Love Like Fire

RavenclawGenius

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 20/03/2008
Last Updated: 21/03/2008
Status: in_progress

Voldemort is gone - thanks to the famous Trio's final efforts to vanquish him. Harry and Hermione are finally given the time to learn about their feelings for each other, while Ron dabs into his own romantic mind and comes to the realization that Loony Lovegood is quite a fanciable witch.

Chapters

1. Different Kinds of a Celebration

2. The Beginnings of Clever Ideas

1. Different Kinds of a Celebration

“You're awfully quiet, Hermione.” Ron grinned cheerfully. “Today's a happy day; you know, one for drinking, laughing… all that ruddy stuff. What's wrong?”

Hermione shook herself from her musings, offering Ron a mere shrug. “Dunno.” She muttered half-heartedly - she lied half-heartedly.

Ron frowned and plopped his lanky body next to hers, pulling her into a surprisingly gentle one-armed hug. “Long day, right? Long night… Feels weird that it's all over so fast, eh?”

No! Hermione's mind screamed at her. Merlin she loved Ron to pieces, but he was so oblivious to people's feelings. He'd probably only noticed that she was feeling off because she was quiet and, as he once told her, it was such a shockingly rare occasion that it attracted even his attention.

“I'm going home, Ron.” She murmured, tugging his arm away from her shoulder. “I don't feel well.”

She lied again. She felt fine, but she knew someone who didn't, and she fully planned to go rectify that situation.

Ron agitatedly blew a sigh from his lips and slammed his butterbeer on the table beside the couch. “Merlin, Hermione, do you have to always ruin the fun? Today's supposed to be happy! Our best mate defeated the darkest wizard in history, and you can't find the spirit to even pretend to be having fun?”

Hermione blinked owlishly at him and shook her head. “I'm not going to debate this with you, Ronald. I'm leaving. Goodnight.”

Hermione wondered if Ron actually paid any attention to their aforementioned `best mate'. She wondered if he'd seen the dark look in his eyes, or felt the morose detachment from him as he announced Voldemort's death just hours prior. She wondered if he'd heard the anguish in his voice, or felt tears sting the back of his eyes as Harry quietly whispered that he thought his ribs were broken, almost as if he didn't care.

But, no… Ron had never been privy to such things like emotions, and it just wouldn't do for this day to be any different. It would probably have taken a shifted planet in the galactic sequence for Ron to have taken notice.

At the same time, she marveled at the fact that Ron could be so oblivious. How could he participate in the celebrations when he should bloody well know that Harry would have hated them? Because these people weren't honoring those who had given their lives - like Harry's parents - but they chose to instead honor Harry. They took the day as an excuse to get drunk without having to worry about the consequences.

Harry was probably holed up in some room at Grimmauld Place, sipping on a firewhiskey and staring into the fire, fighting away tears until the drink had consumed him enough to let them go.

Approaching Grimmauld Place, Hermione took a deep breath and steeled herself for whatever it was she would see. She had her predictions that this wouldn't be pretty, and although she couldn't be sure what she was going to find, she wanted to make sure she could support Harry with whatever she could give.

She creaked the door open, cringing at the noise it made, and she quietly took off her shoes to lessen the noise. She slipped into the sitting room, and sighed at the heartbreaking scene before her.

Harry was sitting on the floor, in front of the fire, with a smoldering glass of firewhiskey - just as predicted - with old photographs scattered around him. The remaining bottle of firewhiskey was lying just beside him, ready to be put to use as soon as this glass fell into the depths of Harry's stomach and heart.

Her body trembled as she looked at him. Thousands of emotions swarmed through her at once, and she had to physically shake herself to keep her body moving toward him. She sat down next to him, opposite the firewhiskey bottle.

He looked up, and a quick flash of his eyes that very well could have been created by her imagination was the only sign she received that told her he was even aware of her presence.

“You did well today, Harry.” Hermione whispered finally, resting her hand on his bicep. “I'm proud of you.”

Harry nodded but didn't say anything as he continued to stare at the photos, shifting his gaze only to look at another one.

