Potential

Potential

It had been a long day for all of them. The last of the many funerals had come and gone, and along with them, the multitudes of well-wishers shaking their hands and thanking them. And with their departure, Harry was left with a hole in his gut that slowly ate away at his insides—guilt.

How was one supposed to reply to the gratitude, when so many lives were gone, and all because he had not gotten rid of Voldemort fast enough?

“Harry, Mum wanted me to tell you to come to the Burrow for dinner tonight.” Ron's voice halted his thoughts, and Harry was grateful for the distraction. If there was one good thing out of all of this, it was the fact that Ron and Hermione were still here, sitting next to him. As Ron added an invitation for Hermione into the mix, a small smile crept across Harry's face. What would he have done without them? Ron's humor in the face of emptiness and Hermione's steadfast loyalty meant everything to him.

In spite of the Weasley family's grief, they never closed themselves off to either himself or Hermione. Although it still occasionally felt like intrusion to Harry when he joined them for a meal, at other times, he felt happier and more content than he had been in years.

Those were the times when George was able to separate from the ghost of Fred, and create a joke of his own; when Arthur Weasley was given a fair opportunity to prove himself under Kingsley's fledgling Ministry. It was like the night Bill and Fleur came to visit - Fleur's stomach round with pregnancy - and Charlie told them he was moving back to England, or the first night Percy shared dinner with his family after years of estrangement.

Tonight, though, was somewhere in between. With Hermione next to him, and Ron across, Harry basked in the company of his friends. However, the table was towards the empty side tonight—George was working late, Percy had a dinner engagement, Bill and Fleur were having Charlie over, and Arthur had been called off to the ministry. Still, none of the hands on the Weasleys' enchanted clock pointed to `Mortal Danger,' as they had for the past two years. Molly had made them a delicious dinner, as usual, though some of the joy was gone in her eyes tonight—tonight she was missing Fred.

Ginny sat next to her brother, and participated in the quiet conversation, rarely venturing a glance at Harry. He had told himself they would have all the time they needed to catch up, but it was harder than he had ever dreamt it would be. How could he possibly share everything that happened with her, and even if he could, how would she understand? He had clumsily attempted to include her, but even now, it was still just Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Ginny had been hurt at first by his failed attempts to convey all that happened, but now she was moving towards building trust instead. After all, the fact he tried to share his life with her meant something, didn't it? True, they had only kissed once since Voldemort's defeat, but he needed time to heal, and so did she. Still, neither could shake the feeling that what they had wasn't coming back, not matter how hard they tried. No, she would have to hope for a fresh start entirely.

“Have you heard from Kingsley yet, Harry? I think he's going to offer us positions as Aurors,” Ron remarked, and Harry nodded.

“Yeah, he sent me an owl yesterday. Are you going to take the job?”

“Well—” Ron hesitated, glancing over at his mother, who didn't look too fond of the idea, “I might help out George at the shop for a little while. Still…to be an Auror would be pretty cool. I mean, we wouldn't even have to go back and take our N.E.W.T.S.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “it would.”

Ron nodded, and turned to Hermione, “What about you?”

“I think I'm going to go back and take those N.E.W.T.S., Ron,” Hermione said, not quite able to harness the condescension in her voice. “They're very important, you know.”

“Not if we can get a job without them. Besides, Kingsley would give you a job as an Auror if you wanted.”

“I don't want to be an Auror.” Hermione retorted. “If anything, I want to try and see if I can keep S.P.E.W. up and running for a little while first.”

Harry only barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes. Ron was not quite so lucky. Neither had ever felt the strong inclination to defend house elves, especially when all of them (with the exception of Dobby, Harry remembered painfully) enjoyed their work. Ron's skepticism did not go unnoticed, of course.

“I know you don't care about House Elves, Ronald, but honestly, someone has too.”

Ginny made something that sounded like muffled laughter, but it went unnoticed by her brother's almost-girlfriend, as Molly chose that moment to get up and start clearing the plates.

“Ginny dear, would you mind helping with the dishes?”

Normally, the redhead would have protested, but something about the look in her mother's eyes quashed any possibility of disobedience. With an exasperated look at the others, she got up and went to help, while Ron and Hermione continued to bicker.

Harry let them continue for a little longer, but interrupted before it could become a full-scale fight.

“Come on, let's go outside.”

Slightly embarrassed, they agreed, and the three wandered out of the Weasleys' backyard. For such a trying time, the night air was deliciously mild, and the cloudless sky opened up into an expanse of stars. As they ambled along, a comfortable silence settled between them. If only for a moment, they were simply Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

Wordlessly, Harry flopped down onto the grass and simply stared up into the sky. Hermione settled down next to him, and Ron plopped down to her right.

“Teddy's starting to crawl,” Harry remarked absently.

“That's great.”

“Yeah. I'm thinking about getting a flat nearer to him and his grandmother.”

“You'll be a good godfather, Harry.”

“Yeah, just think of all the great stories you can tell him when he gets older.” Ron agreed. Instead of getting irritated, Hermione actually smiled.

“He's right, you know.”

Harry had no reply for this, so he remained quiet.

“Hey Hermione, when are you going to Australia?” Ron asked, much to Harry's gratitude.

“Probably next week. You'll have to send me your address when you two get that flat.” Hermione added, trying to keep from dwelling too much on the painful trip ahead of her. Stray thoughts about what her parents would be like with no memory of who she was quickly overpowered her thoughts.

“Nonsense, Hermione. We're going with you.” Harry quickly interjected. His `saving people thing' was coming in handy, for once.

“Besides, you'll stay with us when we all get back.” Ron agreed. He hoped he hadn't made the remark sound like anything more than it was. The last thing he needed was another fight with Hermione, especially about their relationship. Lately, it was all they did. Even making up wasn't worth the arguments anymore. Maybe he needed someone a little less demanding, and a little more accepting. It was too much work to try and imitate that bloody book all the time.

“There's no need for either of you to come to Australia with me,” Hermione was saying, “and as for that flat…”

“You wouldn't let me track down Voldemort alone.”

“Hardly. You would have—”

“Gotten myself killed. Yeah. So do you honestly think that after all you and Ron have done, I would let you go to Australia alone?”

“Besides, we've never been. It would make a really good vacation,” Ron agreed, though Harry's use of the word “I” didn't go unnoticed. That happened sometimes, ever since he had left. He regretted that decision every day of his life, and today was no exception.

“Yes, but—” Hermione was caving. She never could hold out against both of them for very long.

“So it's settled then,” said Harry, “We go to Australia together.”

Hermione nodded, and comfortable silence resumed its place between them. And for a brief moment, Harry felt a slightly-overwhelming sense of possibility.

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Author's Note: Thank you for the kind reviews and welcoming me to Portkey. The only other thing I should probably add here is that this story took shape from a one-shot, so if it seems an awful lot like a bunch of vignettes at first, that's why.

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Chapter 2: Adventures in Australia

“I am never going to fly on one of those air-plans again!” Ron moaned as he wobbled out of the Sydney airport. Harry and Hermione grinned—air travel had definitely not agreed with their friend. His ears had popped terribly once the plane reached its normal altitude, and the crowded coach seating had left him feeling somewhat claustrophobic and unable to sleep. The poor lad was now functioning solely on adrenaline. Harry had never been on an airplane either, but he had heeded Hermione's warning to chew gum after take-off, and he was already so used to avoiding sleep, that going 36 hours without it was no issue. Hermione, always prepared, had taken a sleeping pill, and although she looked as frumpy as the other passengers, she was certainly better-rested than her two companions.

“Ron, I think it's called an airplane,” Harry was saying as Hermione hailed a taxi.

“Close enough,” Ron countered, “Either way, I am definitely not traveling that way again.”

“Well, I hope you've got other arrangements made,” Hermione remarked as they slid into the taxi and she gave the man an address. “Because I can't get my parents back any other way.” She paused, “if they want to come back at all.”

“Of course they will; you're their daughter,” Ron replied, attempting to sound reassuring, while Harry nodded in agreement. Hermione nodded, slightly teary-eyed, and quickly regained her composure.

“Right, well, once we get checked in, we'll need to go over the plan again.”

“Oh come on, Hermione, we just got here. We could at least take a day off and explore,” Ron complained. “Please?”

Hermione looked like she was about to say something, but seemed to have changed her mind, as she simply nodded and stared out the window.

As it turns out, Harry had remained oddly silent because he'd fallen asleep. Grinning, Ron reached across his friend and tapped Hermione on the shoulder.

“Oy, Hermione, what if we drew on his face?”

The girl rolled her eyes, but as she reached for a pen, Harry jerked awake, scowling.

“I heard that!”

They were still laughing when the cab came to a stop.

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The unpacking process was a brief affair—they had only brought a week's worth of luggage each, and being able to use magic was definitely coming in handy. And besides, they hardly knew what clothing they'd need here—August in Australia was, after all, not the same sort of August that Britain had. Still, the sun was shining through the blinds pleasantly enough. As Ron snored away - just a short nap, he swore - Harry was left to his own thoughts as he finished unpacking.

With a short flick, the closet doors shut themselves, and Harry flopped down on the other bed. A wave of exhaustion flooded his brain, but ebbed away before sleep actually came. That had happened several times lately, and the inability to sleep was beginning to take a toll on him. Nevertheless, Harry was hardly eager to sleep unless he could be sure it would come without the nightmares. Though the contents of the dreams varied, they always ended with someone he loved dead, and left him feeling guilty for hours afterwards. He'd considered asking Hermione to make a Dreamless Sleep Draught, but had been unwilling to admit that the nightmares were so bothersome.

Several times he suspected that Hermione wanted to broach the subject with him - the dark circles under his eyes had not gone unnoticed by her, of course - but he had either changed the subject or she had decided against it. Either way, she and Ron spent so much time squabbling that he doubted she had much time to think of anything else. At those times, he wished (and then reproached himself for it) that she and Ron weren't dating, because they hadn't argued this often before.

