Harry’s disappeared; and even Ron’s acting more idiotic than usual because of your sister. All because you’ve set your cap on marrying above your station.”

“That’s not fair!”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s fair. It’s true enough.”

“No it isn’t! Whatever Tonks and Remus are quarreling about has nothing to do with me!”

“I don’t care about Remus and Tonks. I want that ring back. And I mean to leave here with it.” His eyes looked black against the firelight, and his cheeks were heavily flushed. “Do you really expect Harry to marry you now? An in-law of Viktor Krum’s?”

Hermione started. She opened her mouth to reply but quickly closed it. Though a dozen equally cruel retorts flashed through her mind, she would not stoop to insulting him. After a moment’s deliberation she curtly answered: “I don’t expect anything from him. Except, maybe, never to see him again.”

“If I could be sure of that I wouldn’t be here now. But after his behavior in London I can’t be sure of anything anymore.”

“London? What do you mean?”

“His pathetic ‘hunt’ for Krum. His arranging of that infernal marriage. You can’t imagine what I went through, knowing he was wandering the backstreets and alleyways looking for that idiot Krum. You think he would’ve learned after last time to leave well enough alone.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise as silence fell over the room.

“What are you talking about?” she managed to choke out.

“I’m talking about how you’ve willfully compromised our family. How you’ve made Harry forget his duty to his family and his prospects…”

“No not that,” Hermione shook her head and checked the impulse to roll her eyes. “I mean…Harry’s searching for Viktor Krum. Did Harry have something to do with my sister’s marriage?”

Sirius leveled a haughty gaze at her. “You don’t know then?”

Hermione shook her head and urged him to explain.

“Harry has spent these last few months in London, searching out every seedy inn and boardinghouse until he found your sister and Viktor Krum.” Sirius spat out the name “Viktor Krum” with distain.

“And then?” Hermione asked in a trembling voice, already knowing the answer.

“Harry offered him a settlement and purchased a commission for him. The condition was that he marry your sister immediately.”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but nothing came out. She felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“Harry didn’t have to do that,” she said in a strangled voice.

Sir Sirius laughed harshly. “That’s exactly what I told him. But of course Harry wouldn’t listen to me. He went against my express wishes, which has happened repeatedly since he’s taken up with you…”

Stunned, Hermione sat silently as Sir Sirius went on and on about how Harry’s valiant efforts were wasted on such a sordid cause. Fortunately, she didn’t hear a word he said. Her head was spinning and she couldn’t breathe. Barely able to hold her body up, she leaned against the armrest on her chair. Had Harry really done all that? Gone to London, found Lavender, and arranged the marriage?

Looking back, it all made sense. Harry had been in London, she knew that much. And then there was the mysterious “inheritance” that had so conveniently come to Viktor… It didn’t take much for her to believe that Harry had been its source.

She shook her head sadly. It was just the sort of thing Harry would do. Harry had always been principled, caring, and above all protective. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

Probably because I’m a hateful cynic who thinks the worst of people, she muttered. But that wasn’t the only explanation. For her, reasoning had always been done with a careful, calm mind, but for the last few months, that same head had been bombarded by all sorts of odd, unfamiliar thoughts: desire, disappointment, passion, longing, regret, rage, disappointment… she felt as though she’d given way, she’d become a mess, a jumbled, muddled mess…and now this…

“…and I expect that will disappoint you,” Sir Sirius said triumphantly.

“I’m sorry, what?” Hermione asked in a distant voice, her mind still occupied with thoughts of Harry. “I didn’t hear you.”

Sir Sirius leveled his most intimating gaze at her. “It may interest you to know that I am the sole trustee of his family’s estate. I can strip him of his fortune at any time. And if he decides to marry you, I assure you I will. I’ve told Harry so repeatedly. Much good it does,” Sirius added bitterly.

“Is that true?” she gasped.

“Why would I lie about it?”

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. “Good god…No I didn’t know that…” she managed to stammer. “I can’t believe it. I just…I just can’t believe it…” Hermione couldn’t put it into words what she felt…and for a witch who prided herself on her ability to analyze, or at the very least, put what she was feeling into specific objective terms, it was incredibly frustrating. Later, she’d think back and realize she’d made some kind of “oh” sound.

Much to her surprise, and Sir Sirius’s, she was unable to conceal her smile. She was thrilled, ecstatic, she couldn’t hide her elation. He could lose everything and he loved me anyway… He’d give up all he had to marry me…he loved me that much… She smiled a dreamy smile that would put Luna’s to shame.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for telling me,” Hermione cried as she leapt to her feet. She wanted to hug him, but she stopped herself. Judging from Sir Sirius’s expression, this wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. He obviously thought that revealing his hold over Harry’s fortune would persuade her to forget him. However, it had just the opposite effect, and Hermione couldn’t hide the look of rapture from her face.

Never one to take disappointment in his stride, Sirius stood up impatiently. His black cape flapping behind him as he paced around the room. He reeled on her, his expression dark and his face twisted with anger. “You are resolved to have him then?”

“I never said so,” Hermione said with a dazzling grin. “I am only resolved to act in a way which will constitute my own happiness, and his.”

“So you also refuse to oblige me in giving back the ring?”

“Of course,” she replied with what she knew to be a sickeningly cheerful smile.

“Very well,” he said poisonously as he bowed. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

“Good day Sir Sirius, and thank you again,” she said in a sing-song voice as she followed him out of the room. It was her custom to see all the guests to the door, but she didn’t make much of an effort this time. Her head was spinning and she felt faint and she needed to speak to Harry. But where was he?

0000000000000000000000

Sir Sirius stormed back to his carriage. His cape swirled around his knees with a dramatic flourish as both man and cape disappeared through the carriage door. He pushed aside the curtain and glared back at the house. Hermione’s shadow fell against the study’s champagne-colored curtains. Throwing off his hat and gloves, Sirius settled into his seat, his eyes following her silhouette as she paced around the room. After a minute of watching her in silence, the stern line of his mouth slowly curled upwards into a smile, and the steely glint in his eyes melted into a soft fondness.

“She reminds me of your mother,” Sirius said thoughtfully, watching the curtains ripple as her shadow passed.

“Does she?” Harry asked miserably from across the carriage. He was nervously plucking at the wilting bundle of winter jasmine in his hand.

Sirius nodded. “Oh yes. She’s a lovely little thing, but she’s stubborn.” Sirius gave Harry a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Very stubborn. And that’s a good thing m’boy. At least she’ll stand up to you, which is what you bloody well need. You turn everything into a one-man crusade. It was an amusing trait when you were a youngster, but now it’s just pathetic.”

“So I’ve heard,” Harry said with a sigh. “So will she see me?”

Sirius shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You didn’t ask! Then what the hell were you doing in there? You were supposed to ask Hermione if I could see her. That’s the reason you’re here…that’s the reason you went to see her. How could you forget!”

“Oh right.” Embarrassed, Sirius chuckled a bit and shifted in his seat. “See Harry…about all that, well…here, you’d better just go ahead and do it.”

