Unofficial Portkey Archive

TITLE: All Roads Lead Back

KEYWORDS: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily H/Hr, but a slew of various ships as well. Post-HBP.

SYNOPSIS: Harry Potter always figured that once his destiny was fulfilled he could finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him, he fell in love with his best friend...and everything went straight to Hell! A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told through multiple canon character perspective as well as several flashbacks. Set 7 years after the final battle.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 31,127

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: The rating ain't just there for decoration.

DISCLAIMER: If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is. She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.

Friday, 06/10/05

The dream started out as it normally did. That feeling, as though swimming, struggling through a pit of molasses, pressed itself all around her and seemed to weigh her down. She tried to call out for help, the hitch of her chest signaling her lungs expanding, but no sound broke from her. As her forehead wrinkled; a thin film of sweat began to bead there. Her head tossed listlessly back and forth upon the pillow, and her whole body began to tremble due to her soundless, desolate weeping. She was cold, so very cold, though it wasn't due to the satiny sheets that lay tangled about her bare legs. It was more of an inner chill that seemed to permeate every cell and nerve of her body and left her thinking that she would never be warm again.

Never warm...never...again...

"Shhh..."

She felt a heated palm tenderly wipe at the moisture at her brow.

"Relax, it will be alright. Go back to sleep."

She wanted to say "no", but the word would not come, would not form. Her brain could not remember the process in which to make it.

Her head fell weakly to the side.

"Go back to sleep. You'll feel better if you just sleep this off. It will all be over in the morning."

Fingers walked themselves into her hair. They began to massage at her scalp. She felt a weight settle next to her on the bed. Although it felt like it took all the strength she had, she brought her head back up. She fought to open her eyes, and when she finally managed, she found herself lost in a sea of green.

"Har-"

"Shhh...I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here."

It was the kind tone in which the words were spoken that made the tears trickle down the sides of her face. Everything else in the room was lost to her; everything but those green eyes.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she heard a voice, a voice that she vaguely recognized as her own, say. It was pitiful and feeble and it almost turned her stomach to hear it. She hated women like this! When had she become a woman like this?!

"I'm so scared."

Lips, chapped, but still soft and firm brushed the top of her head. As he leaned over her his scent seemed to envelop her, to invade all of her senses. She began to tremble again, but this time she knew it wasn't because she was cold. As he pulled back she felt those eyes on her again.

"I'm going to take care of you now. I'm going to make everything go away. Believe me, don't you?"

Childlike, she nodded her head.

"Good."

He looked down at her lovingly. He tenderly brought the back of his knuckles across the plain of her cheek and down to the corner of her mouth.

"So sweet," he murmured thickly. "So swee-"

The rest of what he had to say was lost as she sprung forward and pressed her lips onto his forcefully.

"Mmph!"

The startled sound was probably accompanied by his eyes widening in astonishment at the bold, sudden attack. She didn't get to see it, though. Her eyes were closed painfully tight as she tried to lose herself in the moment, in the heart stopping second of bliss. She felt warm. She felt safe. She felt as though she had lived her entire life for this feeling. She threw her arms around his neck and her hands clamped down on the back of his head as she tried to force him closer, nearer, inside her. She had to have him inside her.

Her tongue sought to meet his just as his was doing the same. She felt him grin as he kissed her, and she smiled as well. But as their tongues began to swirl and twist about each other, they both began to take this whole beautiful madness seriously.

His large hands were at the base of her back. They would smooth out the silk of her short, thigh length camisole then pull at the fabric of the garment making it rise higher. When he moaned she almost believed she felt the sensation travel the whole length of her body and settle at her feet.

She began to draw him down with her. There was a fleeting moment of hesitation on his part; she felt it when his body tensed, but she would not allow him to deny her what she wanted. Not this time. She held him tighter, refusing to let him slip from her grasp. Although her torso lay locked rigidly, her legs kicked frantically at the sheets trying to free themselves. He still seemed reluctant to continue, but finally relented as he slipped out of his shoes and fell with her to the bed. Their lips never parted.

He settled over her and her legs parted gratefully to welcome him home. She shivered as she felt the night air tickle at the small damp patch on her knickers. She shivered again as she felt his erection run against that spot only helping to make it wetter, nearly soaking them. She heard a muffled, tortured whimper and knew that it had come from her.

The sound of it seemed to shake him from his spell. He gently dropped a kiss on her lips before pulling back. She instantly missed the contact and blindly began to lean forward. Not being able to land her target, she petulantly opened her eyes and found him balanced above her on his hands looking down into her face. She was almost terrified that he was going to call a stop to this, but that fear only emboldened her. She never wanted this to end.

"You want me."

There was no plea, no questioning tone in her voice. But as she spoke, her hands found the thin straps of her night shift and pulled them down. She watched him steadily, triumphantly as his hungry eyes feasted on all of her glorious skin; her naked breasts displayed so wantonly before him. She felt her nipples become taught as he unconsciously licked at his lips. She knew that there was no turning her down now. She wouldn't stand for it!

Suddenly his lips were upon hers again. Forcefully. Demandingly. Possessively. She nearly let out an exultant cry as he lay back on top of her and she welcomed his crushing weight. The coarse material of his shirt began to rub against her hardened nubs, his cock began to rock at her core, and she felt a quick stab of pleasure pulse down deep at the center of her. Her legs wrapped around his arse and she tried to meet his rhythm with thrusts of her own.

Once again his lips stole away from hers and traveled down her neck, but she was so distracted by the fingers that were pulling her camisole down the rest of her body that she barely noticed. Her skin began to feel the pin pricks of air as she lifted up just enough for him to get the nightie off of her, leaving her body nearly nude. All she had left were the drenched knickers that would certainly be ruined after all of this. She almost protested the fact that he still had all of his clothes on, even his socks. Then his lips found one of her nipples and began to suckle, tugging and tugging at it until her brain was left useless.

Her other breast received substantial attention as well; he would squeeze and knead it, and every so often give the distended brown bud a playful tweak. Pleasure and pain would mix in her head and become one, making her incoherent as she arched her back off the bed. It was a scream that eventually tore from her as his tongue flicked at her nipple and his other hand crept inside of her bikini briefs; his thumb circling at her clit.

She scrambled quickly to her knees, determined to put a stop to this endless teasing. She began to claw at the buttons of his shirt like a madwoman possessed. He knelt before her as well, one hand fisted painfully in her hair while the other continued to play inside of her. First one, then two fingers began to pump her as his thumb continued to mercilessly flirt with that swollen little bit of flesh it had become so enamored of. She began to ride his hand with as much leverage as she could muster as their mouths savaged each other; bruising and nipping and robbing the other of air. Every now and then they would catch a quick breath whenever his head would duck down and playfully nip at her breasts as they bobbed up and down before him.

Finally she slowed her pace and rocked herself against him. Once his shirt was unbuttoned she began peppering his hairless chest with kisses; her teeth scrapping the skin every so often as she pulled the material off of him. She thought she heard him say her name, but her thoughts were so muddled that she couldn't be sure. She found it difficult enough to simply keep her eyes open. But she came wide awake once she reached out and squeezed the bulge in his pants. It jumped to life in her hand and he pressed himself further into her palm. She was certain when she heard him hiss loudly that he was just as ready to claim her as she was to have him.

"Stand up," she heard his strangled voice command and she did, though her legs trembled dangerously. Her body was begging for something that she desperately wanted him to give her.

The box springs of the bed made a sound as she stood before him; her fingers began running through his crisp hair. Oh, how she loved his hair and his face and those eyes. Oh those eyes! Her two knees nearly knocked together; the look he gave her was so desirous, so starved that she couldn't stand the heat from those laser-like lamps. She had to close her own and just allow the sensations to overtake her.

She felt it when he moved closer to her; the body heat emanating off of his skin almost boiling the blood under hers. She felt it when something fleshy and wet began to dip into her bellybutton and dance around its rim. She felt it when his two hands rubbed at the sides of her hips before dragging the last scrap of clothing she had left to her, off. When she felt the bikini briefs finally make it to her knees she stepped one foot then the other out of them. Her eyes were still closed so she didn't get to see the pleased look cross his face, but when his tongue darted out and took one long, unhurried lick of her folds, her knees buckled and gave out from under her.

"Now!" she begged him as she took his face in her hands, staring into his eyes. "I'm tired of waiting!" Almost every word was punctuated by her heavy pants.

If he didn't hurry she was going to come before she got a chance to feel him inside of her, and that would just never do. Not this time at least. They had time for every thing else later. Later would be good. Just now she wanted everything that was him pushing, stretching, hammering into everything that was her. He seemed to understand her needs perfectly. She suspected that they might be his as well.

"Turn around," he said huskily.

She maneuvered herself around so that she was facing the top of the bed, her back towards him.

"Bend over."

Timidly she reached her hands out, gripped them around the pine wood headboard, and held on to it for dear life. She heard the sound of his zipper being pulled downward and after a few minutes, she turned to find him leisurely stroking his cock up and down, his trousers and boxers pulled down far enough that they hung under his knees. She watched his thumb run over the swollen, purple head as he stared intently at her while pleasuring himself.

Her head swung back around and she wiggled her bum nervously. She wasn't so sure about this. She felt a moment of apprehension at not being able to see him while he did whatever he was going to do to her. He must have taken the truly innocent movement as an invitation though because she felt him move closer. All insecurity vanished once he began to trail kisses down her spine, each kiss making the skin tingle and her moist, slick sex quiver. She even giggled when she felt him lay a smacking kiss on each cheek of her bum.

The laughter quickly evaporated when he grazed the head of his cock teasingly against her slit. Without meaning to, her legs spread even further apart. Her arousal practically drizzled down the insides of her thighs, and yet he continued to stroke her artfully, masterfully.

One hand began to knead the flesh of her hip. He would just barely let his cock dip inside her before it would lazily slide back out. Over and over again, he did this. It made Hermione want to weep in frustration and with need. She tried to push back against him, but he kept her where he wanted her, determined to drive her into a frenzied state.

She felt that throbbing, dull ache welling up inside of her, and growing restless waiting for him to do something about it, removed one of her hands from the headboard to take care of it herself. But before she could, he grabbed her hand, placed it on her clit, and as his hand manipulated its movements in one...two...three deft strokes, he slammed into her from behind causing her to cry out his name in ecstasy before stars filled her view and everything went dark.

~~**~~ ~~**~~

"HARRY!"

Hermione wrenched herself into a sitting position on the bed, sweat pouring down her back, sticking the red cotton tank top to her skin. The name of her best friend seemed to echo in the darkened room for a moment, and she almost thought she could still see his startling green eyes staring right before her.

Her heart felt as though it was trying to blacken the inside of her chest, it beat so furiously at it. Hermione's head swiveled back and forth wildly as her mind tried to make sense of what was going on. It took her a few moments before she remembered exactly where she was; Godric's Hollow, the Potter cottage. Despite the darkness, faint strips of sunlight peeked from around the drawn window curtains helping to give light.

She was in the master bedroom surrounded by almost all of her parents' old bedroom furnishings, as well as a few new pieces she had bought within the last couple of days. Her dog lay asleep on the floor next to the bed. Lizzie had momentarily lifted her head to see what the problem was, but finding only her disoriented master (a sight that was becoming only too common to the beast), dropped her muzzle back to her paws and went back to sleep. The familiarity of her surroundings was what eventually began to calm Hermione. As her breathing began to settle, her pulse rate returned to normal, and her brain began functioning again; Hermione fell back on the bed, the tousled sheets damp beneath her, and realized that she had only been dreaming again.

She also realized that she was in need of a fresh pair of knickers.

Hermione decided that another shower would probably do the trick as well. A nice, long, arctic cold shower. She even stood under the tap as the freezing spray of water washed over her, and with her loofah in one hand and her scented body wash in the other, tried desperately to scrub the memory of the damned dream away. But it was as though she would never be clean. Jesus, why can't it just go away, she inwardly screamed. Like I need this shite too! She nearly rubbed herself raw.

The first time she'd had the dream was her last morning in Dallas. She had woken up that day, so completely determined to get the hell out of town, that she hadn't had the luxury of time to focus too much thought on it. Besides, it wasn't like she had never dreamt of Harry before. Her dreams up until that point had just never been that...graphic.

It wasn't until the second time it intruded upon her that Hermione began to have concerns. It was her first night in Cyprus. Even then she wrote the whole thing off as just her frazzled nerves. The temptation to go scouring the city in search of a wizard's apothecary for a ready made vial of Dreamless Sleep was strong, but Hermione did not give in to it. When no other dreams followed that one, she just decided to put it all out of her mind as best she could. She thought she had until the recurring dream came to her some time around four that morning, then made an encore performance a few hours later. This marked the first time the dream, not to mention Hermione herself, had come twice in one day.

It had disrupted her sleep sometime after dawn, so she had decided to go jogging to clear her head. Lizzie went along with her. She ended up limping home afterwards, having tripped only once this time. She had taken a shower afterwards to cool down and rid herself of the dust and grit she had picked up in the fall. She had plans to go shopping with Glinda later, but decided that she could sneak a quick nap in before then. Since it was so warm in the house she threw on a simple pair of cotton knickers and a tank top to sleep in. She couldn't have been asleep for more than ten minutes before she was plunged back into that erotic, darkened den where all she craved was Harry Potter fucking her brains out!

Argh! It just seemed so damned real! More like a memory than just a run-of-the-mill fantasy. She could almost feel Harry's fingers on her...in her. She turned lobster red whenever she recalled that last part.

When she first started having "those kinds of dreams", somewhere just before she turned 14, they were usually exaggeratedly romantic scenes that had the dignity to fade to black before anything too interesting happened. At first Ron was the star of all of them. Then near the end of Fourth Year, Harry started to creep in slowly. There was that one instance where both boys turned up one night...but Hermione tried not to think of that one too often. It was only after the whole mess with Hufflepuff's Cup that Harry became the marquis star exclusively.

It was also then that her fantasies became less vague. Whispered midnight conversations she had heard traded between Lavender and Parvati now fueled the naughty little scenarios in her dreamscape. Not that Hermione only dreamt about having sex with Harry; those were just the dreams that tended to leave her so very unfulfilled and aching. After she started abusing the Dreamless Sleep, those dreams, as well as all the others, began to fade away until they rarely ever troubled her. In fact, those last few years in Texas she hadn't had another one. Except for that last day…

Now, it was as if she was being tormented, punished for wanting Harry. Each time the dream came another piece would be added on to further unhinge her mind. It has to be the goddamned potion, she told herself. Hermione wouldn't accept the idea that she would ever think of doing such things with Harry on her own.

She always thought that if Harry were to ever make love to her (wishful thinking yes, but still...) they would make nice love; sweet love. Vanilla, as Glinda would call it. But this dream wasn't nice; far from it. It was raunchy and lewd and savage and beastly and raw and lustful and primal and rapturous and dear sweet baby Jesus...she didn't know how she would manage not to attack the poor man the next time she saw him! But she knew that she wouldn't. She had trained herself to ignore that little voice quite well through out the years. Ignoring it now should be a piece of cake, she believed.

Of course being in love with Harry made things complicated, and living in his house was cause for concern. Then there was the fact that she hadn't been intimate with a man in at least a year. She couldn't even remember the last time she had been kissed! None of those factors changed the situation. Harry was married to the most beautiful girl in the world, the love of his life, and all Hermione was to him was his friend. His very best (frustrated) friend. A sister.

Sometimes Hermione really had to laugh at herself. She was a kept woman without any of the benefits.

Well it was either that or cry.

After putting on some underwear, throwing on her robe, and tying a kerchief over her messy, damp hair, Hermione managed to get downstairs without stumbling over her own feet. She was hungry and had her heart set on a box of powdered donuts she had hidden from herself just the day before. Since leaving Texas, Hermione had taken up the inglorious habit of stuffing her face every time her nerves became too frazzled. If she kept at the rate she was currently going she wouldn't be able to fit inside the Great Hall come time for the Victory Ball.

She had been trying to counteract her eating habits for years; it wasn't as though she enjoyed getting up so early in the bloody morning to run, but since she couldn't manage to stay on her feet these days she figured that she needed an alternative method of keeping the pounds at bay. That's why she had tried to begin eating healthier things. She figured that if she was going to stuff her face she might as well gorge herself on low calorie snack foods. As she walked down the staircase she even held a bag of rice cakes in her hand, munching on one as she came to the bottom landing. Sadly the bag was now nearing empty after having spent the night in her bed cuddled in her arms. That was why she was after the donuts now.

As Hermione ambled through the living room, taking great care not to put too much pressure on her right foot, her eyes were drawn to the bookcase. It was a large mahogany piece of craftsmanship that possessed very few books at the moment. There were times Hermione felt like weeping over all of her precious books that she had gotten rid of after she fled England. But since the majority of them were magical, they didn't quite fit in with the new Muggle existence she had tried to craft for herself.

Right now all that the bookcase held was a small collection of Dickens' classics that were her travel reading, a CD stereo system that she was certain was almost sacrilegious to store there, and the wooden statue she had bought from Aunt Nancy's shop on Wednesday. The exotic dark skinned woman who preened before her mirror sat on a shelf all by herself, as though holding a position of honor. Hermione paused a moment to stare at the beautiful object d'art. That's how Hermione thought of the thing; she wouldn't even entertain the ludicrous notion that it was really some kind of magical totem. That didn't stop her from having no intentions whatsoever of keeping the thing in her bedroom.

Though it's not like Oshun would have much to work with, she chuckled.

Hermione put down the bag of rice cakes and picked the statue up to have a good look at it, turning it over a few times in her hands. It still felt warm to the touch. As she studied it she contemplated passing it on to Glinda. Glinda would just love it! It was just odd enough to hold her fascination. Glinda would also probably think the thing was real. Hermione wondered if Glinda would like to give Felicity a little brother or sister to play with. For a Weasley spouse she was hanging dangerously behind the curve that Fleur and Penelope had already set.