Dating was quickly becoming too much work. Ginny was going back to Hogwarts, and he wasn't even sure he how he wanted to proceed with her. If he took too much time deciding, he might decide he did love her and she might have found another bloke. If he decided too quickly just to keep her, would he regret it? She had promised they would keep in touch, if that was what he wanted (and hinted rather strongly that he should). Naturally, he still found her attractive - how could he not? - but she no longer provided the idyllic escape that had made her so irresistible. Not to mention, he wasn't even sure he wanted that kind of relationship just yet, with anyone.

Sure, the idea of eventually settling down was appealing, but not nearly as appealing as the solving his immediate problems—finding a place to live, working out his role in Teddy's life, getting a job, and getting over his nightmares.

Maybe it was….

“Harry, Ron, are you two in here?” Hermione called softly as she stepped into the boys' room. She definitely wasn't shocked to see Ron asleep, but she was surprised to find Harry sleeping as well, and what's more, with a peaceful expression on his face. Smiling tenderly at them both, she exited quietly and returned to her own room. Their excursions could wait for a little longer.

Besides, it looked like it had been ages since Harry slept. Hermione couldn't help but feel a clench of worry in her stomach when she looked at his haggard face. They had spent so much time together that even the slightest expression now betrayed his anxieties, and there had been plenty of cause for worry. At least, she told herself as much. After spending nearly seven years worrying about Harry, it was a hard habit to kick.

Though fighting with Ron did take up plenty of that time. It wasn't like they couldn't fix that; it was just, almost every time he said something she felt the urge to snap at him. Why couldn't he be the same Ron that had listened to her and been so considerate just last year? She was unhappy in this almost-relationship, but she felt downright miserable at the thought of losing him as a friend. So she remained stuck hoping he would want to end it too and feeling guilty for pretending she wanted to keep trying.

When compared to the problems she might have getting her parents back, however, her rocky relationship with Ron seemed almost laughable. People got together and broke up all the time, didn't they? Practical, rational, bookish Hermione, it seemed, was still a silly girl underneath after all.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep beep beep beep.

The alarm she had set to remind her to wake up Harry and Ron went off, and with a little more force than necessary, Hermione shut it off. Tonight, they would relax and explore the city. And tomorrow, tomorrow they would find her parents.

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In retrospect, she probably should have realized it would take more than a day or two to find her parents, restore their memories, and get them up to date on the magical world their daughter lived in. And she probably should have remembered that the problem with restoring someone's memories was that you had to see them without their memories in order to do so. Witnessing her parents' lives without her in it had unexpectedly thrown her. In fact, she had actually fled the waiting room of their dentist office before Harry (shortly followed by Ron) had to chase her down and bring her back.

It had been a strong reminder of just how much her boys mattered to her, no matter how messy things were with Ron. Harry didn't have to say a thing for her to know he felt sorry for her, and assure her he was there. Even Ron had draped an arm around her shoulder, and offered to go with her to talk to her parents. And even though restoring her parents' memories was something she was determined to do on her own, remembering they cared had provided her with the strength to carry out her mission.

So now, as she repacked her bags and prepared to return to England (now with the knowledge her parents would be coming back in a few weeks as well) after two weeks in sunny Australia, Hermione couldn't help but wonder just where things would go from here. They would all move in together, and then there would be decorating the flat, and job hunting for the boys, and probably owls from the press and the ministry. Her parents would move back to England after a `sabbatical' in Australia, restore relationships with their old friends, and resume their dental work.

But what would she do? Would she really, as she had snapped at Ron, take her N.E.W.T.s? Join up at the Ministry? Further study?

She could do whatever she wanted. There was no pressure to stop a psychotic wizard bent on killing her best friend. She no longer had to fear for her own life, or she wouldn't once the last few Death Eaters were rounded up. The possibilities were really and incredibly open to her.

The huge feeling of possibility was enough to engulf her, and yet, it was an incredibly comforting (although terrifying) feeling.

“What are you thinking about, Hermione?” Harry murmured as the plane began to soar over the Pacific. Ron had, in the end, gone on the plane with them, but had nicked one of Hermione's sleeping pills and was therefore asleep.

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about what I wanted to do when we get back.”

Harry nodded as Hermione continued, “You know, we could do anything we wanted.”

“Even be a famous celebrity like Lockhart and smile like a prat all the time,” Harry teased, but Hermione only smiled.

“Anything's possible.”

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Author Note: I really appreciate all the reviews. Just so you know.

On another note, the time flow of this story isn't perfect. There are large gaps of time skipped over every now and then, simply because I originally designed this story to act as a series of glimpses into the lives of Harry, Hermione, and Ron. In between, feel free to assume that life goes on as normal, with plenty of jokes and, of course, recovery from the war. Also, this chapter was originally split into two, but I find that the parallels function better as one long chapter. Let me know if you think otherwise.

Now that the ridiculously long author note is concluded, let's start with the story. As always, I don't own Harry Potter.

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Chapter 3: The Good, the Bad, the Paint, and the Nanopets

“Ron, you absolutely cannot paint the kitchen orange!” Hermione hissed, and her friend guiltily replaced the pumpkin-orange color swatch.

“I know, I know, it was just a joke!” Ron backpedaled, hoping the overly friendly employees at the paint store weren't going to come running and—too late.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I think we're all right—just deciding on a kitchen color,” Hermione replied graciously, and Ron sighed. He knew what came next…

“How about this color?” The employee showed them a gold color, and soon enough Hermione and the girl were picking out the colors without any of Ron's input.

“I knew we should've brought Harry,” he mumbled, “but of course the prat had to choose today to go visit Hagrid.”

Truth be told, fixing up a flat was a whole lot harder than any of them had bargained. Harry and Hermione had insisted they refurbish it the Muggle way, as they were the only wizarding inhabitants in the building. Still, their landlady was extremely friendly, and more or less allowed them to do anything beneficial to their rented space, even if she found it a little strange that two young men and one girl were living together.

And it might have been odd living together, had Hermione and Ron ever really begun and maintained some sort of romantic relationship, but whatever had inspired Hermione to kiss Ron back in June had, apparently, evaporated. That and it seemed that whenever the topic came up between them, a rather nasty fight followed. As Ron had remarked to Harry after his last fight with Hermione,

“It's a bit hard for a bloke to date a girl who's going to choose your best friend over you in a fight.” Which had made Harry feel awkward, but Ron swore he didn't hold it against him.

The return to friendship between Ron and Hermione had been surprisingly easy after two weeks or so of awkwardness. And, Ron had to admit, he was happier now than he had been when he thought he loved her. Or rather, thought he was in love with her. They had saved the Wizarding World at the age of eighteen (well, Harry had been seventeen)—now was hardly the time to start settling down!

Now, as a brisk November began to really chill London's streets, they were more than content to slowly gain their footing in the world, and enjoy the company of their friends. Neville, Seamus, and Dean were frequent visitors, plus Luna and Ginny wrote letters detailing their adventures at Hogwarts—though Luna's often wandered into strange topics that not even Ron quite understood. If Ginny was still hoping to be with Harry, it never showed in any of her letters, which Ron was grateful for, as he really didn't want to have to fight with Harry about his little sister. It certainly didn't seem like his friend had any intentions of giving his relationship with Ginny another go.

In fact, if the ginger-haired boy hadn't known any better, he'd say that Harry and Hermione were becoming closer than ever. And perhaps he should have felt some sort of romantic jealousy, but he didn't. Sure, it was definitely a little strange and he never liked feeling out of the loop, but honestly, they were all so busy decorating and working through their job training, that those undeniable moments of connection hardly ever occurred more than a few times a week.

“Ron! We're ready to go!” Hermione's voice jarred him out of his thoughts, and she stared at him strangely as he nodded and took one of the heavy bags from her.

“What, were you actually thinking?” She teased as they left the store.

“Something like that. Do you think we could get Kreacher to help paint?” Ron asked, knowing full well that the house-elf bit would keep her from prying.

“Honestly, Ronald. Sometimes I think you just want me to get angry. We most certainly will not ask Kreacher for help. The entire point of buying the paint, brushes, and rollers ourselves was to—”

But Ron wasn't really listening anymore, because after he shrunk his purchases, he apparated back to their neighborhood, shortly followed by an annoyed Hermione. And maybe he had been acting a little strangely, but a bloke has to grow up a little sometime.

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“Hermione, when did you get so fond of the color blue?” Harry asked, as they began painting the room she had designated as her room (but would, Ron believed, look far more like a library thanks to all the bookshelves).

“I don't like blue anymore than the other colors we picked out, but I think this one happens to go best with all the bookshelves we got.” Hermione replied amiably, motioning to the shelves that had been covered in plastic and moved away from the wall.

“I suppose your room's going to be Gryffindor red and gold then?” She added as an afterthought, and began rolling the paint onto the wall.

“Probably. Those are the colors you bought for it, anyways,” Harry remarked dryly, and they continued painting in comfortable silence.

“What, is Ravenclaw blue Hermione's new favorite color?” Ron asked as he wandered into the room, before the paint fumes caused him to cough a few times. Harry chuckled a bit as he continued painting, and Hermione fired right back at Ron, amiably,

“Well, at least I don't want Chudley Cannons' orange for my room.”

“If we're going to keep that up, Harry's room can be Slytherin green. It'll make him think of good `ole Malfoy.”

“Well, better Slytherin green than Ron's favorite color—pink!” Harry remarked coolly amidst the laughter.

Ron couldn't help but think that it was nice to simply be together and laugh again. Between his Auror training, Harry's Quidditch practices, and Hermione's Unspeakable research, it had been almost as busy as when they'd been back at Hogwarts, trying to study and combat Voldemort at the same time.

And chances were, Hermione's room was not going to be finished today, because there was too much paint on all three of them.

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“I can't believe Hermione talked us into this!” Harry murmured to an equally miserable Ron, who nodded and opened his mouth to reply when Hermione interrupted them.

“Oh hush, you two—we need a new fridge, and if we don't get it while everything's still on sale you'll be sorry.”

“That's not true, Hermione, Harry's got loads of Galleons in—” Ron protested, and Hermione shushed him. She really wasn't in the mood to have random passers-by give them strange looks just now, because she needed to be convincing when they bargained for their latest purchase.