There were three photos on the floor. The first, a picture of his mum and dad, playfully placing kisses against each other's lips in the snow - a picture that Remus had only given to him three months ago, after he'd found it in the attic of his old shack of a home. The second was a picture of Sirius, portraying every damned loveable quality the wolfish man possessed as he flashed a winning smile at the camera, his arm cheerfully draped around a blushing Molly Weasley. And the third, the one that captivated the most of Harry's attention, held a picture of Harry, Ron, and Hermione in their third year; their last year before things went pear-shaped and it first dawned on all of them that maybe magic wasn't as wonderful as it had always seemed.

“I'm sure they're just as proud.” Hermione said softly, her voice breaking slightly as she watched a tear slide down his cheek. He slammed the glass of whiskey back, flinching at its harshness and at the same time thankful for the feeling.

“It's not fair.” Harry croaked, pouring himself another glass. Hermione contemplated how many he'd already had, but the thought flickered away as quickly as it had come. He, unlike everyone else, should be overindulging in alcohol. After everything he'd been through in the past few months, she might have been worried if he weren't drinking.

“I know it's not.” She agreed gently, conjuring a second glass and pouring one for herself. “And by Merlin, Harry, if there were anything I could do to make this better for you I'd do it in a heartbeat. You don't deserve it, love. None of it.”

Her voice broke off, and she tried to swallow back the lump in her throat to calm herself. When that failed, she used the steaming glass of liquid in her hand to assist her. She clinched her eyes shut, forgetting that firewhiskey tended to ignite more tears to her eyes than it took away. Then again, perhaps that was better.

“You helped.” Harry muttered, and Hermione looked up at him and furrowed her brows together, hastily swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “At the battle tonight. You erm… you helped.”

“Do you want to talk about the battle, Harry?” Hermione whispered, leaning over and resting her cheek against his shoulder.

“No.” Harry mumbled quietly. Hermione nodded her acquiescence, poured another shot, and sipped it in silence.

They both stared at the pictures lovingly, occasionally caressing one of them with a soft finger and a light touch, wondering what it would be like to have those times back; to be as innocent as they were in that picture, or to have Sirius back… even to see what Harry's parents had been like.

“I was scared.” Harry said suddenly, almost inaudibly. “But I wasn't scared for me. I didn't know what I'd do if you or Ron had died. Merlin, Hermione, I've been through so many near-death experiences that I almost find myself wanting to know what it'd be like. Maybe then I'd get to see my family, you know? But you and Ron…” Harry shook his head. “You're just too important to me.”

Hermione was quiet for a minute, and Harry frowned when she ducked her head. It was very unlike Hermione to give no response to an admission like that.

When she looked up again, Harry felt very antsy. The look in her eyes was one he would never forget. There was a splash of anger, overwhelming passion, and a tinge of disappointment that damn near made him want to cry.

“Don't ever, ever say that again.” Hermione growled. “I know what you've been through hasn't been easy Harry, and I know how much you worry for Ron and I… But for just once, I want you to know how I feel about this.”

And suddenly Harry felt his gaze being forced into hers by her hands under his chin. When their eyes locked, she surged into his mind using her recently acquired skill as a Legilimens. Harry cringed at the anticipation he felt for what she was about to show him, but he was unprepared for the racing of his heart as she shot an overwhelming feeling of relief through him his body. Relief that he was safe, and it made him almost wish he'd never dragged her into this.

Relief soon turned to love; not the sort of love he'd have received from Ginny all those months ago. No, this was a gentle love, the emotion almost caressing his heart with contentment.

And love, that gentle, soothing feeling of love that he instantly wished would never go away, changed into fear. All the fear that she felt over the past months - years even - for him. The fear that engulfed him was stronger than any emotion he'd ever felt, and he wondered how she had managed to plough through being at his side when surely he'd have run away at the first glimpse of any sensation that intense.

Just as quickly as she had entered his mind, she had left it again, and suddenly Harry felt as if his emotions paled in comparison to hers.