Harry angrily stared at him. “Oh, I see. I’m supposed to go and see her so I can ask if I can see her.”

“Um…yes.”

“For God’s sake Sirius… what were you two talking about for so long?”

“Well…you, for the most part.”

“Oh dear Merlin,” Harry rubbed his head, annoyed. “What did you say to her?”

“Several things. I wanted to find out who this young lady was.”

Harry sighed. “Really? Well, that’s just…grand.”

Sirius smiled. “Well, you’ll be happy to know she’s not after your money. I had to play a bit of a villain to find that out though. I told her I could strip you of your fortune and…” he trailed off with a sigh.

“And?”

“…And she refused to be the least bit impressed.”

“There, you see.”

“I’ll admit I was wrong about that.” Sirius shrugged. “But I couldn’t trust your judgment so I had to see for myself. And pretty girl or not, you certainly didn’t make things easy for yourself. She’s a willful little creature all right. Almost frighteningly so. She nearly told me to go to hell when I asked for your mother’s ring back.”

“You did what!”

Sirius shivered. “She’d put your father to shame with that icy stare of hers.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Why did you…? Why did you do that!?”

“Do what?”

“Ask for the ring back! I never told you to do that!”

“I know.”

“So…what the Hell were you thinking…of all the stupid…good God Sirius, you said you wanted to help me!”

“I did help you m’boy, or don’t you realize?”

“Realize what!?”

Sirius ticked off his fingers: “She’s refused to refuse to marry you. She won’t give the ring back, she doesn’t care that I can strip you of your fortune, and she actually thanked me as I stormed out of her house. It can only mean one thing.”

“She thinks my godfather’s an interfering jackass?”

“No. She’s in love.”

“Right.” Harry grumbled and sank down in his chair. “How could she not be? I have such charming relatives.”

“Yes you do. And it’s about time you admitted it.”

Harry cringed. “She’s going to turn me into a farm animal.”

“Well… there’s only one way to find out. And it doesn’t involve sitting in a carriage, staring at her front door.”

“I should’ve asked Draco along instead,” Harry muttered, rubbing his head. “He actually goes out of his way to charm women.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t charming.”

“Believe me, you didn’t have to.”

000000000000000000000000

Although Sir Sirius made sure to unceremoniously slam the door shut behind him, Hermione hardly heard it. She was too busy pacing around the room, wringing her hands and nibbling her bottom lip. Although she occasionally paused to peer out the window at the carriage (which was oddly enough still sitting in front of the house), her thoughts were centered on finding Harry.

Oh why didn’t Harry tell me…I have to hear these things from Sir Sirius of all people… I don’t…I still don’t understand… Why didn’t Harry just tell me?

Her shoulders stooped miserably as the realization dawned on her:

Probably because I never gave him the chance…

She had to speak to him, to tell him everything. About how sorry she was, and how grateful she felt and how she’d misjudged him. But where was he? He must have left Meriton by now. Sir Sirius said he’d disappeared…did he go back to London? Remus might know where he is. Tonks could write to him and ask him…or she could ask Remus herself. Either way, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding Harry...

She ran towards the sevant’s entrance to the hallway, calling Tonks’ name. She opened the door and nearly fell over Tonks and Luna who were kneeling on the floor, apparently using an upside-down jam jar to eavesdrop on her conversation with Sir Sirius.

Tonks stood up and pointed at Luna. “It was her idea.”

Luna calmly dusted herself off as she got off the floor. “I have to disagree with that.”

“I can’t believe you two!” Hermione cried.

“I can’t believe you!” Tonks shouted back, waving the jar around. “Sirius is my husband’s employer. He should be yelling at me, not you! What’s so special about you anyway? Why do you get to be the one making all the men in his family crazy? I’m much better at that than you are!”

Hermione started to argue with her, but found she couldn’t. On that point, Tonks was absolutely right. In any case it didn’t matter. Hermione had more important things on her mind.

“Tonks I don’t want to fight about it…” Hermione hushed her cousin. “I don’t care about any of that…I want you to write a letter to Remus.”

“But why?” Tonks’ mouth fell open. “Dear goddess! You’re sending me back to him, aren’t you?! All because I listened to your stupid conversation with stupid Sir Sirius! Oh come on Mione! I’ve done loads worse than that. And I couldn’t hear much anyway…”

“I don’t care about the eavesdropping. I want to find out where Harry is.”

“Harry?” Tonks snuck a glance at Luna, who looked just as puzzled as she was.

“Um… I don’t know where Harry is.”

“But Remus might. Oh Tonks…you have to write to him. You have to ask him.”

“I don’t have to do anything! Especially that!”

“Please Tonks,” Hermione begged.

Tonks shifted from one foot to the other. “But…but…but if I write to him, I’ll have to apologize or something, won’t I? I can’t just ask him all that without saying ‘Sorry I called you a cannibal’ or something like that.”

“Tonks…” Hermione said warningly.

“Besides there’s no guarantee Remus would know where Harry is.”

“But who else would know better than Remus?” Hermione asked despairingly.

“I know where Harry is,” Luna spoke up in her soft voice.

Hermione reeled on her, desperate to know. “Where is he? Tell me!”

Luna motioned to the study window. “He’s coming up our front walkway.”

Hermione turned around to find she was right. The carriage was gone and Harry Potter was purposely striding towards their front door holding a bouquet of white jasmine.

They heard a knock, and the three girls all froze. After more knocking, Luna elbowed Hermione.

“Answer it,” Luna whispered to Hermione as they all craned their necks to get a better look down the corridor.

“I…I can’t,” Hermione stammered, shaking her head.

“I’ll do it,” Tonks said with an evil grin.

“You most certainly will not!” Hermione grabbed her arm. “You are going straight upstairs to your room.”

“But why? I really really want to hear what Harry going to say.”

“Absolutely not!”

Tonks stomped her foot. “But I want to!”

Luna shook her head pityingly. “It’s cold outside. Somebody should really answer the door.”

“Oh Luna, you do it,” Hermione begged.

“But I thought you wanted to see Harry,” Luna said, puzzled. “You wanted Tonks to write to Remus who’d write to Harry who’d write to Remus who’d…”

“I know,” Hermione stopped her. “I know. But I wanted to write to Harry; I didn’t want to see him…not like this. I treated him so badly…I wouldn’t know what to say to him. Oh Luna, please answer the door. Just give me a few minutes to think this through…”

Luna shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know… It’s all so terribly exciting. I wouldn’t know what to say to Harry either.”

“I know what to say!” Tonks offered merrily. “It’ll be hilarious.”

Just then Hildegard materialized out of nowhere. Looking at the three girls like they were crazy, she opened the door and the raven-haired wizard entered. That’s when Hermione got her first look at him and her breath caught in her throat. Thinking and speaking suddenly became that much more impossible: his dark, unruly hair was messier than usual; the wispy strands stopped just above his eyes, making them seem all the more green and lovely…

“Come on Mione…go get him,” Tonks hissed, shoving Hermione down the hallway towards the front door.