Harry was just grateful that she didn't remind Ron why they needed a new fridge—their redheaded friend had more or less destroyed the electrical system in the old one with a poorly executed heating charm (he was still a bit suspicious of the microwave).

As the two boys stood aside and let Hermione do the negotiating with the harried-looking salesman, Ron tugged Harry's arm and pointed towards a small child playing with a round keychain.

“What's that? I don't think I've ever seen a Muggle with one of those before.” Harry shrugged—whatever it was held the girl's attention completely, in spite of the item's ordinary round shape and a simple trio of buttons.

“I think it's a Nanopet,” remarked Hermione as the salesperson practically fled in search of a contract for her.

“A Nano-what?” asked Ron.

“A Nanopet. We got my cousin one for Christmas. Apparently, there's a computerized dog or cat inside that the child can feed and take care of.”

“Why? Seems kind of silly.” Harry remarked. Dudley had been obsessed with these virtual reality things, and he had never quite understood the appeal.

“Who knows.”

“Well, I for one think you sent that poor bloke away in tears,” Ron remarked, ready to change the subject. Harry laughed and agreed,

“Yeah, what did you do to him? Threaten his job if he didn't give you a good discount?”

“No,” Hermione huffed, “I just told him that he'd miscalculated the price and that I would take my business elsewhere if it wasn't corrected, with free delivery thrown in.”

“Why would we need free delivery? We could just shrink it and carry it back in our pocket…” Ron questioned, and Hermione shook her head sternly.

“We're not putting any spells or charms on the fridge, Ron. Not after last time.”

Her sharp look silenced any more questions, and as she left to go after the salesman, Harry looked at her inquisitively. Normally she could be a bit short with the both of them, but this was more than a bit. Come to think of it, she'd been acting that way for a week or two now. It really made no sense. She had been thrilled, albeit surprised, when Ron admitted he fancied Luna. Although the two weren't exactly a couple (Luna was reluctant to box their relationship with an official title), Hermione had certainly not exhibited any jealousy either way.

Was she feeling left out? But how? Harry wasn't seeing anyone, so it wasn't like she was the odd one out. Sure, Ginny had (somewhat unexpectedly) expressed a desire to resume their relationship, and even kissed him (under the mistletoe, and thanks to the catcalls of Bill, Charlie, and George), but Harry had quietly explained that it was time to move on.

~~~

“Ginny, I know you thought we'd probably be back together by now—I thought so too before.”

“It's okay, we both needed time to process. But I'm fine now, and you seem loads better too.”

“I am…”

“So what's the problem?” She smiled up at him, as pretty as ever.

“I don't think it'll work between us. We're not the same people anymore.” It was hard to say, and he struggled a bit with the words. Her long red hair was still beautiful, and the smell of her so close was still a little inviting, but it didn't entice like it used to. He looked at her sadly, and watched as she worked to contain her temper in order to preserve her dignity.

“So that's it, then?”

“I suppose so.” She hugged him awkwardly, but paused at the door,

“There's not someone else?”

“No, Ginny,” He replied blankly, and she nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied, and then she was gone. They didn't talk for a day or two, but things were almost back to normal when she boarded the train back to Hogwarts. Once again, she was just Ron's little sister, and Harry was relieved that Ron hadn't broken his face (though he suspected Luna had something to do with that).

~~~

Her job, perhaps? Never. Hermione loved work as Unspeakable. So here he was, in a muggle appliance store with his best friends, and Hermione acting like she was on a warpath. As they waited for the salesman to return, Harry turned to Ron,

“How's Luna?”

“Hmm? Oh, she's great. Loony as ever…but great.” His reply was tinged with red ears and a struggle between his new and old views of the eccentric Ravenclaw, but he looked genuinely happy about all of it. Harry nodded, deciding for once not to take the mickey out of the poor guy, and moved on.

“Good. D'you think that guy will ever come back?”

“Maybe. Hermione definitely scared him enough.”

“Yeah…maybe a bit scarier than usual.”

“What do you mean?” It seemed an innocent enough question at first, and Ron hadn't planned on giving Harry opportunity to voice his worries and begin an in-depth conversation. Not to say that it wasn't okay, just that it was a bit weird for two guys to talk like that in the middle of a store.

“Well, don't you think she's been acting a lot angrier than usual? She usually bewilders them with her amazing smarts while smiling, not with threats.”

“…I guess…” Ron looked at his best mate with an odd expression on his face.

“I mean, I'm just worried. Don't read too much into it, Ron.” Harry replied, a grin creeping onto his face in spite of himself.

“Whatever you say…” Ron teased, but stopped short with Hermione's reappearance, followed by the poor salesman, who she curtly thanked before turning to them and practically ordering,

“We can go now.”

Nodding dumbly, the two boys got up, and following Hermione, left. Until she got out of this mood, there was going to be no peace.

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Author's Note: I am now shifting the story out of vignette mode into some real plot, though again, it does move slowly. I have to admit though, writing these little pieces of story is really fun, but plot has to come eventually, right?

I still don't own Harry Potter, nor do I have anything to do with The Upstairs Divine, which is definitely driving the mood behind this chapter. Enjoy.

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Chapter 5: What's Eating Hermione Granger?

Hermione Granger was undeniably, unmistakably, upset. Nearly everything Harry and Ron tentatively said set her off like never before. Try as they might, she simply wouldn't have anything to do with them. Had she been any other girl, the boys would have simply chalked it up to `silly girl stuff' or `Valentine's Day Blues,' but seeing as Hermione didn't care one bit about Valentine's Day (which is not to say she hated it, but rather that she treated the day like any other) and as she hardly ever acted this way longer than a day or two, they were left without explanations.

Harry, for one, hadn't dared breach the awkward subject again with Ron since their last shopping excursion, because it just wasn't what guys did. Besides, Ron seemed dead set on simply waiting out the bad mood so that things could return to normal, and Harry wasn't about to break pattern either.

Still, it didn't stop him from thinking about it on his own a little. When Hermione was buried furiously in a pile of books, reading like she hadn't done since her first year at Hogwarts, Harry would watch her with concern and curiosity from his own chair. As he sat there, polishing his new broomstick, he'd occasionally open his mouth to speak to her, but thought better of it. Hermione never looked up, and never so much as moved, other than to turn the pages. He was almost concerned enough to write Ginny for advice, but the idea was so very…awkward….that he never actually picked up his quill to follow through.

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Hermione wasn't about to explain herself either. If they had even thought to ask her - `inconsiderate prats' - she would have probably blamed it on her work, which was barely true, if at all. Delving into the Department of Mysteries had been painful, at first, but as she moved on past those memories from fifth year (well, she still could never quite look at the Veil if she ever entered that terrible room), her research grew quite interesting. It was worth taking her N.E.W.T.S. (in every course but Divination and Muggle Studies) as part of her training, just to be able to study further into the origin of magic and why spells were used in Latin and why wands and—the list went on for several feet of parchment.

No, work was more wonderfully challenging than she had ever dreamed.

It was a shame the problem wasn't work, really. Because this was so much more distracting. She'd hardly even noticed when Ron announced he was leaving the Auror Department for George's shop after only a month of working at the Ministry.

“I've fought enough deluded maniacs convinced that Voldemort's gathering his forces with the vampires. They make Looney—I mean, Luna, look normal. I'd much rather sell those stupid Pygmy Puffs with George than deal with that anymore.”

She'd nodded and kept reading her books, while Harry inquired further, and Ron even managed to make a joke or two about George's ear (“He's a bit hard of hearing these days, you know”). Normally, Hermione would have told them matter-of-factly that the outer ear doesn't actually do the hearing or reminded him to speak of his sort-of girlfriend with a little more respect, but she'd almost forgotten what they were discussing in the first place.

Come to think of it, Hermione wasn't really sure herself what was driving this foul mood of hers. She'd been a little irked at the way Ginny had acted around Harry over break, but had simply accepted it as the girl's last, hopeful attempt to begin anew with Harry. If anything important had happened, she reasoned, Harry would have let her know, and so she took the whole event in stride. But two months later Harry still hadn't brought up what he was thinking about Ginny, and having him withhold information was beginning to get to her.

And she couldn't even begin the conversation with information from her job, because they were called `Unspeakables' for a reason. Quidditch wasn't exactly the choice conversation starter either, since her only interest in it was that Harry was happy and victorious, whereas he and Ron could discuss tactics and moves for hours. The accidental wedge was making her irritable, and she had no idea when it had become a wedge in the first place, nor did she know how to fix it.

She, Hermione Jane Granger, had found the first puzzle in her life that she couldn't completely solve, and all because Harry had omitted one detail of his life. And she knew that they were best friends, but best friends weren't supposed to be this protective of their monopoly on information, and she certainly didn't mind this much when Ron didn't tell her that he was starting to fancy Luna (she'd known by the look on his face anyways). And she knew that she loved Harry as her best friend more than she ever could care about Ron (but Ron was still extremely precious to her too) but how was she supposed to deal with this?

Sending a team of angry canaries after Harry wasn't going to fix the problem this time, or even provide an outlet for her anger. And so she withdrew into her books, reading and searching and hoping that maybe the answer was in the next chapter, next book, next shelf. It was never there, of course.

She could read all of the Muggle and Wizard books in all the world and she'd still be stuck here, frustrated and confused.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a relief when Harry announced he was going down to Italy to play in a Quidditch tournament, and Ron took the opportunity to enjoy a pleasant weekend at the Burrow, away from a cranky Hermione. Hermione was about to start planning a weekend wonderfully devoted to relaxing and forgetting about this problem and getting her mind off Ron and Harry. That is, until Harry asked her as he started a fire for the Floo Powder,

“You won't spend the entire weekend holed up here, right?”

“Really, I do other things, Harry. You're the one traveling across Europe just to play a game.”

He smiled at her, unfazed, “You don't have to do anything big, Hermione. Visit your parents or buy out Flourish and Blotts or something.”