Sure, he'd felt frightened before - but never like that.

And yes, his sadness for having lost his parents and Sirius was a grieving experience. Perhaps it was the difference in the emotions that struck him. Sadness was a soft feeling. Fear… well, the fear that he'd just felt emanating from Hermione's mind and soul… that was anything but soft. That was tangible, and real, and hard, he could feel his hands shaking even from just the small glimpse he had taken.

Hermione had looked away from him and began tidying up the sitting room, picking up his traveling cloak from the floor and draping it over a hanger in the closet, bending over to pick up the glasses of firewhiskey from the floor beside him.

Harry grabbed her arm, and looked at her face, noting the masked tears that shimmered in her eyes that - had he been Ron, or any other person who didn't know her as well - could easily have been played off as a trick of the dim lighting the room offered. But he wasn't fooled.

He pulled himself up until he was kneeling on his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, silent sobs escaping him, which only she could have noticed by the slight tremor of his shoulders and the barely perceptible increase of hot air against her skin, which she could feel through the thin material of her shirt.

Hermione dropped to her knees, circling her arms around Harry's ribs, and squeezed tightly. She was there, just as she always had been, and her embrace reassured him of the fact.

“I'm so sorry.” Harry's cry was muffled against her shoulder, but she had no difficulty discerning what he'd said.

“Don't be sorry, Harry James.” She said gently, pulling back and wiping the tears away from his face with a careful sweep of her thumbs. “I wouldn't have traded standing by your side for anything in the world. I would never trade that.”

Harry wondered how he had managed to find such a loyal friend, how in Merlin's name he had managed to snag the most observant, caring, clever witch in the world and kept her standing by him no matter what difficult tasks were set ahead of them. He didn't know how he could ever repay her, and felt no small amount of guilt after feeling the emotions that had mounted up within his best friend. He vowed then and there that he would never disregard her again, be it intentional or unintentional, for after everything she'd done for him she deserved at least that much. She deserved to be noticed, and to have someone to fall back on more than anyone.

“Listen to me, Harry.” Hermione whispered softly, pulling his head away from her neck, and delicately brushed the unruly hair away from the scar marring his forehead. Her fingers traced the lightning bolt gracefully and sympathetically in what Harry would later realize - much later - was a very soothing notion that was to be repeated many a time. “You have been to hell and back tonight. You've lost more than anyone in this war. You've lost your family,” her eyes flickered briefly to the photos on the floor, but they never strayed too far away from his eyes for very long, “and you've lost your childhood. You, more than anyone, deserve to have everything you've always wanted. And to cheat yourself of the pleasure… Harry, that's not fair. You're going to have a family. You're going to have a career. You've got so much of your life left to live yet. You should never, ever think about death in the sense of wondering what it's like; no more than Ron or I should. Damn it, Harry, I care about you too much to even consider losing you.”

Hermione's heartfelt speech struggled with Harry's gut and heart. Merlin, how had he never seen that passion-enhanced, devoted gleam in her eye? How could he have overlooked how much she cared for him?

A sudden crash issued from the front entrance hall, and months of training for the now-over war caused Harry and Hermione to dart apart and grip their wands in steady, relentless grasps.

Tonks stumbled through the doorway, obviously far past tipsy, with Lupin steadying her shoulders and pushing her toward the couch with a sheepish grin. Hermione and Harry's wand arms dropped, and were subsequently tucked away into the pockets of their jeans.

“Sorry… got a bit carried away at the celebrations tonight.”

Hermione snorted, her mind instantly darting back to the celebration in the old Gryffindor common room that she had left. If she had sussed out the conditions of her former classmates correctly - and she was sure she had - there would be a large influx of money for the owners of the apothecaries and potions shops the next morning, due to the growing amount of people who were bound to have hangovers in the morning.

She exchanged a small glanced with Harry and, for the first time all evening, the two shared a simultaneous bark of laughter. A bit carried away, they thought amusedly, that's rich. And just like that, the strain and depression that had been settling in before disappeared as their laughter dispersed in the air around them.