“Tonks stop it!” Hermione protested, trying to push her away.

“Go throw yourself in his arms. That’s the way they do it in novels. Happy endings and all. Go on, do it. He’ll like it. I promise.”

“Stop shoving me!”

“Stop being stupid! Come on Mione. Think about it. Cakes! Presents! Pirates!”

“What are you talking about!?”

“Your wedding! It’ll be fantastically, pirate-y fun!”

While Hil was greeting their visitor, Hermione shook off Tonks and shot an appealing glance to Luna.

“Luna, do something…please…” Hermione begged under her breath. Harry was staring at them now, and with Tonks shoving her, Luna gazing off into nowhere, and herself silently panicking, Hermione was sure Harry was going to sprint out the door at any second.

“Hi Harry!” Tonks cried, breaking away from Hermione and leaping towards him.

“Um…hello Tonks,” Harry sighed uncomfortably.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Couldn’t keep away could you? Mione usually has the opposite effect on men.”

“Luna!” Hermione cried as she hid her face in her hands. Luna shot Tonks a stern look and told her to hush.

Tonks waved them away. “Say Harry, did you know Sir Sirius was just here? He gave Mione an earful. I mean, I think he did. Luna and I couldn’t hear much through the door. Well…whatever he said, it probably won’t do much good. Whenever I yell at Mione, she just ignores me.”

“Oh…well…all right…” Harry muttered faintly, eyeing the door.

Hermione began muttering curses under her breath. Her head was spinning and she felt dizzy. Barely able to keep upright, she could only imagine how it would all end. She only hoped it involved Harry's forgiving her and Tonks being thrown off a bridge.

00000000000000000000000000

21. Resolutions (of a not-so-New-Years kind)

000000000000000000000

Resolutions (of a not-so-New-Years kind)

Author’s Note: So it’s done. Finished. Ended. Over. Terminated.

Well, except for one silly and unnecessary epilogue, which I’m still writing.

Thanks so much for reading. This story took me nearly a year to write. A dozen lost files, countless false starts, and two laptops later, it’s finally done. But those are just details that bore. I really don’t want to finish by applauding myself for writing this story while walking uphill in the snow with no shoes on. Because I did. Twice. It was two hills and they were covered with broken glass and rabid dogs. So thanks again for all the reviews, the criticism, and the well-wishing. And really, just thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

0000000000000000

It was a nightmare. A Tonks-inspired nightmare. Hermione looked helplessly on as her jubilant cousin greeted Harry in her utterly unhelpful, evil way.

“Hi Harry!” Tonks exclaimed, a wicked grin on her face.

“Er…Hello Tonks,” Harry winced as if expecting a blow.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Couldn’t keep away, could you? Mione usually has the opposite effect on men.”

Hermione’s hands balled into fists as she counted to ten, trying to control her rising anger. Unfortunately, only a series of horrible, disfiguring curses came to mind:

One: Amphamora…Two: Treanonia…Three: Gaseousnous (that’s a good one, she’ll blow up like a balloon)…

All the while, Tonks went on, blissfully unaware of any immediate danger to her person. “Did you know Sir Sirius was just here? He gave Mione an earful. Probably didn’t do much good though. Whenever I shout at her, she just ignores me.”

While Harry tried to think of a nice way of replying to that, Hermione managed to gather her courage and spoke up for the first time: “Would you mind waiting outside Harry?” she said as evenly as she could. She cringed as her voice squeaked in a not-adorable way.

He turned to her for the first time, studying her intently.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asked softly. He sounded hurt, she couldn’t say for certain because she staring at the floor.

“Oh…leave? No…” she trailed off. “Um…no…of course not Harry,” she stammered. “I just…that is…I don’t think…”

“Yeah, don’t leave Harry,” Tonks piped up. “Mione’s just going to yell at me but that won’t take too long. She’ll just toss me upstairs and chew my ear off about some silly thing or another.”

“And she’d be right to,” Luna nodded sagely.

Tonks shrugged. “Well I never said she wasn’t.”

“And that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night.” Luna smiled as turned to Harry. “Hello Harry. How have you been?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good. You’ll have to excuse Tonks. She’s prone to seizures.”

Tonks scratched her head. “I am?”

“Seizures that affect her mouth. In fact, I’d better take her upstairs now before it happens again. Go on Hermione. You two should leave her to me.” Luna ushered Tonks upstairs while she motioned for Harry to wait outside.

Luna is an angel, Hermione thought, watching Harry until he disappeared down the front steps. And Tonks is the Devil, that’s the only explanation…

Hermione said as much as she watched her lovely, wonderful older sister usher evil horrible Tonks upstairs.

“I know,” Luna replied. “Now go. Shoo.”

“Shoo?” Hermione echoed nervously, eyeing the front door. “Don’t you need help…um…yelling at Tonks?”

Luna rolled her eyes. It was the only time Hermione had ever seen her sister even remotely impatient.

“Hermione, I love you. I do. Really. But I’ve been waiting months to tell you this. Are you ready to hear it? Good. Here it goes: Talk. To. Harry.”

“Talk…?”

“To Harry. Go talk to Harry. Go. Now. Right now. Go.”

Hermione shook her head, confused. “You’ve been waiting months to tell me that?”

“Yes. Maybe even longer. It’s been just awful watching you waste away over all this nonsense. After Lavender was married I thought you two would work things out for yourselves…but you haven’t. So now I’m insisting. Go. Now. And don’t come back until you tell Harry…well…whatever it is you need to tell him.”

Hermione was amazed. “Luna…I’ve never heard you talk like this.”

“Well somebody’s had to maintain some semblance of sanity in this family. You certainly haven’t, and Tonks…well… Tonks is special.”

“There’s a nice of putting it.”

“Never mind about Tonks. Go on. Harry’s waiting. Goodness knows how long he’s been waiting for you.”

“Stop shoving me!”

“Stop being stupid,” Luna quipped. Tossing Hermione a lacy white wrap, Luna gave her sister a quick hug and gave her another push towards the door.

“Good luck,” Luna said softly.

“I’ll need it,” Hermione replied, steeling herself as she opened the front door.

Sending one last wave to her sister, Luna headed upstairs. She found Tonks sadly looking out the guestroom window, watching Hermione and Harry on the steps below.

“What’s wrong Tonks?”

Tonks sniffled and shrugged. “S’nothing.”

“What is it?”

“Well…It just occurred to me…Harry’s going to marry Hermione. I mean, he’s really going to marry her, isn’t he?”

Luna nodded.

“And that means you’ll be off and married before long too. Probably to Ron. Or Draco Malfoy. I met him, you know. He’s Sirius’s nephew. Horrible name aside, he’s actually very handsome. Much more so than Ron. You’ll have albino children of course, but there are worse things in life. Like being Mrs. Ronald Weasley for one.”

“Tonks,” Luna sighed, deciding to ignore Tonks’ nonsensical chatter. “Why are you so upset?”

“With you married, I’ll be here all alone…with no husbands and no friends at all.” Tonks sniffled as Luna patted her on the back.

“But Tonks, you’re already married.”