And in spite of her foul mood, she smiled and nodded. Satisfied, Harry tossed to the powder into the grate, and was gone in a burst of green flames.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So here she was, sitting on a stool in her parents' new kitchen while her mother made tea. There was really very little to say to either of her parents at first, though they seemed happy enough to see her again. It was a little painful to realize that it took them a few seconds to fully remember her when they opened the door, but as the afternoon shifted into twilight, their memories of her proved to be fully intact.

Maybe they didn't understand very much about the strange world their daughter lived in, but both could fully sympathize and understand the fears that came with a huge life transition.

“I mean, work's fantastic, Mum. Lots of research and we're finding out all sorts of interesting things every day.”

“Sounds just like you, Hermione. And how are your friends? Are they well?”

“Oh yeah. Ron's decided he doesn't want to be an Auror anymore - that's kind of like our police, you know - and he's working at his brother's joke shop instead.”

“Now `joke shop,' I understand,” her dad remarked, grinning at his daughter, whose features softened a little at the remark.

“Yes, well, it's got some really useful stuff there too. In fact, some of it actually came in handy last year.”

“That's nice. And how's Harry?” Her mother couldn't resist a sly smile, which made her daughter blush a little. Her parents had always been convinced that she liked Harry, and ever since her kind-of-sort-of-relationship with Ron had fizzled out remarkably fast, they had resumed their teasing about Harry, no matter what Hermione said or did.

“Harry's just fine. Playing Quidditch,” Hermione replied somewhat stiffly. Her mother frowned.

“You mean to tell me that after all the amazing things he's done, he's just playing that sport you lot like so much?”

“Well, he is really good.”

“Hmm…I guess I just figured he'd have a little more ambition,” Her dad added thoughtfully, and Hermione shrugged.

“It's what he wants to do for now.”

“Well, okay. So what's bothering you? We both know when you look that way, something's wrong.” Her mother gently remarked, letting the slightly awkward topic of Harry drop.

“I don't know. I guess it's kind of weird, being away from everyone at Hogwarts. I mean, we never even really finished out school there. I took my N.E.W.T.S. of course, but it's kind of like I never had any closure. And then Ron's still grieving Fred a little, and Harry's hasn't been quite as open as usual, which is so very unlike him.”

“Didn't you say he usually keeps things to himself though?”

“Well, yes, but he always tells me eventually.”

“Just you?”

“Well, Ron too, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“Mum!”

“I'm sorry, dear, but if you didn't insist that you only cared about him as a brother, I'd say you sound like a jealous girlfriend, expecting him to tell you every little detail about his life like that.”

“It always comes back to this, doesn't it? Harry and me?” Hermione remarked, slightly perturbed and more than a little annoyed.

“You do know it's okay to have feelings for him, right?” Her dad asked, adding, “We like Harry, you know, and maybe we don't think he's quite good enough for you, but it's only because we don't think anyone is.”

“It's just too weird.” Hermione protested, though her resolve seemed a little weaker.

“Yes, well, we'll cross that bridge later,” her mother offered, “Now, how about we go see a movie and eat at that Indian place you love so much?”

“Sure, Mum.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were finished with dinner and walking back to their car when it happened. A small owl, maybe a little larger than Ron's, swooped down right in front of them, leaving behind a letter in Hermione's hands as it took off.

She tore open the envelope - it wasn't Harry's familiar handwriting, she noted - and quickly perused it, a frown developing on her face.

“Something wrong, Hermione?” Her dad asked, exchanging glances with her mother.

“Umm…I'm not sure. It looks like something's happened at work. I need to go.” With a rushed hug for both of them, Hermione darted into and alley, and with a small `pop,' the Grangers' daughter was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So what exactly happened?” Hermione asked, as a fellow coworker (a Ravenclaw from her year, maybe?) hurried over to catch the lift she was in.

“Not sure. The note they sent didn't say much, did it?”

“No. I'm really surprised they sent owls though. Hardly the most efficient method.”

“Anything else would have scared my parents witless.”

“You're Muggleborn, too?” She asked, and he nodded, and the two lapsed into awkward silence. Had she really paid so little attention to everyone else at work? She couldn't even remember the poor fellow's name. The only names she really knew were the people she worked for, and everyone else seemed to know her, making introductions somewhat difficult.

Shaking her head a little, she practically raced out of the lift to escape the poor Ravenclaw, and was soon safely inside her own section of the Department of Mysteries.

“Ah, Miss Granger. Glad you could make it.”

“It was no problem,” she managed as she sat down with the others, and her boss began to explain what was going on.

“Sorry about the sudden summons, but the breakthrough a few of our weekend-workers made was simply astounding,” the man practically gushed, and it was easy to see that his enthusiasm nearly outrivaled Hermione's.

“I know we've been looking at population over the past few weeks trying to see how magic interacts with the changes in population. Some of the results have shown that the magic population could be running dangerously low after everything that's happened.”

Most heads nodded in agreement, some skeptical and some certain of this information—it was old news.

“But in looking over all this, Johns here picked up something about the way magic itself functions, so a few of you will be selected to look at this instead. You can imagine what could be done with this kind of breakthrough, so I'll expect this group to work extremely hard.”

Hermione could almost feel her excitement spilling over—all the emotional issues were completely overrun at the prospect of getting to work on that team.

“For now, though, we need a few of you to stick around and keep tabs on visitors. I don't want this information leaked. Volunteers?”

Hermione stuck up her hand like it was still Hogwarts—if it would help her get on this team, she'd stay for days if necessary.

“All right then. Johns will be here obviously, Searle too, and…Stokes, Long, and Granger. I'll see the rest of you Monday.”

The crowd dispersed and Hermione settled into her desk. It would be a long, boring, stint, but if she could get Johns to explain his ideas, perhaps it wouldn't be so fruitless. Besides, it was a great distracting from loving worrying about Harry.

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Author's Note: This is the last of the already-written chapters, but hopefully updating will still retain some kind of regularity. Thanks for the many reviews—I can assure you I've read all of them more than once.

Onto business: If anything, I have less money this chapter than when writing the last one, and it certainly wasn't spent on the rights to Harry Potter.

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Chapter 6: Sorry, Things Change

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So much for a restful weekend! It was late Tuesday afternoon, and it seemed like Harry, Hermione, and Ron could do nothing but sit in a daze upon the couch, while the muted television cast sickly glows over their haggard faces.

Harry, it seemed, hadn't counted on the fact that Quidditch tournaments meant parties, press conferences, and games all in one fell swoop—all of which he was obligated to participate in. The game part he didn't mind, but the other two prevented him for grabbing more than maybe four hours of sleep the entire weekend.

Ron hadn't fared much better sleep-wise, but as Hermione pointed out, “You should've known better than to go out with Dean and Seamus two nights in a row, after working with George all day.” Nonetheless, the poor boy looked about as exhausted as Harry, and perhaps a tad hung over.

Hermione had tried to pass her own exhaustion off as being created by the boys' sleep-deprived minds, but one look from Harry and she admitted that about halfway through her weekend at home, she'd been called into work, and being unable to figure out what to make of some new developments was driving her, as Ron put it, “barmy.” She neglected to mention why she'd been so eager to get away from home, assuming the two would ascribe it to her bookworm ways, although Harry didn't seem quite so convinced.

So here they all were, barely able to stumble into their shared flat and collapse onto the couch. Hermione curled up against one corner, remote in hand, while Ron sprawled out across the middle, leaving just enough room for Harry to squeeze in on the other end. The rambling conversation between them had drifted to silence, and as Harry stared at the muted TV, exhaustion lulled him into a state of semi-consciousness, and his eyes slowly closed.

At the abrupt sound of snoring, Harry's eyes flew open again, only for the young wizard to realize that Ron had simply fallen asleep. He grinned over his red-haired friend towards Hermione, who only rolled her eyes and tucked a pillow behind Ron's head.

“I'm going to head into the study to try and get a little work done, okay Harry?” She whispered, and he nodded, giving her a minute's head start before following her out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The past day or so she'd been rather evasive, and it was beginning to bother him. Normally Hermione was always there to pester him and Ron about their behavior, inquire nosily about their days, and drive them up the wall in general. But now that she'd stopped nagging, he didn't feel relieved in the least (Ron would have laughed at that admission). And even though it had only been two days, when it was combined with the bad mood she'd been in during the weeks before, he was more than a little perturbed. So rather than trying to avoid confronting her (like he normally would have done), Harry found himself acting just as nosy as his bushy-haired friend. For a few minutes, he just peeked through the cracked doorway, watching her organize and reorganize her papers. He watched as she straightened the piles and checked the ink to make sure it was fresh, and as she tapped the end of her quill against the desk (which really looked more a like a strange way to dust, as it was the feathery end she was tapping), and frowned with concentration. Or at least, he thought it was concentration until she remarked softly, but sternly,

“You might as well come in; it's a little creepy when you stare like that.”

Harry was awkwardly reminded of McGonagall for a minute before he plopped down in one of the armchairs along the wall. Being confrontational wasn't exactly something he was used to. He cleared his throat a few times, but couldn't quite bring himself to actually say anything. Hermione looked at him inquisitively over her paperwork, determined give Harry a chance to speak before she forced a conversation. To be honest, it was a little painful acting so off-hand about her best friend, but it seemed like the only way to deal with things right now. After that rather strange conversation with her parents, she wasn't exactly sure how to proceed. There wasn't exactly a book she could read about dealing with the possibility she might be in love with her best friend.

Having finally gathered his courage (`Are you a Gryffindor or not?'), Harry finally managed to speak up.

“So, um, Hermione, how's work?”

She gave him a skeptical look, but quickly forgot to be annoyed as she launched into her story. Even though she wasn't really supposed to discuss her work, Hermione had the feeling no one would object to sharing a little information with the Harry Potter.

“It's really interesting, Harry. I mean, this past weekend we thought there was some kind of huge breakthrough, but of course that only led to a lot of new questions about the nature of magic, especially with the changes we've noticed lately, so now—”

“Wait, what changes?” Harry interrupted, alarmed. He didn't entirely understand what Hermione studied, but the idea that magic itself was changing definitely left a knot in his stomach.