Then again if anyone was lagging behind it was Harry and Ginny, which was a shame really. Harry would make such a good dad! He'd be authoritative yet still fun loving, firm but understanding. And a pushover if it was a little girl he happened to have. Hermione smiled to herself as an image of Harry flying through the sky with a small bundle wrapped in his arms played before her eyes. She could just see the child's mother, hair flying about her head, running out of the house to scold Harry soundly for taking the toddler that high up. It was only when she noticed the red hair of the woman that Hermione's smile began to fade.

She placed the statue back on its shelf quickly and went into the kitchen.

She had only been in there for a few minutes, a donut caught between her teeth, when music began to play through the house.

"I fell in love with you first time I looked into
Them there eyes
You've got a certain lil' cute way of flirtin' with
Them there eyes
They make me feel happy
They make me feel blue
No stallin'
I'm fallin'
Going in a big way for sweet little you"

Hermione's head popped up from the cabinet she had been searching through. She didn't recall turning the stereo on. In fact, she was positive that she hadn't turned it on! How could the music just start playing like that? Was the security spell acting up again?

Charlie had been over the night before and had spent an hour or so investigating the sound system and trying some of her CDs out; he seemed to have the same fascination with Muggle technology as his father, but Hermione knew that she had turned it off after he departed and she headed off to bed.

It was when she heard the soft thud of a book falling off of its shelf that she realized that someone was in the house with her. Dread instantly set in. Although it should be impossible, someone had managed to get into the house without her knowledge of them. Hermione quickly wondered where her dog was, but she threw that thought aside. Lizzie wouldn't be able to do a damned thing to help her. Lizzie was so friendly that she approached complete strangers with no trepidation. The only person the dog seemed to dislike was Draco. Well, Laurie too, but that was understandable.

"They sparkle
They bubble
They're gonna get you in a whole lot of trouble
You're over workin' them
There's danger lurkin' in
Them there eyes"

Regardless of that, if someone had broken into the house to get her, Hermione would have to take care of the situation herself. Fight or flight had been the credo she had lived by for years. She had chosen the latter so often that it had almost become second nature to her. As Hermione reached a hand onto the counter above her and grabbed the handle of the first object she came in contact with, she decided that maybe now was the time to do the other.

She gulped down the rest of the donut, slowly rose up from her heels, and stole towards the doorway on cat-like feet. She took a quick breath for courage, and raising the makeshift weapon above her head, launched herself into the other room as the jazzy little ditty was fading to an end. She had no idea who she would encounter, but for some reason she never figured on who it actually was.

"HARRY?!"

At her bookcase stood the smiling, tousled haired, green eyed cause of her restless night. In one hand he was returning a hard cover edition of Great Expectations to its shelf. In the other hand he held Oshun.

"Hello," he said, eyes gleaming brightly as he looked at her. His smile dwindled somewhat as his eyes drifted up to her hands. "What were you going to do with that thing?" he asked inquiringly.

Hermione's whole body flushed with embarrassment. She quickly dropped her arms and hid her hands behind her back. Considering the situation, Hermione answered him with as much dignity as she could.

"I was going to brain you but good with this thing!"

Harry quirked a mirthful, boyish grin.

"With that thing?!"

That "thing" happened to be a heavy wooden rolling pin. A pink ribbon tied around its middle section completed the imposing image.

"It was the best I could do with such short notice. I thought that someone had broken into the house," Hermione contested as she crossed over to the stereo and turned it off with its remote.

She could feel herself becoming very disagreeable. Harry, standing so near, looking so sinfully good in his simple cotton shirt and kecks, was not helping her mood. Random images of her dream ran through her head to the point that sweat began to bead on her forehead.

She could only imagine what a fright she looked. One hand came from behind her back to brush off any remnants of the powdered donut that might still be on her face. She then tried to run her fingers through her hair quickly so it wouldn't look as disheveled and poofy as she knew it did, but realized that she had the kerchief tied around it still. As always she wondered why this man had the power to turn her into a befuddled teenager. It just wasn't fair!

"NEVER MIND ALL THAT! What are you doing in my house?" she asked crossly.

Harry's eyebrows lifted higher into his fringe, but the smile never left his face.

"Your house? I thought that it belonged to both of us."

"Oh don't start that up again!" she retorted stomping her foot.

He laughed at that.

"What are you doing here, Harry?!"

He put down the statue. By the looks of his adorable smile he appeared to be finding her contentious demeanor highly entertaining.

"You asked me to come over, remember? You asked me to look after your dog while you and Glinda got up to no good today."

Hermione searched her memory and realized that he was right. That didn't stop her from wanting to smack him one good time about his head.

"Well, you should let a person know when you just pop in like that. For all you knew I could have been walking around in my underthings or something."

She silently said a brief prayer that the ties of her robe were tightly knotted. Harry's ever present grin became even more mischievous, if that were possible.

"And you say that like it's a bad thing."

"Careful there," said Hermione, eyebrow arched, "you're starting to sound an awful lot like your partner."

Hermione knew that the intended insult had done its job when the smile dropped off of Harry's face and was replaced by a green tinged look of distaste.

"Now that was just mean Hermione," he admonished her, shaking his head in awe.

Hermione only smirked in reply.

"What's got you so wound up anyway?" he asked. "This place is warded so tight that a person would have a better shot at breaking into Gringotts. And you know that I'm the only person that can just come right through. Why would you think otherwise?"

He then paused as he tilted his head and studied her.

"Think someone's after you?"

"NO!" Hermione screeched louder than she had intended. She took a shaky step back. "I just...I mean, I am a woman alone, Harry. I just...freaked out a bit, is all."

She tried to laugh the whole thing off, but her jittery laughter only made Harry look at her skeptically.

"If that's all..."

"It is," she said firmly signaling that the conversation was now closed.

Harry, however, didn't see it that way.

"I seem to recall giving you a wand," he said as he folded his arms across his chest and looked down his nose at her.

He really did cut a rather intimidating figure, even outside of his work robes. It was as if he still held the fate of the wizarding world on his broad shoulders. But Hermione wasn't scared of him, not in the least.

"I seem to recall telling you that I didn't need it."

She gave him a challenging look, and withdrawing the rolling pin from behind her back, began to tap it lightly on her other hand. Harry got the message that time.

"I'll leave it alone for now," he relented, throwing his hands up before him. "So where did you get the rolling pin from?" he asked lightly before his facial expression changed into one of worriment. "You aren't baking, are you?"

"No, I'm not baking, you prat!"

Harry let out a relieved whistle. It was obvious that he hadn't forgotten the last time she baked in the cottage's kitchen. The smell of smoke had lingered in the house for days.

"Molly sent it. It's a housewarming gift."

"She gave you a rolling pin?"

Hermione looked down at the utensil in her hand and frowned. Molly had always had the bad habit of giving her gifts that she could really have done without. Wizarding cookbooks, cleaning accessories, a pair of self-knitting knitting needles one Christmas; Hermione had actually liked that last one until Molly archly hinted that they were perfect for making baby booties. Though Hermione truly adored the woman, Molly's intent was always clear. She wanted to make Hermione over into a perfect Weasley wife. Though she knew that that was something she could never be, Hermione politely accepted the gifts back then with a smile. She just found it funny that even now, when there wasn't a chance in hell of her ever marrying Ron, Molly would still give her a present like it. That Molly Weasley was an odd one.

"Yes, she gave me a rolling pin," said Hermione. "Though I'm no Betty Crocker, it was a sweet gesture." As she turned to go into the kitchen she added as an afterthought, "Charlie brought it over last night."

"WAIT! Charlie was over here?!"

Harry had come marching into the kitchen after her.

"Uh huh," she said as she placed the pin back on the counter and turned around to lean against it. "Molly asked him to bring it over for me," she told him.

"But he shouldn't have been able to..."

Harry stopped short of what he was going to say and his eyes squeezed shut. He realized instantly that he had incriminated himself.

"Oh, go on." Hermione said as she folded her arms and gave him a smug little look. His expression was priceless.

"Erm..."

"Shouldn't have been able to floo in?" Hermione said, finishing his statement for him. "Is that what you were going to say?"

Harry nodded his head. He knew it was futile to try and deny her veiled accusation.

"Well he couldn't," Hermione continued, "but since he had been here already he was able to Apparate out back."

"Oh."

"Yes; oh. You see, after Luna tried to come through a couple of days ago and couldn't, the inkling that someone had put a block on my floo started to occur to me. Imagine my surprise yesterday when I went over to the Floo Network Office and found out that not only was there a block, but that only Ron and Glinda were authorized to use my grate."

A very argumentative look crossed Harry's face.

"I only did it for-"

"My protection, I know. I'm not mad. Annoyed, oh yes! But not mad. In fact I left it as it is."

Surprise flitted across Harry's face, but he smoothed his expression into a more sober one.

"Good," he said before his brows knitted together and he asked, "Wait, you were at the Ministry and you didn't even come by and see me yesterday?"

"Actually I did," she answered as she turned to open a cabinet behind her head and pulled out a glass. She walked over to the sink, and after filling it, passed the glass to Harry. He took it gratefully. She watched him drink it down as she continued to talk.

"Ran into Romilda…ugh!" The curled lip and rolling eyes showed just what she thought of Ms. Vane. "Met your boss; have you ever heard the horrible name Draco calls that poor man? But did I see Harry Potter? And I waited for a good spell too."

Hermione didn't miss it when his Adam's apple hitched.

"Must have been taking a call," was all Harry said as he handed the glass back to her.

Hermione shrugged it off. Must have been something to do with the big mystery case, she told herself.

"That's what Romilda said."

Hermione walked back to the sink and put the glass in it. Her back was turned to him.

"Were you in one of the booths when all of the lights through out the building went haywire? That was bizarre, wasn't it?"

"Lights?" he asked in a deadpan tone as she turned back around.

If you asked Hermione it was a trifle too impassive. Harry didn't waste time changing the subject.

"So what were you doing at the Ministry?"

"I had to do some banking in town. Afterwards I decided to drop in and see if you wanted to go for a bite."

A soft smile formed on Harry's lips as he took a step closer to her. The look in his eyes made her chest feel very warm.

"I would have liked that."

Stop smiling at me like that, was what she would have liked to have said. She was very flustered, and all of a sudden she didn't know what to do with her hands. They fidgeted nervously as one finally came to a rest at the top of her head.

"Yes, well...um...Draco was kind enough to keep me company."

A disgusted chuffing sound came from Harry. That was good, she thought. Focus on that.

"Oh stop acting like you're jealous of me spending time with Draco."

Hermione found it very silly that the two of them would still act like enemies after all of these years. What kind of partnership did that make for them?

Harry slowly approached her. Her eyes widened as she felt the edge of the sink dig into her lower back. She felt trapped with no place to run. Worse than that, a little voice told her that she didn't really want to go anywhere at all. She just watched helplessly as he reached a hand to the corner of her mouth. He was trying to get at the last bit of powdered sugar that was, unbeknownst to Hermione, still on her face. His thumb lingered close to her bottom lip far longer than was necessary or appreciated.

"I think I would be jealous of you spending time with anyone," he said lowly as his gorgeous eyes looked down into hers.

The feel of Harry's fingers so near to her mouth, just like in the dream, was so titillating that Hermione felt herself clench inside her knickers. Her lips trembled as her body jerked. Her fingers snatched at the kerchief and brought her hand crashing down to the rim of the sink. Whether she cried out from the pain of the knock to her wrist or from something else was up to debate, but it was obvious that Harry felt he was somehow responsible.

"Sorry," he said awkwardly as he dropped his shame filled eyes. He bent down to pick up the kerchief where it had fallen to the floor, but when he went to hand it back to her his jaw dropped.

"Your hair..."

As Hermione rubbed at her sore wrist it took her a minute to realize what had him so speechless.

"What about my hair?" she asked him quizzically before understanding his meaning. Her other hand dove into the thick, frizzy (though not entirely bushy) mass that was atop her head. "Oh yes. Looks awful, doesn't it?"

She began to self-consciously smooth down her tresses, although it wasn't much help. Usually it took hours with a ceramic flat iron to make her hair behave. However she just didn't have the energy to try and make it look picture perfect today. Plus her dark roots were starting to show. She figured that when she and Glinda went shopping later she would just throw on a hat or a scarf and be done with it. Hermione had no idea what she was going to do with it for the Ball the next night.

"Nearly gave myself a scare when I looked in the bathroom mirror. I tell you, pay a bloke a few hundred dollars to make it look like your hair isn't running away from your face and it doesn't do any good, does it? The humidity has been horrible to it and I haven't really been taking care of it like I should. It almost looks like it did when we were kids. Ugh!" she said as she took the kerchief back and walked passed him to go back into the living room.

She had never been that fond of her hair when she was younger; the amount of brushes she had gone through in her adolescence could attest to that. But it wasn't like she had spent much thought on it either. Sure every now and then her self-conscious vanity would kick in, like in Fourth Year when she had almost went crazy with the Sleakeasy's. But usually Hermione thought of her hair as just an ordinary extension of herself. Like her eyes, her nose, her kneecaps; her hair was there to serve its purpose, to keep the top of her head warm, and that was all. Nothing terribly special.

It was only after a middle aged witch in a supermarket in Fort Worth looked at her with some form of recognition that Hermione began the arduous (and a lot of times tortuous) task of straightening her unruly mop. Not that it did much good; her hair seemed to be just as stubborn as she was. And all of the rules annoyed her. Don't wash it too often, don't let it stay wet, don't sweat; don't go through the task of living a normal life. There were times Hermione felt like a collector's doll that was being held captive in a vacuum sealed bag just for the pleasure of having silky, flowing hair.

Eventually it became manageable. Best of all it made her look less like herself which was the intended goal. All of her new friends in Texas seemed to like the new look. She always assumed that her friends in England would like it too if they were ever to see her again. Apparently that wasn't the case. First Draco and now Harry seemed to find something lacking with the brand spanking "new and improved" Hermione Granger.

"I liked your hair when we were kids."

Hermione stopped in her tracks. While tying the kerchief around her head, she turned to face Harry. The earnest look on his face should have left little doubt to his sincerity. Hermione still somehow convinced herself that he was just humoring her.

"Stop lying, you did not!" she said as she knotted the head scarf, then gave him a friendly shove. It was said jokingly, but Harry suddenly became deathly serious. It was the face he usually made when he was trying desperately not to trip over his own words.

"I did!" he insisted strongly. "It just seemed to suit you perfectly. I mean, on the outside you were so very prim and proper. From the hairline down, you were all business. But that hair hinted at the untamable girl underneath it all. You very rarely let that girl out, but when you did...wow."

It was like her mind went blank, which for the likes of Hermione was a pretty difficult feat. She stood very still as one of Harry's hands pulled the kerchief back off, making the hair halo around her head. The other hand instantly dug in and began playing with the few unruly curls it found. He didn't see her stunned expression because he was too busy gazing at her hair with a far away look on his face.

"I still remember taking walks with you around the lake at Hogwarts. Remember? Sometimes, when the sun would hit you just right, Merlin…your hair would look like brass wildfire," he said with a soft, dreamy smile.

His eyes then bulged as his hand froze.

You could have knocked Hermione over with a feather quill; she was in such shock at Harry's beautiful, and startlingly eloquent words that she almost forgot to breathe. Who the hell was this Harry?! By the way that Harry's cheeks rapidly colored, and he promptly snatched his hand back as though having burned himself, Hermione could tell that he was probably wondering the same thing. He tried desperately not to make eye contact with her.

"So...erm...yeah," he said, completely discomfited, "I liked your hair."

Hermione leaned into him as though being drawn by some magnetic force.

"You...you thought all of that?" she asked, hopeful to hear the answer and at the same time dreading it.

Like a young boy being caught with matches, he nodded his head furiously.

"H-how come you never said that back then?"

Harry raised his head shyly and all but kicked at the ground.

"Come on Hermione, I was a kid back then. I probably would have said something stupid like, 'I think your hair is really wicked'. Or something equally as dumb," he bashfully said as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

She smiled.

"I would have still liked to have heard it."

His eyes sought hers finally and the two of them gazed at each other wordlessly. Both seemed dazed by Harry's admission. Thinking that she couldn't stand the intensity of Harry's stare any longer, her eyes lowered...to his lips. It was a bad move if ever there were one! They practically mesmerized her. She leaned in even closer as she watched his top lip twitch nervously. She realized only too late that if she didn't watch it she just might actually kiss Harry this time. It was like watching a Mack truck heading full speed towards a brick wall and knowing that you had no power to stop it from happening.

Harry let out a jittery cough and somehow managed to sidestep her.

"So I see you put the statue up," he said sounding highly perturbed. He hightailed it out of the kitchen leaving Hermione alone as she silently cursed herself for being such a fool over and over again.

After taking a moment to pick up the remnants of her shattered dignity, Hermione followed him back into the living room.

"Yes. After spending a fortune on her I figured I better put her to good use," she said airily.

Harry was back at the bookcase examining the wooden statue again. He seemed on edge; as though he had realized that she had tried to kiss him again. Of course he realized what you were going to do, she inwardly seethed, why do you think he ran like that? Why else? But just like Harry, he was willing to sweep everything under the rug, just as always. He was even sporting an overdone smile trying to alleviate the strain of the awkward moment. He was a good friend. It was a shame that she couldn't be as good a friend to him.

"What, you don't want, 'lots of babies'?" he joked, aping Aunt Nancy's accent to lighten things.

He held the statue out towards her.

"Stop it," she chided him as she removed the statue from his hands. "There will be no babies in this house," Hermione said primly while putting Oshun back in her place. She turned back to face Harry and was a bit rattled by the look he gave her.

"You mean..." he began uneasily, running his hand over his longish hair anxiously. He looked as though he were searching for the right thing to say. "Don't you ever plan on having children, Hermione?"

She shook her head as she looked back at the statue.

"Children really aren't my thing. Don't get me wrong, I really enjoyed my time at the center. But I just can't see myself being the perfect little mum who wipes runny noses and kisses bruised knees. I'm more than happy playing Auntie Hermione who gets to give the child back at the end of the evening."

Her speech was spoken with just the right amount of detachment that no one ever questioned the truthfulness of the statement. It was no different from the ones she had been making for years. Now, as back then, she never gave Harry or anyone else for that matter reason to doubt her. When she used to become all thumbs and fall to pieces around Fleur or Penelope's babies, the boys and everyone else just assumed that it was because she didn't like kids and Hermione allowed them to believe that.