“I know, but Remus hates me because I’m a horrible wife and wasn’t understanding about his being a werewolf. After all, it’s not as though he can help it. I’m sure he didn’t ask to be a werewolf…and even if he did, I’m sure he didn’t realize it involved eating peasants.”

“Maybe it’s time you went home. Werewolf or not, he’s still your husband. I’ll bet he misses you.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course he does. Besides, the ravens on the carriage told me Change was coming for all three of us. That probably means it’s time for you go home and take care of your husband.”

“Ravens, huh?”

Luna nodded.

Tonks gave a grateful smile. “I like talking to you Luna.”

“Really?”

“It’s not every day I meet someone who makes less sense than I do.”

0000000000000000000000000

Hermione shrugged the lacy wrap over her shoulders as she trotted down the steps towards a waiting Harry. In her fog of panic, it suddenly dawned on her that her future would be decided by the man standing in front of her. Well, not standing. Harry was pacing up and down the stretch of sidewalk, apparently lost in thought.

“Hello,” she said softly, announcing her presence.

Harry turned to her, an indecipherable look on his face.

“All sorted out?”

“Well…um…yes. I mean, no. I mean Tonks is…well… I wanted to say how sorry I am about her,” Hermione said in a strangled voice.

Harry said he didn’t mind. He was used to that sort of thing from Tonks by now.

She forced a nervous twitter of a laugh and agreed. But that wasn’t what she wanted to do. She wanted to say something clever and charming and comforting. Something that would make him smile that wonderful smile and make the light in his eyes dance…but all she could think to do was apologize again and again and nervously wring her hands.

Luckily, Harry had enough charity in him to interrupt her ramblings by holding out the white jasmine he’d been carrying.

“Here,” he offered shyly. Hermione blushed as she took them, muttering a quick ‘thank you’ as she breathed in their scent.

“I thought you’d like them,” he said lamely, motioning to the flowers.

Hermione nodded weakly. “I do.”

“I forgot that you already have plenty of them.”

“Oh… but I like them,” Hermione replied quickly. “We could always use more. Not that we… um…do need more, that is…” she trailed off, embarrassed. Well done Hermione. She mentally kicked herself.

“How would you…” Harry began. “Harry, do you…” she started.

They both laughed and Hermione said, “Go on, you first.”

He suggested that they go for a walk and Hermione nodded with a shy smile.

“What were you going to say?” he asked.

“Oh…um…” she stared blankly into the green pools of his eyes, “Say? Oh…um…well, I can’t remember.”

“Oh,” Harry replied as he tucked his hands in his pockets.

Hermione couldn’t tell if it was an impatient gesture or a casual one. She hoped for the latter as they strolled along the sidewalk.

The weather had driven the townsfolk indoors, and the streets were nearly empty. Frost was melting in the small gardens that lined the streets, and the first flowers were starting to bloom in the window boxes. Patches of green grass could be see on the distant hills as the late afternoon sun shined a soft golden glow that turned the brick buildings a pink and copper color. Although she pretended to admire the quiet beauty of the town, inside, Hermione was reeling. She wanted to say something. Anything. But nothing came to her.

This is ridiculous, she sighed. Harry’s here. He’s right here…Standing right next to you…Say something…Say anything! Do it. Say something now Hermione… go on…

She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

…All right. Fine. Just wait until you think of something…something poetic to say. Of course we’ll probably be halfway to London by then…

Silent still, they walked through the empty lanes of Meriton. The muffled sounds of their footsteps and the creaking wheels of distant carriages were the only sounds breaking the noticeable silence between them. They crossed a side street and ended up on a path into the fields surrounding the town. The road curved upward, and soon they found themselves on a beaten path, heading up a grassy hill. Fuzzy bushels of purple sage spouted out from the ground and cheerful yellow daisies bobbed in the breeze. The scene was one of joyful natural splendor, which contrasted greatly with the two nervous young people and the dark clouds overhead.

Harry held her hand, helping her along the rocky terrain. She felt his side brush against hers, the curve of her hand in his…She had to say something…or he had to. They couldn’t just keep walking on like this forever, could they?

Her grip on his arm tightened they carefully stepped over the jutting rocks. It was steeper than she realized, and after nearly tripping over an upturned root, he caught her to him in a swift single motion.

Suddenly, she was in his arms again. His hand was at her waist and the other at the small of her back. They were close to each other, very close. He only had to lean forward a few centimeters and his lips would graze her cheek. She could feel her side pressing against his and his hand knotted in the curls at the back of her neck. Startled, she stared up at him and noticed his eyes flicking down to her mouth.

“Harry do you…?” she started.

“Yes?” Harry asked breathlessly as the blush in her cheeks rose.

“Do you…?”

“Well?” He urged her in a tender tone.

“Um…Do you…do you know where we’re going?”

“Oh,” Harry looked around for the first time. “Um…no. Actually, I was following you.”

“Oh…well…I was following you.”

“Oh,” he echoed.

She wanted to laugh aloud at the phenomenal idiocy that was Hermione Granger.

They awkwardly pulled apart and continued on in silence, trying not to trip over the rocky terrain. She noticed his lips were drawn in a tight frown, and he looked more miserable than ever as they started back down the hill.

Say something…Honestly… You’re impossible Hermione…

It was true. She was impossible. She was humbled, she was frightened, she repented, although she hardly knew of what. She needed to talk to him. It couldn’t wait another moment. She was sure she was about to do something…something completely insane…she could feel it bubbling up inside her…

She opened her mouth to break the silence. She had to speak, even if it was as mundane as a remark about the weather:

“I love you.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. She stopped in her tracks and clapped her hand over her mouth. Her face turned a bright pink and her eyes fell to the ground.

Surprised, Harry spun around. Neither of them said a word as he studied her with an unreadable expression.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but the same thing happened again:

“I…I love you Harry.”

There it was. The truth. Lying like a dead duck between them.

“I’m sorry…” she went on helplessly, refusing to look at him, furiously backtracking. “I wanted to say how sorry I was about…everything that happened…and I…” she felt the tears welling up in her eyes “…I didn’t know you were in London looking for Lavender…I thought…” her voice gave way to a sob as she began wiping the tears from her cheeks “…I don’t know what I thought…”

“Hermione…” Harry started towards her, an amazed look on his face. “Did you just say you loved me?”

Harry looked on as she nodded, struggling for something resembling a coherent sentence. When he tried to take another step towards her, she motioned for him to keep his distance.

“No!” Hermione looked up, alarmed. She held her arms out. “…Um… there. Just stay there. That is…um…please stay there. I need to tell you something. Something else besides…um…what I just told you.”

She took a few calming breaths and went on, hoping against hope that whatever she was about to say was going to make sense:

“I do…I do love you…” She went on, words pouring out of her mouth like wine out of a drunkard’s flask. “Not that I expect that you’re still… I mean, obviously you feel something for me, but I would never presume to…um…well, um...”