“Oh, I don't think you of all people need to be worried, Harry. It's really more of a pattern than a strange phenomenon. You know, kind of like in the Muggle world, more boys tend to be born during wartimes and such—well, we've started to notice that something like that happens in the Wizarding World.”

“More babies?” Harry asked, confused.

“No, no, just that the distribution of magic and the kinds of families that have magical children seem to adjust based on the state of the Wizarding world.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. See, we worried because with so many killed,” here she hesitated, “and so few new magic children being born, there could be issues with magic eventually running out. Then one of the others at the department - Johns - noticed that—” She frowned, halting her little speech,

“But this doesn't seem like something you'd be really interested in. What do you really want to talk about?” So much for letting Harry guide the conversation.

Harry was taken aback a little himself. Apparently he would have to follow through on his somewhat sudden plan after all.

“Why don't we spend time together anymore?” He blurted out. Well, Hermione had always told him that he lacked tact, and here he went proving that remark yet again.

She sighed, and looked at him fondly, but not how she used to. In fact, she looked like she was trying to be older than he was (which while true, had never been expressed in such a patronizing way).

“Oh, Harry. Things change. I've got work, you've got Quidditch, and Ron has the shop with George. It's been busy this weekend. Before that, we spent loads of time together.”

“Yeah, but you keep leaving the room when it's just us. I'm not that stupid, Hermione. I can figure out when you're avoiding me.”

“Things were going to change eventually. It's not like we could keep things the way they are—you're going to find someone - Ginny, probably - and when you get serious you'll have to make her more important than us anyways, especially me,” Hermione evaded, though her face betrayed a little pain before resuming its oddly patronizing stare. Using harsh reality to avoid the real issue hurt more than she had expected, and all this trouble over nothing and one conversation with her parents.

“Just because we're not at Hogwarts anymore, or on the run from Voldemort, doesn't mean we can't be friends anymore, Hermione. Ron's still my friend, and you are too. Unless…” Harry was saying as his friend muttered something about having to give her up—it was ridiculous, thinking he should have to choose between his best friend and some nonexistent girlfriend Hermione kept bringing up. She wasn't going to bail out over something that hadn't even happened yet, was she?

A terrible hole, worse than when he was afraid that magic might disappear, filled his stomach. Hermione had never abandoned him, not once. Sure, they'd been a little distant over Snape's book, or the Firebolt, but he'd never even considered giving her up for any of that stuff. She and Ron had refused to leave in the face of possible (more like probable) death. Surely she wasn't going to stop being his best friend just because they weren't seventeen anymore? And that remark about Ginny—though it might have sounded nice to plan on marrying her before, he certainly didn't think that now. It was almost laughable, in spite of whine of panic starting to run through his system.

And then the flicker of pain on her face caught his attention. What was really going on?

“Nothing's going on,” she replied stiffly. He was thrown off by the fact he'd actually asked it aloud, but he was sure now that she was lying. After all, it had always been easier for him to catch onto her lies faster than anyone else.

“Hermione, what's wrong?”

“Things change. They really do.”

“So? We're still friends.”

“Always. It's just, things are going to be harder now—jobs and romances and no more schoolwork for me to help you with.”

“That never stopped you before, and you aren't my friend just because I'm no good at Herbology. But if you want to—”

“Not a chance.”

And she gave him a characteristically `Hermione' smile, and even though he still wasn't sure what was going on exactly, he already felt loads better—it seemed she'd given up the nonsense about leaving.

“So tell me about that tournament.”

And as they settled into casual conversation, he instinctively took her hand and squeezed it gently, as if to remind her that they were going to get through whatever was bothering her. And even if he didn't know what it was yet, he trusted her enough to know she'd eventually tell him.

Perhaps she should have felt a bit guilty about not telling him why she was really, truly, nervous about staying his friend. The possibility of slipping up and doing or saying something out of the `just friends' category, or being completely sure she was in love with him, all the while feeling fairly certain he had never so much as thought of her outside the realm of sister, filled her with a terror she hadn't come close to feeling since being at the Malfoy Manor. And maybe she did, a little. But for the moment it was enough to know that Harry actually wanted her around, and wasn't just her friend out of habit. And she was certainly relieved that she was, because Hermione had a feeling that even if it was the practical thing to do, she couldn't have stopped being his - or Ron's - friend.

As the conversation progressed, a sleepy Ron wandered in, and conversation adjusted to accommodate the three of them. It was probably a good thing Ron was still half-asleep, as Harry had forgotten to let go of her hand, and the last thing she wanted was for Ron to start teasing her over nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Added note: To be honest, I don't remember where or when I first heard the bit about babies being born. I don't even know if that's still true, or if it ever was. So don't mock the vague memories in my head, please. It's only for illustrative purposes anyways.

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Author's Note: Happy Spring, all! Daffodils make me happy, and now that I have a free moment, it's nice to sit down and write a little again. I do not have a beta, however, so any and all mistakes are mine alone, and I apologize.

Disclaimer: as a typical college student, I have no substantial amounts of cash; I do not live in Scotland, and my last name does not begin with `R.' Therefore, I cannot possibly own Harry Potter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 6: Ups and Downs

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We're not the same, but you're a lot like me

In that you're waiting for your life to begin.

So shine the tain and I'll build us iron lungs,

We'll learn to love from plastic love songs.

-Dabney Morris, “Gateway to the East”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The best thing the Harry Potter can think to do with his day off is flip through old photos?”

“Well, perhaps if his best mate Ron Weasley, also famous, wasn't always with his brother trying to find new ways to get kids out of class and into detention all day, he wouldn't be so bored,” Harry replied dryly, flipping to the next page.

Rolling his eyes, Ron flopped down next to him. This introspective behavior Harry had been exhibiting lately was beginning to worry him. Harry had always been more of an active being, not a thinker. Besides, if Hermione's comments were any indication, Ron wasn't much for sensitive guy-talk (if such a thing even existed), and had more or less no idea how to deal with this.

“Anything interesting?” He asked, peering at the pages of moving photographs.

“No, just a bunch of pictures Collin,” Harry ran a hand through his hair, “took back when we were in school. He finally got the hang of enchanting them to move, you know.”

“I dunno, Harry. You and Hermione look kind of funny in these,” he pointed to a picture of the three of them. Picture-Ron waved up at them, but Picture-Harry and Hermione stood just a little too far apart, not angrily, just somewhat uncomfortably.

“You didn't have a fight, did you?” He certainly hoped not—Harry and Hermione had seemed perfectly fine around each other. Or at least, not any more nuts than they usually did. Though when was the last time they'd been around each other for longer than a few minutes, come to think of it?

“No, nothing. We're fine, just fine,” Harry was replying, and Ron raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

“Yeah, okay. Just curious…” He replied, flipping to the next page of pictures, “the next Hogsmeade weekend is coming up. Would it be weird if we went and saw Lu—everyone?”

“Uh, no, of course not.”

“Right. So, you'll ask Hermione then?”

“Wh-what?” Harry sputtered, looking at him in confusion. Ron stared back, surprised,

“I just meant you'd let her know about it if you saw her and—wait, do you like her or something?”

“What? No! You don't seriously think that, after the Horcruxes and everything!”

“No need to get defensive, it's not like I fancy her anymore.” By this time Ron was smiling at him, which only made Harry more uncomfortable, much to his surprise. It had never occurred to him that he could fancy Hermione, let alone discuss her with Ron of all people.

“No, I don't fancy Hermione. She's like a sister to me,” he replied almost petulantly, signaling that the discussion was over.

Shaking with repressed laughter, Ron mumbled something about getting back to the joke shop, and Harry shot him a dirty look as he left.

Liking Hermione—ridiculous. She was his best friend, the smartest person he knew, and the most loyal friend he could ever wish for. Normally, he would ask Lupin or Sirius or even Dumbledore, if he was desperate, but obviously none of those options were really viable now. Sighing, he returned to flipping through the photo album.

Which didn't help keep his mind off things like he'd hoped—Hermione was in nearly every picture.

Hermione was his friend, just like Ron was his friend.

Even if she stuck around when Ron didn't.

Or stood up to him and corrected his mistakes when he wasn't thinking clearly.

Sure, he cared about her—she was his best friend, and had been for more than seven years.

“You're hopeless!” He muttered, and was glad only the pictures were witness to his brief outburst.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A loud knock on the door woke Andromeda from her nap, and any hope of ignoring it was destroyed when Teddy woke up too, and began crying.

“Coming, coming,” she called out, and after picking up Teddy from his crib, she hurried to the front door.

“Hello, Harry,” she greeted politely as she opened the door to her grandson's godfather, who nodded stiffly, and offered a small smile.

“Hello, Mrs. Tonks.”

“Andromeda, please.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“It's fine.” Well, this was going smoothly, “Would you like to come in?”

He shut the door behind him as they stepped inside, and followed her into the kitchen.

“Teddy always gets a little hungry after his nap,” she explained. “Here, would you mind?” She added as she handed over the baby to him.

Harry took his godson into his arms somewhat awkwardly, though he'd gotten better at figuring out how to hold Teddy over the past few months.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I did come to see him, after all,” Harry replied somewhat sheepishly as Andromeda rummaged through the cupboard.

“How's work? Or play?” She teased—they were making progress where the idle chitchat was concerned.

“Oh, it's fine. Tiring, I guess, but it's better than anything else I could imagine doing.”

“I see.”

“How's Teddy been? I know it's been a while since I've visited.”

“The usual. Crawling around and causing as much trouble as possible,” she said, her face lighting up with pride for a moment.

“He looks a lot like Remus when he isn't trying to change his face for fun,” Harry observed after a few moments.

“Yes, he's quite fond of his talents, just like Dora was.”

“Good.”

Silence filled the kitchen again, and Harry turned his attention back to Teddy, who was currently a little grumpy due to the untimely wake-up from his nap. Nevertheless, it seemed like his godson was starting to recognize him, or at least seem a little happier to see him.