But it wasn't true, not really! Sure she was a tad ill at ease with the little ones, but she loved the innocence in them and the smell of a baby was just about the sweetest perfume she knew. But back then she had to swallow the bitter pill that any children that might be hers one day wouldn't be Harry's. It was a selfish thought, but it was still there. Eventually she had come to terms and accepted that maybe she just wasn't meant to be someone's mother; should never be a mother in fact. At this stage of her life Hermione was convinced that she could live with that decision.

"What about you?" she asked, diverting the attention back to him. "I would think that you and Ginny would have a house full by now."

Not that she really wanted to hear the answer, but it was polite to ask. Spotting the bag of rice cakes she had left on the shelf earlier, Hermione reached for it, pulled one out, and gobbled it down.

"Have you ever seen my house? That would be a lot of kids!"

Harry then paused, as though weighing what he was going to say next very carefully.

"I...uh...I can't see Ginny and I having any children any time soon."

She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. "Oh Harry, no. But you would be such a good father."

"You think?" he asked softly.

She nodded her head as she took one of his hands in hers.

"I know."

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze making him smile sweetly. She smiled as well. She then gathered as much of her house courage that she could so she could ask something that had been plaguing her mind for a while.

"Harry..."

He looked at her expectantly and Hermione contemplated just abandoning what she was going to ask, but her curiosity eventually won out.

"Is everything alright with you and Ginny?"

There! She had finally thrown it out there. Hermione would have had to have been blind not to notice that things weren't as perfect between the couple as she always imagined they would be. Harry's odd behavior at the Quidditch match had made Hermione raise an eyebrow, but she brushed the idea off. Ginny certainly acted like everything with her and Harry was fine. Maybe she was just imagining (hoping) that something was wrong.

Hermione quickly shook that thought out of her head. Of course she wouldn't wish for something to be wrong with her best friend's marriage. What kind of friend did that make her? And…well…if there was something wrong, as Harry's best friend, she should want to do everything possible to help him. Shouldn't she?

"Things could be better," was all that Harry gruffly said.

"Oh," she replied simply. "Well, um, if you ever want to talk about it just know that I am here for you. I'll listen…"

…though I'd rather take a smoking hot coal up the arse.

Hermione had the good grace not to add that last part thankfully, because Harry honestly looked touched at the offer.

"Thank you, Hermione. One day I would like to sit down with you and talk about it. All of it," he said looking her directly in her eyes. She almost shivered at the intense look in his. "Just not today, ok? The timing is just not that good now. Is that alright?"

Hermione tried not to show just how relieved she was that for now she had a temporary reprieve. She knew that sooner or later the two of them would have to talk about Ginny, and from the look on Harry's face there looked like there was a lot to discuss, but it didn't have to be right now. Hermione only hoped that when the dreaded conversation did happen she would have the strength of will to be objective. Because that's what Harry would need. Not an opinion, but a patient ear.

She gave his hand a final squeeze to let him know that it was ok and passed by him to head towards the stairs. She was going to go get Lizzie so Harry could be on his way. Glinda would be over any minute and Harry's hovering presence was starting to affect her. Besides, there was a carton of ice cream in the freezer that Hermione wanted to sneak a few scoops from before her friend's arrival.

Noticing that she was putting most of her weight on her left foot Harry asked, "Hey, what happened to your leg?"

"Ankle hurts," she answered. "Fell while I was jogging." She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, one foot on the first step about to go up.

Harry walked over to her.

"I hear you've been doing a lot of that lately. In fact, the twins will do dramatic reenactments upon request."

"Glinda is very, very mean egging them on like that," Hermione muttered crankily, loud enough for Harry to hear.

He laughed.

"I think my equilibrium is just off," she explained feeling her cheeks warm at her own clumsiness.

"Well let me take a look at it."

He reached a hand into his robes and pulled his wand out of its holster. Hermione looked at him as though he had come from another planet.

"Come on then, let me see," he said when he noticed she hadn't moved from her spot.

"When did you become good at performing healing charms?"

"I'm a sight better than you ever were," he said confidently causing Hermione to huff peevishly. It was probably true, but he didn't have to be such a smart arse about it.

Sensing her annoyance, he tried to charm her.

"Come on Hermione. I promise I won't hurt you. Besides, I hear I'm pretty good at curing all that ails," he said with a smile. It was a very cute smile. It also looked a mite wicked in Hermione's estimation; like Harry was planning something she might not like.

She took a step backwards up the staircase.

"Come on, all I'm going to do is use my wand on you."

Hermione caught the giggle just in time in time. She would have had a hard time trying to explain to Harry just what image popped into her head at his innocent remark.

"Harry, it's nothing!" she protested as he inched closer to her. She wondered if she could make it up the stairs before Harry tried to use his wand on her.

She stifled a laugh again.

"Then let me see," he said once more.

Hermione took another step upwards.

"Well, I guess if the mountain won't come to Mohamed..." an exasperated Harry wearily sighed.

"Are you trying to call me a mountain?!" she asked indignantly, legs planted apart.

Before she could say anything else, Harry seized her and scooped her up into his arms as though she were as light as a cloud.

"Not even close," he whispered, cradling her close to his chest. Hermione was so surprised by the unexpected maneuver that she was stunned into open mouthed silence.

With big eyes, she simply stared at him as he carried her over to her sofa and laid her down; her head resting on the arm. The large flat panel television sat across from them on the far wall; a quiet, darkened idol. Harry removed the bag of rice cakes that was still clutched tightly in Hermione's hands and dropped it on the end table next to the armrest her head was propped on. Harry then sat at the opposite end of the couch, placed one of the decorative sofa pillows on his lap, and laid both of her feet on top of it.

"Now, close your eyes," he ordered her.

Shockingly enough, Hermione didn't even think of protesting.

As her eyes closed obediently, she felt Harry's fingers on her sore ankle, gently prodding the bone. The dull ache she felt before suddenly became very sharp and shooting. Hermione tried not to groan too loudly.

After examining the ankle Harry poked the tip of his wand against it. Although it was very silly of her, once again she wanted to giggle at the idea of Harry using his wand on her; his long, powerful, magic rod.

She really was horrible, wasn't she?

Hermione tried to clap a hand over her mouth, but it was too late this time.

"What's so funny?"

Hermione opened one eye and took a peek at Harry.

"Huh?" she asked innocently, hands falling to her sides.

"You giggled."

He was looking at her expectantly.

The other eye shot open. "I did not," she insisted, sitting up on her bent arms.

"You certainly did. I heard you. It was a snicker at the least."

"How does one even snicker?"

Vexed, Harry shook his head.

"Changing the subject yet again, eh? Are you ever going to tell me what you found so funny?"

"Are you ever going to tell me about your case?" Hermione shot back tartly.

Harry rolled his eyes to the ceiling before settling them back on her. Still he smiled as he said, "Let's call it a draw."

They shook on it.

"Now close your eyes again."

Hermione complied.

"Now tell me, how does this feel?" Harry asked as he lifted her bare foot about as high as his face.

She felt soft puffs of air at her feet and her toes wriggled at the feeling. When Harry pressed the tip of his wand to the ankle again it felt as though all of the bones in Hermione's foot leading up to her ankle were being covered in frozen chips.

"Ooh, ooh, ice cold," Hermione squealed through chattering teeth. She tried to pull her foot back, but Harry held on to it tightly.

"And this?" he asked.

The chill instantly melted and was replaced by a warm, soothing sensation.

"Mmm," she practically purred as a satisfied grin stretched her lips. Hermione rotated her ankle around clockwise, then counter clockwise, then nestled further into the sofa cushions. "That's nice. That feels good."

"And this?"

In her relaxed state Harry's deep, almost sensuous voice nearly lulled her into a trance. Hermione knew that she probably had a giddy little smile on her face, but she couldn't be bothered to care.

"That-nyah!"

Harry had lowered her foot and began massaging it.

Hermione sat up again.

"Harry! I'm really sensitive about my feet," she told him as she tried to remove her foot from his hold once more.

"Scared I'll eat them?"

Her alarmed reaction amused him.

"This little one is looking rather appetizing," he flirted as he brushed a finger against her smallest toe.

Hermione's leg jerked at the action. "HARRY!"

A deep, rumbling laugh came from him.

"Just relax, Hermione. Go on, close your eyes."

Hermione glared at him for a moment before doing so reluctantly. She would have put up a bigger argument, but Harry had begun massaging and kneading her foot again and she felt herself involuntarily loosening up. She began to lean back into the arm of the sofa.

"So, who's taking you to the Ball?"

Without opening her eyes, Hermione grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hurled it at Harry's face. Although she couldn't see, she knew that she had missed him by a mile.

"Just messing with you," Harry kidded. "You're too tense. Why so uptight? Have a lot on your mind?" he asked.

His tone was light, but Hermione sensed something else behind the innocuous query.

"No. Why? Should I have a lot on my mind?" she asked him guardedly opening both of her eyes.

"You tell me. I just figure that everything has been so hectic that you haven't really given yourself a chance to relax. Plus I'm sure you must be missing those flat mates of yours that you left back in Texas. What were their names again?"

Hermione yawned as her eyelids began to get heavy.

"Amy and Benny," she tiredly mumbled.

It was nothing short of magic that Harry was working on her feet. He began slowly stroking the surface from her toes to her ankles, applying slight pressure here and there. Hermione was almost inclined to tell him that he had a future in reflexology therapy if he ever decided to get out of the dark wizard racket. Her head was feeling too fuzzy though and she couldn't seem to concentrate long enough to speak the words. It wasn't long before her eyes fluttered shut.

"Ever think about them much?" came Harry's voice through her woozy head.

A sleepy smile crossed her face as she thought of her two dear friends.

"Are you kidding me? All of the time, just about. Amy was the sweetest girl you could ever meet; really kind and caring. Not the quickest up here," she said tapping the side of her head before dropping the arm back, "but she would help anyone if she could."

Harry had now moved back to the ball of her foot. He rubbed it firmly, but then would brush his low cut nails against it.

"Sounds a lot like a certain person I know."

Hermione could practically hear the smile in Harry's voice.

"Not that I'm calling you an airhead or anything," he quickly added.

"Well she was the very first friend I made at the center. She's the one who suggested I move in with her and Benitez."

Harry began rolling his thumb against her arch, and without meaning to, Hermione emitted a pleased moan.

"You said you lived with your cousin at first, right? She welcomed you in with wide open arms, if I recall correctly."

"What a piece of work she was. If you and Ron thought that I was a nightmare..."

Harry's fingers paused. Hermione sluggishly opened her eyes to find him looking at her intently.

"I never thought you were a nightmare."

The corners of Hermione's mouth rose up slowly. "And I'm sure Ron thanks you for throwing him under the Express in absentia," she said.

Chagrined, Harry went back to work on her foot. Hermione closed her eyes again and felt her body relaxing again.

"Well, Cynthia wasn't that easy to get along with. I'm afraid I may have embellished the truth about her just a tad," Hermione admitted.

This seemed to interest Harry. "Oh?"

"She was just so bloody focused on her career. Not very warm either. I think she saw me as more of a pesky intrusion in her life rather than family or even a friend. Her life was devoted to her job and her boss. Sometimes...sometimes I wonder if that's how I would have turned out if I never...well, if I never met you. And Ron of course," she said sleepily.

"No way. However you would have spent far less time almost getting expelled."

She giggled lightly.

"I'm never going to live that one down, now am I?"

"Nope," said Harry humorously.

He laughed and she felt the warm sound wrap around her like a hug. She was so tired.

"So Amy and Benny took you in, huh?"

Both of his thumbs began attacking her arch. It felt achingly good. Hermione felt she could almost melt away.

"Yes," she said after letting out another sated yawn. "We lived in this crowded little apartment in Oak Cliff that was barely big enough for a housefly. Amelia could cook anything you wanted from scratch and she was always stuffing our faces with something or other. We would go to the movies often, the local bar sometimes. The best nights were when we would just stay in. We would push back all of the furniture in the living room, not like there was much to start, then Benitez would put on one of his mum's old bolero or samba records and we would dance and dance."

Hermione barely noticed a solitary tear slide down her cheek. Harry saw it, though.

She smiled wistfully as she whispered, "That was a real good year."

Her last words seemed to hang in the stillness of the house. The first fingers of sleep had just begun to play themselves over her when Harry's voice disturbed the silence.

"So you only lived with the two of them for a year?"

Hermione's brow furrowed. Her leg fidgeted. "What?" she asked groggily.

Harry applied a bit more pressure to her heel.

"You said that that was a really good year. Does that mean you only lived with Amy and Benny for a year? I remember you said that you got that tattoo of yours when you moved out."

Though it felt like miniature boulders were resting atop them, Hermione opened her eyes.

"You...y-you remember that?" she asked uneasily.

Harry shrugged the question off. "I remember everything you've ever told me."

It wasn't the first time he had said that to her, but it was the first time it had concerned her greatly. That right there was what one would call a liability.

"So where did you live after you moved from Oak Cliff?" he pressed. "You were in Texas for three more years so you had to have gone somewhere."

He held her bleary gaze steadily. Hermione tried to look away, but she couldn't. She felt drugged almost. And no matter what, she couldn't escape the assault of Harry's questions.

"Did you live with someone else?" he asked. His eyes grew darker when he added, "Did you live with Collier?"

Hermione forcefully jerked her foot out of Harry's grasp and sat up. She was wide awake now.

"NO!" she said as the two of them sized each other up.

Am I being interrogated, Hermione's hazy mind wondered as it tried to catch up with the rest of her. If she didn't know better she would think that Harry had been pumping her for information. Dammit! Was he pumping her for information? Why did Harry have to be with me when I ran into Bertina?! Everything would have been fine if that hadn't happened, she thought to herself.

"Why are you asking all of these questions all of a sudden?"

With an expression devoid of any guile, Harry simply answered, "No reason. Just curious."

He looked as innocent as a choirboy.

"Come on, give me the other one," he said as he reached for her left foot. Placing it on the pillow in his lap, he began to give it the same attention he had lavished on the other foot.

Hermione leaned back into the armrest of the sofa and closed her eyes, but she didn't fall back to sleep. She was too wired to actually relax again, and she was wide awake enough to want to give Harry Potter a taste of his own medicine. Besides, what was a little harmless teasing between friends? As long as it was harmless.

"Mmm, that feels good," Hermione crooned, stretching her body out.

She could feel Harry's eyes on her and she knew she had his undivided attention.

"Did you know that there are some cultures that believe that the touching of feet is a precursor to foreplay?"

She heard Harry gulp loudly as his attention to her feet momentarily paused in mid-stroke.

Harry would always get agitated whenever she talked about sex and Hermione knew this. He would never see her as anything but a sister, and sisters were to be thought of as nothing more than sexless creatures. Whenever Hermione tried to challenge this notion of her, Harry would always freak out. Hermione hated that he could never see her as a full-fledged woman with all of the wants, needs, and desires that were instilled in most females. Obviously nothing had changed. Well, she could use that against him to teach him a lesson now. He had made her uncomfortable with his probing questions, now it was her chance to return the favor. Don't mess with Hermione Granger!

"You don't say," he finally managed to spit out as he resumed the massage.

"Oh yes. I mean a foot massage may look innocent but there is always an underlying subtext to it, you know. Always a lot more going on than meets the eye. It's a very intimate act, don't you think?"

"Y-yes," he stammered.

"Just think about it, some people think that they can cure common ailments by simply applying the right amount of pressure to the precise desirable spot...of the foot. That's a lot of power in just one itty..."

She dropped the timbre of her voice.

"...bitty..."

She lowered it again.

"...body part."

The movement of Harry's hands on her foot had become uneven, but Hermione didn't let that distract her. Instead, she went in for the kill.

"Never mind all of the pleasure centers it connects to."

She made a throaty mewling sound as she curled her toes.

"Oh Harry, that feels so good!"

Hermione opened her eyes. Harry had completely abandoned her foot and was looking at her, stupefied. His jaw was practically on the floor and he was holding on to the little pillow over his lap for dear life; as though it were a life preserver.

Hermione batted her lashes angelically. "Everything alright, Harry?"

His mouth clamped shut.

"You're toying with me. And though I'm trying to be the bigger person right now, I would watch it if I were you, Hermione!"

She cocked her head to the side. "Surely I don't know what you mean," she said cunningly as she wiggled her toes at him. Hermione figured that he had cottoned on to the fact that she was paying him back for trying to grill her earlier. Any other meaning sailed clear over her head.

"I mean this!"

Harry tossed the pillow to the side, grabbed her foot, and began tickling it.

"HARRY!"

Hermione began thrashing about the sofa as though she were being tortured. If it wasn't for the gay shrieks and boisterous giggles one would have thought that Harry was killing her.

"Harry stop! STOP! ACK!"

She kicked her foot out and struck something.

"Oomf!"

Hermione opened her eyes and watched as Harry slid off of the couch and on to his hands and knees, doubled over in pain. His head was lowered so she couldn't see his face. Hermione had a bad feeling that she might have kicked him somewhere unintentionally.

"Oh...no...Harry, are you alright? I'm s-so...s-so s-sorry..."

No matter how frustrated he made her, Hermione would never purposely kick Harry in the crotch. That was a bit much, even for her.

She scrambled quickly off the sofa and knelt next to him.

"Harry, I am so sorry," Hermione apologized, face lined with concern. "Are you alright? Are you o-EEP!"

She screamed as Harry grabbed her by her shoulders and flipped her over. They rolled a few times across the carpet before coming to a stop; Hermione straddled on top of him.

"HARRY!" Hermione shouted as she smacked him across his chest. Harry found it the funniest thing ever. "THAT WASN'T VERY FUNNY, HARRY!" she scolded.

Harry snorted.

"I thought it rather was."

His eyes were bright and merry and Hermione couldn't help but smile down at him.

"I thought I hurt you."

"No need to worry. The boys are intact," he quipped.

She spread her hands out over his chest.

"The boys? Oh I hope you haven't named them and their little friend."