Harry quickly recovered from his vulnerable state and waved an arm toward the upstairs. “You're welcome to stay.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Tonks giggled cheerily, absently running her hand through Lupin's hair.

Hermione suspected Lupin was a bit tipsy too, added to being drunk off his own exuberant state of mind, and this thought was only fueled by the fact that he kept attempting to pull Tonks closer - which was more or less physically impossible without removing their clothes. And she also expected that the clothes wouldn't be present and account for for very long.

She and Harry managed to contain their laughter until they heard the frantic scuttling of shoes falling to the ground, and a girlish giggle from Tonks - that while sober would probably never have left her mouth.

“Talk about comic relief.” Hermione quipped, earning another deep laugh from Harry.

“C'mere.” Harry said quietly, taking both her hands in his and planting kisses on both of them before pulling her into a tight hug that lifted her off the ground. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Hermione smiled, pecking his cheek lightly, fighting the blush that crept up her chest and into her cheeks, finding the task nigh impossible.

“Let's go eat.” She suggested, pulling away from him. “I'd prefer not to have a hangover as bad as they will.” She jerked her head up in the general direction of Tonks and Lupin's guest room.

“After you, Miss Granger.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Potter.” Hermione teased back. A small flutter of feeling in her stomach asked if Harry was flirting with her, and a small voice in her head asked why she was flirting in return.

The two silently and unanimously decided that they felt very much like eating breakfast foods for their late-night dinner, and since they probably wouldn't be up before noon anyway, they figured they were safe to do so. They each set about on their own tasks, working well together in the kitchen, Harry respecting her cooking space - which she had always required - and Hermione being mindful to not take his ingredients for her own - as it “threw off his order of things” he'd once told her agitatedly.

About an hour later, they made a myriad of foods that Ron would have gawked at, had he been around, but alas Hermione figured he wouldn't be. “He's probably already passed out by now, Harry.” She chided him gently when he'd asked, and he laughed lightly as he realized she was probably right, as per her usual standards.

Bangers, bacon, scones, crumpets, tea, jam and toast, pancakes, and eggs were strewn across the tables and consequently the counters as they ran out of room to place it all. They weren't worried about it not being eaten, as they were sure the Tonks and Remus were only the first of many that would be crashing at Grimmauld Place tonight, and after they had decided that they wanted a bit of everything, they decided to go all out and cook it all.

“I'd say we did a pretty bang up job.” Harry grinned at his handiwork and placed his leftover dishes in the sink, flicking his wand to get them started on cleaning.

“I'd say you're right.” Hermione smiled too, wiping her hands on a dishcloth to dry them. “And I'm hungry now, so if you don't mind getting some plates, I'll dish out the tea.”

They both settled themselves into chairs at the table and went through the buffet.

“I know you were feeling down earlier,” Hermione said, deliberately keeping her voice light, and nudged his side to emphasize the fact, “but it does feel good not to have the looming cloud of Voldy-ness raining on our parade.”

Harry snorted and threw his arm around her. “Only you would say something as ridiculous as that, Hermione. Only you.”

She flashed him a disarming grin and quickly followed it up with stuffing a bite of pancake into her mouth. “Well it's true.” She said pointing her fork at him. “And you'll be scarred as The Savior for the rest of your life, you lucky chap.”

He groaned. He'd forgotten about the press.

“Aw, come on. It won't be too bad.”

Harry looked at her incredulously. “What part of that sentence isn't too bad?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but shut it with an audible click a moment later. Harry nodded in satisfaction, having proved his point, but apparently Hermione wasn't finished yet. “Well you'll get special privileges, in any case.” She shrugged.

“So will you.” Harry pointed out. “You're a member of the famous Trio of course, so you'll get about as much recognition as I will, possibly more. Your part of the arrangement was by choice, whereas mine was forced.”

“And if you weren't involved I wouldn't have been either.” Hermione said pointedly, biting another bit of her pancake. “I win.”