If anything, Harry was determined to be active in his godson's life, even if he didn't know what shape that role would take yet. And as he sat there, slightly uncomfortable around Tonks' mother, he was reminded of how much he really wanted to make this work. Teddy tended to put things in perspective for Harry, just by being there and vulnerable and so much like Remus and Tonks already. So even if he wasn't sure what to do with his strained friendship with Hermione, at least he was convinced for a few moments that they could and would work things out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Granger!”

“Coming!” A harried-looking Hermione rushed into the office of Bernard Denton, head of the Department of Mysteries' Origins Analysis Division. A stern, highly professional man, Denton was extremely enthusiastic about his work, but expected nothing short of perfection from his division. Even now, he gave his brightest new recruit a quick look-over, almost as if he was trying to find her weak points.

“Granger, set those files down and take a seat, please.”

Hermione nodded obediently and after setting the large pile of notebooks down, took a seat opposite his desk. She tried not to think about the possibility of being assigned to Johns' new team as they exchanged short pleasantries (`Getting enough rest?' `Yes. How's the family?' `Oh, just fine.'). The typical moment of brief silence followed, before Denton addressed business,

“As you know, we'll be forming a new team to study Johns' findings.”

“I remember, sir.” She could have sworn her beating heart was visible, it was pumping so erratically.

“You applied for one of the positions?”

“Yes, of course.” She attempted to stare back confidently when he raised his eyebrows at the `of course.'

“I see. You're aware this is going to probably double your workload, right?”

“I don't mind. It's simply fascinating and—”

“Your work is already a little behind as things are. You've been staying longer than anyone else here, which shows dedication, but you're still the last one to hand in your findings. Why do you think that is?”

“I was a little under the weather, but I'm better now. I'm sure I'll be able to handle the position.” She was almost pleading now, and admitting that thinking about Harry left her distracted to the point of inability to work would have been fatal to her ambitions.

“I've half a mind not to give you the spot, but you're in. I expect you to hand everything on time. If you fall behind again, there are others to take your place.”

“Oh, thank you!” Normally she might have been angry and indignant about that remark, but the guilt over letting a silly feeling get to her stifled the typical Hermione reaction.

“I'll expect at the meeting on Monday.”

“Of course. And thanks, again!”

She managed to keep from cheering when she left his office, and shakily returned to her desk. Out of population analysis and into real work!

The warning had fled her mind by the time she returned home, bags of groceries in hand and a humming a song as she opened the door. The humming halted when she spotted Harry napping on the couch, and she tiptoed past him into the kitchen, and began unpacking.

Maybe if Quidditch hadn't been to tiring, she could coax Harry into cooking tonight—he was easily the best cook of the three. And if Ron went to the Burrow tonight, she could almost pretend it meant something, him cooking dinner for just the two of them. Which was silly and girlish, she knew, but with the new assignment today she could almost forget about how problematic it was for her to fancy Harry.

She'd resumed humming as she placed the vegetables in the fridge, when Harry wandered into the kitchen.

“Hey.”

He tried not to laugh as she started, and whipped around at him.

“You scared me!”

“Sorry. I didn't know you need privacy when putting away the vegetables.”

“Honestly! You shouldn't sneak up on people like that!”

“In my own flat?”

“Even in your own flat. But you can make it up to me by cooking tonight.”

“Fine. Your cooking stinks anyways,” Harry replied, as he started placing things in the cupboard.

“My cooking doesn't stink,” she protested.

“Too much perfectionism, not enough sampling. It's not Potions, you know.”

“I know that!”

“Yeah, you're Hermione Granger, you know everything,” Harry replied, not unkindly, and grinned over at her. It was nice to have a normal conversation with her for once, like they were just Harry and Hermione again.

“Well, you're Harry the Hero now, so you'd know,” Hermione replied, smiling back.

“Well, as Harry the Hero, I think all the other Heroes deserve a Saturday at Hogsmeade. Want to come?”

“What?” She sputtered, much like he'd done earlier that day.

“Hogwarts has their Hogsmeade weekend, and Ron wants to see Luna.”

“He told you that?”

“Not exactly. But he does want to go, and he figures we should all go.”

“I suppose. Are you going to meet up with Ginny, then?” She asked briskly, assuming a business-like tone.

“Dunno. I doubt she'll want to see me.”

“Really? Any reason?”

“Yeah. She'd much rather be with her new boyfriend,” Harry replied calmly, unaware of the changing expressions on Hermione's face.

“You're okay with that?”

“Of course I am. We haven't dated since sixth year, Hermione.”

“I know, but, it always seemed like you were just waiting for her to be safe, or to graduate.”

“Nope. She's dating a Gryffindor, but she hasn't said who.”

“Strange.”

“Yeah.”

“So…about that dinner?”

She couldn't have been much happier. Harry wasn't in love with Ginny, Ron had owled to say he was staying the night at the Burrow, she'd gotten the position, and Harry was cooking her dinner. And sure, that didn't mean much - it was just dinner between two friends - but they were going to Hogsmeade and as long as she didn't get swamped too quickly at work, perhaps everything was going to be just fine. Now at least, there was the possibility that Harry would see her in a different light—there was no way she was simply going to forget and move on now. No, there was too much potential for things to go right.

Or wrong.

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Author's Note: I apologize for the huge delay in posting—this chapter was difficult to write. On the bright side, it's the longest yet. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: nothing has changed—I still don't own the rights to Harry Potter. I'm just playing with the characters.

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Chapter 7: Singled Out— `Coupled Out?'

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Didn't I find you when I knew you were hiding out?
Didn't I see you when you thought you'd never stand out?
Didn't I find you? Didn't I find you?
-Copeland, “When You Thought You'd Never Stand Out”

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The week of the April Hogsmeade visit proved to be unexpectedly nice—the sun had decided to grace the area with its presence, and it was actually warm enough to abandon heavy coats in favor of sweaters and jackets. Consistent with the weather change, there was a pervasive mood of content and more than a little laughter amongst the students of Hogwarts. Those who were third year and above seemed especially cheerful as the impending weekend trip drew closer—and even the teachers were apt to let classes go a little early that Friday.

Flitwick was more than happy to let his seventh years out early, too—they had been patiently compliant in spite of the sunshine pouring through the windows. So, with a reminder that their essays were due the next class, he dismissed them with a broad smile, and watched them practically race out of his classroom. He didn't take it too personally though; he knew his students liked him, but nothing could keep them perfectly attentive on a Friday afternoon.

Every now and then, it was refreshing to see how resilient his students had been after all the brutality of last year. Most of the students had lost their haunted expressions, and they seemed intent on making this year the best they could remember. Quidditch was more competitive than ever - in a good way - and McGonagall had done her best to promote inter-house unity since resuming her role as Headmistress.

But the biggest surprise had been Neville. He'd suspected the boy had been carrying out a few heroic operations the past year, but the drive and confidence he'd gained was simply astounding. Whatever his love of Herbology had started in him, having to lead and instruct other students the past year had vastly improved upon it. Of all his students, Flitwick had a feeling Neville would have no trouble with his N.E.W.T.S.

“Professor?”

Flitwick started, and turned away from the window. One of his first years was standing in front of him, looking extremely nervous. Offering his most comforting smile, Flitwick resumed his favorite aspect of teaching—helping the new students.

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Passing by Ron's room, Hermione was forced to suppress a giggle—the redhead was anxiously ruffling his hair, attempting to make it do something, anything other than lie perfectly flat. It was ironic, really, since Harry was doing everything in his power to flatten his own. Telling either of them that their hair was just fine how it was only resulted in embarrassment for her boys, so Hermione let it go and curled up against the corner of the couch, settling down to read until they were ready.

“Honestly, they're bigger girls than I am,” she muttered, as she turned to the bookmarked page.

She made it about as far as `however, the properties of…' before her mind drifted. She knew Ron was just trying to look nice for Luna, but why was Harry fighting with his hair? Harry only did so when trying to make a good impression on someone, but he'd been quite adamant about not wanting Ginny back. Hermione didn't have a whole lot of time to think much further than that (and those thoughts all steadily zoomed nowhere) before Harry and Ron appeared.

“Ready, then?” She asked briskly, practically brushing away her distraction as she took out a pinch of Floo Powder.

“We'll all meet at the Three Broomsticks when it's time to go, all right?” She instructed in her usual tone, and Ron rolled his eyes while she Floo'd away.

“You'd think we were five, huh?” Ron remarked as the flames turned a brilliant green for his trip. Harry shrugged, looking slightly nervous, and once Ron was gone, followed the same procedure.

He wasn't particularly fond of travel by Floo, but Harry thought he was improving a little—after all, he didn't come stumbling out into the wrong place this time. Hermione and Ron had already grabbed a table, and Madam Rosmerta waved cheerfully at him as he moved to join them. Apparently, Hermione had already taken the liberty of ordering for them, as three Butterbeers were sitting on the table, and she was already scolding Ron,

“Honestly, you cannot drink firewhisky before meeting Luna!”

“You're not my Mum!”

“Right, well, I hope you're done arguing, since Luna's just walked in,” Harry remarked calmly as he took his seat, and gave Hermione an appreciative look as he got his drink. Ron turned pale under his freckles, and smiled nervously as the blonde Ravenclaw approached. Hermione grinned into her butterbeer, preparing herself for what could only be an interesting interaction with Luna.

“Hello, Harry, Hermione, Ronald,” Luna remarked dreamily, sinking down into the booth next to Ron. She was humming something that distinctly reminded Harry of “Weasley is Our King,” and Ron looked completely unsure of himself, but managed to order her a butterbeer without any mishaps.

“Hi, Luna,” Harry offered, as Ron handed Luna her drink and Hermione shifted around towards him to make more room for Luna.

“Hello, Harry. Ronald tells me you've been playing Quidditch. I do hope you're watching out for the Rinkledriz—they like to disguise themselves as stray Bludgers.”

“Umm…yeah…” Harry mumbled, elbowing Hermione before she could start laughing. Ron was starting to flush with embarrassment, unnoticed by Luna.