With mock outrage Harry said, "Shh! He can hear you, Hermione."

Hermione smacked him playfully across the chest again. As her laughter slowly died she looked into his green eyes.

"Why is it that the two of us can't seem to stay vertical for very long these days?"

She said it as a joke, but Harry's laughing eyes suddenly became very serious. He looked like he was struggling to say something...or not say something. Hermione really couldn't tell which, she was too busy at the moment. Her mind had just become conscious of the fact that she was sitting on top of her best friend while wearing little more than a few bits and pieces of silk, satin, and lace. Well this isn't good, she instantly thought as she assessed her predicament. She also became aware of Harry's hand absently stroking the material of her robe where her hipbone was.

Bother! Looks like I'm going to have to change my knickers again, she thanklessly sighed

And if she didn't get the hell off of Harry soon he might just become cognizant of the fact!

"Hermione..." he had started to say when all of a sudden the floo in the right corner of the room roared to life. Out of the green flames tumbled out Glinda Weasley.

"Goddamned fireplace!" she grumbled sorely as she picked herself up from off the floor and brushed the soot off of her denim shirt dress. Her eyes then casually wandered over to the pair still entangled on the floor. Glinda rubbed at her eyes as though to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. Then an imp-like smile formed on her face. Meanwhile her arrival had startled Harry and Hermione to the point of inaction. They could do little more than stare at her; both of their eyes huge and filled with alarm. Now this definitely wasn't good!

"IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!" yelped Harry.

"I CAN EXPLAIN!" Hermione hurriedly added.

Glinda Weasley continued smiling as she came closer to where they were sprawled on the carpet. It hadn't missed her attention that neither of them had bothered to get up.

"She says that she can explain. He says that it's not what it looks like." Glinda tossed her clutch purse on the couch. Her hand then traveled up to her chin as she drummed her fingers lightly against it. "Who to mock? Who to mock?" she gleefully joked.

Hermione had enough of her friend's blatant innuendos.

"OH STUFF IT, GLINDA!" she snapped as she swiftly got off of Harry and offered him a hand to help him up. Glinda only laughed at the harsh rebuke and both of their red faces.

"Temper, temper, Ducks," she told Hermione. Hermione could tell from her smile that Glinda was going to have a field day with her once Harry departed.

Glinda crossed by Harry and Hermione and picked up the snack bag on the end table.

"You know what your problem is, Hermione?"

The look on Hermione's face said that she didn't want to know.

"You are too tense. You need something to loosen you up," she said archly.

Hermione had to stop herself from cursing the woman. Harry had said something similar earlier, but there was a different meaning behind Glinda's observation. In a moment of insanity, surely, Hermione had confessed to Glinda that she had been celibate for a while. Glinda had gone to look for a dictionary so she could find out what that word meant. Hermione was just as amused by her antics then as she was now. She fixed her friend with a severe glare as Glinda reached into the bag and impudently tossed the remaining bits of food into her mouth. She then gagged.

"What the fuck kind of crisps are these?!" she griped, face twisted in displeasure. "It tastes like Styrofoam!"

Hermione snatched the bag out of her hands.

"That's because they aren't crisps, they are rice cakes," she said smartly.

"Rice cakes?" Glinda disgustedly asked. "Why would you want to eat those things?!"

Hermione glanced nervously at Harry who was quietly observing their conversation. She didn't want to say too much in front of him.

"Well, you know, big event coming up. I'm trying to watch what I eat. I figure if I'm going to put something in my mouth it might as well be healthy, right?"

"Oh hon," Glinda cooed, "it really has been a while since you had a date, huh?"

Hermione stared at Glinda in disbelief as Harry began to make a choking, spluttering sound.

"Er...uh...d-dog?" Harry stuttered out, barely meeting her eyes.

Hermione glared menacingly at Glinda as she gritted out between her teeth the word "upstairs". Harry practically flew up them. She watched him go, and as soon as she believed he was well out of earshot, she spun around on the woman.

"Are you insane?!" she hissed in a harsh whisper. "Why would you say something like that in front of Harry?!"

"Oh Harry's a sweet kid," she said breezily as she walked by Hermione, crumpling the now empty bag in her hand. "He probably had no idea what we were even talking about."

Hermione followed after her.

"Of course he did! Did you see how fast he ran out of here?! I told you about my being abst...that I hadn't sex...I TOLD YOU ALL OF THAT IN CONFIDENCE!" she fumed.

"And I haven't told a soul," said Glinda. She crinkled her nose naughtily. "Just like I'm not going to tell a soul that I walked in on you molesting that poor boy up there."

They had stopped in front of the kitchen doorway.

"It was an accident, Glinda!" Hermione protested.

"A happy one, I'm sure," she teased. "Now where is the real food in this place?"

Hermione stubbornly crossed her arms in front of her. "There is none."

The act wasn't fooling Glinda. The two of them stared each other down in an age old battle of wills that always ended the same way.

"Oh, how I hate you!" Hermione whinged immaturely as she threw her arms down. "Bottom left cabinet."

Glinda smiled victoriously.

"Thanks," she said, then exited the room.

Hermione watched her go and shook her head in amazement at her friend's nerve. As usual there was admiration mixed in as well. Although the woman often drove her crazy, Hermione wouldn't have traded Glinda in for anything in the world. Glinda had entered into Hermione's life at a time when she had been desperately searching for an identity outside of magic and spells. The Second War had been over for only a couple of months, her parents were dead, and Hermione felt like she was walking on a fraying tightrope that would snap at any given moment; living with Ron, whom she had just broken up with, and Harry.

On the outside Hermione looked none the worse for wear. Inside the wounds were piling up to the point that all that would be left was scar tissue after a while. She had needed a refuge from the melodrama that was her existence. Befriending Glinda had offered a nice respite.

They met at a French cooking course in Bromley, of all places. For years Hermione had been aware of the fact that her vast wealth of knowledge stopped short at the kitchen's door. Although it had bothered her somewhat that there was actually something her beloved books couldn't teach her, she accepted that cooking was just a skill she would never excel at. She even was ok with it when Lavender would come over to the Trio's flat to fix "Won-Won" lavish feasts since he wasn't being properly taken care of at home, to hear her tell it. Hate her or love her, Lavender could really cook and Hermione wasn't above sampling a good home cooked meal where she could get it.

It wasn't until Ron began needling Hermione about her domestic deficiency that Hermione began to take it all to heart; he was being such a berk about their relationship being over. Harry would jump in and try to defend her, but it wasn't like Ron's insults weren't true. The problem was that it almost made Hermione feel as though she were somehow less of a woman just because she couldn't boil an egg properly. But of course Lavender could. And Molly could. And Ginny...Ginny could.

Hermione decided to face her problem head on. One day she looked through a directory, found a beginner's adult education class that met in the evenings once a week, and signed up for it. She convinced herself that she was taking the class for no one but herself. Of course the idea of rubbing it in Ron's face when she whipped up something that could rival anything that Lavender…or Molly…or Ginny could create was tempting.

It shouldn't have been a surprise that that's not how it went. The cooking class was a failure. Her Chocolate Soufflé went flat, her Coq au vin was rubbery, and her Cassoulet looked like raw sewage. According to the cooking instructor, it didn't taste that far off either. She was dangerously close to actually failing a class. Hermione just did not fail classes!

As she took the half-burnt looking concoction out of the oven, Hermione sighed mournfully. She laid the tart tin on the open oven door, got on her knees before it, and just stared at her sludgy looking masterpiece. Normally Hermione wasn't one to give up so easily, but she was beginning to wonder if all of this was just an exercise in futility.

It's hopeless. It's absolutely, utterly hopeless.

"Can't be as bad as all of that, now can it?"

Hermione had gotten permission to use the cooking classroom for an hour before class started so she could do a trial run for her final project. The way she saw it, the instructor took pity on her, that's why he gave her the ok.

She had expected to be in the room alone, but as she turned around she found a tall, dark haired woman with a lovely dark butterscotch complexion looking down on her; a bottle of water in her hand. She was dressed quite nattily and had a plaid cooking apron, somewhat similar to the one Hermione was wearing, tied around her waist. Hermione had spotted the woman at every one of the classes she had taken, they had even traded friendly nods with one another a time or two, but they had never spoken to each other before now. Hermione didn't even know her name. She also didn't know that she had spoken her last thoughts aloud.

"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude," the woman said apologetically.

"No," Hermione quickly said, worried that she might have come off rude, "it's quite alright." She then smiled weakly.

The dark haired woman took that as an invitation. She came closer and Hermione stood up to face her.

"So what's got you so worked up?"

"This." Hermione waved a hand over the dish that was cooling on the oven door.

The stranger gave it a once over and frowned slightly.

"Alright…um…what exactly is it supposed to be again?"

"Quiche au Samon et Epinards. Salmon and spinach quiche."

Hermione removed her oven mitts and threw them on the counter of her cooking station.

"It looks absolutely nothing like the picture."

"Is that all? Relax; it never looks like the picture in real life. What matters is how it tastes. Do you mind?" she asked motioning towards the cooked dish.

Hermione said that she didn't and gave her a fork so she could try it out. Hermione stood back as the woman took a generous portion onto the fork, swallowed it, then promptly gagged. She quickly dropped the fork and took a long and lengthy swig from her water bottle.

"Well?" Hermione asked bleakly.

In a choked voice she said, "It's definitely not a party in my mouth." She then quaffed down the rest of the bottle and gargled.

Hermione was thoroughly dejected.

"Just go ahead and say it; it's rubbish. I'm rubbish."

"So it didn't come out like you'd hoped. So what? Big deal! It's not the end of the world."

"You don't understand; there really isn't anything I'm bad at. I'm supposed to be brilliant! Everyone tells me so all the time. And though I've tried not to buy into the hype, it is a bit of a blow to the ego to find out that hype is all it is. No matter how many books I read I just can't solve this one! I'm a bloody horrible cook!" Hermione said, throwing up her hands.

The woman studied Hermione for a second before saying, "So why are you really here?"

"What?"

"I've come to find that most people usually take cooking lessons for reasons other than wanting to learn how to cook. Take me, for example. I am here because my dear mum fears that I will die alone and a spinster if I don't learn how to do anything more difficult than boil water. She's convinced that if I don't learn how to cook she'll never be a grandmother because no nice, self-respecting Deshi boy will ever marry me," she said, then snorted. "Like I really want that!"

"You have something against...um...Deshi boys?"

"No. Just the nice, self-respecting ones," she said wryly.

Hermione smiled.

"But since I love Ma I figured that I might as well try and make her happy. That is why I'm here. So tell me, what is your reason? A hovering mother? An emaciated boyfriend, perhaps?"

"Ex-boyfriend, actually."

For some reason Hermione found herself opening up to this total and complete stranger. Which was interesting; she usually was standoffish with people she didn't know that well, women especially.

A look of understanding crossed the woman's face.

"Of course. And let me guess, the new chippie is a whiz in the kitchen and the ex wastes no time bragging about it to death."

"Her name is Lavender," Hermione told her.

The woman looked appalled. "LAVENDER?!"

"I KNOW!"

"So he throws her in your face, eh?" she asked Hermione sympathetically.

"Well he can't help it really, we live together."

Her eyes bugged.

"You live with your ex-boyfriend? Woman, either you're a saint or a masochist."

"Well, he's still my best friend, you see," explained Hermione. "We both live with our other best friend, Harry." Seeing the astounded look on the woman's face she added, "It's complicated."

"No shite."

"Well Ron, the ex, he's always going on and on about my cooking skills. Or rather lack there of. Then he rubs it in about how good Lavender is because apparently Lavender can cook just about any bloody thing imaginable," she snitted. "Her and Ginny, that is."

Without her meaning it to, that last part just tumbled out.

"Ok…trying to keep up here. Ginny?"

"The sister," said Hermione. "Apparently Harry won't have a thing to worry about once he and Ginny get married because she is just as amazing in the kitchen as well, to hear Ron tell it."

Hermione's words were filled with acrimony.

"Sorry, you lost me once more. What does the sister have to do with all of this, again?"

"Well…nothing r-really…it's just…w-well…"

Hermione tried to search for the right words. The right words that didn't make her sound like a jealous cow.

"Ginny learned everything from their mum and of course their mother is the domestic goddess of them all."

There, thought Hermione. That should work.

The woman made a face.

"One of those? Blech! Well just be thankful that you dodged a bullet on that one. Who would want to end up with one of those for a mother-in-law?"

Hermione dryly chuckled. She did have a point.

"Well, I don't, but still…"

"Tell me, do you really care that you can't cook?"

"Not really. I mean, yes it does hurt my self-pride in a way, but no not really. I can always order out. I guess I just let Ronnie…"

Hermione groaned. She really had to break out of calling him by that.

"...Ron get to me."

Hermione then glanced at the clock on the wall and realized that it was almost time for class to start. She picked up the quiche, which had cooled, and threw it in the bin. She then began cleaning up her work area. She had been wiping down the counter with a dish cloth when the woman sidled up to her, eyes twinkling, and made a stunning suggestion.

"I have an idea. Let's ditch!"

Hermione was aghast. "But...but what about class?! We have our final projects to prepare!"

The woman looked as though that was the silliest thing she had ever heard. She was untying her apron from around her waist.

"I don't care," she said, shrugging.

The scary...wild...funny...crazy thing was that Hermione didn't think she cared much either.

"But…b-but, I don't even know your name."

"Easily solved," the stranger said holding out her hand to Hermione. "Glinda Vengadasalaam; pleased to meet you."

Hermione chuckled. She couldn't believe that she was actually contemplating taking this stranger...Glinda...up on her offer, but she was. She reached out her hand, grasped Glinda's, and pumped it up and down.

"Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"Hermione? Nice!" she remarked, a huge smile on her face. "Is that from Twelfth Night?"

"Winter's Tale," said Hermione beaming. Her mum had given her a beautiful name and she knew it.

"Ah, yes…'I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful: In every one of these no man is free'."

Hermione was impressed. Though she loved the play and had seen it numerous times, she knew it wasn't one of the more quotable works.

"A fan of the Bard?" she asked.

"Hell no!" Glinda exclaimed, a look of mischief in her eyes. "I'm just a fan of skinny pale theater boys who go around spouting that shite all day."

They both laughed.

"So are you in?" she asked temptingly as the first few early bird students began to trickle into the classroom.

Suffice it to say, Hermione never bothered with another cooking class.

That was in August of '98. By January she had moved in with Glinda. To all who asked, Hermione simply told them that Glinda needed a flat mate (the last one had "unintentionally" ended up sleeping with Glinda's quickly dumped boyfriend), and she wanted to stretch her wings. Both points were valid. But there was another reason for the move.

Hermione had just gone through an agonizing Christmas holiday with Ginny, home from Hogwarts on break continuously underfoot at the Trio's flat. It seemed like every time she left her bedroom she encountered Ginny and Harry together. Hermione almost began believing that Ginny was purposely flaunting her relationship with Harry; staking her claim. She loathed herself for having such disloyal thoughts. Ginny wasn't even aware of her feelings for Harry. That's why Hermione made the decision that it would be best for everyone that she move out. She needed to put some distance between her and Ron, and especially Harry. It was quite simple.

Not that living with Glinda didn't come with its own set of problems and challenges.

"Hermione, why did that little man in the dress and the pointy hat just take your picture?"

"I can explain!"

"Hermione, I think one of your books just tried to bite me."

"I CAN EXPLAIN!"

"Ducks, there are about ten owls sitting outside our door and each and every one of them is carrying a little red envelope in their beaks. And I think they're smoking."

"SLAM THE DOOR AND RUN!"

Although she hated lying to her, Glinda was a Muggle and as a witch Hermione's duty was to protect the secret of the magical world first and foremost. Alas, the secret came steamrolling out of the closet not even a year after they had become friends.

The two of them had made plans to go out and see a movie that day. Actually it would be the fifth time they would be seeing the new Star Wars movie. Glinda was a tad obsessive about it. She was a huge fantasy and sci-fi fan, and Hermione was being driven to distraction by her flat mate's fixation. Still, Hermione humored her. She was waiting patiently for Glinda, who was still deciding on what to wear, when there was a knock at the door.

"What are you doing here?" she asked rudely when she saw who it was.

Ron, looking insecure and awkward, was standing outside her flat. A quiet and subdued Fred was right next to him. Both were dressed like Muggles, thankfully.

"Can we come in Hermione? We really need to talk."

Hermione didn't want to let him in. Since the break-up with Roger, Ron had been sniffing around her door once more; Lavender seemed to be a distant memory to him. Hermione didn't really want to go down that road yet again, though it would be very easy to. She still cared for Ron deeply; he was something safe and familiar. And as an added bonus Harry would be pleased. He said he wanted to see both of his friends happy.

"Glinda is here," she told Ron bluntly.

"So?"

"You know the rule. If Glinda is here there can be no more than two magical persons in the domicile concurrently. More than that and people get sloppy. Now Fred can stay, but you, you have to go!"

"Aww Hermione, have a heart!"

She folded her arms across her chest. Her face was expressionless.

"Well you did say that I was a heartless bitch, did you not? There you go."

Ron didn't appreciate her flippant tone.

"OI! YOU CAN'T GO THROWING THAT IN MY FACE! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO BROKE UP WITH ME. YOUR CHOICE! I DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE UPSET ABOUT IT?"

"We are not having this discussion again."

"If I were Harry you would let me in," he said sulkily.

"DAMMIT RON, WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

Ron always knew just what buttons to push.

"Nothing for me, this is actually about Fred here."

Up to this point Fred had just stood silently by while the ex-lovers had it out. At first Hermione had thought nothing of it, but then the oddity of it began to sink in. Fred was never that quiet!

"Fred, what's wrong?"

He didn't answer her. He just stood there mutely looking lost and helpless.

Fred Weasley. Lost and helpless. Something was definitely up.

"He's been like this all day," Ron said troubled, trying to explain the situation. "I figured if anyone could talk to him and make him feel better it would be you." Hermione had been touched until he added, "You're a woman; you understand how absolutely barking you lot can be."

"Well, what happened?" she asked Ron snappily.

Fred decided to answer for himself.