Harry would have protested, but mere seconds later - opposed to the crashes of attempted silence from Lupin and Tonks - the two in the kitchen heard a pair of bangs caused from clumsy Apparition and they were far from subtle. Hermione and Harry exchanged a quick look, rolling their eyes. The twins were back, which meant that everyone else wouldn't be too far behind.

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2. The Beginnings of Clever Ideas

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the night greeting the rest of the guests, as they were clearly the two soberest ones around, and helped to get them settled into various rooms around the manor. By four that morning, the house hosted the two Weasley twins, Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell (who had apparently been their “escorts” - Hermione offered the use of air quotes while regaling the conversation she'd had with Fred back to Harry), Ginny Weasley, Molly and Arthur - who weren't very drunk, but wanted to be sure that their kids arrived home safe, Lupin and Tonks, Neville Longbottom - in a giddy state that neither Hermione nor Harry had ever seen before, which awoke great amusement within the pair, and sometime around five or so, Ron must have woken up from the common room at Hogwarts and traipsed in the kitchen, eyes alight once he spotted the feast before him, although much of it had been devoured by his siblings beforehand.

By one that afternoon, Harry and Hermione were exhausted. They'd caught only minutes of sleep on the couch, just waiting for the next group to collapse in the door. They both decided that sleep was useless; the adrenaline and happiness they felt now, in strong contrast to the sadness they felt before, kept them from sleeping peacefully, combined with the guests of the house.

Seems George and his “escort” had forgotten a silencing charm, not that anyone besides the sober couple would remember, and this left room for even more laughter.

“Oh Merlin!” Hermione gasped, clutching her side as a stitch formed from her laughter.

Harry's face was red, and he was uncomfortably shifting around in his seat on the couch, which, to be honest, was more the cause of Hermione's laughter than the actual acts that were occurring upstairs.

“It's not funny!” Harry protested. “I don't know how you're okay with this!”

“Oh Harry, they're adults.” Hermione giggled. “They can do what they please, and - ”

“Not in my house!” He interrupted loudly.

“Oh really?” Hermione chuckled, raising a brow. “And I suppose you're just going to waltz up to their room and tell them so?”

Harry blushed again, and was - thankfully, he thought - saved from having to respond because Mrs. Weasley was quietly creeping down the steps.

“Oh! Harry, Hermione, have you been to sleep at all?” Mrs. Weasley jumped. Obviously she hadn't expected anyone else to be awake and was surprised to see them up and about.

It only took Hermione a moment to note that Mrs. Weasley was looking quite uncomfortable as well, avoiding making eye contact with either of them.

“Not much, Mrs. Weasley.” Hermione regained her composure, attempting to save her surrogate mother the embarrassment of acknowledging what her son - and likely more than one of them - was doing upstairs.

Harry, however, lacked the perception to notice that she was discomforted by the situation. “How could we sleep with that racket upstairs?” He jested, although his face still appeared rather pale. “They've been at it for hours! Haven't they got hangovers yet?”

Hermione elbowed him harshly, and he rubbed his side, scowling at her. “What was that for?” He whispered.

“Mrs. Weasley,” she ignored Harry's complaints, “would you like us to help you with lunch?”

Mrs. Weasley was obviously appreciative for Hermione's topic change and gratefully accepted their offer to help in the kitchen. Hermione whispered strictly to Harry what he'd done, and took care to point out his lack of tact while they lagged behind Mrs. Weasley.

“I didn't mean to.” He shrugged, grinning. “But I'm glad she's taking it in a similar fashion to myself.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and set about pulling out the crisps and condiments to go along with the sandwiches. Luckily for those upstairs, she'd had enough sympathy to brew a hangover drought sometime during the night while Harry was dozing on the couch. It wasn't very strong, considering how much she'd made of it, and how few ingredients she'd had, but it was better than nothing and mixed with a bout of coffee and a shower should do the trick well enough.