Harry couldn't help but wonder what exactly those two talked about enough to have a relationship, but as Ron gradually became more comfortable, those thoughts slid from his head. He didn't observe much beyond the fact they were happy around each other.

Hermione was much more specific with her observations. Ron made Luna laugh (and therefore made her feel less different and more included); Luna admired him, which gave him a stronger sense of importance than anyone else had ever given him in his whole life. In spite of Luna's strange ideas and Ron's thick-headedness, they made each other happy, and Hermione felt a little twinge over how oddly adorable they were.

She instinctively looped her arm through Harry's while the four of them talked—the afternoon felt comfortable. Sure, Luna didn't quite have the connection the other three had, but she had always been oddly perceptive about those things, and knew how to contribute to their conversation better than Hermione had expected. She was so caught up in these thoughts and the present conversation (the pros and cons of the House competition) that she didn't once notice Harry glancing at her occasionally with a strange look on his face.

Madam Rosmerta noticed, however, and when she came to bring the bill, casually asked,

“Two checks, then?”

After an awkward pause, but before Hermione could reply, Harry nodded, “Yeah,” and shrugged it off when the others stared at him (Luna with a dreamy smile on her face).

“What? If you're so bothered, Hermione, you can pay me back later. I just didn't want to cause her any trouble.”

She frowned, obviously confused, but didn't say a word about it. Ron and Harry paid for the drinks, and Luna was soon insisting Ron show her the new Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Mouthing an apology, Ron followed after her, leaving Harry and Hermione behind.

She scanned the room, and questioned,

“Where is everyone else, anyways? I figured we would have seen everyone by now.”

“I dunno,” Harry replied, glancing around as well.

“Well, do you want to take a walk?” He added, rising from the table.

“All right. Maybe they went to one of the other stores…” Hermione trailed off, and Harry found it strange that she was so anxious to find other people—normally Hermione was perfectly content to be left alone, or with the three of them.

Shrugging it off, Harry handed Hermione her jacket, and they wandered out into the streets of Hogsmeade. The streets were packed with Hogwarts students and weekend-visitors, enjoying the sunlight and the new shops. The two of them joined in the throng, aimlessly stopping by Scrivenshaft's (Hermione bought a new quill, though Harry didn't see what made it special enough to cost 6 Galleons), and poking their heads into Gladrags (Harry became quiet when he saw the colorful socks, one pair of which was identical the ones they bought for Dobby). They passed by George's new shop, which had replaced the Zonko's, but didn't recognize anyone inside.

The only place left worth visiting was Honeyduke's. Chatting amiably about some of the changes in Hogsmeade, and sharing a few memories about their days at Hogwarts (had they really been finished with Hogwarts for almost two years?), Harry and Hermione entered the sweet shop, arm in arm and laughing about something or other.

Naturally, this easily misinterpreted entrance would be witnessed by not only the average Hogwarts student, but also by every friend they had in Hogsmeade. Ron and Luna were there, and Ron had been in the middle of telling Seamus and Dean a joke, before stopping short. Neville waved amiably, and Harry suspected the other redhead, unaware of the awkward moment, was Ginny.

Smiling, Harry, approached the friendliest face - Neville - and Hermione greeted him with a hug.

“Neville, how are you? How's Hogwarts? Are you learning a lot?”

“Give him a chance to answer, Hermione,” Harry interrupted, amused, and Neville gave him a grateful look. Whatever lingering strangeness in the room evaporated as Harry wandered over to Ron, and some way or another was caught up in a Bertie Botts fight (nothing too crazy, just a little wandwork to make the particularly nasty flavors chase after people until you ate them).

After being forced to swallow a pickled cockroach flavor, Harry made his escape back over to Hermione, Neville, and a few others. Hermione looked halfway amused, halfway disgusted, at this new game, and Neville expressed his sympathies. Harry looked around the store for Ginny - he had been sure he saw her - and finally spotted her near the sherbets.

“Careful, they sometimes forget to sweeten the lemon ones.”

“Honeydukes doesn't mess up,” Ginny replied calmly, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she turned to speak with him. Harry vaguely noticed that she was as pretty as ever, but no emotions followed this particular observation.

“Well, you never know.” Harry ran a hand through his hair.

“How's your boyfriend?” He added, unsure what the protocol for talking to Ginny really was. As far as he knew, she was over him, and he was over her, and he wanted to be friends, but guessing by the awkward glances cast their way every now and then, maybe it was too soon.

“Oh, he's great,” Ginny replied, and Harry nodded.

“When did you start seeing Hermione?” she added before the conversation died out completely.

“We're not seeing each other. Ron and Luna wanted to go to see the new shop, so it was just Hermione and I today. That's all.”

“Well, that happens a lot—you and Hermione.”

“I guess…” Harry admitted, and eagerly changed the subject, “So you never told me which one you're dating these days. Not Dean again?”

“No, not Dean,” Ginny echoed, and then added quietly, “it's Neville.”

“Really?” Harry managed to ask, though his brain wasn't quite working. Of all the people Ginny could have dated, would have wanted to date—Neville hadn't been his first guess. He liked Neville, of course, but it just seemed unlikely that Ginny would see him in that light.

“You're not mad, are you?” Ginny was asking, though it was clear that his opinion wouldn't really matter that much if negative.

“Of course not! In fact, you should let me go congratulate him now,” Harry replied, attempting to sound reassuring.

Ginny looked relieved to be free of conversing one-on-one with Harry, and they joined Hermione and Neville.

“Neville was just telling me that he was dating Ginny,” Hermione remarked immediately, and Harry nodded,

“I know. Ginny told me. Be careful Neville, or Ron will take your head off,” said Harry, grinning at his friend, who didn't seem convinced of this, as he continued to hold Ginny's hand. Hermione simply rolled her eyes at Harry, and the group made plans to return to Three Broomsticks after they made their purchases (enchanted jelly beans and all).

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The boys thoroughly enjoyed the rest of their afternoon. Seamus probably couldn't see straight afterwards, and Ron was a little tipsy, but it was more than nice to simply spend a day laughing instead of working (be it at a job or Hogwarts) and feeling the aftermath of the war.

Even Hermione felt unusually lighthearted. When she'd watched Harry make a beeline for Ginny at Honeydukes, she'd felt pangs of jealousy and a little bit of sadness, even as Neville shyly admitted he was dating Ginny now. What if he'd been wrong about not liking her anymore? What if Ginny was only using poor Neville? These and plenty of other worries flew through her head, but as she watched them stumble over a conversation, she grew increasingly relaxed, though she still couldn't help but blurt out `Neville's dating Ginny' when Harry joined them—just in case. When she realized Harry was genuinely okay with the whole thing, she felt even more at ease.

After all, they had spent the day together, and she'd thoroughly enjoyed it. Hermione wasn't totally thrilled that her boys had both indulged in a little Firewhisky, but she would deal with that later. There would be plenty of things to do when she arrived back home, she realized, and the amount of work awaiting her alone was enough to take a notch off the day's pleasantries.

She tried to avoid these depressing thoughts as they walked everyone else back to Hogwarts' gates, but to little avail. Dean and Seamus were quickly gone too, though Ron lingered to say good bye to Luna. She distractedly motioned that Harry should follow her to give Ron a little privacy, and they trudged back in silence. Had she been a little less preoccupied, Hermione might have noticed that Harry was acting a little nervous.

“Hey Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

“I had fun today.”

“Me too. It was nice to see everyone.”

“Well, yeah, but not just that. I mean, maybe we should do something next weekend too.”

“Sure. I don't know what Ron's schedule is like, but I'm sure we can—”

“No, without Ron. Just us.” Harry wasn't sure why he was suddenly suggesting this, but once he'd started with the idea, he found his mouth simply wouldn't shut up. Apparently Firewhisky made him a little braver and definitely more impulsive.

“You mean, like a date?” Hermione asked, finally paying attention, and looking at him with a strange expression.

“I guess so, that is if you don't, or rather, I mean….yes.”

“No, Harry.”

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End note: Yes, that was really mean, and I'm a teensy bit sorry. I will do my very best to update sooner this time! Remember, reviews make me happy!

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Author's Note: I know leaving you hanging like that was mean, so I'll just launch right into the story, and save my note for the end of the chapter.

Disclaimer: my lawyer called and informed me that Harry Potter has been donated to me thanks to my work saving starving children. This is all true, except for the part where I have a lawyer, do lots of charity work, and the part about me getting Harry Potter as a reward for said kindness. Nor do I have any affiliation with George Eliot, Laurence Sterne, or the makers of either Sabrina film.

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Chapter 8: Think Really, Really Hard

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This is not That, and He was never You,

Though this and that are AYES, and you and he

Are like as one to one, or three to three.

-George Eliot, preface to Chapter 51 of Middlemarch

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“…maybe we should do something next weekend too.”

“Sure. I don't know what Ron's schedule is like, but I'm sure we can—”

“No. Without Ron. Just us.”

“You mean like a date?”

“I guess so, that is if you don't, or rather, I mean…yes.”

“No, Harry.”

Harry tried not to look dumbfounded. Granted, the decision to impulsively ask Hermione out had probably been a little influenced by the afternoon's drinks—but she'd just seemed to so happy being with him. Plus, he'd felt more content than he had in weeks. With that combination it was no wonder he just blurted it out.

They continued walking in an awkward silence, the expression on Hermione's face unreadable. After about a minute, Harry found his curiosity unbearable, and emboldened by his confusion, asked,

“Why?”

“Why what, Harry?” Hermione sounded tired, and more than a little sad.

“Why did you say no?”

“For a lot of reasons Harry.”

“I don't understand.”

“Because we're best mates, and like it or not, that has to change now. Because the only reason you even asked me is because you tried to keep up with Ron's drinking. Because you don't know what you want.”

“But—”

“Harry, we're really close, I know that. And maybe I do like you a little more than I should. But I don't think you really know why you asked me, or even if you really like me. If I know you, you haven't even really thought about it that much—liking me. What's more, you probably only noticed that it was even possible to think of me like that because everyone else made it painfully obvious today, and having someone around like that again would be nice. After all, you haven't dated anyone since Ginny.”