Taking a breath, she started over again: “…Harry I’ve been… I’ve been such a fool. I threw everything we had away because I was angry. Not even angry with you really, but with everyone. Viktor and Lavender and mostly myself. But I didn’t…I never thought…I was just so hurt by everything that happened and I blamed you. It was wrong of me. I know that now but…I just…I don’t…”

“Hermione,” Harry began, a tender note to his voice.

“No, no…please… please let me just say this…” She paused, trying to collect herself as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I know how you helped Lavender. Sir Sirius told me everything. And I just…I just wanted to say that I’m incredibly grateful…and…and amazed you would do this for my family.”

“I didn’t…”

“Oh Harry please don’t deny it. I can’t believe Sir Sirius would make it up.”

He took a small step towards her, as if approaching a timid animal that was ready to run at any moment. “I didn’t do anything for your family. I did it for you. Your family, however much as I like them…even Tonks…well…I was only thinking of you. No one else.”

A few teardrops fell from her eyes, and she hastily wiped them away. “But why?” she begged. “I…I treated you so badly. Why would you ever want to see me again?”

Harry took another step towards her, but Hermione responded by taking an unsteady step back. She had to finish her awful, incoherent speech, and if he even so much as touched her, she was sure she’d fall to his feet in a helpless pile of sobs.

“When Sir Sirius came here and told me how…how utterly unsuitable we are for each other…I just…I just couldn’t believe that. Because we are right for each other. I mean, maybe even perfect…as much as I hate that word. And I don’t mean that you’re never wrong or that you’re not impossibly impulsive… because you are. And I’m pessimistic and cynical and I think the worst of everyone…but I…I missed you so much. Please say you forgive me…I don’t know what I’ll do if…if I can never see you again…”

Before she could cobble together another incoherent sentence, he caught her hand and pulled her to him. She didn’t struggle as he cradled her to his chest.

“I think I’m done talking now,” she said miserably as he brushed a stray curl away from her face.

He shook his head fondly. “Poor girl. My poor lovely girl…”

“Oh Harry,” she whispered. “M’ sorry” she said breathlessly against his shoulder. “It’s been so awful…I’m so sorry…I’m sorry. For everything I said and…I didn’t…I didn’t know…” she held onto him tightly. Her knees buckled and he lifted her to him.

Harry held her to him, kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. “It’s all right lovely,” he said over and over again as tears streamed from her eyes. Harry kissed them away as they fell. “It’s all right, I’m sorry my lovely. Don’t cry…”

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” Hermione said repeated against his lips.

“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry…”

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured absently, her breath hitching in her chest. He kissed her cheeks softly, tenderly, telling her without words that he understood and that he felt the same way. His hand found the small of her back, pulling her impossibly closer.

“But Harry...why?” she sighed against his shoulder.

“Why what?” Harry mumbled.

“Why did you help Lavender like that?”

“You know why.”

“No I don’t…Why did you do that?”

Studying her a moment, Harry didn’t answer her.

“Why?” Hermione asked again, her voice trembling as he stared at her.

“Because I’m going to marry you,” he said softly. “If you’ll have me.”

Wondering if it was all a dream, she slowly nodded. It was all she could do at this point.

Without another word, he lifted her head up, gently pressing his mouth to hers. His lips were so sweet and soft and she just wanted to hold onto him tightly and never let go.

0000000000000000000000000

An hour later, they were sitting under an ancient beech tree. Bottle green leaves were just starting to appear on the bare branches, catching the scant sunlight and casting an emerald hue over them. Hermione was cozily curled up in Harry’s lap as he traced the curve of her neck with his fingertips and kissed a trail along her jaw, all the while whispering sweet things into her ear.

After one particularly sweet thing, she blushed, and the color finally returned to her ashen complexion. Harry noticed and teased her about how pale she went when she first saw him.

“Well…it was a surprise,” she replied, turning an even brighter shade of pink. “You were the last person I thought would be knocking on our front door.”

“I just wanted to see you.”

“Really?”

He responded by lifting her head back up and captured her lips with his. They explored each other's mouths until she felt dizzy. A groan emanated low in his throat as his hand tangled in her hair. Hermione melted against him, squirming in his lap as light tingles ran up and down her spine.

Hermione pulled away, trying to catch her breath as Harry planted a soft line of kisses down her cheek.

“Harry,” Hermione said shyly. “Did you really mean that?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Nope.”

She laughed. “Do you really want to marry me?”

“Yes. Although I wasn’t planning on asking you here.”

“In Meriton?”

“No…in a field.”

Hermione gave a secret smile as his lips brushed against her ear. She told him she couldn’t imagine a better place.

“It did end better than the last time,” Harry whispered, holding her close as the breeze began to pick up.

“Well, it couldn’t have been worse, could it?”

“Yes, but that was your fault. Remember, you were the one who said ‘no’.”

Hermione chuckled. “I had my reasons.”

“And are do those reasons still apply?”

She shook her head, laughing as he kissed her again. After an impossibly long time, she rested her head on his shoulder as she waited for the scenery to stop spinning and for her heart to slow its beat. She still couldn’t believe she was here with Harry. They were engaged. In love…It was all so unreal. She could scarcely believe it was happening…Her mind drifted to her family. If she couldn’t believe it, they weren’t likely to. She wondered how they would react to the news.

Of course Hermione didn’t know that her Aunt’s maternal feelings would swell with stately pride when she heard that her niece had accepted Harry Potter’s proposal. The day Aurora returned from Trune, Hermione followed her up to her room and slowly told her of her engagement to Harry, how they’d fallen in love at Godric’s Hollow, and how the chaos that ensued nearly separated them forever. It was an abridged version of the story of course, but all the while, Aurora sat stiffly on her bed, unable to utter a word. At length, Aurora began to recover, to fidget about in her chair and wring her handkerchief in her twisting hands. She asked to see Hermione’s emerald ring at least a dozen times. She got up, sat down, got up again, wandered and paced around the room:

Good gracious…Lord bless me! Harry Potter! Who would have thought it? And you of all the girls? It’s just unbelievable! And is it really true? Oh my sweetest Hermione! Engaged! My cleverest, loveliest girl…how rich you will be! Lavender’s is nothing to it. Nothing! Such a charming man! So handsome…Oh my dearest… And a special license! You must be married by a special license…My dearest Hermione! Two girls married, and I’m sure Luna won’t be far behind. Your marrying Harry Potter will throw her in the way of other rich men…like that charming Sir Sirius, who must certainly be coming to dinner now. But my dearest…you must tell me what dish Sir Sirius is most fond of. I’ll make sure to order it when he comes to visit.

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

Lavender sent a congratulatory letter, which was fairly brief but to the point:

My Dearest Hermione,

I was soooo surprised to get your letter and even more surprised to hear about your engagement to Harry Potter. He’s so tall and charming and rich. Do tell him I said hello. It seems ages since I last saw him in London. If you love him half as well as I love dear Viktor, you’ll be very very happy. It’s a great comfort to have you so happily matched, and to such rich man no less. I’ve heard he’s well connected too. Isn’t he related to Sir Sirius and the Malfoys? It’s thrilling, isn’t it? Having such an influential family. I’m sure Viktor would like a job in the Ministry very much. The military doesn’t seem to suit him anymore. Any position would do, of about three or four hundred a year. Oh, I would love to live in London again. Or perhaps Bexhill. They have such wonderful beaches in Bexhill.