Harry heard light sniffles from beside him and looked up in alarm to see Mrs. Weasley was crying. He exchanged a panicked look with Hermione, who nudged him with her eyes to talk to her. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, mouthing, `I don't know what to do!' and she sighed exasperatedly before conjuring a pot of tea, setting it on the table, and giving Harry another look, that clearly said, `Do it, or you'll deal with me', and Harry liked to think of himself as a lot smarter than to put himself in that sort of compromising position.

“Erm… Mrs. Weasley would you er… would you like some tea?” Harry hesitated, glancing behind him for Hermione's nod of approval, and watched with a marginal degree of apprehension as she slipped out the door and left Harry alone with the softly crying older woman.

“Oh Harry, dear, I'm just so glad you're all right!” She wept, and enveloped him in a hug that he could feel in the very depths of his heart. “And all my children.” She cradled his face gently, and Harry couldn't help but note that it felt much different when Hermione had done the same thing the night before.

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Harry said uncertainly. He'd never been good at dealing with crying women, no matter the age. “I er… I don't know what to say. Sorry.” He said bashfully.

“Modest, as always.” She chided softly. “Now then, let's get lunch finished, shall we?”

Harry could only be thankful that she was much better at reading people's emotions than he was, and that she had noticed his uneasiness with the situation. A few moments later Hermione reentered and he offered her a small smile, letting her know it had gone alright. The tea, however, remained untouched.

They set about preparing the coffee and finishing up the plates, and once they'd finished they were urged by Mrs. Weasley to wake up the others. Harry frowned, hoping that didn't mean that he'd have to go anywhere within ten feet of George and Angelina's room. Hermione laughed at his pitifully helpless expression.

“I'll get them, Harry. You just get Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Mr. Weasley, and I'll deal with those who were - or presently are occupied.”

“Thanks Hermione.” Harry grinned, rubbing his neck. “You're a lifesaver.”

“Don't I know it.” She tossed over her shoulder, smiling charmingly at him, intimating that she was teasing. Harry pointed out to himself that, while he'd said it in jest to fit the situation, she'd really saved his life more times than he could count, and would ever care attempt. And for the first time Harry wondered if Hermione actually knew how many times she'd saved his arse and just how thankful he was for it.

Shrugging off the unsettling thought, he trudged up the stairs and opened the door to he and Ron's old bedroom. It was, of course, just Ron's now, as Harry had taken up residence in the master bedroom next to Sirius' old room.

“Ron.” He said loudly, shaking his shoulder harshly. “Ron, get up.”

Ron's response was a series of strangled grunts, and shoving a pillow over his head in a futile attempt to block out the noise.

Harry grinned cheerfully, pulling his wand away from his pocket. He twirled it in his hand for a moment before his grin widened, and he pointed the tip of his wand into Ron's face. Ron, of course, was none the wiser, considering he'd never opened his eyes despite the disruption Harry caused. “Aguamenti.”

After a brief but effective choking fit on Ron's behalf, and several heated death glares that surely would have caused Harry death by laughter, had Hermione not just ambled into the hallway with a similar grin on her face, reminding him that he still had two others to urge downstairs.

He wondered succinctly what Hermione had done to get the others downstairs, but suspected he'd hear about it once he was settled in for lunch.

And so it was, ten minutes later, that a few very disgruntled witches and wizards were gathered around the table. Harry and Hermione, however, were feeling quite benevolent and were clearly pleased with themselves.

“So, Ron, how was your night?” Harry nudged his ribs to encourage a response.

“Oh, like I'd bloody well remember.”

“Ronald, watch your language.” Hermione and Mrs. Weasley reprimanded simultaneously. Harry grinned, a sight that caused Hermione to bite her lip curiously in response to the beat her heart had just jumped over and missed.

Harry wondered if this was how it was going to be. He didn't want to think about the day before; he and Hermione had spent enough time talking about it yesterday and he wasn't keen on taking a do-over pass on that particular event. However it felt strange that they had all avoided talking about it at all, barring Mrs. Weasley's tearful thanks an hour previous.

“Oi!” Fred - it could have been George, but Harry had purposely pleaded with Hermione to set Fred across the table from him instead of George, so that he could avoid eye contact with him - exclaimed, leaning up over the table to peer into the large pitcher of something at the middle. “There's a hangover draught!”