"Angelina…"

Fred's voice sounded gravelly, as though it was worn from ill-use.

"I proposed to Angelina last night. She said no."

"Oh Fred, no!" Hermione said, reaching out a comforting hand to him. Fred and Angelina had been dating for years. Everyone assumed that they would eventually make it official. Then again, that was the same thing they had been saying about her and Ron.

"It gets better," said Ron archly.

Puzzled, Hermione turned back to Fred.

"She told me that she's pregnant."

"WHOA!"

Now this was peculiar. Not the fact that Fred and Angelina had been fooling around; that was pretty much a given. It was just that the wizarding world was a tad on the conservative side. You could go against a few social mores as long as you were discreet about them. But you rarely saw any unwed mothers. A pregnant witch tended to marry the bloke who did it to her.

"Well, Fred…um…sometimes a pregnant woman's hormones make her so emotional that she doesn't think as clearly as she might normally…I guess," said Hermione trying her best to sound helpful. "I'm sure that you and Angelina will work all of this out in no time. Besides, just think...there's a baby on the way. That's good, right? Congratulations!"

Fred didn't miss a beat.

"Thanks, I'll pass your well wishes on to Lee."

"To Lee?" Hermione said, looking questioningly at Ron. She even chuckled uncomfortably. "What would Lee Jordan have to do with…nooooo!"

Ron nodded his head in affirmation of the conclusion Hermione had drawn.

"Oh Fred!" she said, pulling him into a tight hug.

"She said she got tired of waiting for me to make a commitment," Fred rambled. "That I would never take anything serious and just settle down. I can take things seriously!"

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Hermione, which theater are we going to? The Odeon or the Emp-hello!"

Glinda, having just come to the door to see what was holding Hermione up, spied Fred and was instantly smitten.

"I'm Glinda, and you are?" she said to Fred, practically pulling Hermione out of the way. Hermione didn't know whether to be entertained or embarrassed by her friend's brazenness.

She decided to be both.

"Glinda, this is Fred Weasley, Ron's brother. You remember Ron, don't you?"

She barely wasted a nod on Ron, much to his annoyance.

"So what's with all of the dour faces?" she asked.

"Well you see…"

"Fred's ex-girlfriend is a whoring slag, that's what!" Ron finished for Hermione, though that had not been what she had in mind to say.

"RON!"

"WHAT?!"

Glinda's eyes sparkled. She had heard the magic word; "ex-girlfriend".

"Well Hermione, don't you think you should let your friends in?"

Against her better judgment, Hermione ended up doing just that.

The four of them wound up in the small kitchen. They were all seated at the breakfast nook; Hermione and Glinda on one side, Fred and Ron on the other. Glinda made sure she stayed close to Fred. They all drank tea as they listened to the poor man pour out the whole sad story for close to an hour.

"…so there it is," he said as he finally began to wrap it up. "I tried to do everything Angelina wanted me to do and she still chucked me. I even stopped spending so much time with George since according to her, he was a bad influence. Fat lot of good that did! My own twin won't have anything to do with me because of her now. I make all of these changes, and for what? My best girl cheats on me with my best mate!"

"Well if I were you Fred, I'd never speak to Lee and Angelina again!" said Ron hotly. "They both betrayed you! What kind of friends are they, going behind your back like that? They should have known that they were off-limits to each other. I don't see how you could ever forgive them!"

"Well you never know Ron; there might have been other factors at work," argued Hermione weakly.

To say that the subject was hitting a little too close to home would have been putting it mildly.

"I'm sure that Angelina didn't set out purposely to hurt Fred. It...It probably just happened. She probably couldn't control it!"

Ron looked at her in disbelief.

"Whose side are you on anyway, Hermione?" he asked harshly. When she couldn't answer he said, "All I know is that if the girl I loved told me that she was in love with my best mate...well…I just don't see how things could ever be right again!"

All Hermione could do was cast her eyes down miserably.

"Maybe because I don't know this Johnson woman I'm more of an impartial party," said Glinda interjecting. "But Fred, if you felt that you had to change who you were to make this person happy, maybe she wasn't the right one for you in the first place. You know that it's real when you are loved simply for being who you are. If someone doesn't love you like that I say fuck 'em!"

"But she was my first real girlfriend, my first love. The first girl I…well…ya know."

It was a sight to see Fred, usually so self-assured, stumbling over his own words.

"Look, luv, there's always other fish in the sea," said Glinda expertly. "And if you know how to use your wedding tackle just right you're sure to catch another one, if you know what I mean."

She batted her dark eyes at Fred.

Even Ron knew what she meant. Fred's neck actually began to flush red. Hermione dropped her head into her hands in utter mortification. Subtlety was a dead art form in Glinda's book.

"You know what you need-"

"GLINDA!" Hermione was fearful of just what her friend would say.

Glinda looked at Hermione innocently and said, "Break-up music. Jesus Ducks, remove the stick out of your arse."

Hermione let out the breath she was holding. Surely Glinda had to see the folly in moving in on a man who had just got his heart broken. Then again Hermione wouldn't put it past her to flirt with a widower at a wake.

"Break-up music?" asked Fred uncertainly.

"Yes. See, the trick is you listen to sad, torturous, 'my baby done left me' music and your own love life starts to suck much less in comparison. Then you follow that with a few, 'I've moved on, fuck you and the horse you rode in on' tunes. Trust me, it works! You can even borrow some of my CDs if you'd like. Of course that would mean that you would have to come back over to return them."

"Sure. But what's a c-"

"That's a great idea, Glinda!" Hermione said cutting him off instantly. "Why don't you go get them, hmm?"

She got up so Glinda could slide out.

"Ok. Let's see, you'll need some Gloria Gaynor definitely, a little Phil Collins...Ooh, I know!" Glinda's eyes brightened. "Barry Manilow! You have to have the Manilow! Me and mum have been listening to him since I was knee-high. The man's voice is magical, I swear. I'll be right back!"

"Who is this Barry bloke? Is he a wizard?" Fred asked Hermione as soon as Glinda left the room.

"No, but there are times when I hear the maudlin strains of Mandy pouring out of her bedroom at three in the morning I'm almost inclined to believe that he is Satan," she said drolly.

She then turned squarely to Fred.

"Listen, just take the CDs and pretend that you know what they are and what to do with them. I don't want her becoming suspicious about you two."

For some reason Hermione had failed to notice that Ron had his wand out and was pointing it towards the cabinets behind her head.

"Relax Hermione," he said assuredly, "why would Glinda become suspicious of us? She probably doesn't even suspect a thin-"

A clattering sound coupled with a startled gasp came from the doorway of the kitchen.

Glinda stood there, frozen, eyes focused on some spot behind Hermione and to the left. At her feet lay over a dozen multi-colored CD jewel cases. Glinda paid them no heed; just pointed at something across the kitchen from her. Confusion muddled Hermione's mind until her eyes looked back and saw what held Glinda's attention. Bobbing up and down in the air, drifting towards the table, was the ceramic canister that the two flat mates kept all of their tea in. Ron, wanting another cup, had decided to summon the container instead of getting off his lazy arse to get it!

"Oops," he said dumbly right before the canister fell to the tiled floor and broke apart into pieces. Earl Grey, Ceylon, and English Breakfast spilled everywhere.

"I CAN EXPLAIN!" Hermione shouted anxiously as she jumped up from her seat. Fred and Ron joined her.

Glinda was actually trembling. "I SURE AS HELL HOPE SO!"

The three Gryffindors looked at each other frantically. Hermione didn't know what she was going to tell Glinda, but she knew one thing for certain...

Ron Weasley was a dead man!

"Well, any day now people!" said Glinda testily. She looked from face to face. "Why was my mum's old tea cubby just floating in mid-air like that?"

"Well um…"

"I…uh…"

Neither Fred nor Ron seemed capable of putting more than two words together. Ron eventually gave up trying to. Hermione saw it plain on his face when a decision finally fell in place. He raised his wand in Glinda's direction.

"Oblivi-"

"NO!"

Hermione threw herself in Ron's line of fire.

"NO RON! I WON'T LET YOU! I won't let you do that to Glinda!"

"Hermione, we have to," he told her. "You know the rules."

Actually Hermione could recite the International Statute of Secrecy by heart, but that didn't mean that she was going to let Ron alter her friend's memory.

"HANG THE RULES!"

Ron and Fred both inhaled sharply. One would think she had said that Godric Gryffindor wore dirty doublets.

Hermione turned around to face the bewildered woman. Glinda had been standing quietly by, but she looked like she was ready to fall to pieces at any given moment.

"Glin, I have to tell you something," Hermione said shakily.

"Am I going to need to sit down to hear it?"

"Yes," Hermione said, taking her hand and leading her back to the table. Once Glinda was seated again, this time on the end in case she wanted to run, she looked at all three of them.

"Ok, so spill."

"I'm taking a real big chance telling you all of this, but maybe you should know. I want you to know. I trust you," Hermione told her.

That much was true. In the short time they had known each other the two women had grown terribly close. Hermione, having spent years thinking of herself as an only child, had grown to see Glinda as somewhat of an adoptive big sister. A big sister who teased and tormented her, but who also told her hard truths when she needed to hear them and who had the uncanny ability of loosening her up and making her enjoy life a little more. Glinda was a part of that life now. That's why Hermione had finally decided that this was as good a time as any to come clean to her.

"You see Glinda; I'm not exactly what I seem."

"You're an alien."

The sad part was that Glinda was dead serious. It would have been funny any other time.

Hermione shook her head gravely. "No, I'm quite human."

"You're not a serial killer, are you?"

"Glinda, how do you go from one extreme to another without even blinking an eye?" Hermione asked exasperatedly.

"YOU STILL HAVEN'T ANSWERED THE FUCKING QUESTION!"

"I'm not a serial killer," began Hermione calmly before saying, "I'm a witch."

There was the briefest of pauses before Glinda looked at Ron and Fred. She eyed them suspiciously.

"And you two...are you uh, witches too?"

"NO!" exclaimed Ron sounding almost offended.

"No, I'm not," answered Fred.

"We're wizards," Ron said with a proud lift of his chin.

"Oh, is that all?" drawled Glinda, not without a hint of sarcasm. Then she got very quiet.

"Glin, say something."

She seemed to labor over something for a moment before saying what was on her mind.

"Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?"

A relieved, jagged laugh escaped Hermione's mouth.

"A good one; trust me. And those two geniuses right there are good wizards."

"Are there bad ones?"

Hermione's face grew very somber as she told her that indeed there were.

"Real bad ones too. But the worst one ever Harry, you know Harry, he took care of him so that we magical people and Muggles are pretty safe for now."

"Muggles?"

"Oh! That's what we call non-magical people."

"Oh."

Hermione hesitantly took her hand.

"You're taking this all really well, Glin."

"Well, to tell you the truth, a lot of real weird shite started happening when you moved in. But I guess I just sort of, I don't know, shrugged it all off. But this, this explains a lot. It's better than what I originally thought. Sanity has never been in large supplies in my family. I just figured I was going crazy! You know, I once had an uncle who thought he was Vishnu."

"What does he think he is now?" asked Ron doltishly.

"A fucking cabbage! He's a bloody lunatic, what do you think?!" she retorted, looking at him disgustedly.

Hermione and Fred both roared with laughter at Ron's displeased face.

"So…so magic is real then?"

The witch and the two wizards all assured Glinda that magic was indeed real.

"Well can you do something? Do some magic or something?" she asked.

Hermione looked at Ron.

"Well since you broke it…" she said mirthfully. He grinned before pointing his wand at the broken canister and the forgotten CDs on the floor. In no time at all the cases were sitting on the table in a neat stack and the tea canister was whole; good as new.

"BLEEDING HELL! THAT'S AMAZING!"

Glinda looked as though someone had given her the keys to the kingdom.

"Do you have a wand too?" she asked Hermione excitedly.

Hermione smiled. "Yes. A very nice one, actually. You have to have a wand. You see, magic is sort of like…"

Hermione paused, searching for some way to explain it all to her. She ended up settling on something that Glinda would probably understand best. Hermione was always in her element when she got to explain things to people.

"...a force," she said. "An energy force that surrounds everything. Witches and wizards are just genetically predisposed to be able to channel that force and use it. The wand works as a conductor to draw that energy, harness it, and then expel it."

"I've seen you move things without a wand. I mean, I would think that I just imagined it, but now…"

"Well sometimes our emotions kind of make…dents in that magical energy. But it's usually just tiny bursts and spurts. It takes a really powerful wizard to do more complicated magic without a wand."

"Wow! This is just…wow!" Glinda was almost speechless. "But tell me, why are some people magical and some people…what did you call us? Muggles?"

Now that was a hard one. Hermione looked towards Ron and Fred, hoping for assistance, but she found none.

"Well," she began slowly, "although there have been numerous studies done, no one has quite been able to figure that one out as of yet."

"Oh," Glinda replied, and then her eyes lit up. "Ooh, do you suppose it has anything to do with midichlorians?"

Fred looked completely dumbfounded. Ron's freckled face was etched in bafflement.

"A midi-wha-?!"

"Don't ask!"

"So I believe I've got everything," said Harry as he made his descent down the stairs. Lizzie came running past him and gamboled over to where Hermione was. Hermione got down on her hands and knees and giggled as the dog licked her face.

"You have her bag?" she asked Harry as she smoothed he dog's soft coat.

Harry walked over to them nodding his head affirmatively. On his shoulder was the large canvas bag she stored all of Lizzie's things in.

"Good. All of her toys, treats, and her water dish are in there."

"You know, for someone who claims to have no mothering skills you sure don't act like it," he said perceptively as he watched her play with the dog.

"So what are you two going to do today?" she asked ignoring his last remark. She stood up and Lizzie tried to jump up on her. Hermione gave her a no-nonsense look that made the dog fall back on all fours obediently and pant contentedly.

"I haven't given it much thought," Harry said as he gave the dog a friendly pat on the head. "What do you say girl, a couple of houses of ill-repute, a few dens of iniquity?"

"Harry!"

Harry chuckled at her displeased face.

"Calm down. The Ferret and I are going undercover on Oxford Street, that's why I'm out of uniform. A perp we've been looking for might have been sighted there."

Normally Hermione would have lectured him about calling Draco by that particular insult, but since Lizzie would snarl every time she even heard the name spoken, Hermione let it slide for the moment. She did suspect that Harry was somehow egging the animal on; the two of them were as thick as thieves now. But since she had no proof, she let that slide as well.

"You don't have plans to go that way do you?" Harry asked concernedly. "Near Oxford, I mean."

"No," Hermione said shaking her head, "I think we're just going to browse the stores on Bond."

Harry looked relieved. "Oh Good."

"Are you going to floo into town? I don't think Lizzie will like that very much."

"That's what I thought as well," he replied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long strip of dragon hide leather. It glowed red. Harry held it up proudly. "That's why I came prepared."

"A leash?"

"A Ministry issued lead," he informed her.

He bent over and fastened the collar around Lizzie's neck. Hermione was almost jealous; the dog would never allow her to put a leash on her, and Hermione had tried numerous times. Harry just had a way with women, even the non-human variety she thought looking at him with esteem.

She also took a second to admire the bum.

"…use them for the albino bloodhounds," Harry was saying, still explaining the leash to her as he straightened.

Hermione promptly perked up so he wouldn't think she hadn't been paying attention.

"...as long as she is wearing this and I'm holding the other end she goes where I go, even when I Apparate."

"Well don't you think of everything?"

"I do, that." There was a proud lift to his chin. "I've even fixed the Bulwark."

"Thank goodness! I popped a bag of popcorn last night and the poor thing nearly went into hysterics," she said, referring to Lizzie and the microwave. Thankfully she would be able to watch the telly again as well. She had decided to leave it off until Harry figured out what to do about the spell. There wasn't enough brain bleach that would rid her of the image of the nice gentleman who owned the village market walking around his house in his underwear; his women's underwear. There were just some things you shouldn't know about your neighbors!

"Well, I guess I'll be going now."

Harry held on to the other end of the leash tightly yet he made no real effort to actually go anywhere.

"If you must," she said softly. "Take good care of her for me. And don't let her take too large a chunk out of your partner, please."

"Ruin all my fun, why don't you."

Hermione shook her head indulgently. "Bye, Harry."

In a sing-song voice from the direction of the kitchen, "BYE HARRY!" was hollered.

"Bye, Glinda," Harry called loudly so she could hear. He then turned back to her, and in a voice that was sad and gentle and heart achingly sweet said, "Goodbye, Hermione."

And then he and Lizzie popped out of sight.

"Cor, wish I could do that," a voice from behind Hermione said.

At first Hermione had barely heard Glinda. She was still staring at the spot where Harry had been standing only a moment before. There had been something…something in his eyes when he had said goodbye to her. Something…

Hermione shook her head to clear it. Probably was nothing at all.

"You'd be a menace if you could do that," Hermione said turning to face her.

Glinda leaned against the doorway frame as she ate out of a carton of ice cream, Hermione's chocolate chip ice cream, with a large ivory handled tablespoon.

"That's odd, I don't quite remember storing the ice cream in the bottom left cabinet," Hermione said smartly.

Glinda continued to eat out of the carton. "That's because you didn't."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Glinda walked over to the sofa and plopped down.

"Why are you putting all of that junk food in the cabinet by the way?" she asked as she resiliently continued her assault on the carton, even licking the utensil. For a moment Hermione contemplated going into the kitchen, getting a spoon, and digging in with her, but she fought off the compulsion.

"Because if I had put it in the cupboard that would be the first place I would look for it," she said as she came to the couch.

Glinda scooted over so Hermione could sit in the spot she had been occupying.

"So let me see if I have this right," began Glinda slowly, trying to piece together the complicated puzzle. "You bought the food…"

"Yes."

"And then you hid the food from yourself?"

Hermione scowled at her. "Well when you say it like that it makes no sense!"

Glinda merely raised a thin black eyebrow at her and kept eating.

"Look, I'm a little food fixated at the moment. At the time I thought it was a good solution," Hermione tried to explain. "You just don't understand Glinda, it's like…it's like I have a monster in my chest."

"A monster?"

"Yes, in my chest. And it will not be denied."