Yours truly,

Lavender Krum

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

Sirius also sent a congratulatory note. His was even shorter than Lavender’s, but far more welcomed, especially after Harry told Hermione about his small part in bringing them together:

Sir Sirius Black

Bangladesh

UP Station

Well done Harry [stop]

I told you I was charming [stop]

Sincerely. Sirius Black [stop]

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

Lupin likewise wrote a short note. However brief, he gave some helpful advice to Harry:

Remus Lupin

Darnely

UP Station

Congratulations on the engagement Harry [stop]

I’m glad you two finally worked out your troubles [stop]

Don’t let Tonks take Hermione shopping for the wedding clothes [stop]

Sincerely. Remus Lupin [stop]

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

Luna didn’t act surprised at all. She just smiled in her dreamy but wise way:

“Of course you’re engaged to Harry. It took me some time, but that’s what I finally realized what the ravens were trying to say.”

“Ravens?”

“On the carriage.”

“The carriage?” Hermione asked, confused.

“The one with the three ravens on it. You see they brought change with them. The best kind of change. Congratulations Hermione. I know you’ll be very happy with Harry.” With that Luna folded her in a tight hug.

“Oh…well…thank you…” Hermione muttered, thinking how she could live a hundred years and never understand her sister.

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

Tonks seemed more surprised than Luna did, spilling her coffee and dropping her copy of The Quibbler on the breakfast table. She threw her arms around Hermione and squealed excitedly.

“Oh that’s great Hermione! I knew it would happen…eventually. Once you both stopped acting like idiots, that is.”

“Well …um… thank you. It seems you were right.”

“I know I was right. The important thing is that you know that I was right. So when’s the wedding? We should go to Pemberley to buy the wedding clothes. I’ve had my eye on this emerald eye-patch for Harry…”

“No!… I mean…It’s going to be a very small, very traditional ceremony.”

“What? No pirates?”

“No pirates, fairies, dung beetles, or whatever other crazy costume you had in mind.”

“And I suppose you’ll wear a white dress…”

“…With shoes and everything,” Hermione finished for her.

“Let’s hope Ron doesn’t vomit on them.”

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

Back the meadow, the scenery finally stopped spinning and Hermione was shaken out of her reverie as Harry gently cupped her face. He leaned toward her, the intensity of their feelings unbearable before their lips even touched. And then she felt it, the warm familiar embrace of his lips against hers, lingering softly for what seemed like eternity.

Hermione finally understood what it meant when lovers described seeing fireworks. A glimmer of champagne-colored light danced behind her closed eyes, blinding her with its brilliance. Neither of them realized it was just the final flash of a setting sun disappearing over a distant hillside. But Harry and Hermione’s thoughts were miles away as they finally pulled apart and looked into each other’s eyes. They smiled a smile of unblemished joy as their thoughts drifted to the future they would have together:

Over the years to come, Sirius’s affection for them both would bring him to Godric’s Hollow more often than anything else could. His greatest delight would be visiting the happy couple, especially when he was least expected. His attachment to Hermione was exactly what Harry had hoped for, and Hermione had the highest opinion in the world of his godfather. She was endlessly surprised by the odd assortment of books Sirius managed to find for her in the remote corners of the globe. It especially came in handy when Harry and Hermione decided to turn the old tumbledown Hollow into the first public library in the county…

Ron would settle in permanently at The Grange. For months rumors would circulate that he and Luna were engaged, then un-engaged, then eloping, then seeking an annulment of said elopement, etc., etc. Only their close circle of friends knew that the couple was just taking their time, as Luna was unwilling to follow Tonks and Lavender’s example of rushing into a hasty marriage. Instead she and Ron had a quiet courtship, with evenings spent on her front porch and long walks through the woods, waiting until a bright winter day to be wed in front of their family and friends…

Lupin and Tonks (Best Man and Matron of Honor at the Potters’ wedding) would always be welcomed at Godric’s Hollow. Harry and Hermione felt the warmest gratitude to the odd couple, who, by bringing Hermione to Pemberley for a ridiculous Celtic wedding, had been the means of uniting them forever...

But all these things were years to come. For now, she and Harry dreamed of a future anchored in a love that at first had seemed unlikely to take root, but had somehow grown into a true devotion. And so this story ends with much happiness and goodwill. Hopefully, we’ve all learned a valuable lesson about pride, prejudice, sweaters, cardinal spells, and the other impossibly inconvenient things that make love all the more worthwhile.

00000000000000000000

The end.

Epilogue coming soon.

000000000000000000000

22. Epilogue: Say the Bells of St. Clement's

Say the Bells of St. Clement’s

Author’s note: In all honesty, I couldn’t decide how to end this strange sprawling story, so here’s a short “wedding night” chapter I threw together. It isn’t incredibly graphic. It might bump up the rating to an “R,” but I’m not sure. It’s about as sexy as I get. I normally don’t do smut—unless it involves Davender, of course (it’s funny if you know what Davender is). So please, no complaints. My fragile, unbalanced Tonksian ego can only handle so much…

Oh, and on a side note, I don’t use their names because I liked the idea that maybe it’s not them, that I’m not violating the sanctity of P&P with a bunch of sweaty groping.

Since this is my absolutely last author’s note, I’ll…well…I’ll just trail off into a patented fit of random Magpie rambling. After all, it’s my space to say whatever I want…It’s my domain. My kingdom. There are no characters to hide behind; there’s no nonsensical Tonksian need to spout strange and endlessly amusing extended metaphors …so here it goes…the real Magpie…wild and wonderful and unfiltered… The real Magpie. Really real… Really really real…and…um…real…um…well…of course…I really don’t have anything of substance to say… soooo…. yeah…hummm…now I’m getting bored…really really really bored…I miss my metaphors…and now I’m tired…and hungry…

Oh puck it…I’ll just thank everyone for going on this literary outing with me. It started as a flicker that grew into a fire that managed to consume a good portion of my free time. Looking back over the last dozen or so chapters, I still say my favorite parts are the wildly irrelevant Tonksian rants. Somehow I think I’ve found my literary soul mate in that crazy-little-engine-that-can’t. So again, thanks for reading.

I wish I could leave off with a beautiful Thomas Gray quote. Or maybe I’ll just subtly fold it into the text. Maybe you wonderful readers will realize that it’s a quote that’s relevant not only for the characters but for all writers everywhere…then again, maybe not…either way…I’m going to stop typing.

Oh, and my next story’s going to be a good-old-fashioned murder mystery straight from the school of Agatha Christie. After all, it’s a natural progression from Shakespeare to Austen to Christie. At least I think so…then again, I think Tonks would make the best detective in all the history of detecting. So what do I know?