“Oh, bless Merlin!” George continued, making a grab for the pitcher. Hermione flicked a finger and levitated it just out of his grasp.

“Not so fast.” Hermione was seemingly taking great pleasure out of daunting not only the twins, but nearly all of his house guests. And Harry was only too happy to let the mirth continue. “If I give you this,” Hermione motioned to the pitcher, “you lot get to clear up this mess, and escort Harry to the Ministry today.”

Now hang on just a second! What was mirthful about that? “What - Hermione! Why have I got to - ”

“Later Harry.” Hermione effectively silenced him with a sharp look that caused Ginny to snigger between bites of her crisps.

He scowled at his plate, his good mood obviously tempered. He couldn't help but feel a slight surge of discontent toward Hermione for lowering his spirits, but he sighed nevertheless, accepting her promise to inform him `later'.

“Poor bloke doesn't even want to go.” Fred argued. “And who are we to force him?”

“Precisely, dear brother.” George nodded in firm agreement. “But that's a hard bargain you drive there, Granger.”

Angelina rolled her eyes. “If you think that's going to get you out of making the deal, you're probably way off the mark.”

“Especially if Hermione's past negotiations are anything to go by.” Katie chimed, glancing longingly at the pitcher full of - at the moment - happiness.

“I'll go with him, Hermione.” Neville volunteered eagerly, reaching toward the pitcher. “My head is pounding so hard right now I think I'd do just about anything for some of this stuff.”

Hermione smiled at him and surrendered the carafe, but she quickly took hold of it again as soon as Fred and George made an attempt at commandeering it. She held it just out of their grasps until they agreed.

Lunch finished not long after, each making claims on the showers, and Harry tugged Hermione into the sitting room for the discussion and explanation that she'd promised to him.

“What's this about the Ministry, Hermione?” He was upset about the fact that she hadn't thought to ask him, but he was sure he was more disappointed that she hadn't known he wouldn't want to set foot within a twenty mile radius of the building. “I don't want - ”

“Harry, how many Aurors do you reckon were at the battle last night?” Hermione asked innocently.

Harry knew that voice. That was the voice she always took on before doing something evil, underhanded, and decidedly Slytherin, and the thought of the idea having something to do with the Ministry arose a sudden flash of eagerness in Harry.

“About ten or so, I suppose.” He estimated. “What's that got to do with - ”

“You don't guess any of those Aurors were assigned to that area by the Ministry?” Hermione pressed.

“No, I don't guess they were.” Hermione's tone indicated that he would be pleased with her plan, as soon as he could wrap his head around the idea of what it was.

“Curious, that, don't you think?” Hermione ploughed onward, grinning. “Out of all the Aurors under the Ministry's control - and there's got to be at least five hundred of them, I'm sure - not a single one was legally aiding you?”

Harry listened with interest, watching her pace the floor in front of the couch he sat on. She had a very cute face when she was pleased with herself, he noted. It wasn't smug, just innocently happy, and it suited her just fine. He shook his head to hone in on what she was trying to say.

“How do you suppose the Minister plans to cover up that?” Hermione raised a brow, and before giving him the chance to sort out a reply, she answered her own question. “I'm betting on the Prophet, considering it's a Ministry owned and operated paper. And they're going to attempt to cover it up by posting wonderful pictures of you, of course, and writing excellent stories regarding your bravery and cavalier behavior.

“I'm sure there'll be all sorts of press tracking your every movement.” She surmised, and Harry wondered what she was getting at. “If those other publications happened to see you entering the Ministry in a huff with a fair few amount of wizards and witches bound and determined to make a statement, and you just so happened to make an off-handed comment about the Ministry's lack of support in your triumphs, I'd wager that'd raise a great load of questions regarding Fudge's competency as a Minister, don't you Harry?”

“Hermione,” he started, exuberance dripping off his words as he stood up and wrapped her in a hug that made her toes tingle, “you've outdone yourself. Forget everyone who prattles on about you being the smartest witch of your generation; you're the smartest bloody witch ever!”