"That has to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she said in wonderment.

"Fine then," Hermione said in a snippy tone, "I'm the bloody monster. And all I want are bowls brimming over with grits topped off with big fat pats of butter...ooh, and chimichangas."

"What the hell is a grit?"

"Or huevos rancheros, or bar-b-que, fried chicken, or mmm…" she paused to lick her lips, "chili con queso…"

Hermione had been going through a list of some of her favorite foods when Glinda's devilish grin gave her pause.

"What? What's so funny?"

"You are," she said as she pointed her spoon at Hermione. "You do realize what you're doing, don't you?"

Hermione's blank stare only served to further amuse the woman.

"My dear girl, you are substituting food for sex," she said.

"What?!"

"You're overdosing on the pleasure you get from one, to replace the pleasure you aren't getting from the other. Trust me, I know about these things. I am a relationship expert after all."

"STUFF AND NONSENSE!"

"Listen to Auntie Glinda," she said superiorly as she moved closer to Hermione and gave her a playful nudge. "All you need is one good fuck and you'll be as right as rain again."

Hermione huffed indignantly.

"Oh god, I forgot who I was talking to," Glinda muttered. "Right then; all you have to do is make love…or some silly shite like that. Better?" she asked sarcastically.

"Please," Hermione scoffed, "I've never been as over sentimental as all that. Sex is just sex; no need to dress it up. It's pleasurable and gratifying...mostly, but certainly nothing worthy of such flowery, mawkish embellishments. Sex is nothing more than a few rushed kisses and fumbling hands just to reach that penultimate moment where your brain goes sideways and you don't have to think for a few blessed seconds. Then afterwards you clean up the mess."

Glinda looked disturbed at such a lack luster description of one of her favorite pastimes.

"Have you been doing it right?!" she asked, face screwed up sourly.

Brushing off the insult, Hermione crossed her legs and loftily said, "I've never had any complaints."

Glinda waggled her eyebrows lewdly at her.

"And don't I know it. I did sleep in a room right next to yours once."

"Ha! Shows you what you know Miss Smartie. At the old flat I put Silencing Charms on all of the walls in my bedroom. You wouldn't have heard a thing."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," she said as she scooped up another dollop of ice cream and swallowed it down. "But you kind of neglected to put one on the door to the bathroom."

Hermione was horrified at the inference. Glinda continued to smile mischievously.

"I'm going upstairs to change now," Hermione squeaked as she jumped up from the sofa and dashed towards the staircase. Glinda laughed at her discomfort.

"I'll just turn on the telly and see what your good neighbors are getting up to," Hermione heard her say.

Hermione was only a few steps up as she turned back to see Glinda reach for the remote control that was sitting on top of the end table next to her.

"I wonder if the burly bobby and that naughty French maid are at it again."

"You do know that the bloke is the minister for that Anglican Church down the way, and the maid is the wife, slash organist?"

Glinda turned in her seat to look back at Hermione.

"Who cares?! They sure do know a thing or two about a thing or two, if you catch my meaning." She winked for good measure.

"Glinda, a blind deaf mute living in a log cabin amidst the Ozarks would catch your meaning."

Glinda gave her a disinterested wave and turned back around to the set. She pointed the remote at it and suddenly a half-starved model was on the screen hawking some over priced designer perfume. Glinda let out a disheartened cry. She stood up and began clicking through the channels anxiously.

Hermione leaned against the banister and tried not to smile too much at her friend's dismay.

"I hate to burst your bubble, Glin, but Harry fixed the charms on the house," she told her.

"NO!" Glinda wailed as she turned towards the staircase again.

Hermione nodded her head as her eyes sparkled.

"I guess you'll just have to make do with good old Corrie Street from now on, hmm?"

Glinda didn't seem to like that suggestion at all. She actually pouted.

"Damn. And it was better than Footballers' Wives too!"

~~**~~ ~~**~~

Five or six hours later they were being seated at a sidewalk table of an Italian restaurant near Oxford Street. Hermione had preferred they sit inside, there had been a few instances all day where she thought she felt eyes on her and had sworn that someone was watching her every move…following her even, but Glinda had declared that it was too fine a day to be cooped up inside. Despite her unease, Hermione agreed with her. She just wrote off her near crippling paranoia as the after effects of running into Bertina and her husband a few days ago. But she felt confident that it had just been a fluke, an unhappy coincidence seeing someone from Texas all the way here in London, and that she needn't worry about it happening again. Besides after sending Harry on his way, she had taken care of the Beauregards. Bertina and Hampton wouldn't be an issue any longer.

Under their table, they shoved all of their bags and purses. It was a huge haul and Hermione should have felt embarrassed that she had spent so much, but with Glinda going into near rapture at every store they stopped at and dragging them further than they had planed to go, Hermione couldn't help but play along. Their arms were tired, their feet were sore, but Hermione and Glinda were both in high spirits. It had been a fun day.

"So the Signora will be having the bruschetta and the olive ascolane, a bowl of minestrone, and for her main course the gnocchi with mushrooms and tomatoes. Sí?"

"Sí," said Glinda as she closed her menu and smiled brightly at the young waiter who was taking their order. "Ooh, do you have gelato?"

"Glinda!" The woman could eat like nothing else. Sometimes Hermione wondered where it all went.

"What?"

The waiter barely could restrain his smile as he said, "Yes, Signora."

"Good, I might decide to have that for later then," Glinda said, right before making a face at Hermione and placing her menu back down on the table.

"And for you, Signorina?" he asked as he turned towards Hermione.

"It all looks so good…" she said as her eyes ran back and forth over the selections. "And so fattening," she added fretfully. "I could really go for a Waldorf salad right now."

Glinda made a gagging sound.

"What? I like Waldorf salad."

"Oh please, even Waldorf salad doesn't like itself very much. Let's see…"

Glinda opened her menu again and took a quick glance down at it.

"She'll have the rigatoni Bolognese," she told the waiter as she closed the menu again.

Hermione was in awe of her boldness.

"Excellent selection," he said, taking both of their menus as Hermione huffed resentfully at being ignored. "I'll be back to freshen your glasses in a second."

After watching the waiter walk off, Hermione fixed her friend with a stern look.

"You know Glinda, not everyone can eat like an elephant and not gain a pound like you."

"I know! Don't you just hate me?"

Prissily, Hermione said, "Yes, but that's not the point."

"I think that waiter was making eyes at you," said Glinda after taking a long sip out of her wineglass and emptying it.

Hermione gave her a puzzled look. "And what makes you think that?"

Glinda grinned naughtily.

"I heard him offering you his bread stick."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the remark.

"He was asking both of us if we would like to have a basket of bread sticks!"

"Obviously we heard two different things. I…oh shite, here he comes again."

The waiter came striding back to their table, a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass pitcher of water in the other. After setting the water down he began to refill Glinda's glass. She held it up and batted her eyes at him coquettishly. Though she had been married to Fred for nearly six years, she had never seen any reason to give up any of her flirty ways. Fred actually encouraged his own wife's shamelessness from time to time. He knew that no matter how outrageous Glinda got she would still come home to him.

"Have you been enjoying the Pinot?" asked the waiter as he righted the nose of the bottle.

"Yes I have. Fabulous suggestion..." Glinda glanced at his name tag and smiled even brighter, "…Romeo."

"And what about the Signorina?"

He had turned to find Hermione shaking her head at Glinda reprovingly.

"No, thanks," she said quickly sitting up straight in her chair. "I'm the designated driver for the day." She took a swig out of her water to drive home the point.

Romeo flirtatiously said, "That's too bad. Maybe another time?"

"Maybe," she said smiling back charmingly.

The man was good looking and he knew it. Both she and Glinda watched as Romeo's rather nice backside walked away from them. He was only a few tables away when he turned back around and caught them at it. Even though Hermione was 25 and Glinda was 31, they both giggled like a couple of primary school girls ogling the cutest boy in class. Romeo seemed to take it all in stride. He even winked rakishly at Hermione.

"Told you!" piped Glinda.

Hermione wasn't impressed.

"Please, he probably took one look at that wedding band on your finger and figured that I was the easier mark. Either that or it's the hair," she said after taking a drink from her glass.

She had decided to forgo the hat for the day. Instead her wild hair was sitting on top of her head as a soft, fluffy looking mass that curled and waved just above her shoulders. Though she would have normally been self-conscious about how it looked, it didn't seem to bother her presently. Harry had said such nice things about it. Such terribly, terribly nice things; had said it once looked like wildfire. Just thinking about it again would make her puddle right there at the table if she wasn't careful.

"I've found that you can put a blonde wig on an orangutan and it would still walk off with the Miss Universe pageant."

"Surely not Ducks; first runner-up at the most. He'd fumble the question up and instead of asking for world peace say he wanted a banana or something equally as silly."

"You are a terror!" Hermione said, laughingly.

"For someone who is so disparaging of blondes I still find it strange that you would make yourself over into one. What happened, wanted to see how the other half lived?"

"I just did it as a lark really," she effortlessly replied. Besides, who would have ever thought to look for her under a set of blonde locks?

"The Hermione I knew didn't lark. She did everything strictly by the book."

Hermione frowned at the description.

"You make me sound so rigid and regimented. I knew how to loosen up! I knew how to have a good time!"

"If you were stinking minced maybe," said Glinda. "Any other time; not so much. Ducks, you once wore a turtleneck and a tweed skirt to an all-nighter. Tweed!"

"Well when my flat mate suggested we meet for drinks after work she neglected to mention that we were doing so at a trendy nightclub."

"I did?" Glinda's face wore a rather minx-ish expression.

"You did."

Glinda brushed the mild accusation off.

"Well I'm glad your tastes have improved. That little oriental number you picked up should set a few tongues wagging at the Ball."

"I'm not wearing that one," Hermione said, shaking her head as she folded her arms on the table. "Too risqué, I think. It's a little too tight and that slit…well…let's just say that if I'm not careful how I uncross my legs when wearing it the whole wide world will be my gynecologist. I don't know why I let you talk me into buying it and the green one…and the red...and the blue."

Hermione sighed. Glinda was such a bad influence.

"I think I'm just going to go with the cocktail dress."

"Well it does make sense to just buy the dresses you're going to need for everything that is coming up, doesn't it?" Glinda argued. "You needed a dress for the reception and the wedding as well. But why wear that one to the Ball? It's so sweet and ladylike." She shivered as though those two words were dirty.

"What's wrong with that? I thought it was very pretty."

"It's just so…yellow."

Glinda was no fan of yellow. She always told Hermione that the color would make anyone look jaundiced, even her.

"I like yellow," Hermione said simply.

"Eww! You'll probably wear a pair of matching knickers to go under it."

"I just might. It doesn't hurt to branch out from basic black you know. I mean, must every party dress you own be black?"

"Yes. When you find something that works you stick with it. No need to go getting experimental. Now take that Alexandra Davies for example," she said as she leaned in closer to the table. "Did you see her in that one store we stopped at?"

"Davies? Roger's wife? No, I don't think I met her. She's a Muggle?" questioned Hermione.

"No, she's like you," she answered. "She was the one who came out of the fitting room looking like a bagpiper exploded all over her dress."

Hermione winced.

"Oh, that one. Yes, that dress was rather...unfortunate looking."

"I don't care if it is haute couture; ugly is just plain ugly," said Glinda as she shook her head knowledgeably. "I suppose you'll get to meet her tomorrow though," she added. "Speaking of which, I've been handed an assignment for today. I'm supposed to weasel the name of the bloke who is taking you to the party, out of you."

"Let me guess, Ron?" she asked smirking.

"Well I did say weasel, didn't I? So tell who it is."

"I don't know why all of you are making such a fuss about this."

"Because you won't bloody tell us who it is!" Glinda exasperatedly replied as she smacked the table.

"Maybe I want it to be a surprise."

"I hate surprises," grumbled Glinda. "Alright, tell me if I at least know this person."

"You...might," said Hermione coyly.

Hermione was having too much fun having a go at Glinda. Usually it was the other way around.

"Evil, evil little thing, you!" she reprimanded, hitting her hand on the table to emphasize her point. Hermione chuckled.

"Well I know it's not Charlie."

Hermione's forehead wrinkled. "Why would it be Charlie?"

"Fred told me last night that Charlie is taking that assistant of Arthur's," Glinda said, ignoring Hermione's question. "What was her name again?" she asked. "You used to work with her. Bernice…Bernadine…"

"Bernadette?"

Arthur had told her that Bernadette had been promoted to her position in the MMBA Office after she left.

Glinda snapped her finger and nodded her head. "That's the one. Charlie usually gives her a roll every time he comes to town. Poor girl, she's like his vagina in a glass case; break in case of emergency."

"Charlie? I just can't see him being like that."

Glinda just shook her head at Hermione's thickness.

"He has a girl in every port and you know it! Molly is just so happy that he's finally going to settle down in England for a spell. Bernadette too, I suppose. Poor thing is probably already readying the announcement for the Prophet as we speak; lot of good that will do her."

"Bernadette Fournier is a sweetheart. Charlie could do far worse," said Hermione approvingly.

"Yes…well…we know it's not George. I had hoped he would finally take a look at that little Verity who works at the store and realize that the child is madly in love with him, but that man is as thick as ever. Instead he's going to have the lovely and demurring Miss Pristine Pringle on his arm," she said with a scowl.

Hermione's eyes bulged at that. Hermione knew Pringle back when the bothersome redheaded had dated Draco.

"George is dating Pringle?! You have to be kidding! She'll eat him alive!"

"Don't I know it!" remarked Glinda. "That Daphne Greengrass chippie ran a feature article not too long ago; 10 MOST UP IN COMING BACHELORS. George was listed. Not one day later, Pringle was sniffing around the Hogsmeade store."

"But George runs the Diagon property."

"I know that, and you know that, but Pristine…" Glinda said the woman's name like it was a curse, "didn't. Stupid bint got confused on which twin was which. After about a week of her skulking around the Three Broomsticks during lunch hour I finally pulled her to the side and gave her some friendly advice," she said smiling darkly.

"What did you say?" Hermione asked, knowing it would be good.

"I told that skinny little twit that unless she wanted that horse face of hers to wind up on a few 'MISSING' posters she had better find another place to eat lunch."

"Glinda!"

"I've got to protect what's mine!" she insisted. Her wineglass was empty again and she was searching the area for Romeo.

"You didn't think that Fred would actually cheat on you with Pringle, did you?"

"He'd better not; she isn't on the list!"

Hermione shook her head ruefully.

"Sadly I do believe that after a few years of marriage all men are susceptible to straying," continued Glinda.

"That's disheartening," Hermione said, rattling the ice cubes in her glass. "I would like to believe that there are some husbands who take their vows seriously."

"Oh, I'm sure there are," she off-handedly said, "but even the most loyal husband starts to wonder if the grass truly is greener from time to time. Now do I think that Freddy would step out on me? I hope not. I love him like crazy and I hope he feels the same. Before I met him I never imagined myself wanting to settle down and play house with anybody. But he changed all of that. He changed me."

The look on Glinda's face as she talked about her husband was nothing short of adoring. It gladdened Hermione to see her friend so happy. But at the same time she felt the usual twinge of envy. It was hard to accept that she would never know the peace that Glinda had found.

"He's a good man, and a good friend, and there are times I think he's one of the only reasons I wake up every morning," she continued with a sappy grin on her face. "Then there is the fact that he has a willie that would make a grown woman weep for joy."

"I swear I know more about Fred Weasley's anatomy than I have a natural right to."

"Well it is a nice one," Glinda quipped.

"I can't say that I've ever had the pleasure," said Hermione dryly.

"And let's keep it that way, shall we?" she joked as Romeo came back to their table.

He placed Glinda's appetizers and soup on the table and refilled her glass. He then took the water pitcher and poured its contents into Hermione's glass. He told them that their meals would be out shortly and left after they thanked him. Hermione ignored the interested looks he was giving her.

"Fred is such a good father too," Glinda said, taking back up the conversation as though they hadn't left it.

She nibbled on the bruschetta and slid the plate to Hermione. Hermione debated whether or not to have just one, and then finally gave in. She also nicked two of the fried olives.

"When I first told him that we were pregnant do you know he actually fainted? As soon as the idea that he was going to be a dad started setting in he said how it was time to start thinking about growing up. I told him if he did that I was out the door, clear as a shot."

They both laughed before Glinda's mirthful smile dwindled.

"When Lish got really sick and they finally diagnosed her, Freddie took it pretty hard," she said. "I think that up until that moment he believed that the only thing that magic couldn't fix was death. But he pulled through it. I don't think our daughter would have had it any other way. Fred just adores his little girl," said Glinda, beaming.

"I'm sorry, Glinda." Hermione had reached an arm across the table and took one of Glinda's hands in her own.

"Sorry for what?"

"For not being here when you had Felicity…and for everything after."

Hermione had been told early on that her godchild Felicity had been born with a rare genetic disorder. It caused her to have seizures when she was only an infant, and had threatened her developmental skills before it had been properly diagnosed. After years of medication and intensive therapy the little girl hardly seemed to be affected by as much as a paper cut. According to Glinda there were good days and there were not so good days. The small family had been experiencing nothing but good days for the last few years, though.

"Well I won't lie," Glinda said as she twirled her spoon in her soup, "I was a bit miffed. But I figured that you probably had some things to work through. As long as you've finally worked them out, all is forgiven. You are here to stay now, aren't you?" She took a spoonful into her mouth.

After the tiniest of pauses Hermione answered, "Yes."

"Good. Cause Felicity just loves her godmother to pieces. She even told the other children at day school that she has two mummies now. I thought I was going to have to spray the little monkey down from the walls the other day when she left your place."

"She is a lively little thing. The Weasley is very strong in the young Padawan," kidded Hermione with a tiny grin.

Glinda groaned loudly.

"Oh damn, I have missed you! It's nice to be around someone who knows an Obi-Wan from a hole in their arse. Fred just looks at me like I'm speaking gibberish.