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

000000000000000000000

Dark rain clouds drifted through the night sky allowing only scant traces of moonlight to shine on the seaside town below. Anyone with an ounce of sense had taken refuge indoors. Anyone… except for the two young people who were hurrying up the steps of Godric’s Hollow.

The woman, or the girl really, had her unruly curls pinned up in an elegant bun. A ring of baby’s breath formed a crown amongst the hazelnut-colored ringlets. She was wearing a delicate wedding dress trimmed with antique lace and crystals beads. Laughing, she tried to keep up with her new husband. One hand was holding his arm while the other tried to keep her dress from dragging on the damp cobblestones.

Her husband was a tall, broad-shouldered man with raven hair. He gave a boyish grin and lifted his wife over a mud puddle that was pooling by the steps to the front door. As he lowered her to the ground she whispered something in his ear that made him laugh and pull her into a tight hug. That’s when he noticed that several of her ringlets had fallen out of the intricate crown of flowers. His hands itched to touch them as he watched the glossy curls lightly bounce around her lovely white shoulders. It suddenly dawned on him that the girl he was holding was, in fact, his wife.

“Hello Mrs.-----,” he whispered against her cheek.

His new wife beamed. It was the second time today someone called her that. His was decidedly more musical than the vicar’s.

“Hello Mr. ------,” she murmured as he cradled her to his chest. She curled her arms around his neck and gave him a lingering kiss as rain began to fall in sheets around them. Her husband ran his fingers through her hair, tracing a feathery trail down the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, drinking in the marvelous sensations that his touch caused.

Kissing her temple, he asked her whether she wanted to go back.

“Are you joking?” Her voice nearly gave out as he planted light kisses along her jaw

He chuckled. “You didn’t like the reception?”

His wife shivered as he kissed her temple again. “Not really…Tonks was drunk. And Draco lobbed a firecracker curse at Ron’s head…”

“I remember,” he muttered, running his lips over her neck.

She sighed his name as her head fell back. “We should…mmmm….” she hummed in contentment and trailed off.

“We should what?”

“Go inside…it’s …it’s starting to pour…”

Without another word, he scooped her up and kicked open the front door to their spansive home.

She shouted his name, laughing as a few fat raindrops followed them indoors.

“I have to carry you over the threshold. It’s tradition.”

Stifling her laughter, she struggled until he set her on her feet. She ducked away from his grasp and darted into a dark hallway. Rounding the corner into the great hall, she stopped in her tracks.

“Oh my…” she gasped, suddenly speechless.

The whole of the household was alight with floating candles. Hundreds of them were drifting through the air. They even floated out onto the alcove and danced over the ocean, sending their soft amber light over the swells of the waves. The large windows overlooking the ocean caught the light and cast their own swirling reflections in the dark glass ornaments lining the walls.

“Do you like it?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist, bringing her snugly against him. He hooked his chin over her shoulder, taking in her vanilla scent.

“Goodness…” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

“Mmmmm. You’re welcome,” her husband hummed as he leaned over, gently nuzzling his cheek against hers. Her eyes drifted shut as his lips grazed her ear. She felt his hand dance along her neck and down to the small of her back. She leaned into the caress, daring him to move his palm to the curve of her breast

“Shall I show you the house, Mrs. -------?”

“I’ve seen the house,” she sighed, enjoying the feel of his hands.

“You haven’t seen your room,” he muttered, kissing her cheek. He found that it was impossible to stop touching her as he led her up the grand staircase. On the way, they managed to collapse in each other’s arms for a few desperate kisses. Nearly twenty minutes passed before they stopped in front of a row of closed doors.

Her heart beating wildly, she pulled him to her for another ardent kiss, clutching at him as he opened the door to the darkened room. She turned, expecting to see her husband’s bedroom for the first time.

Her smile faded as she looked around. Even though the only light came from a small fireplace, she could tell it was a lovely room. Decorated in soft cream colors, it had grand window with figures of birds and butterflies cut into the glass… but it was a woman’s room.

“Do you like it?” he whispered as his mouth grazed her shoulder.

“This isn’t your room,” she replied, trying to mask her disappointment.

“It’s yours.” His lips found her cheek. “Do you like it?”

“It’s very pretty,” she said, puzzled. But it isn’t your room…

“I thought you might want a rest.”

“A rest?” She shook her head and pulled away from his encircling arms.

He nodded. Lupin told him that most men gave their wives “time” on their wedding night. Time for what, he couldn’t say. But the young groom didn’t want his wife to feel rushed into anything. His bride however, didn’t seem appreciative as he explained that they’d had a busy day and that she might want a brief respite.

“Oh…all right,” she conceded, not sure why he wanted her to sit in her room alone on their wedding night.

He kissed her gently on the cheek, told her he’s see her later on, and made his way to his own room across the hall.

Still confused, the bride stood a moment in the doorway, wondering what just happened.

A rest? What in the world is he thinking? She shook her head, amazed. The last thing she needed was sleep.

Looking around the room, she took in her surroundings for the first time. It was a cozy space. Cream-colored curtains cascaded over the large canopy bed and a vase full of white jasmine was artfully placed on a dainty writing table. The room had towering vaulted ceilings and moldings with carved roses that framed the large windows overlooking the ocean. Sweeping shadows and moonlight poured through the pale curtains that were moving with a silent breeze.

Shaking her head, she made her way to the window and looked out. An outstretched ocean view greeted her. She couldn’t imagine a prettier room. It was obvious a lot of work had gone into making it as comfortable as it was. A cursory glance through the wardrobe showed dozens of new gowns, probably purchased in London, and a quick look at the vanity revealed a jewelry box overflowing with emerald-encrusted trinkets.

Standing in front of the vanity mirror, she slipped out her damp shoes and carefully brushed her hair, combing out the crown of baby’s breath that dotted her glossy curls. She didn’t bother checking the bed or the bureau; she somehow knew that everything would’ve been to her liking. It was obvious that no expense was spared…but she wasn’t interested in any of that right now.

Did her husband really think she needed time to “rest”? She thought, incredulous. It was almost funny in a way. He was really too thoughtful for his own good. On any other night it would’ve been endearing.

Straightening her gown (and mustering more confidence than she had) she took a deep breath and decided on her course of action. She calmly walked across the candlelit hallway and sharply knocked on his bedroom door.

There was no answer. She called his name and knocked again. She heard a faintly surprised “come in” and pulled the latch.

The room she found herself in was dark and very masculine. Green and black stripes covered the walls. The giant bed had green and black silk linens, which matched the expensive-looking rug on the floors. And there, standing in the middle of the room, was her new husband; his hair still wet and clad only in his white dress shirt and dark slacks. He’d shed his damp shoes and soaking waistcoat and set them to dry next to the giant fireplace. Champagne was chilling in a stand; he was holding two glasses, apparently just setting them out.

She had no idea how she appeared in the doorway: her hair halfway tumbling down, her dress flowing loosely around her. He stared at her. He couldn’t not stare at her; she looked unbearably lovely in the iridescent firelight. Somewhere, a draft sent the billowing fabric of her dress floating around her in an unearthly way. If there had been more light, she would’ve seen that he was gripping the flutes so tightly, his knuckles were white.