Hermione blushed again, and squeaked when he lifted her off the ground and placed a kiss on her flaming cheek. She feebly managed a thank you, before Harry hurdled up the stairs two at a time to get ready for what, he was now sure, was going to be a spectacular day.

A moment later the fireplace flared green, and Hermione jumped back in shock, instinctively reaching for her wand, and lowering it only when she met eyes with the Hogwarts headmaster and his deputy headmistress.

“I trust you had a good night, Miss Granger?” McGonagall raised a brow. Hermione took a moment to notice that her mentor seemed much more relaxed now than she had ever seen before, and her thoughts flickered to Harry shortly, thankful again for everything he'd done, not just for her but for everyone.

“I did, Professor.” Hermione flashed a smile back. “I think Harry's upstairs, if you're looking for him.”

“Oh no, Hermione,” Dumbledore chortled lightly, lifting a pocket in his robes and removing a lemon drop, “we were looking for you, dear.”

“Sir?” Hermione's brow shot upward. She instantly started to wonder if she'd done something that would warrant any small or large amount of trouble, but barring the use of bribery that morning, she couldn't imagine anything she'd done wrong.

“Have a seat, Miss Granger.” McGonagall motioned toward the couch with a graceful motion. “It seems we've got a lot to discuss.”

â˜º-â˜º-â˜º-â˜º

Harry donned his most formidable cloak - the cloak Hermione had given to him the day of their Hogwarts graduation two months prior - and did his best to look intimidating on all his outward appearances. He practiced a voice that would sound like he was attempting to be even-tempered, but would be ineffective in masking the fact that he was very displeased with the situation. If he were going to put on a show for the press, he'd best do it right.

He marveled again at Hermione's wonderful logic. Was there ever a time when her mind wasn't working at the speed of light? He very much doubted it, and - unlike Ron - he wouldn't change it for anything. It was such a distinctly Hermione trait that represented every part of who she was; he wouldn't dream of taking that away.

Satisfied with his appearance and his voice, he bounded toward Ron's room to get a feel for when they would be leaving. Ron shrugged, and shook his head, splashing droplets of water on the floor. “Ask Hermione, mate. She's the one who's gotten us to go, anyway. Did she tell you why?”

Harry explained the situation to Ron, whose eyes widened with pleasure. “Brilliant! She's bloody brilliant!”

“You lot have got to be convincing, too. Make yourselves look really ticked off.” Harry reminded him.

“Won't be too difficult.” Ron chuckled. “We are cheesed off about it, remember?”

Harry tried to remind himself of that, and while he was angry about that fact at some point, and had wished for offered assistance many times - particularly in the past few days - he had never really banked on the fact that the Ministry would send out teams to help him.

But even still, it wasn't hard to find it within him to be upset with the Ministry anyways, after accusing him of being a liar among a variety of other things. And he intended to point that out to the press as well. He asked Ron to relay the plan to his siblings, their “escorts”, and Neville, and made his way back to the sitting room to find Hermione.

Hermione was sitting on the couch, and from what he could muster from her expression and posture, she was shocked but pleased at whatever she was discussing with his two former professors. He thought for a moment about scrounging up a pair of extendable ears from Fred and George, but he decided against risking the possibility of intruding on something. He also hoped that Hermione would be telling him about it later, without any prodding on his end.

He cleared his throat, to make it obvious that he had not been eavesdropping, but to indicate that he did need Hermione's attention.

“Oh right.” She smiled at him, and a certain radiance extended across the space from Harry to Hermione. “Is everyone ready to go, then? We'd best leave soon.”

Harry's eyes flickered toward McGonagall and Dumbledore, and he noticed that Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling, and - for the first time in all of his years of knowing her - so were McGonagall's. He wondered what they possibly could have been talking about, but Hermione snapped his attention away from that particular train of thought by nudging his shoulder lightly.

“Oh er… they're not ready yet, but they will be soon, I'd imagine.”

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