Hermione pronounced her hesitations like an incredibly strange list, with as little emotion as possible. Truthfully, she wanted nothing more than to simply agree to go on a date with him, and for a little while she could actually pretend Harry loved her, and didn't just want to love her because he was feeling lonely. Harry's inability to answer after this disheartening speech only seemed to confirm her suspicions, and her resolve crumbled a little upon noticing the dejected expression on his face.

“But…umm…think about it for a few days, Harry. Not just in passing, either. I mean, really think about it, and if you decide you still want this, ask me again. Being impulsive about my feelings is what nearly ruined my friendship with Ron, Harry, and I don't want to take that risk with you—you're too important.”

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Ron had caught up to them at that point, and the conversation had been dropped in favor of teasing him and his new relationship (kindly, of course). If he'd noticed something was different between his best friends, Ron had wisely opted to keep his mouth shut.

Eerily, Hermione showed no acknowledgement of the prior weekend's conversation. True, most of her time was consumed by work (she was still uncannily enthusiastic about it), but even when it was just the two of them in the flat, she remained friendly and loyal and everything Harry appreciated about her. It had been four days since the Hogsmeade visit, and Harry was no closer to making a decision than he had been on that day.

For sure, he cared about her. A lot. She was his best friend, and had never failed to be there for him. Her nagging and motherly ways could irritate him, but those habits never actually bothered him to the point of conflict. When there was conflict, it was always about his safety, which was actually kind of touching. Yes, Harry Potter definitely loved and depended upon Hermione. But did he want more than her (admittedly, amazing as it was) friendship?

The question had dogged him for days, distracting him during Quidditch and even conversations. It had actually gotten to a point where his teammates had to rescue him from being hit by a Bludger headed straight at him.

Like right now.

“Blimey, Harry, keep your eyes open!” One of the Beaters shouted, and threw him a dirty look before chasing after the Bludger.

It was too late to apologize, so Harry simply flew higher, circling around looking for the Snitch. This wasn't an important match (just a scrimmage), but he shouldn't have been zoning out like this. Checking on the other Seeker (who wasn't making any progress either), he circled around once more, trying to stay focused on the task at hand—but the question was quick to return to the front of his mind.

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It was a miracle, really, that he even noticed the other Seeker had spotted the snitch, and another miracle that he was able to cut off the other guy and catch it himself. As he trudged to the showers, one of the other players - a Chaser named Tristram - pulled him aside.

“Nice catch, Potter.”

“Thanks. It was luck mostly,” Harry replied, and Tristram shrugged,

“A catch is a catch. Still, you have been off lately. Something bothering you?”

“Nothing, really,” it was a little strange to have this conversation with Tristram, as the guy was totally `nutters' (as Ron would say). He was impulsive and imaginative, not to mention a bit of a compulsive liar. Sure, Harry liked the guy, probably more than his other teammates, but…

“If it's messing with out team's performance, you should take care of it before we start losing and the coach gets mad at you,” Tristram replied, half playfully.

“Well, I always liked getting chewed out by Tertius,” Harry replied dryly, and his friend rolled his eyes.

“Avoidance—that means it's a girl. Total distraction means you've got no idea what to do about it. And if you're confused, then she's either unavailable, or your friend.”

“Don't be a prat, Tristram.”

“Well, which is it? Because as much as I like a good tryst, you seem too noble for that sort of thing, and my advice would have to be no. If she's just your friend, just bloody ask her already, because you look pretty pathetic right now.”

“It's not that simple,” Harry snapped, and waved him off.

“If it's Hermione, propose and get it over with!” Tristram called after him, laughing as he ducked into the showers.

Harry did his best to ignore the input of his strange teammate, but this new information left him almost more distracted than before. Sure, the man was more than a little crazy, but his advice tended to be pretty solid.

But telling him to do something he'd already tried - and failed - wasn't as much help as Harry had hoped. According to Hermione, he had to be sure.

Then the idea came to him, and Harry laughed aloud at the fact that he hadn't thought of it before.

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Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes had just about everything these days—if you could make it funny, they would consider stocking it. At least, that's what Ron had told Harry. And as he wandered through the `Potions and Other Strange Liquids' section, Harry had to agree: the place was stockpiled with oddities and ghastly-looking potions.

He spotted the pearly liquid a little further down, and quickened his pace. Stopping in front of the shelf, his face fell—the stuff was bottled up behind a glass case, threatening boils to anyone who tried to get a sniff without buying.

“You don't need that stuff anyways, Harry.”

Harry whipped out his wand, prepared to defend himself, before recognizing the speaker as George.

“No need to get feisty, now,” George cautioned, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“Sorry. Old habits and all that…” Harry replied apologetically, replacing his wand.

“It's all right. But really, you don't need love potion. I'd imagine any girl you like would date you without it.”

“It's nothing like that.”

“Oh, you wanted to smell for your true love, then? Harry, it's all nonsense. The smell you like best changes with time; it doesn't tell you who to marry. You either like someone or you don't.”

Harry remained silent. Slughorn had made it sound so very different.

“What? Is something different about my hair?” George asked, adding, “I told them to make sure my hole was extra visible this time, you know.”

“No, no, it's nothing. Thanks George.”

Harry practically sprinted out of the Diagon Alley shop—and not due to embarrassment.

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The day couldn't end fast enough. He tried to watch a little television, but nothing held his attention for longer than a commercial. Harry found himself wishing that he had some kind of hobby, but wishing didn't exactly help shorten the time.

In the end, he wandered down the market, and taking longer than necessary to purchase the groceries for the week, plus a few extra things he knew Hermione loved. On the stroll back, a little flower shop caught his eye, and he went inside—to waste a little more time, he told himself.

“Hello,” the florist greeted with friendliness enough, and Harry smiled in acknowledgement. There were lots of huge arrangements with flowers in bright colors and strange shapes—and a few plants that looked like they belonged in Neville's personal collection.

“Do you need something in particular?” The woman asked, attempting to keep the concept of courtesy alive.

“I'm okay right now…” Harry trailed off. This was really quite silly. Buying flowers for a place setting was Hermione's job, and getting them expressly for her would only annoy her—not because she didn't like flowers, but because she didn't want any kind of grand gesture right now, especially from him. A bouquet of daffodils caught his eye briefly, but eventually his sense prevailed, and Harry snuck out of the store when the woman was taking a phone order.

He tried to ignore the clock as he unpacked his purchases—the clock only mocked him with its sluggish movement. Unfortunately, it moved all of ten minutes in that duration, and he was quickly getting desperate for things to do. Feeling more than a little lame, Harry found himself tidying up around the flat (except for Ron's room—too scary). Nothing major, of course: just everything short of moving any furniture and messing with the windows.

Twenty minutes until she got back. Give or take a minute, maybe thirty seconds. And now he was starting to sound just like her. Harry ran a hand through his hair, and sank onto the couch, defeated. He was going to drive himself mad if he didn't find a way to relax.

Fifteen minutes to go—Harry had sliced bread, rubbed garlic on it, and stuck it into the oven. Hermione had mentioned wanting to order in, but if he hadn't done something, there was no telling what would befall his mental status.

Ten minutes to go—the bread was burnt, and pitched into the rubbish bin. Apparently he wasn't so impatient as to remember to set a timer.

Five minutes left—if he kept keeping track of how much time was left, Ron was going to tease him into August.

The television was back on, with Harry rapidly changing the channels, when Hermione came through the front door. It took a ridiculously unnecessary amount of will power to keep Harry from running to greet her, and he settled for immediately stopping his channel changing (lest she think he was totally bored). Unfortunately, it stopped on a children's show.

“Aren't we a little old for cartoons? Honestly, Harry.” Hermione sighed, though she looked happy to see him nonetheless.

“It was a commercial for that movie you wanted to see before,” Harry lied, and Hermione only rolled her eyes.

“The only movie I want to see is the kind where we can order Indian food.”

“Then start looking—there are a few we rented still out on the table. Do you want the usual stuff?”

“Yes, that's fine. Only, order half of what we usually get—Ron's staying at George's place tonight.”

“Again?”

“It's not like Ron stays there all the time,” Hermione defended, feeling slightly hurt. She had been looking forward to spending a little time with Harry, in spite of the fact she had just turned him down. After all, he was still her best friend. And even though he hadn't asked her again (and therefore didn't really want to be with her), she was determined to keep things as normal as possible.

“It'll be here in half an hour,” Harry called from the kitchen, and Hermione studied the various movie cases.

“You and Ron rented the new Sabrina because…?” Hermione asked, eyebrows raised, as Harry returned.

Harry only shrugged. “Ron and I thought you'd appreciate any movie with Harrison Ford in it.”

“It's got nothing on the original. But if you really want to watch it…” Hermione replied, smiling.

“It's your pick. Just don't get too caught up with your darling Harrison,” Harry teased back, and Hermione colored a little.

They settled into the couch after Hermione put the tape in (Hermione curled up against the corner, Harry comfortably sprawled out in the middle), and as the commercials flashed across the screen, Harry looked up.

“Hey, Hermione?”

“Hmm…?”

“Never mind.”

“Okay.”

About twenty minutes into the movie, Harry got up to answer the door, and guessing by the smell wafting into the flat, Hermione was prepared for the Indian food when he returned. They ate in comfortable silence, watching the Larrabee brothers fall in love with the same woman.

Another twenty minutes later, Harry interrupted again (after making sure Harrison Ford was not on screen).

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“I thought about it.”

“I figured.”

“I still want this, Hermione.”

“Shh, this is the good part,” Hermione whispered, and turned back towards the TV screen. Harry noticed a goofy smile spreading across her face, and rearranged himself so that she was nestled between the cushions and his arm.

Hermione let out a small sigh of content, and Harry let her finish the movie in peace.

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End note: Yes, the character Tristram is based off of Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy, though mine is easily less insane, and a lot more focused. And I know the ending wasn't exactly passionately romantic, but there was something so endearing about having a simple beginning to their romance, that I couldn't help myself.

Remember, reviews make me happy!

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