“Where are the servants?” she asked quietly, never taking her eyes away from his.

“They’re…” he swallowed hard. He hadn’t even opened the champagne, but he suddenly felt drunk. “They’re probably off celebrating. They didn’t know we’d be here so soon...”

“Oh.”

Without another word, she padded across the floor. Her eyes were round with innocence as she stopped in front of him and turned around.

“Help me,” she said softly, motioning to the ties of her dress.

Champagne forgotten, he set the flutes at the edge of the bed as he untied her bodice, carefully unbraiding the silky ties with shaky fingers. The dress slipped off her shoulders, pooling at her feet and revealing a lacey slip that went down to her knees. The shadow of her curves shown against the caressing firelight. She turned slowly, her dark brown eyes boring into his.

“Thank you,” she whispered, not bothering to pick up her dress.

She took a step towards him, ignoring the champagne flutes that fell to the floor.

“You shouldn’t…” he started.

“Shouldn’t what?” she breathed, fingering his collar.

By way of an answer, he stroked her cheek, running his thumb over her parted lips. His other hand came to rest on the curve of her hip. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the flimsy material of the slip. He leaned forward, kissing her shoulder, almost afraid to do anything else.

She sighed his name as her head fell back. It was physically painful how much she was enjoying this.

“You shouldn’t…” he repeated softly against her throat. His hand found the small of her back, bringing her impossible closer.

“Shouldn’t what?” She felt her hair tumble down around her shoulders as his hands combed through her loose ringlets. Her eyes drifted shut as his lips hesitantly brushed against hers. His kisses were gentle and undemanding, merely light warm fluttering against her mouth. Her slip bunched in his hands as he gathered her to him, careful not to crush her as he continued his brief caresses.

She tried to lengthen the kisses, pressing her lips against his as he grazed her mouth, however, for some reason he resisted, pulling back each time. His wife said his name with a breathy sigh. She pressed herself to him, searching for more contact, trying to get closer, trying encourage his embraces. Her body flush against his, she could feel the hard planes of his stomach against her soft curves. She whispered a muffled “please” against his mouth and whatever control he’d had, he suddenly lost.

Gripping the back of her neck, he gave her jagged, uneven kisses. His mouth plundering, his hands wandering, he tugged on the two wispy straps holding up her slip, pulling them down so he could kiss her bare shoulders. Her slip fell dangerously low over the swell of her bosom. As he kissed his way down her front, his wife gasped at the new contact. She gripped his hair, her fingers getting tangled in the onyx strands as he kissed the soft curve of her breast.

“I can’t stop,” he said gently, there was a raw tone to his voice.

“Neither can I,” she answered with a gasp. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, trying to calm her hitching breaths.

He rested his forehead against hers, trying to steady himself. “Tell me to stop now.”

“Don’t stop,” she begged, pressing herself against him. A sob caught in her throat as scenes from the last few weeks suddenly flashed before her: the two of them, huddled behind curtains, locked in a heady kiss only having to break apart at the sound of footsteps; meeting him in a dark room during a dinner party, only to have him push her away, gasping, apologizing, always embarrassed, flushed, panting, frustrated, wanting more, wanting him…

Her fingers fluttered over his body, feeling the planes of muscles hidden under his shirt. Batting his hands away, she began to undo the buttons. Her eyes never left his as the shirt slowly slid off his shoulders and fell to the floor. Lowering her gaze, her breath caught in her throat as she saw his bare chest for the first time. Smooth and impossibly pale in the moonlight, he reminded her of one of the chiseled marble statues in the east garden. She reached out shyly to touch the hard lines of his abdomen and felt him tense at her touch. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his shoulder, planting feathery kisses along his collarbone while her hands danced over his cool skin.

He tastes like rainwater, she muttered, smiling a secret smile as she heard his breathing quicken as she ran her hands over the planes of his back and around to the front of his trousers. In one deft movement, she boldly undid the clasp before slowly raising her eyes to his. Something in his intensity of his stare sent shivers down her spine and set off a tingling sensation in her stomach. She thought she said his name, but she couldn’t be sure as he lifted her to him and captured her mouth.

Her breath hitching in her chest, she clutched at him while he lowered her onto the soft bed. A soft sigh merged with a throaty moan as he cupped her cheek. Soon their lips were pressed against each other as she gave herself over to the kiss.

A hot pulse shaking her to her core, she desperately wrapped her arms around him. His hands danced over the hot skin of her calf and up to the back of her thighs. She felt his own ragged breathing against her skin as he kissed her shoulder, then her neck, then down to the curve of her breast.

Suddenly, she felt him pause in his caresses. A blush rose in her cheeks when she looked down at him. She couldn’t see his expression in the shadows, but somehow she understood. She nodded weakly to the unasked question, trying to tell him how much she wanted this, but all she could do was pull him to her and curl her arms around his neck as they shared an impossibly deep kiss. His mouth fused with hers, his hands raking over her, she lost herself to the sensations he was creating as she said his name over and over like a prayer.

Her last coherent thought was how much she loved him. She made a Herculean effort to tell him, but it came out as a wanton moan as his hands danced along her thighs. She felt his fingers drift over the last lacy scraps of clothing separating them. She whispered something incoherent when he settled over her and enfolded his hand in hers. A moan emanated low in her throat as he slid his other arm around her waist and held on tight as he pressed against her. Gasping at the strange new contact, she writhed under him while tingles ran up and down her spine. Soon it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended as they both tumbled towards oblivion.

000000000000000000000

Moonlight poured through the giant windows, shining down on two figures resting peacefully on green silk covers. Their legs were tangled and their arms were around each other; the only thing covering them was the light sheen of sweat on their bare skins. They shared several long, lingering kisses until the fire began to die down and a draft drifted in from the dark corners of the room. They folded the covers over them and huddled against each other, whispering promises and sweet things until sleep finally overtook them.

The young man dreamed about his wife that night. Waking up periodically to make sure she was still there (that it hadn’t in fact, all been a dream), he drifted in and out of sleep, thinking about how warm she felt against him, how incredible it was just to be sleeping next to her. He began to regret giving her her own room…

His wife slept peacefully that night, unspeakably content just to be curled up in his arms. She never would sleep in that beautiful room her husband had arranged for her. Somehow they would always find an excuse for her to sleep in his bed.

0000000000000000000000000

Miles away, at a grand banquet hall, a hundred wedding guests were wondering where the newlyweds had gone. As a joke, the matron of honor raised a glass and toasted the absent couple. Of course her “toast” was nothing more than a dirty limerick about fumbling newlyweds, and the room erupted in laughter. The black-haired jokester took a few bows, but motioned for silence as the bride’s older sister stood up and quietly offered her own toast. It was part of a poem she’d memorized weeks before. At the time it struck her as strangely suitable for the young couple:

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.

She was met with some polite applause (and much head-scratching from a red-haired groomsman). Champagne corks suddenly started to pop and her words were soon forgotten. No one knew how true they would prove to be.

00000000000000000

The End