"Well to him you are. It doesn't surprise me. Trying to go to the cinema with Ron was always a chore. I remember this one night we went to go see this movie that everyone was raving about. Don't give away the big secret ending, everyone said. The ending is so unbelievably amazing and unpredictable, everyone said. Now I lectured him over and over again that if he talked to them the people on the screen would not answer back, but what does Ron do?" she asked. "At the most pivotal moment in the story he stands up and shouts, 'eh you midget, can't you see that nutter's dead too'."

Glinda let out a peal of giddy laughter.

"After running from the theater for our lives, I decided that there just would be no more movie outings for him!"

"Molly and Arthur go to the movies, you know."

"They do?"

"Yes," Glinda responded. "They make it a weekly date."

"Well isn't that lovely," said Hermione to which Glinda grinned.

"It is. Then, when they come home, the two of them are as randy as a couple of teenagers."

"No," Hermione said, eyes widening at the very idea.

Glinda's smile only grew larger.

"They're so loud that Fleur has to tell the children that grandma and grandpa are moving the furniture again."

"Oh my goodness!" said Hermione, bubbling over with laughter. "Well…God bless them."

She poured some more water into her glass and raised it in a toast. Glinda did the same.

"They are an inspiration to us all!" Glinda said before clinking their two glasses together.

Romeo came by not too long after that with their meals. As he put their plates down Hermione couldn't tell which looked better, her rigatoni or Glinda's gnocchi. Glinda obviously felt the same since she began eating out of her and Hermione's plate as soon as she pulled out her fork and unfurled her cloth napkin in her lap. Hermione shrugged and followed her example.

"Speaking of Molly," said Glinda after swallowing a few bites, "did you know she's been talking you up to Charlie lately? Actually she's been pushing you hard at him since the day after you both came home."

"But why would she do that?" asked Hermione dimly. When Glinda gave her an unbelieving eye roll Hermione replied, "What?"

"Well Charlie didn't look like he was too against the idea, is all I'm saying."

"Charlie? You think Charlie is interested is me?" Hermione asked. "That's rubbi-"

A brief image of her yawning exhaustedly while Charlie sat in her living room the night before, chatting away as though he hadn't a care in the world, suddenly popped into her head. When she had finally said that she was heading off to bed he did seem almost reluctant to leave. And just why did Molly have to send Charlie over with that rolling pin again?

Hermione shook those thoughts off.

"I've seen some of the women Charlie dated; I'm nowhere in their league," she argued. "We are just friends."

"Since when?"

"We were in the Order together," Hermione explained.

"And you're telling me that he was your friend back then instead of just Ron's older brother?"

Hermione gave Glinda an annoyed look. "We're friends now then! JUST FRIENDS!"

"Please," said Glinda sarcastically, "men and women can't just be friends. It's not natural. One or both of them are always going to want it to be more at one point or another. Eventually biology wins out and you and your 'just friend' are rutting on the living room floor."

"Glinda!"

"It's the truth! Take me and Fred for example."

"Glinda, you slept with Fred the same night that you met him. I walked in on you two. You were on my mum's sofa. I had to have it reupholstered the next day. "

"My point exactly!" she said, stabbing the air with her fork. "Men and women can't just be friends. Look at you and Ron…or you and Harry-"

"Hold on!" Hermione cut in dropping her fork. She didn't like where Glinda was heading with this. "There has never been anything else between me and Harry."

Glinda tilted her head and asked, "Are your arms tired?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "No why?"

"Because it must get very tiring paddling down 'de Nile."

"Cute."

"You mean to tell me that you've never had an impure thought about Harry?"

"No," Hermione answered without even blinking.

"Come on, look at the man. Sure he seems too good to be true, but he looks like he would be an out and out fabulous shag," she impishly said.

Hermione's chin jutted out. The turn of the conversation was making her very uncomfortable.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Every woman has done it, Hermione; thought about someone they maybe shouldn't be thinking about."

Glinda was practically the little devil sitting on her shoulder. All she needed was the tail and pitchfork to go with her smile.

"I dreamt about George once," Glinda admitted, encouraging Hermione to confide in her.

"You could tell the difference in a dream?" she asked, shocked and intrigued as well.

"Surprisingly yes," she said. "So come on, tell Auntie Glinda." She leaned in closer over the table. "Have you ever fantasized about sleeping with your best friend?"

"I might have spared the idea a thought or two," Hermione said stiffly, eyes never leaving her plate.

Glinda's smile got bigger.

"Was he good? He was good, wasn't he?"

"I don't think we should be having this conversation. It isn't proper."

Hermione picked her fork back up and began practically shoveling the pasta down her throat.

"AND HE WAS FAN-BLOODY-TASTIC!" she spluttered finally getting a mouthful of air.

"I knew it!" Glinda practically jumped up and down in her seat as she clapped her hands.

"Well I'm happy for you," Hermione said as she scraped the last bits of food off of her plate, "because we are never discussing this ever, ever again."

Glinda chortled as she finished up her lunch.

"So where are we off to after this?" Hermione asked as she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her serviette. She watched as Glinda glanced down at her watch.

"It's getting late," she said as she looked back up. "I'm going to need to use the floo in George's store so I can collect Felicity from school on time. Then I have to run by Neville's shop and pick up a plant that Healer Davis said will help her sleep better through the night." She wiped her hands on her napkin and tossed it on her plate. "Want to come?" she asked.

Having no other plans other than returning to her empty house Hermione said, "Sure, why not. I've barely spoken to Neville since being back. It might be nice to catch up."

"That Neville is a sweetheart," Glinda said as she picked her wineglass up. "I sure hope he finds a nice bloke one of these days and settles down."

She threw her head back and finished off the glass.

Hermione blinked.

"Come again?"

"I said I hope he finds himself a man. He's quite cute…and has very big feet."

She stared at Glinda in astonishment before saying, "Neville's not gay. He has a girlfriend now, from what I hear."

"Oh, and I suppose next you'll be telling me that there really is a Father Christmas."

"Well actually…"

Hermione, deciding that it would all be too much to explain, shook her head instead.

"Never mind all of that," she said. "Neville isn't gay. Why would you think he was gay?"

"Hullo, he owns a flower shop," Glinda said as though Hermione hadn't caught up with the rest of the class.

"I don't even know where to begin. For starters your line of reasoning is highly disturbing. Second, it's a plant store, not a flower shop. And last, but certainly not least, for someone who hates being asked where the best places to eat curry in town are, or why there isn't a little red dot in the middle of your head, I would think that you would find those kinds of stereotypes base and unkind."

"You're no fun. Why do you always have to be so logical?" asked Glinda, pouting.

"Genetic defect," she said humorlessly. "Neville Longbottom is not gay." Then as an aside she said, "At least he wasn't when I last knew him."

That seemed to arouse Glinda's interest.

"Ooh, when you knew him. Are we speaking biblically then?"

She placed both of her elbows on the table, threaded the fingers of her hands together, and dropped her chin on them.

Hermione glowered at her.

"You know, contrary to popular belief I'm not the bloody Whore of Babylon," she said through clenched teeth. Glinda was not moved.

"No, cause that's a girl who knew how to have a good time!"

Once the bill had been paid and Romeo's invitation for a cup of coffee at the end of his shift declined, Hermione and Glinda headed back to the truck with their bags and drove over to Charing Cross. After searching for a nearby parking spot, they made the trek over to the Leaky Cauldron. Glinda was used to floo'ing between her husband's WWW to the one in Diagon Alley. Oftentimes she would cut through the Cauldron to go into Muggle London, a convenience she adored considering that she lived in tiny Hogsmeade all the way out in Scotland. The charms that muddled most Muggles had slowly lost their effect on her over time. When she needed to get back across the barrier old Tom was always kind enough to open the passage to let her through. After taking a moment to welcome Hermione back home, he did so once again.

As she stepped through the portal Hermione almost felt swept up in the energy that was Diagon; wizards and witches bustled back and forth as far as the eye could see. A tidal wave of memories came flooding back so strongly that she felt a need to slow down and process it all. There was the Magical Menagerie where she had found Crookshanks, and the old ice cream shop that had once been owned by the late Mr. Fortescue, and was now a glitzy looking beauty salon. She had nearly bought up the entire practical charms and runes section at Flourish and Botts. And off in the distance she could see the old flat where she once lived with Harry and Ron. She would have liked to have taken a moment to drink it all in, but Glinda began pulling her, more like dragging her, down the walk in the direction of the Weasley store. They were walking passed a wedding planner's shop near the entrance into Knockturn Alley when a voice called out to them.

"GLINDA!"

Both of their heads looked across the street to see who was shouting Glinda's name. A few stores down, standing in front of Madam Malkin's shop was a short, olive toned woman wearing glasses and sporting an ear length, choppy haircut. She was dressed in a no frills business suit, hose, and a pair of pencil thin heels. Between her lips dangled a thin cigarette she was puffing away on. She waved her hands wildly, trying to catch Glinda's attention.

"AMPS?" Glinda called out before the woman dashed across the street to their side of the sidewalk. "Amps! How have you been?" Glinda greeted the woman warmly. The woman removed the cigarette from her mouth and tossed it on the ground before stomping it out.

"Good, thanks," she said as she straightened the leather briefcase on her shoulder and leaned in to air kiss Glinda's cheek.

"Amps, this is my dearest friend in the world; Hermione Granger," Glinda said as she motioned towards Hermione. "Hermione, this is my friend Amparo Leon."

Hermione held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Hermione?" asked Amparo, giving her hand a quick shake. "Oh, I've heard tons about you."

Hermione frowned somewhat making Amparo shake her head.

"Oh no, good things really," she assured her. "Glinda has talked about you often."

"Don't believe any of it," said Hermione half-seriously a she glanced at Glinda next to her. Glinda chuckled.

"So what are you doing on this side of town?" Glinda asked Amparo. The question seemed to make Amparo miserable.

"Shopping at Malkin's with my mother-in-law," she said glumly. "She has so kindly decided to help me pick out a respectable set of dress robes for the Ball."

Going by the look on Glinda's face one would have thought that the woman said she was running off to Romania to star in existential puppet porn.

"Oh dear lord, no!" she exclaimed, hand to her mouth.

Amparo nodded her head morosely. "The hubby thought it would be a nice bonding exercise. I keep telling him that it's a lost cause. The woman will always hate me for not being a witch."

"Amparo's mother-in-law is quite the blood snob," Glinda explained to Hermione.

Hermione gave Amparo an empathetic smile. "Oh, sorry."

"It's fine," she said cheerlessly. "I love my husband so I guess I can put up with it."

"But robes?!" Glinda belted out.

"Ridiculous, I know, but if I want to try and fit in, this is just something I have to do."

Glinda absolutely abhorred robes. She said they were hot and itchy and made women look like walking bed hangings. She tried to avoid wearing them as often as she could. She was unhappy over the fact that she would have to wear a set of dress robes for Ron and Lavender's nuptials and was dreading what color they would turn out to be. Glinda was actively looking for some excuse not to be one of Lavender's attendants.

When Harry and Ginny got married she had begged off being in the bridal party citing that she was too far along in her pregnancy to stand for long periods of time. The real reason was that she had gagged at the sight of Ginny's pink bridesmaid's robes and confidentially told Hermione that her baby would be born having bad taste if she dared wear them. Hermione felt self-assured in telling her that she was being silly, but it wasn't as though she had been all fired up to put hers on either. Her reasons were just a wee bit different from Glinda's.

Then again Hermione had stopped wearing robes regularly long before she stopped being a witch. Back in school she had felt the need to prove over and over again that she was a first rate witch through and through. That was why she worked so hard to be the best at transfiguration, the best at potions; the best at everything she tried. Did she tend to overcompensate because she was a Muggle-born? In truth, yes; she just didn't want there to ever be any excuse anyone could ever use to say that she didn't belong to the magical world. Since wearing robes was part and parcel of being a proper witch, Hermione always strove to look the part. Her school robes had always been pressed and neat. Her work robes were always pinstripe perfection. And she wasn't above splurging every now and then on the perfect set of dress robes if there was a special occasion coming up.

She hated them, though.

In her opinion wizarding fashion was stifling. Despite the array of colors robes came in, some that couldn't even be found in the rainbow, and the various materials, cuts, and styles (the micro mini robes of the 60's was an era in fashion that thankfully fizzled and died before it even properly got started), that still didn't stop them from being little less than a uniform in Hermione's eyes. Whenever you went to a function you could often tell who was a witch or wizard and who their Muggle companions were. Of course every now and then a daring soul broke with convention; a Muggle wife would try to fit in and wear robes or a Muggle-born would proudly wear Muggle clothing. But mostly people followed the code. If you were a witch you dressed like a witch and you never deviated from that. Hermione followed the code for a long time before she started questioning why it was so important to her how other people perceived her. Why should she have to wear something to prove a point about who she was? If she took off the robe, wasn't she still a witch?

These were questions that filtered through Hermione's head as she readied herself for the Minister's All Hallow's Eve fête that was being held at the world famous Cadabra House, a beautiful 16^th century concert hall that looked like an old abandoned library to Muggles. She was staring at her reflection in her long, standing mirror as she affixed tiny pearls in each of her ears. She was wearing a set of baby blue robes. They were supposed to be very fashionable, but Hermione felt uncomfortable in them. The cut of the sheer sleeves were too tight and the collar was very high in the back. The Queen Anne neckline showed a little too much cleavage in her opinion, and Hermione felt the need to adjust and pull it up every so often.

The material had little specks of silver that winked as the light caught it. Hermione thought it might be a little too showy for the likes of her, she wanted to throw on a skirt and blouse and be done with it, but she lacked the wherewithal to just do it. It had been impressed upon her that this was the perfect set of robes that the perfect witch would want to wear.

"My life is over."

Hermione's head turned in the direction of her bed. Laid out across it, an arm flung dramatically over his eyes, was her best friend and flat mate. His glasses sat on her nightstand. Hermione shook her head at Harry's prostrate form.

"Your life is not over," she said as she turned back to her reflection.

"Yes it is. My life…" he let out an overwrought sigh, "...is over."

Hermione picked at the back of her messy chignon.

"Harry, just because you didn't catch the Snitch, that does not mean your life is over."

"It does. I'm washed up; a has-been."

His words were a touch slurred. Hermione suspected that he had tied one on a little too tightly after the game. But since this was the night that his parents had been killed Hermione decided to make an allowance for it. She just needed to remember to brew him up a proper Pepper-Up before she had to leave for the party. She didn't want him to go over to the Cadabra House stumbling all over the place.

"Harry, you just played your first professional game. How can you be washed up already? You're too young to be a has-been."

"Fine. Then I'm an 18 year old never-was," he grumbled petulantly.

Hermione turned around so she could get a look at the back of the robes, then drifted over to the bed.

"So what if you didn't catch the Snitch? So what? Big bloody deal! It's just Quidditch!"

One of her knees bent on the bed next to his waist and she loomed partially over him. The two-way compact that Ginny had given him lay open on the bed, forgotten.

"Hermione, strangely enough you are not making it better."

She was starting to grow tired of his silly pity party. She had congratulated him, consoled him, even baked a pie (ok, maybe that last part hadn't helped); she was at her wits end now.

"All I'm saying is that Puddlemere still won, so what's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that I've never not caught the Snitch. I always catch the Snitch! It's sort of my thing, Hermione."

"Actually," she began somewhat hesitantly, "if we are being technical you didn't catch the Snitch during that game with Hufflepuff back in Third Year."

Harry drew back his arm and gave Hermione a truly outraged, owlish look.

"Not that it was your fault!" she quickly amended. "I know you would have caught it then too if not for the dementors. They were everywhere, those blasted dementors!"

"HUNDREDS OF THEM!"

Hermione couldn't help but smile at his blustery avowal. He could be so ridiculously cute at times.

"THOUSANDS OF THEM!" she added.

Despite his depression, he reluctantly grinned as well. Then his eyes squinted as though trying to see her clearer.

"You look nice."

Hermione suddenly became flustered and began picking at her hair and robes again. She tended to do this every time Harry gave her a compliment these days. She absolutely hated herself for it.

"Y-you think?"

He nodded. "Are those new robes?"

"They are in fact. I just bought them from Gladrags today. Almost spent a whole weeks' wage for them"

"Why are you getting so dolled up for this party?" he asked. "We're only going to stay long enough to show our faces before heading off to the Cauldron."

This was the moment Hermione had been dreading all evening.

"Actually I'm not going to the Cauldron with all of you." In one big breath she spit out, "Ihaveadate." It sounded like a sneeze.

She silently hoped that Harry didn't understand her and just assumed she was speaking in some alien, antediluvian tongue.

"A…A date?"

Drat!

"Erm, yes," she began cautiously. "With Roger Davies. You remember him, yes?"

"Yes."

The frown lines on Harry's forehead began to form frown lines.

"Well he asked if he could escort me to the party tonight and I sort of agreed," she said. She was smoothing the fabric of her robes and her eyes were focused on that task, fearful of meeting Harry's surely displeased gaze.

"I see."

"Asked me right there in the stands today at the game. I was quite taken aback," she continued on rambling.

"But you still said yes."

His tone was chilly.

"Well, yes he's…" she looked up tentatively to find Harry's naked, almost dark forest green looking eyes staring at her, "...nice."

Harry hopped off the bed and practically stalked towards the door.

"I think I'm just going to stay in tonight."

"Oh Harry, no," she said following after him. "You really shouldn't be alone tonight considering…you really shouldn't." Then she tensely asked, "Is this…is this about my seeing Roger?"

Harry paused, hand on the door knob, but said nothing.

"Harry, please don't be like this," she pleaded, feeling the tears beginning to form in her eyes. "You didn't say anything to Ron when he went to go fetch Lavender. You mean to tell me that Ron can try to move on but I can't?"

She understood that Harry was in a difficult position; being both Ron's and her best friend, wanting to see both of them happy. She also understood that Harry would prefer that they be happy together, that would tie everything up with a nice little bow. But Hermione couldn't see that happening now. How could she be with Ron when she loved him? She didn't want to do that to Ron anymore. That's why she broke up with him! That's why she was trying to fix this horrible mess. She was sort of hoping that this thing with Roger might help speed things along. Maybe...maybe even with time she could actually grow to care for Roger and get over Harry. Maybe...

"I'm doing the best I can here, Harry. I could really use my best friend's support."

"You're right," he said finally as he turned back to face her. "I'll…I'll do better. I'll even try to keep Ron in line for you tonight if he makes a scene."

She wiped at her eyes, but still smiled. "Thank you."

"And I meant it before, those really are nice robes," he said coming closer to her. "They look a little funny on you but-"

Her smile dropped.

"They look funny on me?"

Harry immediately knew he had made a faux pas.

"NO! I mean…not funny but-gah! Never mind, Hermione! They look just fine."

"No, say what you were going to say," she said sounding hurt.

Harry looked as though he would give anything to just disappear in a puff of smoke, but he bravely bit the bullet to answer her.

"They just aren't really you, are they? It kind of looks like something Ginny would wear."

"Ginny helped pick them out," she said frowning, looking down at herself. "She was able to get away from the castle and I met her after the game in the village."

She looked back up.

"What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know, it's just not you," he replied, bravely soldiering on.

"What, am I too much of a dull little bookworm to pull off something like this?"

She couldn't help but feel embittered. Of course Ginny would be able to wear something perfect for the perfect little witch. Ginny was beautiful, Ginny was flawless; Ginny was everything that she would never be. Everything!

"Did I say that?" he asked her.

Hermione crossed her arms across her chest and sniffed. He hadn't said it, but she still took it that way.

"It's just…a bit...overblown," he continued. "It's too much."

Hermione wasn't placated.

"Alright then, if I were going on a date with you what would you prefer I wear?"

She began to unzip the dress robes, and without thinking, took them off. Underneath her clothes she wore nothing but a plain black dress slip and a pair of dark hose.

The question apparently rattled him. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

"HERMIONE!"

"No, I'm serious. I'm asking for your honest male opinion. You are a male, are you not?" she asked, baiting him into an answer as she tossed the robes back on her bed.

"Fine!" Harry said, taking the challenge.

He headed in the direction of her large closet. The flat hadn't really come with one that big, but she saw no reason not to fix it. She had even offered to transfigure both Ron and Harry's closets for them, but Ron acted as though he were just fine choosing his clothes from the leavings on his floor. At least Harry was a bit better, but not by much. Men!

"Let's see," he murmured as he began to sort through the contents of the closet.

Her closet was immaculately organized. Robes to the left; everything else to the right. Her shoes on the floor were matched up and lined in several perfectly measured rows.

Harry was searching on the left side.

"No…no…no…oh Merlin, no!"

He had come across a set of black robes she had bought for work. They were severe, but in her opinion she didn't look that bad in them. She glared at him peevishly before his hands settled on one of the very last ones to the back. He pulled the periwinkle blue robes out.

"You still kept this all these years?"

Hermione's face flushed. "Yes. Sentimental value, and all that."

"You looked really nice in them," he said smiling gently.

Hermione had to prevent herself from smiling stupidly at the compliment.

"Why don't you wear them again?"

"Harry, the last time I put those robes on I was 15. I've grown several inches since then and they don't fit any longer," she said bemusedly. "Especially across the…"

Harry's eyes followed as hers drifted downward.

"Oh…" he said as his eyes landed on her bust line. Then in a rushed, embarrassed voice he said, "OH…oh, yes right. I guess this won't do at all then!"

His eyes quickly cut away from her as he practically threw the robes back into the closet.

"No, it won't," she said, a tender look on her face. He was the greatest wizard she knew, yet could be so innocent at times that it tugged at her heartstrings.

"Ok then, how about..."

He was rummaging through the right side of the closet when he finally pulled out a hanger that held a black dress made of jersey.

"How about this?" he asked triumphantly

Though her throat felt constricted, she somehow managed to speak.

"That was my mum's dress."

Seeing the tears that had once again sprung up in her eyes, Harry tried to stuff the dress back into the closet.

"Sorry."

"No, no it's alright. I always liked this dress."

She came closer to him and took the hanger from his hands.

"This was Mum's Holly Golightly dress. Breakfast at Tiffany's was her favorite film," she explained.

"That name sounds vaguely familiar."

"It should, you and Ron have fallen asleep on it five times so far," she said smirking.

Harry smiled, abashed.

"Mum loved this dress and only wore it for special occasions," Hermione said as she fingered the material lovingly. "She told me that every woman, by right, should own at least one little black dress. She always looked so beautiful in it. When I cleaned out the house I…I gave all of her and dad's clothes away to charity. But I couldn't part with this dress for some reason. I guess I just wanted to keep it to remember."

"Have you ever tried it on?" Harry asked.

She shook her head quickly. "No. I don't think it would look very good on me."

She tried to put the dress back into the closet, but Harry took it from her hand.

"I think it would look fabulous on you. This dress was made for you, Hermione," he said positively.

"Oh really?" she asked, intrigued.

Taking her tone as a challenge, he grabbed her hand and walked her over to the cheval mirror. Harry stepped behind her, and with his right hand, held the dress in front of Hermione. As their reflections stared out at them, his other hand flattened the dress against her and his fingers splayed across her stomach. She could feel his breath ruffle the short hairs on the back of her neck. It was heaven and hell all tied up in one neat little package, and Hermione fought desperately against the urge to just let herself fall back against him.

"Let's see," he began, "it's simple…"

"It's plain," Hermione said in a mock serious tone, eyes squinted.

His hand smacked her hip lightly.

"Be serious, you!"

She laughed. His hand rested where it was.

"It's demure…"

Hermione made a bullish face and shook her head sorrowfully.

"It's boring."

Harry only smiled as he ignored her mad attempts at self-deprecation.

"It's sophisticated and elegant, yet subtly sexy. It says, 'I am Hermione Jane Granger'."

"It says all of that, does it?" she asked smilingly before she pulled her neck back, turned her head to the side to look at him...and all of the air went out of the room.

"Yes," he answered her, his voice low and thick. His green eyes bored into hers as his hand unhurriedly glided back across her midsection. "It does."

Ever since she was a little girl Hermione had always thought of herself as a bit of a cynic when it came to the topic of love. She just never really bought into the hyperbole that surrounded it. Your heart didn't really flutter like butterfly wings, did it? You couldn't really walk on air, could you? When she would read a book and get to the part in the story where the female protagonist's legs would go all wobbly and she would feel near faint at a single smoky look from the hero, Hermione always thought such nonsense was balderdash. How could a simple look have that much power, cause that kind of an effect on a person? Now she knew the answer.

Breathe Hermione.

BREATHE HERMIONE!

BREATHE HERMIONE!!!!

"Harry?"

She had finally succeeded in forcing his name out of her throat as little more than a dry, airless rasp when another voice suddenly entered the fray.

"Harry? Harry, are you there?"

Both Harry and Hermione's heads slowly pivoted towards the direction of the bed and found Harry's opened two-way mirror sitting there.

"Harry?" Ginny's tiny voice said again. "Harry, are you there? Is that Hermione I hear?"

Somehow that voice managed to fill the entire room.

"HARRY?!" Ginny could be heard calling again.

"That's Ginny," Hermione said side stepping away from Harry as she pulled the dress form his hands. They both avoided each other's eyes. "You, uh, better get that. I'm just going to go…in there," she said motioning towards her bathroom. Harry mutely shook his head.

Hermione sprinted into the bathroom and shut the door quickly, throwing her body against the wood after locking it.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid..." she muttered over and over again quietly.

She had actually fooled herself into believing that Harry had been about to kiss her. How ridiculous could she be?! How pathetic?! How much longer would she allow herself to go through this?!

"Hermione, what's that noise I hear?" Harry's voice asked from the other side of the door.

You, doing the Mexican Hat Dance all over my heart!

In actuality she had been dazedly banging her head against the door.

"Nothing," she squeaked meekly, stopping herself. "It's just my…head," she answered lamely.

"Mmmkay," came Harry's concerned, but mollified response. Hermione could hear his footsteps fading away from the door.

Sweet Circe! She understood that love made you crazy. But was it supposed to make her stupid too?!

About ten minutes later Hermione stepped out of the bathroom wearing the black dress. The neckline was high with a feminine necktie that knotted to the side and created a little peek-a-boo hole that didn't show too much, but still was enough to hold one's fascination. The back was daring (for her) yet still respectable. The top of it could be found at mid-back leaving the upper half and her shoulders naked. Its tulip hem stopped a few inches below her knees. The jersey material of the dress felt wonderful and hugged her figure in all of the right places.

"WOW!"

Harry had been sitting up on the bed, lackadaisically playing with the clasp of the two-way mirror, when she entered the room again; his call finished. He quickly threw the compact to the side and jumped up as soon as he saw her.

"Hermione, you look...WOW!"

His eagerness to compliment her was sweet. He could be so kind that way.

"Can you do me?" she asked.

Harry's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. "WHAT?!"

"My zipper Harry, can you zip me up?"

She turned around so he could see her hand holding the two sides of the dress together.

"Oh…oh yeah," he sheepishly said. Hermione turned her back to him, and though his hands trembled somewhat, he pulled the zipper up. She turned back to face him.

"There. You look…you look perfect, Hermione."

She wasn't as convinced.

"I don't know, do you really think this is proper to wear to a Ministry function?" she asked.

Harry took a moment to think the question over.

"Do you want to wear it?" he finally asked her.

Hermione had to admit the glance she had gotten of herself in the mirror above the sink wasn't too shabby.

"Yes. I-I want to wear it."

"Then who cares what anyone says. Every woman there will probably wish they looked half as gorgeous as you do."

Hermione ducked her head down so he couldn't see how much of an affect his sweet flattery had on her.

"Roger sure is a lucky bastard," he added.

"It's just one date," she said looking back at him quickly. "It's really not that big of a deal. If…if you still just want to stay in, I can cancel," she told him as she reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

She wanted Harry to take her up on her offer, was almost begging him to do so. Even if all they did was lounge around the flat, a bunch of mates drinking beer and watching the telly, she would gladly trade in her dress for a pair of old worn sweats if it meant that she could be near him, just the two of them, for a few hours.

"I'll keep you company," Hermione offered hopefully.

Harry had gently put his hand over hers and had begun to speak when the doorbell answered for him. Her date had arrived early.

"That's Roger; you don't want to keep him waiting," he said inscrutably as he removed her hand.

If she stared hard enough Hermione could almost convince herself that she saw her own lonesome expression reflected back out at her from his eyes.

She dropped her arm to the side.

"No, I guess not."

Hermione felt almost wrenched from her reverie.

Someone is watching me.

Her eyes darted back and forth as she tried to find the culprit. Who was watching her?! She knew that she was probably just freaking out earlier when she thought that she was being followed, but now the feeling was almost incapacitating. She could feel her skin running riot all over her bones. The panic was starting to set in again. She felt as though she were being drowned, suffocated. All she could think was leave...run...disappear. Leave...Run...Disappear. LEAVE...RUN...DISAP-

"Hermione?"

Hermione nearly jumped a foot in the air when Glinda's hand came in contact with her shoulder.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she yelled hostilely pulling back forcefully from her friend, nearly knocking over a wizened witch pushing a cart in the process. A flashing light to the left of her near the entrance to Knockturn went off, and she saw a man jogging off with a camera tripod down that shadowy alleyway. If Hermione wasn't mistaken, it looked like the back of that photographer Bozo who used to follow at Rita Skeeter's beck and call. Before Hermione could apologize to her, the little old witch gave her a nasty once over and was on her way.

"Hermione, are you ok?" asked Glinda carefully, almost frightened of spooking her again.

Hermione felt incredibly foolish. It was as though she had completely forgotten where she was; in the midst of Diagon Alley. Who would be after her here? It had only been some idiot with a camera. Nothing else; nothing to get worked up over. In fact no one other than Glinda and Amparo seemed to spare her a look.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she said as she shook her head. She smiled as she tried to make her excuses. "I guess...I just zoned out there for a minute, that's all."

Glinda still stared at her, disquieted by her friend's agitated state, but Hermione's answer seemed to go over just fine with Amparo. She was lighting another cigarette that was already hanging from her mouth.

"That's fine. Happens to the best of us," she said before taking a slow drag off of it. She then eyed Glinda.

"So Mrs. Weasley, are we going to get to see you at the next POWW meeting?"

Wanting to draw Glinda's attention away from her Hermione asked, "Pow?"

"Partners of Witches and Wizards; P-O-W-W," said Amparo. "It's a support group. No one can quite understand the trials and tribulations a non-magical spouse or domestic partner endures like someone going through the same thing themselves. We meet at a different member's house once a month. It serves as somewhat of a safe haven for many of us. It's a forum where we can discuss the various oddities of our new lives, the do's and don'ts of navigating through a magic filled world…a place where we can rant about our vile wicked witch mother-in-laws," she said disdainfully causing Glinda and Hermione to laugh. "For me it was a godsend, especially when all of those murders started happening."

That caught Hermione's attention completely.

"Excuse me; murders?"

"There was this lunatic that was killing half-and-half couples. You know, magical and non-magical."

"What?!"

Glinda nodded her had gravely.

"Harry actually had me and Fred under some sort of security spell there for quite some time. He was our Gate Keeper."

"Secret Keeper," Hermione corrected her. Why hadn't anyone mentioned any of this to her before, she wondered.

"After a while it became clear that he was targeting only newly married couples," Amparo said, continuing the story. "The loon was even using the Prophet's Society page to do his hunting. I had just gotten engaged at the time too. My husband and I ended up eloping just to keep everything on the hush until all was clear."

"Oh my goodness," Hermione said laying a hand across her chest, "did they catch this person?"

"No, but he hasn't attacked anyone again for months," said Amparo.

Glinda turned to her. "Do you think he's left the country?"

"Here's hoping. Still, now is the time that we all must be vigilant about this. For some reason this killer has decided that wizards and witches should only marry their own kind and if they don't, he should be their judge and executioner. If there is some other reasoning behind this madness the Ministry isn't letting up on it. Now there are some sectors in the community that will use these killings as a touchstone to say, 'see, this is what happens when magical people and Muggles mix', my mother-in-law included. Well, I won't stand for it. Intolerance in any form is just unacceptable to me."

"That's our Amparo; she's a little firecracker," said Glinda approvingly. "She's one of the best damned solicitors in London too."

That seemed to spark Hermione's interest.

"You're a lawyer?"

Amparo took Glinda's praise in stride.

"You could say that." She opened up her briefcase and dug through it. "Here, take my card," she said as she handed a gold embossed business card to Hermione. Hermione took it gratefully, looking it over before slipping it into her purse.

"So, are we going to be seeing you at the meeting, Glinda?"

"I can't," Glinda said disappointedly. "That night is my brother-in-law's wedding reception. I sort of have to be there."

"Well, we'll miss you."

"Amparo, it's not very polite to keep people waiting. I haven't all day."

Across the street in the door of Malkin's stood a blindingly beautiful witch dressed in a set of gorgeous robes. Though the beautiful black woman seemed as icy and removed from her surroundings as one could get, her eyes practically spit fire in their direction.

"COMING, MAGNIFIKA!" Amparo shouted back at her as she yanked the cigarette out of her mouth and threw it to the ground. As she smashed it beneath the sole of her shoe, she muttered, "I'm probably just holding that viper up from the hunt for husband number eight."

She then closed her eyes, took a cleansing breath, and looked back at the other two women.

"Alright, wish me luck ladies," she said.

"Good luck!" both Hermione and Glinda told her.

Amparo smiled. "See you tomorrow night at the Ball. Nice to meet you again, Hermione," she called over her shoulder as she raced back across the street.

Once she was gone, Hermione turned to Glinda and said, "Wow! That was someone's mother?"

"She's fucking gorgeous, isn't she? Too bad she's a hateful, hateful hag! You should see Amps' husband though, lucky bitch. Actually I think you do know him. Fred said that you, Ron, and Harry were in the same year with him. A Blaine…or was it Blake?"

"Funny, I don't remember a Leon in any of the houses in my year."

Glinda shrugged.

"I suppose Fred could have gotten it wrong."

"I suppose."

The two of them then began to stroll down the walk again, chatting and laughing. As they passed by Knockturn Alley Hermione caught a quick glimpse of a tall, widely built man in her peripheral vision. She turned her head, their eyes met, and time literally stood on its head and came to a grinding halt for Hermione. Then just as if nothing had even happened, the old man Apparated away in a dramatic swirl of his cloak.

Everything around her suddenly went at double the normal speed as time tried to catch back up on itself. She felt woozy, dizzy almost. It had all happened so fast that Hermione had barely gotten a look at the wizard's lined face before he pulled the hood of his cloak over the top of his head. However she did note his long, snow white hair and beard. She had started to ask Glinda if she had seen the man too. Surely it would have been hard to miss such a hulking specimen, especially one who so strongly resembled Father Christmas standing at a corner on such a bright and sunny day in June, but her friend had distracted her with some wild, nonsensical comment and the question promptly flew out of Hermione's head.

As they finally reached George's store the strange looking man had become a distant memory to her.

Before the door even closed behind them Hermione had already forgotten him.

A/N: Next up is Ginny's POV (boo, hiss, I know, I know). Things to look forward to: the start of the Victory Ball, Hermione's mystery escort is revealed, and you get a look into the heart of Mrs. Potter.

A few more points of interest:

1) All characters other than Romeo, Alexandra Davies, and the wizened witch are canon.

2) The lyrics are to the song "Them There Eyes" as sung by Billie Holiday.

3) Deshi or desi is a commonly used term in the South Asian diaspora used to describe a member of that group (Indian, Pakistani, Bengali, British Asians, South Asian Americans, etc.)

4) Midichlorians are microscopic organisms that live in the bloodstream of Jedis and communicates with the Force. Is it a wonder that I ridiculed it?

5) "Are you a good witch or a bad witch?" is what Glinda the Good Witch (who my Glinda is named for) asks Dorothy when she firsts meets her in the move The Wizard of Oz.

6) The flashback bedroom scene was mentioned from Harry's POV in Chapter 11 when he discusses it with his inner voice.

7) Amparo Leon and her husband were first mentioned back at the end of Chapter 6.

8) The Ministry issued albino bloodhound leash and POWW(Partners of Witches and Wizards)is original to this story.

9) And yes, Ptolemy Cadmus has finally entered the building.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.